Page 185 of Unruly

“Speaking of Nazio,” Catherine said, looking around, “where is he?”

Cross’s gaze instantly flew to the other side of the kitchen where a pile of their eighteen-month-old son’s toys sat untouched in the corner. Cars, trucks, and trains. All the things that Nazio loved to push around on his chubby little legs.

Usually, with his leather jacket and a beanie on his head.

The kid had quirks.

Like his sister.

“Where did he go?” Cross asked.

Catherine’s heart leapt into her throat. “I just got home, how would I know?”

“Well, don’t shriek at me.” Cross darted across the kitchen, and headed out into the hallway. Catherine was right on his heels. “Nazio, come to Daddy!”

“The back door is locked, right?”

“Jesus, Catherine, he can’t even reach that!”

“Stop shouting at me!”

“Nazio!”

“Do you smell that?” Catherine asked.

Peanut butter.

It was stronger now.

Stronger than when she first came in.

Cross sniffed the air, and passed her a look. “Is that …?”

“Peanut butter,” she said, “yeah.”

“Oh, fuck.”

This was not the first time.

This was not even the fifth time.

It was probably not going to be the last time.

Anything Nazio got his little fingers into, he made a mess of. Baby oil. Baby powder. Vaseline. Cross’s shampoo he once left sitting on the edge of the tub instead of higher on a shelf. Cece’s nail polish. Rice.

Anything.

“This is your fault,” Catherine told Cross.

“Is not!”

“It is, and you’ll be the one cleaning it, too.”

“Will not.”

“You sound like a ch—”

“Hi, Da. Hi, Ma.”