Thirty-Three
ZAK
It’s a stupidly close game. We’ve been on the edge of our seats for the past two hours. Dallas scores one, then Tampa matches it. Dallas scores a second, Tampa matches it. Leaving it tied at the end of the second period.
We’re not cheering for Dallas because we’re particularly big Dallas fans or because we lost to Tampa last week. We’re cheering for Dallas because Tampa Bay has a bunch of douchebags playing for them.
“I’m going to lose my mind if Tampa wins,” Linden says with a huff as he falls back onto the couch beside me.
“Something tells me we’re going to be very disappointed with this championship,” Menlo says.
He’s not just talking about today’s game. Sometimes karma kicks assholes in the balls like they deserve. But sometimes the universe is just cruel and lets those assholes get ahead. Menlo’s right. I share the same feeling he does.
I’m grateful when Zak’s call interrupts us from this discussion. I’m always happy to hear from him but extra happy at this very moment. We spoke right before the game started, so I’m expecting him to be calling with more doubt.
“I’m not leaving you,” I say by way of greeting.
“Clarinda’s baby brother is crying and won’t stop. Now the twins are crying. Danielle is freaking out. We’re still three hours away,” Zak says.
I have zero experience with kids outside of my nieces and nephew. Even them, I only see on occasion for a handful of hours at a time and never without their parents. But the desperation in Zak’s voice has me answering, “I’m not sure what I can do, but I’ll see. Text me the address, sunshine.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Anything you need,” I say and hang up. While I mean that and it fills me with excitement that he called me when he needed something, I really have no idea what to do with this.
“What happened?” Menlo asks.
The text comes through my phone, and I head for the door. “I’m apparently going to see what I can do to get some babies to stop crying.”
Menlo and Linden exchange looks before Linden jumps off the couch. “Can we help? It’s gotta be better than watching this game.”
“You say that, but have you ever been around screaming kids?” I ask. I haven’t. The idea makes me shudder.
Linden rolls his eyes. “I have three sisters. I know what screaming kids are all about.”
“Let’s go,” I say. Three crying kids and three adults. That should be good odds, right?
We take my car and I navigate to the apartment. It’s really nice with off-street parking and everything. I’m very impressed.
As soon as we get close to the door, I hear the wails. Honestly, it sounds like there’s about eight kids in there crying. Despite my determination, my feet slow.
“You know, I said I’m familiar with screaming kids. I didn’t say I know how to make them stop screaming,” Linden says.
With a sigh, I knock on the door.
A frazzled Danielle opens it with her phone to her ear. Her eyes are red and moist, filled with unshed tears. Her skin is mottled, her lip trembling. I pat her shoulder as I move inside.
I’ve met these kids recently. Very recently. Auntie Faith brought the entire crew to Montreal to watch my team play in the Conference finals. But we are still very new to each other.
The heavy stench of vomit meets my nose and I almost gag. There’s obviously been an attempt at cleaning it up because I can also smell disinfectant. Danielle’s practically hyperventilating next to me as I stand in the door of the living room with the three screaming kids.
Logan’s on the floor, looking like a wreck.
It’s clear that he’s been crying for a very long time by the way his breaths halt and hiccup.
His eyes are dry, but his face is tear stained.
The twins are close by, gripping each other and crying in this high-pitched wail that only bats should be able to hear, and Dusty’s only in his underwear.
Dante’s in the corner, his back to the wall, and his hands pressed over his ears. There’s panic in his eyes. Desperation. He’s afraid. I don’t see Janessa anywhere.
Taking a breath, I step into the room and crouch down beside Logan, offering him my hands. He looks at me, trying to catch his breath, and reaches out. So I plop my ass on the floor and take him into my arms.
He’s a drooling, snotty, teary mess as he presses his face to my chest. I rub his back, shhhing and rocking him.
It takes a minute, and it’s a true fucking struggle for him to catch his breath, but his sobbing slows.
Quiets. Eventually, it stops entirely, though he’s still hiccupping around his uneven breaths.
The next thing I know, the twins are climbing on my lap with him, wrapping around Logan and pressing into my shoulders. I hug all three of them tightly, making sure they know that they’re okay now.
When I look up, Danielle has her phone squeezed tightly between her hands. “You okay?” I ask her.
She nods, but I think that’s a complete lie.
“Where’s Janessa?” I ask.
Danielle looks around, sniffing as she tries to keep herself together. Janessa isn’t in the living room. That’s clear. When Danielle realizes this, more panic surges through her and she spins around.
“Easy, Danny,” I say. “Check her room.”
Danielle sucks in her breath, holding it, and nods. “Okay.” She turns down the hall and I turn my attention to Dante. “You okay, buddy?”
Dante nods. “My head hurts,” he says.
I look at Menlo. “Want to see if you can find anything in the bathroom? Wet cloths? See what they have for children’s pain reliever?” Is that even a thing? “Linden, want to see what you can find in the kitchen for drinks? I think they’re all probably a little dehydrated.”
My teammates leave the room. I continue to rock the kids, keeping my hands moving reassuringly on their backs. “What happened, Dusty? Can you tell me?”
He shakes his head without picking up his hand.
I don’t blame him for not having an answer.
It’s entirely possible that he doesn’t know.
Four-year-olds aren’t old enough to truly process their emotions yet or necessarily understand why they feel a certain way.
By the sounds of it, they were crying because Logan was crying.
I’ve never seen Logan talk. The times I’ve seen him, he’s always had a binky in his mouth and quietly observes everything happening around him. Even if he knows why he was crying, there’s a big chance that he won’t be able to communicate to me what that is.
So I don’t ask again. I just hold them, comfort them. Give them what they need right now.
Menlo returns with some damp cloths and crouches on the floor next to me. The wild look in his eyes suggests he isn’t at all familiar with kids and he’s reached the end of his helpfulness right here.
Dante joins us and gently pulls Misty back a little. He takes a cloth and wipes her face gently. Misty lets him without so much as a whimper. With a new cloth, he cleans Dusty next. Then we all work together to shift Logan and clean his face.
His shirt is wet. Pretty much covered in drool and snot.
“I’ll get a clean shirt,” Dante says. “And bring you some clothes, Dusty. Want to wear dinosaurs?”
Dusty nods as the three littles snuggle back into my chest. Linden returns as Dante leaves. “There are bottles and sippy cups, so I brought three of each,” he says. “I don’t remember which age they get what.”
“I don’t think it’s age specific as much as it is household,” I tell him.
Linden offers all six options to the kids. It makes Misty laugh and she looks up at him with bashful eyes. She points to one sippy and then to Dusty. The second sippy she points to Logan. And the third she points to herself.
They rearrange themselves on my lap so they can all drink.
“I might drink the bottle,” Linden says, which makes all the kids look his way.
Dusty grins around the top of the sippy. It comes out of his mouth with a pop. “Do it.”
“Is that a challenge?” Linden asks.
Dusty nods.
“All right. But for the record, I was challenged,” Linden says as he brings a bottle to his mouth, setting all three kids into giggling.
This is what the three remaining siblings walk in on. Janessa looks absolutely mortified. The way Danielle blinks at Linden, I think she is confused and convinced that perhaps this entire thing has made her hallucinate. Dante just shakes his head as he moves into the room.
He helps Dusty get dressed and then changes Logan’s shirt. When the kids are put back together, we’re all watching Linden drink the three bottles. Menlo has them pumping their hands in the air and chanting, chug, chug, chug. Though Logan isn’t chanting, he’s fisting the air like his siblings.
I think of taking a picture for Zak so he can show Clarinda that they’re fine now.
But I’m distracted when Janessa practically trips over something on the floor but somehow manages to stay on her feet.
She ends in a pose that reminds me of gymnastics.
Am I going to fall on my face? Nope. I got this. Raise hands and cheer—I did it!
“Ooh,” Linden says as he looks around the room. “I have an idea. How about we make an obstacle course?!”
The twins immediately perk up. Both Janessa and Dante grin as they look at each other.
“I’m suddenly a little terrified,” I say.
“No, it’ll be great. Come on, munchkins. Let’s gather obstacles!” Linden says as he jumps to his feet.
Danielle looks at me warily. “Don’t worry. He’s the adult now. He’ll be the one in trouble. You’re off the clock, Danny. You did good.”
She huffs. “No, I didn’t.”
Menlo stands and wraps his arm around her shoulders, causing her cheeks to flush bright red.
“It’s hard being responsible for other living people.
You never know if you’re doing the right thing.
Never knowing if it’s good enough. It’s very easy to feel like you failed.
But look around you, honey. They’re alive and unharmed. That’s the biggest hurdle of them all.”
“That’s awfully insightful for an only child,” I say.
Menlo rolls his eyes. A peel of laughter reaches us from down the hall and Menlo gives me a bemused look. “He’s a child himself. Trust me, I often question whether or not I’m raising him right.”
Danielle cracks a smile as I laugh.
* * *
“Go, Dusty, go!” Dante cries.
Dusty is currently jumping, both feet together, into rings. Landing without touching the sides. Swaying and catching his balance, he then jumps into the next. Once he makes it past the rings, he slithers on his stomach under the coffee table, trying to keep from touching it.
He jumps up and picks up a bottle, chugging down the water.
Linden cackles at this most brilliant idea of his. I shake my head as Logan squeals in my arms, pointing at his brother.
“Yesss!” Misty says, jumping up and down. “Go, Dusty!”
Dusty finishes the bottle and moves to the next challenge.
Danielle is manning the next station, making sure Dusty doesn’t get hurt as he moves through the rope web.
The goal is to get from one side of the section to the other without touching the rope.
Of course, no one actually calls attention to the moments when he does.
We have six tall chairs from the dining room table lined up, their backs alternating directions. Their seats are touching, the legs having been tied with pillowcases to hold them together. On top is one of those tubes that they use in dog agility.
Apparently they’re also used for kid stuff.
Dusty climbs up the rungs as Janessa quickly moves a cushion from the couch behind him in case he loses his grip and falls back; while Linden and Menlo grip the chairs, holding them steady.
It isn’t long before Dusty makes his way inside the tube and his sisters are screaming at him, cheering him on.
The entire living room is set up in this fashion.
The obstacle course pours into the dining room and then around the kitchen—being mindful of the appliances, of course.
There are cushion chairs, pillow puddles, rope webs, solo cup hurdles, toys to ride on or throw in a bucket…
Basically, if Linden could think of a way to make something work and there was space to do it, he did.
The more ridiculous, the more excited the kids got.
This is the scene that Zak and his friends walk in on. Actually, the exact moment is Dusty tumbling out of the tube and onto the ramp of cushions as he laughs madly.
The newcomers aren’t noticed by anyone but me. I smile at their shocked faces as they take in the entire apartment. Yep, we made a mess. But no one is crying. In my opinion, that’s a worthwhile tradeoff.
Zak looks up, his eyes scanning the room until he spots me. I still have Logan cuddled in my arms. He’s got his binky back in his mouth as he watches his brother move through the obstacle course. I raise a brow, giving him a smile.
He shakes his head, a grin crossing his face.
The four friends remain where they are as they wait for Dusty to get through the course. His twin is waiting for him at the finish line, screaming her head off that he’s winning. He’s almost there. Go, Dusty, go.
They tumble to the ground in a tight embrace when Dusty makes it to her.
And then the entire room celebrates. This is when the siblings notice Clarinda is back home.
They all clamber to her and wrap their arms around her tightly.
Logan climbs down from my lap and picks his way through the room carefully until he can reach his sister, too.
“This isn’t what I thought I was coming home to,” Clarinda says.
“Don’t worry. We’ll pick it all up when we’re done,” Linden says.
“Can we still play?” Janessa asks.
Clarinda nods. “Yep.”
The kids turn back and decide who will go next.
Danielle didn’t run to her older sister like the younger kids did. She remained in the chair she’d been sitting in. She still looks a bit blotchy and probably still severely traumatized by the whole ordeal.
Clarinda moves along the side of the room so she’s not disturbing the mess we’ve made of her new place. She reaches her sister just as Zak does me. I take him in my arms and together we watch the siblings.
“I’m proud of you,” Clarinda says, pulling her sister in for a hug.
Danielle’s eyes close as she clings to Clarinda. I think she needs more hugs. The way she holds onto Clarinda tightly says that she’s affection starved. The thought makes me hug Zak a little tighter.
“Thank you,” Zak whispers.
I turn my attention to him. His dark eyes sparkle as he looks at me. I kiss his nose. “When are you going to listen to me, sunshine? Anything you need, it’s yours.”
He sighs. “I love you. So. So. Much.”
Leaning my head on his, we turn our attention back to the obstacle course. It’s Janessa’s turn.