13. Claire
CHAPTER 13
CLAIRE
T he sleep of exhaustion isn’t like normal sleep. You come off a long shift and dive into bed, and it’s like the mattress swallows you up. You fall through the feathers into a black gulch of sleep, too deep for dreams. Total shutdown.
Waking up from that kind of sleep has to come in its own time. Rushing it’s like trying to swim through molasses. You half crack your eyes open, but they close by themselves. You try to sit up and your limbs are too heavy. Your head’s full of cotton, your mouth is too wet, and stringing two thoughts together shorts out your brain.
I thought it was a dream at first, when Mom came to wake me.
“Honey?” She was shaking me. “Honey, wake up.”
I struggled up, bleary. “Uh? Wasswrong? Oli?”
“He’s playing with Gramps.” Mom sat on my bed. “Listen, I’m really sorry to wake you. But Sue Reecer just called — you remember the Reecers? Well, they’re in town, but just for today. Would you be okay to look after Oli?”
I stared at her blankly. Those were certainly… words. But I couldn’t make sense of them, or how they hung together.
“I wouldn’t ask. I know you’re so tired. But it’s been six years since I saw Sue Reecer, and who knows when we might see them again? It’s sheer luck they’re here now, some glitch with their flight.”
I smothered a huge yawn in the palm of my hand. The Reecers, yeah. Dad’s friends from work. But they’d moved a while back. They were… what? Back in town? And Oli was… what?
“Oh, honey.” Mom smoothed my hair back. “It’s okay. Go to sleep. We’ll see them next time.”
I shook my head, trying to clear out the cobwebs. Oli, Mom needed…
“I’m up,” I said. I threw off the covers. The motion made me dizzy and I shut my eyes tight. When I opened them, the sun was too bright. “What time is it?”
“Eleven o’clock.”
So I’d slept four hours. I could get by on that. I’d got by on worse when Oli was small.
“Let me get dressed. Did Oli eat yet?”
“No, but he was picky at breakfast. He’ll need to eat soon.”
I hauled myself up. I owed Mom and Dad. They’d been my biggest allies since Oli was born, always there to help out with him and babysit. Without them, I’d never have got back to work. If I could give them a day out with their old friends, that was honestly the least I could do.
I dressed in a fog and splashed my face with cold water, and made my way downstairs to find Oli in the kitchen. Mom winked when she saw me and grabbed up her purse. She bent down and kissed Oli.
“Go easy on Mommy. She’s tired from work.”
Oli smiled like an angel, and I let myself hope. Maybe he’d be up for a lazy day too, TV and coloring, an extra-long nap. I’d order in dinner, then give him a bath, and by the time he was dry?—
He tapped my leg. “Mommy?”
“Yeah, hon?”
“I’m hungry.”
I smiled. “I’ll make you a sandwich.”
Oli’s face fell. “Can’t we have mac and cheese?”
A wave of tiredness washed over me at the thought of the cleanup, but I forced myself to keep smiling. Mac and cheese was not an unreasonable request.
“Okay,” I said. “Go watch your show. I’ll bring it through in a bit.”
Oli went through, but his show was just ending, the theme song jingling over the credits. He came drifting back as I set the water to boil.
“Mommy? I’m bored.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Lunch’ll be soon. Why don’t you go color while I make the sauce?” I got out the butter, the milk, and the flour, and stood trying to remember what else I needed. Oli leaned on the counter.
“I colored two pages already.”
I took a deep breath, irritation rising. Shame swiftly followed: Oli was three.
“How about your library books? Where’d you put those?”
Oli heaved a long-suffering sigh. “In my bag, ’cause I read them. What can I do? ”
I sliced butter into my saucepan and added flour, salt, and pepper. Oli wasn’t annoying. I was tired and cranky. But I was the adult, and he was the kid. It was my job to act like it, no matter what.
“How about Buster? Does he want to play fetch?”
“Buster’s asleep. You said not to wake him.”
I groaned. I had taught Oli to let sleeping dogs lie. But I wished Buster would wake up and want to go play. I needed to focus, or?—”
“Mom? Your pot’s bubbling.”
“Thanks, hon.” I turned down the stove and gave my macaroni a stir. Oli darted up behind me and smacked my leg.
“Tag! You’re it!”
I whirled. “Oli!”
He shrank back, wide-eyed, and I realized I was shouting, and not only shouting, but waving a spoon. I set it down with a sigh.
“Sorry, sweetheart. But you cannot scare Mommy while she’s trying to cook. Boiling water is dangerous, and so’s the hot stove. Do you understand that?”
Oli wilted. “Uh-huh.”
“It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. But you need to play safe. Why don’t you go wash up for lunch?”
“Can’t I help stir?”
I could feel Oli getting cranky as well, my bad mood rubbing off despite my best efforts. How could I explain to him, no, not today? I didn’t have anything cold he could stir, just boiling pasta and molten roux.
“Mommy, I’m bored. ”
“I know, but just?—”
My phone rang, as if I wasn’t frazzled enough. I ignored it, but Oli stood on tiptoe to check it.
“It’s Dad,” he said. “Mommy? It’s Dad!”
I snatched up the phone. “Dad? You okay?”
Silence down the line. Then, “Did you just call me daddy?”
My brain shorted out, total confusion. Then all the pieces fell into place: Oli meant his dad. I was talking to Blake.
“Very funny,” I said. “Oli said it was Dad.”
“Yeah? How’s he doing?”
“Good.” I smiled down at him. “I’m making his lunch.”
“How about after that, we go see a movie? There’s a good one for kids, that one with the cat. I was thinking we’d do that, then maybe get?—”
“Mom? Your pot’s bubbling.” Oli tugged on my shirt.
“—ice cream, if you’re okay with that. Or if that’s too much sugar, we could stop by the park.”
“Mom? Mom. Your pot.”
“I see it,” I snapped, right in Blake’s ear. His grunt of surprise was the echo of Oli’s.
“Sorry,” I said, to either. To both. “Look, could you, Oli, could you go wash up?”
Oli grumbled, but this time, he trotted off. I waited till the door slammed, then turned back to Blake.
“You still there?”
“Yes, ma’am. Everything okay?”
I almost laughed. Was everything okay? If you called four hours’ sleep okay, snapping at Oli, burning my roux right now. I gave it a stir. “What did you want, again?”
“To go see Fat Cat? I thought we’d all go, you, me, and Oli.”
I let out a long breath, trying not to explode. Blake’s cheery tone was working my nerves. What right had he to sound so… well-rested?
“I’m asking first, like you said.”
My vision flashed red. I wanted to scream. This was Blake’s idea of planning ahead? “This is not what I said.”
“What? I don’t?—”
“You’re calling at twelve wanting to go out at, what, one? How is that notice? I can’t— I can’t…” I stirred my roux so hard it slopped on the stove. “Listen, I don’t know what you do in the Army, but here in the real world, I work crazy hours. Then I come home and I’ve got Oli, and I’m not sure you get what that entails. I’m his chauffeur, his chef. His entertainment. I can’t pick up on a whim and just do whatever.”
“I didn’t think.” Blake’s tone was subdued. “I saw the ad for the movie, and I picked up the phone. But it’s playing tomorrow, or next weekend.”
I stood breathing hard, trying to calm down. “I didn’t mean to bark at you. I— are you kidding me? What…?”
Oli stood in the doorway, grinning ear to ear, his face and hands daubed goblin green.
“I’m Shrek,” he said.
“What happened?” said Blake.
I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or to cry. “I took my eyes off your son for maybe three minutes, and he got into Mom’s mud mask, and, well, he’s green.”
Blake made a muffled sound, holding back laughter. I groaned, thinking how green the bathroom must be.
“I should go deal with this, and finish his lunch.”
“Sorry,” said Blake. “When’s a good time to call you?”
“Probably text first. But we’ll talk soon.”
I hung up and shooed Oli back to the bathroom, with instructions to stand still and not touch a thing. Then I stirred up his mac and cheese and stuck it in the oven, and set fifteen minutes for the top to get crispy. By the time I was done, Oli’d got bored, and he was making Shrek horns with my hair gel. I took a few pictures because it was funny, and then lifted Oli into the tub.
“Mom’ll be sad,” I said.
“Why will she be sad?”
“Because you used all her mud mask, and it’s expensive.”
Oli’s face fell. “But, it’s just mud.”
“Yeah, but it’s special mud, not mud from the garden. Hold your nose and lean over.”
“Hold my nose? Why?”
“Because it’s sprayer time.” I grabbed the shower sprayer. Oli squealed, and I laughed as I hosed his hair clean. I wiped his face and his hands, then the counter and floor, and a cluster of handprints off the wall and the door.
“I still have my birthday card,” Oli said. “With the five dollars I got from Great-Gramps. Could we get some more mud mask before Gran comes back?”
I stifled a snort: not for five dollars. But Oli didn’t need to know that.
“Sure, hon,” I said. “You’ve got a good heart. Now, dry off your hands, and let’s check on your lunch.”
Five minutes later, Oli was eating. I was mopping up the last of the mud. I was just about through when the doorbell went ding, and Buster woke up and ran to see who was there. I followed more slowly, too tired to rush.
“Who is it, Buster? Who is it, boy?” I held him back by his collar as I opened the door, only to drop him as I saw it was Blake. Buster rushed out and I stepped out too, pushing the door shut so Oli wouldn’t see.
“Seriously? I tell you not to just call, and you show up? ”
Blake held up a bag. “I came to drop this.” He reached in and pulled out Oli’s jacket. I gaped at it, stunned.
“How do you have that? I searched everywhere!”
“He took it off at the penguin show. It was in my bag. I’d have said on the phone, but you seemed busy.” He looked me up and down. “You okay? You’re all green.”
I glanced down at myself and saw I was splattered, no doubt from hosing the green off of Oli.
“One of those days,” I said. “Just got off a double, and my parents went out. That’s why I snapped before. I’m running on fumes.”
“You were right, though,” said Blake. “I didn’t think. And I can go now, unless you need help?”
“That’s okay. I’ve got it. I?—”
“Tag! You’re it!” Oli darted past me and smacked Blake on the leg. He laughed.
“Sorry, kid. Maybe next time.”
Oli pouted. “He can’t play?”
Blake caught my eye over Oli’s head. He cocked a brow, hopeful, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“All right,” I said. “Dad can play tag.”
Blake grinned. “So, I’m it?”
Oli ran off, Buster bounding behind him. Blake gave them a head start, then he let out a bellow. He went thundering after them, across the front yard. I watched from the porch as they wove through the trees, Oli darting like quicksilver from one trunk to the next, Blake pretending like Oli was too fast to see. Buster raced between them both, his whole body wagging.
I meant to head in and clean while Blake played with Oli, but the cheese-crusted saucepan made me feel tired. I set it to soak for five minutes, just five, and stretched on the couch to rest my eyes. Next thing I knew, Oli was cuddled up with me. The TV was on, playing cartoons. I could hear water splashing in the kitchen sink.
“What…”
Oli covered my eyes. “Go back to sleep.”
I shook him off. “Huh?”
“It’s nap time. Dad said.”
“Till I’m done with the dishes,” called Blake, from the kitchen.
I glanced at the mantel, at Dad’s old clock. It read five past one. I’d been napping an hour.
“You don’t have to clean,” I said. “You didn’t even eat lunch.”
Oli laughed. “Yeah, he did. He finished the pan.”
“Not all of it. I put yours in the fridge.” Blake came over and smiled down at us. “Anyway, I’m done. You guys still tired?”
Oli sat up. “Not me.”
“Me either,” I said. I did feel restored. I also felt kind of like I might be dreaming. Had Blake barging in made today better? Was he actually helping, not just in the way? When he told me he wanted to be Oli’s dad, I assumed he meant just for the fun parts, birthdays, playing catch. The odd fishing trip. Blake doing dishes… well, it wasn’t that strange. He’d always done most of ours when we’d been together.
“I wasn’t sure when his nap was.” Blake nodded at Oli. “But I read that a lot of moms nap when their kids do, so when I saw you sleeping, I thought it might be time.”
I blinked at him, dazed. “Yeah, about right. You’ve been reading up?”
“Uh-huh. A lot of the stuff I found’s mostly for babies, but I figured I might as well learn it all. You know, to catch up on all that I’ve missed.”
My heart gave a twinge at that. I’d done the same thing. When I’d come home from work and found Oli could read, I’d ordered three books on early learning, like somehow by knowing how his lessons went, I wouldn’t have missed all those little triumphs.
“Anyway,” said Blake. “You’ve got a chair wobbling.” He pointed at Dad’s chair, through in the kitchen. Its leg had been wobbling quite a while now. “I could fix that real quick, if you don’t mind.”
Oli perked up at that. “Can I help?”
“No, hon, it’s dangerous. Nails, and all that.”
Blake chuckled. “Actually, no nails, just a dab of wood glue. And maybe a helper, if that’s okay? To hold the leg steady while I set it in place?” He winked at me and I nodded. That sounded fine.
I hovered as Oli showed Blake where Dad kept the wood glue, and “helped” him pick out the finest sandpaper. I felt tight and nervous, and I wasn’t sure why. Oli was having the time of his life, rubbing sandpaper squares with the pad of his thumb.
“This one’s all rough,” he said. “Like when Gramps doesn’t shave.”
Blake touched his own chin. “Ouch. Touché.”
“What does touché mean?”
“It means I didn’t shave either, and you caught me out.” Blake handed him another square of sandpaper. “How about this one?”
Oli wrinkled his nose. “It feels used already. See, it’s all white.”
“You can still use it as long as it’s sandy.” Blake winked. “But you’re right. I think that’s too smooth.”
Oli went back to the first one. “I like how this feels.”
“That’s the same one,” I said. “The one from before.”
“It’s okay,” said Blake. “We’re not in a rush.”
It hit me then what was making me nervous — I’d been waiting for Blake to lose patience with toddler time. It didn’t match with how he was, all Army-scheduled. But now he was laying out all the sandpaper, arranging the squares from smoothest to roughest.
“Try this one,” he said. “It’s more of a grit feel. Too rough for us, but it feels kind of cool.”
Oli touched it and grinned. “Like a brick wall.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Blake took the sandpaper and tested it on the chair leg. “You’d use this if you wanted to leave a rough finish. Like, certain things won’t glue right if they’re too smooth.” This wasn’t toddler time, at least not for Blake. This was dad time. His shot with Oli.
“I think this one’s best.” Oli held up a square.
Blake took it and tested it. “Perfect. Great job.”
Oli glowed at the praise, and my heart leaped, then broke. Oli was lit up with pure adoration, enthralled with everything Blake said or did. Which was great here and now, with Blake home on leave. But soon he’d be gone again, and Oli would miss him, and he’d ask me why Blake couldn’t live here with us. Because he never would, would he? Live here with us?
I blinked back the sting of unwelcome tears. Blake was a visitor. A guest in our lives. A guest in Oli’s life, and a shadow over mine. A reminder of past mistakes, and no more than that.
I wouldn’t miss him. Not one little bit.