Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
PATRICK
Mrs. Kowalski stood in the entryway with her sensible overnight bag, a folded piece of paper, and an expression that suggested I was about to be court-martialed.
“Right then, Mr. McCrae.” She adjusted her glasses. “Maggie’s bottles are in the refrigerator. Warm them properly—not in the microwave like some heathen—in hot water. Test on your wrist first.”
“I’m well aware of how to feed my daughter, Mrs. Kowalski.”
She peered at me over her spectacles. “Are you now? And when was the last time you actually did so without me standing three feet away reminding you which end of the bottle goes in her wee mouth?”
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. Point to Kowalski.
“That’s what I thought.” She returned to her list. “The twins have football at two o’clock.
Soccer, as the Americans insist on calling it.
Carson’s boots are by the back door, Cory’s are in his closet.
They’ll argue about whose are whose. Carson’s have the blue laces, though I suspect by now they’ve swapped them just to vex me. ”
“Blue laces. Got it.”
“Alec willna give you trouble—he’ll barricade himself in his room with a book and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Rather like his father at that age, I’ve heard.
” The pointed look she gave me suggested this was not a compliment.
“Do make him come out occasionally. Fresh air. Sunlight. Basic human interaction. The sorts of things people need to remain functional members of society.”
My chest tightened. “I’m aware he’s been struggling.”
“Struggling?” Mrs. Kowalski’s eyebrows rose. “Mr. McCrae, the boy hasn’t smiled since we arrived in this country. He speaks in grunts. He’s not struggling—he’s gone numb. And you’re so busy building your American empire you’ve barely noticed.”
The words landed like a slap. “That’s hardly fair—”
“Fair? Ha.” She pulled another paper from her coat pocket and thrust it at me. “The schedule. Meals, naps, bedtimes, emergency numbers. Dr. Morrison for medical emergencies, though the children are healthy as horses. Unlike their father, who looks like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks.”
“I sleep fine.”
“You look like death warmed over, sir. A well-dressed corpse, I’ll grant you, but a corpse nonetheless.” She picked up her bag. “Two days, Mr. McCrae. Surely you can manage not to burn down the house or lose any children for two days?”
“Mrs. Kowalski—”
She opened the door, and she was gone, leaving me holding her schedule and feeling thoroughly chastised.
I stood in the living room, studying the schedule. Every hour accounted for. Every meal planned. Every activity organized down to the minute.
It was brilliant. Exactly what I would have created myself a month ago.
And it made me want to set it on fire.
Last night at Theresa’s house had been bedlam—toys everywhere, bairns tumbling over each other. But there had been life in that house. Noise. Color. Warmth.
Here, everything ran like clockwork. My children moved through their days on schedule, well-behaved and quiet. Too bloody quiet.
I looked at the paper again. Football practice at two. Bedtime routines starting at seven. Everything measured and controlled, just like my life had been since Shannon died. Just like I thought I wanted it.
Until I met a woman with four kids and chaos in her wake who made me remember what it felt like to actually breathe.
Sod it.
I climbed the stairs and knocked on Alec’s door. “Family meeting. Living room. Five minutes. Not a request.”
A grunt from inside.
I pushed the door open without waiting for permission. Alec lay on his bed, book in hand, deliberately not looking at me.
“Did you hear me?”
“Heard you.” His voice was flat. “Don’t care.”
“That’s unfortunate, because you’re coming anyway.” I kept my voice level. “You may be angry with me, but you’ll still show me the courtesy of acknowledging when I speak to you. Five minutes, Alec. Downstairs.”
I didn’t wait for a response. If I’d learned anything from my own father, it was that some orders weren’t up for debate.
I gathered the others—Brody from his room, the twins from the backyard, Eoin from the bathroom where he was, thankfully, just washing his hands. Maggie was already in her playpen, content with her blocks.
They assembled in the living room, settling onto the couch in birth order like little soldiers awaiting inspection. Alec slouched at one end, radiating resentment. Brody sat with his hands folded in his lap. The twins perched side by side, nearly identical in posture.
Christ. What had I done to them?
“Right,” I said, standing before them. “We’re making some changes today.”
Six pairs of eyes stared at me. Alec’s head came up slightly from his book.
“Changes?” Brody’s forehead creased with worry. “What kind of changes?”
I held up Mrs. Kowalski’s schedule, then deliberately folded it and shoved it into my pocket. “There is no football practice today. No organized activities. No following the schedule like we’re running a military operation.”
“But—” Brody’s voice rose with anxiety. “But we’re supposed to follow the schedule. Mrs. Kowalski said—”
“Mrs. Kowalski isn’t here. And I’m your father.” I looked at each of them in turn. “When’s the last time we did something spontaneous? Something for the simple joy of it, not because it was on a timetable?”
Silence.
“Exactly.” I moved to the closet and grabbed my jacket. “We’re going to the Oakland Zoo.”
“The zoo?” Cory’s eyes widened.
“But it’s not on the schedule,” Brody said, still clinging to order like a lifeline.
“I’m aware. That’s rather the point.” I scooped Maggie from her playpen. She grabbed at my collar, gurgling happily. “Everyone, get your shoes. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
“What about lunch?” Brody asked, his voice tight. “It’s supposed to be at noon, and it’s already eleven-thirty—”
“We’ll eat at the zoo.”
“But what will we eat? Mrs. Kowalski has the menu planned—”
“Whatever we fancy. Hot dogs. Ice cream. All that terrible junk food they sell at concession stands.” I adjusted Maggie on my hip. “You’re allowed to be children occasionally, Brody. The world won’t end if we deviate from the plan.”
The twins exchanged uncertain glances. Eoin bounced on his toes, already sold on the idea. Even Alec looked vaguely interested, though he was trying his best to hide it behind sullen indifference.
“Can I bring my book?” Alec asked.
“No. No books, no schedules, no structure. Just the six of us and whatever animals we encounter.” I headed for the stairs. “Ten minutes. And Eoin, help your brothers find matching shoes. Both feet, mind you.”
The Oakland Zoo was heaving with families on a sunny Sunday. Bairns shrieked on the playground near the entrance. Parents pushed prams while juggling nappy bags and sippy cups. The whole place thrummed with messy, unstructured energy—the exact opposite of our quiet, ordered house.
It reminded me of Theresa’s kitchen. I wondered what she was doing right now. Probably corralling Rome away from something breakable while Paris tried to negotiate a treaty over the TV remote. The thought made me smile.
I paid for admission and grabbed a map. Maggie was strapped to my chest in the carrier, her head swiveling to track every movement.
“Where do we go first?” Carson asked.
I looked at the map, then folded it and shoved it in my pocket. “You lot decide. What do you want to see?”
They stared at me as if I’d spoken Cantonese.
“Come on,” I prompted. “What animals interest you?”
Another long pause. They genuinely had no idea what to do with unstructured freedom. What had I done to them?
“Tigers!” Eoin finally shouted. “I want to see tigers! They’re fierce and they have stripes and they’re brilliant!”
“Tigers it is, then.” I started walking in what I hoped was the right direction. “Everyone stays together. If you wander off, I’ll leave you to be raised by the monkeys.”
“You wouldn’t really,” Cory said, but he sounded uncertain.
“Try me and find out.”
We found the tigers—sleeping in the shade, naturally. Eoin pressed his face against the glass, anyway, determined to will them into action.
“They’re supposed to be fierce,” he said, disappointed.
“They’re cats,” Alec said from beside him, the first voluntary words he’d spoken all day. “Cats sleep twenty hours a day.”
“How do you know that?”
“I read.”
“Reading’s boring.”
“You’re boring.”
“Oi.” I kept my voice mild but firm. “Both of you. We’re here to enjoy ourselves, not bicker like fishwives. Save that for home.”
They subsided, and we moved on to the elephants. A massive female stood near the viewing area, using her trunk to spray herself with water. Eoin squealed with delight when she trumpeted.
“She’s enormous!” Cory breathed.
“Elephants can weigh up to fourteen-thousand pounds,” Alec said, warming to his role as font of animal facts. “And they have remarkable memories. They can remember individual humans for decades.”
“Like Mrs. Kowalski remembers everything Da does wrong?” Carson asked innocently.
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Properly laughed, for the first time in longer than I could remember. “Something very like that, aye.”
We wandered through the exhibits with no plan, no schedule.
The twins raced ahead to the next enclosure, then circled back like border collies.
Eoin insisted on reading every single placard aloud.
Brody kept trying to organize us into an efficient route, and I kept gently redirecting him to simply enjoy the moment.
By the time we reached the giraffe feeding station, even Alec had abandoned his perpetual scowl.
“Can we feed them?” he asked, trying desperately to sound casual.
“That’s precisely why we’re here.”
I bought lettuce leaves, and we took turns holding them up. Eoin shrieked when a giraffe’s tongue touched his palm, then immediately thrust his hand out for another go.
“It’s slimy! It’s so slimy! Do it again!”
“That’s disgusting,” Carson agreed, already holding up another leaf.