5. Derek
DEREK
After my Saturday-night shift, I head to my sister’s home, crashing on her couch as quietly as I can, hoping this temporary living situation doesn’t last much longer.
I love my sis, and she’s the only reason I’m in Lucky Falls.
But she has three kids, including an infant, and I cannot handle sleeping on a couch much longer.
My greatest love, besides family, is a fancy-ass mattress, the kind that’s smart enough to conform to your body. I slept on one once in a hotel, and it was heavenly.
This couch? It’s hell on my back, and my back is kind of important to my job.
I toss and turn, trying to get comfortable, searching for a position that won’t radiate pain down my neck. Somehow I find one, then drift into the land of Nod.
But not for long.
At three in the morning, a shriek awakens me. I bolt upright and head for the baby’s room.
My sister, Jodie, is right behind me, rubbing her eyes.
“I got it,” I tell her as I scoop up little Devon.
My sister yawns canyon-wide. “No, I’ll take care of her.”
But I give Jodie the heave-ho, shaking my head.
“It’ll be my pleasure.” I know how hard it is for her, with her husband overseas for a year, a first grader, a four-year-old, and an infant.
Our parents are gone, and that’s why I’m here.
We’re close, and I want to do what I can for her, especially when she needs it most.
“You’ve got a crazy day at the farmers market tomorrow. Your bread waits for no one. Get some sleep.”
“Are you sure?”
I pat the baby’s shoulder. “Please. I’ll take care of this perfect little angel.”
“I’ll find you a place soon, Derek. I promise.”
“I know, I know. I’ve asked around at work too. Got a few leads. Finding a rental in this fancy town is harder than differential calculus.”
“Fortunately, you were good at math.”
I smile, send Jodie back to bed, and warm up a bottle as Devon grabs my finger. “You’re going to be fine, sweet pea. I’ve got your favorite drink right here.”
Devon cries again, but it’s softened to a mere whimper. She knows the food is coming. I rub my forehead against hers. “I promise. Would Uncle Derek lie to you?”
She coos at me and grabs my beard with her chubby fingers.
I bring her to the couch, give her the bottle, and pop the new Stephen King book open on my phone as my little niece sucks down her food.
When I wake at the crack of dawn, I have a wicked crick in my neck.
“Morning,” my sister says, cheery as can be as she heads into the kitchen, tucking her brown hair into a neat bun. Molly, her four-year-old, follows behind, hopping like a frog.
“ Ribbit, ribbit , Uncle Derek,” Molly says, jumping her way to the kitchen.
“Morning.” I pull the covers back over my head as dark-haired Travis bounds down the stairs and into the room.
“Hey, Derek,” says the six-year-old with the gap-toothed grin. “Want to go play basketball?”
“Travis, give him a break,” Jodie calls out to her son.
“Later for basketball, okay, buddy?”
“Okay,” he says, seeming a little sad we’re not playing now, and a little happy we’ll do so later.
I hear Jodie start a pot of coffee. She returns to the living room and bends over the couch. “Thanks for helping last night. You’re a godsend. By the way, have I ever mentioned that a local cop works the face-painting booth at the market?”
I sit up straight, my thoughts zip-lining to one particular officer of the law. “Why are you telling me this?”
She wiggles an eyebrow. “She’s just your type.”
I throw off the covers, get in the shower, and head to the market.