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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?”
“Lynda’s brothers are assholes and I wouldn’t give either of them a pet rock, much less my kids. And my mom was diagnosed with early dementia, so she just moved to an assisted living facility. She’s still able to care for herself, but no one knows how long that’ll continue. So, no, no one comes to mind. I can’t just walk up to someone and say, ‘Hey, would you like to take on three kids for the rest of your life? You have to promise to love them, nurture them, and treat them as if you love them more than life itself.’” I grin at her, but there’s no amusement in it. There’s only resignation.
“You know Jake and I—” she began. But I cut her off.
“You and Jake already have a baseball team,” I remind her. “How many are you up to now?”
She laughs. “Gabby’s in college. Alex is twelve. Trixie is eight. Hank is almost three. Erik is eighteen months. And this new one is a little girl who will be here in a few weeks.” She rubs her stomach with her palm and smiles at me.
“We’re going to call this one Poppy!” Trixie says on a giggle.
“Hell, yeah, we are,” Mr. Jacobson sings out. Everyone knows that Jake and the kids all call the old man Pop.
“We are not going to call her Poppy,” Jake corrects.
“We’ll see,” Trixie says with a grin. She dances in front of Miles as he watches her intently.
“Does he have a bottle?” Katie asks.
