“Glad you’re here,” Jake says. He sobers at little. “I’m sorry the circumstances are what they are, Aaron. I really am.” He says the last part quietly, almost a whisper. But I still hear him. I’m sorry too, but there isn’t much I can do about it. He looks toward the car seat. “Did Pop already steal your baby?” he asks. “He’s good at that.”
“Looks like it.”
“Speaking of which,” Mr. Jacobson says, “I’m going to run up to the big house. I’ll be back in a minute.” He starts up the golf cart, turns on the headlights, and hits the gas. I reach for the car seat, but old man Jacobson just wraps one arm around it and takes off toward the big house, which is where the Jacobsons live. It’s a monstrosity of a house on the other side of the complex.
“He took my baby,” I say lamely as I watch the cart bounce away in the other direction.
Jake chuckles. “He’ll bring him back when he either makes noise or takes a poop. I promise.” He claps his hands together. “Need some help unloading?”
I can’t turn down an offer of help. “I’d love some.”
“Katie came down this morning and cleaned up for you. She changed the sheets and dusted. Opened some windows to air things out. Set up the portable crib.”
My heart twists in my chest. “Tell her thank you for me, will you?”
“You can tell her yourself tomorrow,” he says. “She wants you guys to come for dinner.”
“We don’t want to be any trouble.”
Jake shakes his head. “No trouble. Pop’s grilling.”
“Oh, well, in that case.” I wouldn’t miss that for the world. The old man grills better than anyone on the planet. Every Saturday night during the summer, he used to feed the whole campground.
“She’ll be glad to see you. And Gabby will be home from college tomorrow. She’s looking forward to babysitting your kids so you can do what you need to do.”
He doesn’t bring up the word. Chemo. I need to go to chemo. “I appreciate it.”
“Let’s get you unloaded so you can get some rest.” Jake stares at me a beat too long, just long enough to make me uncomfortable. Then he gets to work.
We unload suitcases and bring in boxes of toys the kids can’t do without. But we’ve traveled pretty light, considering why we’re here. I brought enough food to keep them alive, so we take that inside too.
Jake comes over and reaches out his hand again. I take it, holding it tightly. “I’m glad you’re here, A,” he says, shortening my name to the one he’s always called me. Just that makes me feel like I’ve come home.
“Me too,” I say, swallowing past the lump in my throat. I need to be here. In more ways than one.
I hear the crunch of gravel at the same time I see the headlights.
“Told you he’d bring him back,” Jake says, and I can hear Miles screaming over the rumble of the wheels. Jake snickers.
This time, old man Jacobson has a little girl hanging off the back of the cart. She leaps to the ground right in front of us, just as I reach in to take Miles and his seat.
“I’m Trixie,” she says.
Jake reaches out and touches the top of her head, pawing it like a big old bear. She looks up at him and grins. She has a tiny smear of what looks like chocolate on the corner of her mouth. “This is my daughter,” Jake says, his voice full of pride.
I pull Kerry-Anne from behind my leg. “This one is mine.” I jerk a thumb toward Sam, who still sulks on the steps. “And that one.”
Trixie ignores Sam and asks Kerry-Anne, “Do you want to play tomorrow?”
Kerry-Anne looks up at me. “Can I, Daddy?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t see why not.”
Suddenly, a dog bounds up. The thing is huge and hairy and at least a hundred and fifty pounds. I shove Kerry-Anne behind me. The big dog sits down next to Trixie, his tail swishing from side to side. Trixie jerks a thumb toward the dog. “This is Sally,” she says. “He’s my best friend.”
Mr. Jacobson says, “We need to get home, Trixie-Lou. Or else your mama’s going to come looking for us.” She hops up next to him and scoots as close as she can get. Then she pats the seat next to her and Sally jumps up too. He dangles there on the seat with his butt on the cushion as he stands on his front legs.
“See you tomorrow!” Trixie calls out as they head off, Jake following.
Kerry-Anne pulls on the hem of my shorts. “Daddy,” she says quietly.
I brush her hair back from her face. “What, baby?”
“Was that dog wearing a tutu?”
“I think so.” But I have no idea why. I laugh and usher her, Miles, and Sam inside.
When I close the door of the little cottage, I leave everything outside that isn’t important. I leave my fears about the future. I leave my anger at what is going to happen. And I bring all my love inside with me and close the door. I know the fear and the anger will still be there tomorrow, but today, I can shut them away for just a little longer.
2
Aaron
“I was really sorry to hear about Lynda,” Katie says from where she’s sitting holding Miles. She’d snatched him from me the minute we’d walked up for dinner, and he sits on the tiny little bit of lap that isn’t taken up by her pregnant belly. Miles stands there jumping in place on her lap as Trixie makes funny faces at him. Sally, the tutu-wearing dog, sits next to Trixie and occasionally stops to slurp his big tongue up the side of her face.
“It’s still kind of hard to believe some days,” I admit. “She was here one day and gone the next.”
“Jake said it was a drunk driver?” Katie says it quietly enough that my kids can’t hear. Then she winces when I nod. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral.”
“I got your letter. It was a very nice touch. No one writes letters anymore. And it was nice of Jake to come,” I add. And it was. Jake had shown up at the funeral and helped me set up chairs, kept the coolers full of ice, and he’d even wrangled a brother-in-law or two away from my general vicinity when I needed it most. “He was a big help.”
She nods and her eyes fall on Jake standing next to Mr. Jacobson at the grill, and I watch as her eyes go soft. Lynda used to look at me like that. I’d catch her eyes from across the room, and it always made me happy, knowing that she knew what I was thinking almost all the time. I’d give just about anything to have her look at me like that again.
“Lynda knew about your diagnosis, right?” Katie asks. She fidgets a little, and I am pretty sure she doesn’t want to go there. But then again, nobody ever wants to go there. No one wants to talk about death, or to plan for it.
“We found out two years ago when I stopped responding to treatment. So, yeah… She knew. We knew. I just never expected her to go before me.” I scratch at the stubble on my chin that had grown in overnight. I’m determined not to shave while I’m here, but my face is already itching. “Her accident took us all by surprise. Didn’t see it coming.”
Katie’s eyes fill up with tears and she blinks them back. “Sorry,” she says softly, a watery chuckle leaving her throat. “I’ve been thinking about this situation you’re in ever since Jake told me what was going on. I can’t get it off my mind. You don’t have any family that can help?”