Chapter lvii
lvii
I WAS HOME THE NEXT WEEK WITH THE KIDS. IT was their spring break, and, in an attempt to make things better, I took the week off from work and told the kids we could do a series of adventure days for the days school was closed. That Sunday night, I asked all three kids to come up with two adventures the family could do together that were either in the city or within two hours of our house, preferably by train. We’d plan each adventure the night before.
“Do we have to?” Violet asked. “Can’t I just hang out with my friends?”
“You’ll still have hang-out time,” I said.
Violet rolled her eyes at me but took the pen and paper I offered her.
As they were writing, I pulled one of Liam’s baseball caps from the entry hall closet and told them to fold their papers in half and put them inside. I shook the hat, then picked a paper.
“For our first adventure, we will …” I said, then opened up the paper and read: “Go on one of those red bus tours that come with butterbeer.”
It was in Liam’s handwriting. “I’m going to need some help with this one,” I said to him.
He shrugged. “Clyde’s cousins came to visit from Ohio, and they went on one of those, and he said the butterbeer was really good. And the tour guide was kind of funny.”
“Got it,” I said, and googled red bus tour butterbeer . Amazingly, one came up right away, and I bought us tickets for the next day. “We’ll plan to leave at ten A.M.,” I said, “so you’ll all have time to sleep in. And everyone can stay up half an hour later tonight before lights out.”
“Cool,” Sammy said, then headed upstairs to get ready. “Li, will you tell me about the tour? Should I bring my sketchbook?”
Liam followed, giving him info, and Violet slumped up after that.
I wished I had another adult with me. Dax, actually. I wished I had Dax with me, to help figure out these kids, to be my support. To go with me on adventures.
Miss you , I texted.
Miss you too , he texted back. You in bed yet?
Soon , I wrote back.
I’ll save Connections for you , he answered.
When I was at his place, we’d started doing the New York Times games together: Wordle, Spelling Bee, and— my personal favorite—Connections.
I went upstairs and saw that all the kids’ doors were closed. I could hear the murmur of one side of a conversation behind Violet’s door, sticks on a drum pad behind Liam’s, and nothing behind Sam’s. He was either drawing or reading. Or he had fallen asleep. I checked my phone for the time—still an hour before I had to tell him lights out.
I got into my own pajamas, brushed my teeth and washed my face, then shut my door and took out my phone. I pulled up Connections and then called Dax.
“Hey,” I said, “it’s me. What’ve you got?”
“Hey, me,” he said, and I laughed. “Okay, so cabbage, lettuce, pin, and state all have heads.”
I looked at the words. “Wait,” I said. “Pimple has a head, too. How about state, country, city, town. And put pimple in the other category.”
“Okay, I’m giving it a try,” he said.
I heard the ping over the phone that meant we’d gotten it right. “Yes!” I said, before relaxing farther back into my pillows, the stress of the day and the kids and the week ahead disappearing now that I was on the phone with Dax.
“How’s work been?” I asked.
“It’s been good,” he said, “Nice to get to know new colleagues. And to be at a new hospital that isn’t all tied up with memories of the pandemic—and of Zac. It was the right decision to start over somewhere new. What do you think about line, hive, sting—all have to do with bees. But what’s the fourth?”
I looked at the words. “Knees!” I said. “Bee’s knees!”
“No way,” he replied. “That’s not a thing.”
“Totally a thing,” I said. “When something is the bee’s knees, it’s the best.” I took a breath. “Like you. You’re the bee’s knees.”
“I’m googling,” he replied.
I waited. I knew I was right.
“Huh,” he said. “Well, I guess you’re the bee’s knees, too.”
I laughed. And then heard his Connections ping.
“We solved it,” he said. “Just putting jaws, dune, alien, and frozen in this last category. What in the world do those have in common?”
I thought for a moment. “One-word movie titles!”
“Ooh, you really are the bee’s knees, Lucy,” he said. “Gold star for you.”
“I’d rather collect a different prize,” I said, thinking about his hands on my body, his lips on my mouth.
“This week is going to feel so long without you,” he said.
“I know.” I was falling for him—fast, hard, and deep—and it seemed like he was doing the same. “Let’s make a really good plan for next Tuesday night,” I said. Spring break meant I had extra time with the kids before our handoff.
“Deal,” he said. “I’ll come up with some ideas. But for now, I should probably go to sleep. My shift starts at six A.M. tomorrow.”
“Good night,” I said, “and sweet dreams.”
“Thank you,” he said. “You too.”
We were both quiet, and then he added, “I miss you, Lucy. I really, really miss you.”
“I miss you too,” I said.
We both hung up and I felt the emptiness of my bed more acutely than I ever had.