Page 56 of You Fall First

Silly rabbit.

Brilliant Jo.

As Dutton rests his head on her shoulder, sagging into her, a tightness I hadn’t noticed before loosens behind my ribs. I slump onto a chair in the corner, mentally cataloguing all of her tricks. At Rex’s request, Jo reads both books all the way through twice, using different voices and funny sound effects. Eventually, Dutton’s eyes grow heavy-lidded and bleary.

“Do you think Bugs and Rex want to be tucked into bed with Uncle Noah?” Jo asks. “Or with you?”

“Me,” Dutton says, his voice small and sleepy. She arranges Rex and his dinosaur egg on one side of his pillow. Bugs is on the other.

“Night, little man,” I say, hopping up and giving him a quick high five.

“Leave the door open?”

“Yeah, bud,” I say, my voice as gentle as I can make it. “We can leave the door open. And I’ll be right on the other side of that wall if you need me.”

But dude. Please don’t need me.

“Sweet dreams, Bugs,” Jo says as I back up into the doorway. “Sweet dreams, Rex. Sweet dreams, Woody.” She clicks off his lamp, and the room goes dark except for a nightlight casting a soft glow from the corner.

“Don’t go,” Dutton pleads. “Please?”

“I can stay for a little while.” She sits at the foot of the bed. “How about right here?”

In the dim light, I can barely make out his tiny nod.

After a stretch of silence, he asks, “Do ducks sleep, Jo?”

“They sure do,” she says.

“Do dinosaurs dream?”

“Hmm. That I don’t know.” She pats the lump of his foot under the comforter. “We should look it up tomorrow.”

“You’re coming back,” he says. Not a question.

“I am.”

“For breakfast?”

My heart does a somersault waiting for her answer.

“I’ll be here,” she says.

A soft breath leaks out of him. “Promise?”

“Promise.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “I can make pancakes if you want.”

“Plain,” he mumbles, turning his head to the side.

Only then is he ready to let her go.

The room goes quiet, and for a long moment, I watch Jo, watching him. We’re both waiting for the stillness that signals we’re done. I don’t know about her, but I’m barely breathing. A minute later, she rises and moves with me into the living room.

“So, I’d better get going,” she says.

“Yeah.”

I kind of want to pull a Dutton and beg her not to leave. But instead, I say, “Thanks again. For everything. Like literally every single thing.”