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Rolling to the left, I find I’m alone in bed. Checking the clock, which says 5:32, I flop onto my back again, trying to figure out if I have the energy to put in some time on the treadmill before I have to fix the kids’ breakfast.
But if it’s five thirty in the morning, why isn’t Dee in bed?
Scanning my tired brain for her travel schedule, for any clue as to what day it is, I open my eyes to check the clock again.
It’s light outside.
Is it 5:30p.m.?
Fuck.
Rolling over again, I reach for my phone, which won’t turn on. Because it’s not plugged in, and the battery is probably dead.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
After extricating myself from a tangle of bedcovers, I stagger over to the dresser and pull open a drawer, only to realize that I’m already dressed.
Right.
When I got home from the hospital in the wee hours of the morning, I took a shower, made breakfast for the kids, got them ready for winter day camp—aka the place parents park kids during the day when they don’t have school, but we have to work—kissed them and Dee goodbye, and then lay down for a minute.
Instead of just resting my eyes, I took a nine-hour nap, missing camp pickup at four thirty.
Heart racing, I shove on a pair of shoes, but before I can get to the front door, it opens. Relief surges through me as I take in the trio. I’ve got both kids in my arms before I take another breath. When they burst into tears, howling, “Where were you daddy?” and “We were so scared,” I have to make myself meet Dee’s eyes.
When she mouths,We need to talk, I just nod.
Things are strained between us as we get the kids through the evening routine. Over dinner, the kids tell me all about what happened at camp when no one came to pick them up.
“I got to help organize the equipment locker with Mr. Mike,” Liam says. “And I got extra snacks.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, sweetie,” Dee reminds him.
“I helped get the little kids into their coats and boots.” Maddie’s seven. I guess a little kid is anyone younger than her.
I don’t point out that no one seems terribly upset about me being AWOL. After the bath-stories-lights-out routine, when I meet Dee in the kitchen, she starts in before I get a chance. “Something needs to change.”
“Were they even upset when you picked them up?” Hoping to keep things civil, I grab a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine from the fridge.
“That’s not the point,” she says, chin high, arms crossed. “No one at camp could get in touch with either of us.”
I sigh. “And the grandparents are out of town.”
“Exactly.” She picks up the glass of wine I set in front of her but doesn’t drink.
“And where were you?” I ask.
She slams down her glass so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t break. I grab a sponge to mop up the spill, but she takes it from me to do it herself. “Don’t use that tone with me. I was at work, like the schedule says, in a meeting, so I had my phone muted.”
“Maybe we need to prioritize our own family before we focus on saving everyone else’s.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I regret them, but I swallow any apology along with a healthy glug of wine.
Her arms cross again. “I thought my family was covered. You were supposed to pick them up.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I’m exhausted after working four twenty-four hour shifts in one week.”
“I told you that was a bad idea,” she says, scrubbing at her newly short hair until it spikes up on top.
“Do you not remember the conversation we had about the minivan? It’s going to cost more than two thousand dollars to fix it. We don’t have that in savings, and me taking extra shifts for a couple weeks was the only solution.”
