July 2018
So last week was the Fourth of July, and normally I love to go to see fireworks with my entire family, not just me, Sam, and the kids, but grandparents and everyone, but this year I was tired from the day before.
Dylan and Fallon—my two partners—and I had put on an event at The Reading Room of the Harper Library at the University of Chicago, and it went until one in the morning, which meant I was there supervising cleanup until three.
I sent Dylan home because she and her hubby and their kids were flying to California to spend the holiday at Disneyland, and Fallon and his hubby were meeting friends in Ann Arbor the following day for a long weekend.
So I was it and finally got home around four.
I would have slept in, but Sam had an emergency at work to deal with, which left me in charge of my kids, Kola’s two best friends who were sleeping over, and Hannah’s new bestie, Keisha, whose folks were in the hospital, as her mother was about to give birth to a little boy she called her “holy crap are you kidding” baby.
I had died laughing as she told me at her kitchen table, face down in her folded arms as her husband strutted around telling me that he had super sperm.
She hit me many times with a dish towel as I explained that no, forty-three was not too old to be pregnant… again.
“Diapers,” I cackled, waggling my eyebrows.
“Oh dear God,” she groaned.
“I’ll get you a jogging stroller so you can keep up with the millennials.”
She flipped me off as I dissolved again, and her husband struck the Superman pose.
Of course she’d been worried, but there were so many women having babies later in life that I told her to get over it. Plus, she knew that she and Robert already made pretty kids. Keisha was not only stunning, but scary smart.
She appreciated that even as she had to get up and run to the bathroom. Morning sickness didn’t look like fun.
So we had Keisha, as baby Brandon was going to be an Independence Day baby, which meant that sleeping in was not an option.
There needed to be structure for five teenagers, and of course, food.
I was thankfully surprised to find my son in the kitchen starting French toast while Jake and Harper, his best friends since kindergarten or first grade, flanked him.
Harper was frying bacon, and Jake was swirling what looked like an omelet in a pan, ready to flip it.
Not wanting to watch, I stumbled to the Keurig to hunt for the strongest stuff I had.
“Check this out, Mr. Harcourt,” Jake said as he flipped the omelet. It landed all over my stove, which was impressive, since he hit all six gas burners.
“Awww, man,” Harper groaned. “I wanted that.”
“It’ll still be good,” Jake assured him with his infectious grin. “Just messy.”
Jake was the optimist, Harper the realist, and my son fell somewhere between the two. So later when I told them we had to leave at that very moment or we’d be late and would never get a spot on the grass at Promontory Point, no one was worried about it.
“We can just go somewhere else,” Jake was quick to offer, still playing Call of Duty with Harper and Kola, all of them with headsets on, one PS4 hooked up to Kola’s TV, the second hooked up to mine and Sam’s that my son had carried down from our bedroom.
Of course, not one of them turned around to look at me.
“Uncle Aaron said we could go on his yacht with him and Uncle Duncan,” Hannah chimed in.
“No,” I put the kibosh on that. “It just needs to be simple.”
The whole day, all my attempts at a nap were thwarted, and then one by one, Sam’s folks, his brother, his sisters, everyone bailed on me, and finally the man himself, saying that he would be late but would join us wherever we went to see fireworks, as he’d taken a change of clothes with him.
“Just meet us back at home,” I snapped.
“You’re tired,” he said flatly. “So am I. Knock it off.”
I hung up so I didn’t say anything else, because I already felt crappy for taking my annoyance and frustration out on him.
I got everyone moving and headed downtown with each of the kids taking turns telling me where we shouldn’t go. It was my mistake; the point was to make a plan and stick to it. Asking for suggestions—that way lay madness.
We ended up at Navy Pier right before they closed it off and stood there with everyone else and watched the explosions over our heads.
That all went off without a hitch, but when we were walking back to the car, I stepped off the curb so a woman with a stroller could get by me, and when I smiled at her, and she smiled back, I lost track of where I was going.
I plowed into the side of a man standing in a circle of others, smoking, and made him drop his cigarette on his foot.
“The hell are you doing?!” he bellowed, and then squinted, which is never a good sign. God knows who I reminded him of—or what.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized, trying to soothe him. “I didn’t even see you.”
“I know guys like you,” he muttered, “just lost my job to another hipster motherfucker.”
Oh no.
I thought about protesting the hipster label, but I could tell he was beyond having a discussion with me.
I apologized again before moving to skirt around him, but he caught my bicep, shoved me back against a parked car, and hit me.
And I knew, logically, that he was drunk, angry, tired, probably in the same mood I was, and he’d just lost his job as he’d said, but the only thing that ran through my head at that moment was that he hit me in front of my kids.
I had not been struck in years, but still, I remembered, and he was so much bigger than me that it felt, for a moment, like he broke my jaw.
“Pa!” Hannah shrieked, and then Kola was there, shoving the guy back, or trying to, as the barrel-chested man had many pounds on my boy.
When the guy grabbed hold of the front of Kola’s T-shirt, I scrambled to stand up, spitting out blood as it filled my mouth, wobbled on my feet, bracing myself on the hood of the Prius, and told him to get his hands off my son.
“Well then, maybe he should learn some goddamn manners!”
“Like don’t touch people without permission, right?
” Hannah announced before she kicked him in the face, sending him back into the middle of the road on his ass.
She then took position in front of me, in her best defensive stance, and I was reminded, again, that she was a black belt, had been for a while, and was now working on the degrees after that.
Another man went to help the fallen one up, and then he turned to face Hannah and all the other kids, who’d made a phalanx around me. Kola was in front, arms crossed, looking so much like Sam that I couldn’t speak around the lump in my throat.
“Leave my father alone,” he warned the guy as he told Jake to call the police over his shoulder.
“I am the police,” the helpful man said, smiling at the kids.
“If that’s true, then you should have protected us,” he said, his voice deeper than I’d realized. “And not let him hit my father.” After a beat he added, “What’s your badge number?”
That changed things. “Listen, you little shit,” he snarled at Kola, drilling his finger into his collarbone.
“Don’t touch him!” I yelled, pushing between the kids to reach my son, stepping in front of him, shielding him. “Don’t you dare!”
“Are you threatening me?” he barked.
“Just walk away,” I stressed.
He grabbed my arm, wrenched it up behind me so I was spun around facing Kola as he breathed against my ear. “I’m taking you in for assault.”
There was a crowd now, people with their phones lifted taking footage.
“And that girl who kicked my buddy is going as well.”
He had to, I knew. It had spiraled, and there was no going back without him losing face.
“The fuck is going on?”
I knew that voice as well as my own.
“Daddy!” Hannah squeaked out, and I could tell then that she’d been scared, because there was such relief when she called out to him.
“You better get your goddamn hands off my husband before I drop your ass right here,” Sam Kage roared as he emerged from the crowd and charged over to me.
People always thought Sam was big in a suit and tie, but really, in a T-shirt and worn jeans where all you saw was all the hard, heavy muscle, he looked massive.
I felt the jolt of fear go through the man holding me, and he let me go and stepped back, reaching behind, I was certain, for his gun.
“Sam!” I cried, scared for him as he put a hand around the side of my neck and drew me up against his big hard body.
“You pull a weapon,” Sam said flatly, easing his badge from his back pocket and flipping it open so the guy could see the star, “and you’re fuckin’ done.”
All the men looked at the badge, the cop, his buddy, and the others, and the sound was at once a low groan of defeat from them and jubilant clapping from the crowd.
And for once, my husband didn’t seem to care that he was on video being larger than life.
He lifted my chin, checked me over, and then gave me a squeeze as he got on his cell phone.
When the police showed minutes later, Jake having called along with, I was sure, countless others, Sam lifted a hand.
They did exactly as he directed, took the guy who’d hit me away, and IAD, who Sam had called, showed up to take Officer Burges into custody.
Sam went into the crowd and got names and numbers of people who promised to send him their footage.
I watched people cluster around him, touch him, smile, nod, and I sighed as Hannah stood beside him, under his arm.
“They’re the same,” Kola told me, his arm around me. “Both of them are superheroes.”
I turned to my son. “So are you, buddy.”
He grunted and turned and kissed my cheek, and it was funny that now he was ducking to do it, the growth spurt a real and frightening thing.
“I don’t need a cape,” he assured me. “Just so I can keep my people safe.”
I sighed as Harper and Jake took their usual spots, flanking him.
“Your holidays are epic, Mr. Harcourt,” Jake assured me. “I can’t wait for Labor Day.”
I snorted as Sam returned, eased me close, and informed me that we were going to the hospital. All in all he’d been gone from my side for only five minutes or so.
“No,” I protested. “The kids.”
But he would not be deterred. I did feel better when I saw Duncan walking toward us through the crowd. He was taking the kids on the yacht where Aaron was, and they were all thrilled. They’d bring them home as soon as Sam called and let them know we were there.
“I’m fine,” I told him as he held my van door open for me so I could get in. He was driving, I was the passenger princess, on our way to the hospital. He’d left his car at the office, not wanting to try and find parking. Such a smart man.
“We’ll just go check,” he rumbled, leaning me into his side, my head notched under his chin. “Can’t be too careful with the love of my life.”
I teared up instantly and snuggled closer. “I love you.”
“Yes, I know. And you’re taking tomorrow off and sleeping in.”
“Only if you will too.”
“It’s a deal.”
And it was a good one.