He shrugged. “Nah. I didn’t think I was gonna spend the night in Georgia. But I’ll manage. Don’t worry.”
She looked like she was about to argue, but all she said was “Okay. This way.” She led him to a small but beautiful room with an attached half-bath and sliding doors that opened into the backyard. “The boys get up early,” she warned. “So unless you want two wild seven-year-olds jumping on your bed in the morning, you best shut your door.” She pushed him toward the bathroom. “Go get ready for bed. I’ll come in and check on you in a few.”
He brushed his teeth with the new toothbrush she’d put out for him, washed his face, untucked his shirt, and slipped into bed. He fought sleep as he waited for her to return, inexplicably feeling a childlike anticipation at the thought. Just as his eyelids were closing, she came back in and sat at the foot of his bed. “What do you want for breakfast tomorrow? We have eggs, cereal—”
He shook his head ruefully, cutting her off. “I’m rethinking it. It’s best if I leave early. My campaign manager thinks I’ve gone rogue. I’ll just grab a coffee on the way.”
Even in the dark, he felt her stiffen with disappointment. “Okay,” she said briskly. “Whatever.”
He reached over and took her hand and squeezed it. “I wish I could stay longer. I feel like we hardly got to talk about you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I lead the world’s most boring life.” She sighed. “I love my life. But sometimes . . . being alone with the kids . . . it’s always nice to see old friends.”
They sat in the dark holding hands, and Anton felt a warmth start in his chest and make its way down into his belly and then, slowly, into that dangerous place. And Carine must have sensed it, because she pulled her hand away from his and got up. She bent over and kissed him on the forehead. “Good night, sweet boy,” she whispered. “What a terrible day you’ve had. Get some rest.”
Anton drifted off to sleep with a smile on his lips. Sweet boy. Only Carine could pull that off. She had called him sweet boy as if he were one of her kids. Or as if she were Juanita Vesper. They were lovely, these Georgia women. Warm, tender, as if they had been shaped by the loamy, rich southern soil that had nurtured them. He wanted to nestle in to them, cover himself with their richness, their blackness. And then the blackness was over him and he fell asleep, Georgia on his mind.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
He opened his eyes the next morning and found himself looking into the dark brown eyes of a solemn boy sitting next to him on the bed. “Well, hello,” he said, but the boy didn’t respond and kept looking into his face as if trying to memorize it. In that short time, with the sun pouring into the small room and the boy’s upturned face still as the moon, Anton felt transported into a different dimension of time and space. This boy could’ve been his son, he thought, if he hadn’t broken up with Carine. This sweet, serious face could’ve belonged to his child, and there could’ve been countless Saturday mornings of waking up to such exquisite sweetness. If this had been his routine on weekends, he could’ve kissed the boy without asking permission, could’ve cupped that light brown face with his large hand and felt the pride and pleasure in the simple gesture. He shut his eyes for a moment to imagine this, but what he saw, improbably, was Juanita’s face, beaming with pride as she looked upon her grandchildren. He hurriedly opened them again, smiled at the face next to his, and said, “What’s your name?”
“Shay.”
“Hi, Shay. Where’s your brother?”
The boy looked at him shyly. “I don’t know,” he said.
Anton tossed off the covers. “Let’s go find out, shall we?” He slipped out of bed, glanced at his watch, and groaned when he realized the time. So much for good intentions. He was obviously going to get off to a later start than he’d planned, and would have to deal with Bradley’s wrath. But first he had to turn his attention back to the boy, who was asking him something. “What’s that, buddy?” he said.
“Are you Santa Claus?” the boy repeated.
“Am I—what?” Anton let out a guffaw. “Why . . . what makes you think that?”
The boy cocked his head. “Ralph said you came down the chimney.”
“Ralph’s your brother?”
“Yeah.”
Anton tousled Shay’s hair. “Let’s go ask him, then.”
They found Ralph in the kitchen with Carine, who was making pancakes. “Ho, ho, ho,” Anton said as he walked in, and Carine raised her eyebrows.
He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s an inside joke.” He bent from the waist to shake hands with Ralph, who hid behind Carine. “You been a good boy, Ralph?”
Carine shot him a puzzled look and then gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Good morning. I didn’t know whether to wake you up or not. You were sleeping so soundly that I didn’t have the heart.”
He made a rueful face. “Can’t remember the last time I slept in. The weather here is messing with me.”
“This place is in your blood, boy, it’s in your blood.” Carine smiled as she brushed past him to open the refrigerator. “You hungry?” she asked.
He was. Ravenously hungry. The two boys watched in fascination as he ate the two fried eggs and three pancakes on his plate and then drank a tall glass of orange juice. Carine nibbled on some toast, a bemused look on her face. “You’re right,” she said. “Georgia agrees with you.”
“I figured since I’m Santa, I got to be fat,” he said, winking at the boys.
Carine looked from one to the other. “What’re you talking about?”
“Oh, it’s our secret,” he said. “Right?”
The twins shuffled in their seats and giggled. “You’re not Santa,” Ralph drawled. “You’re Uncle Anton. And you’re nice.”
Anton laughed, but he felt a sting in his heart. Uncle Anton sounded so distant. Carine looked up. “So you gotta leave soon?”
He nodded and Shay squealed. “I don’t want him to,” he cried.
“Yeah. Me, neither. I want him to stay,” Ralph said.
“Hey, hey. Behave,” Carine said, wagging her finger at them. She turned toward him. “Sorry. They don’t usually act like this. I think they just miss their dad.”
“Don’t be. I’m flattered. They’re . . . they’re beautiful boys.”
“Thanks.” Carine spoke gently to the twins. “Uncle Anton lives far away. He needs to get home, kids. Maybe next summer we can go see him . . .”
“I want him to come see my play,” Shay screamed.
“Me, too,” Ralph wailed.
Anton frowned, looking at Carine. “What play?”
She shrugged dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a local theater group they’re in. They have a performance this evening.”
“I’m a lollipop,” Shay yelled.
“And I’m a cheese.”
Anton had never felt the joy of having children fight over him; even the knowledge that they simply saw him as a substitute for their father didn’t diminish his pleasure. He wanted to spend some more time with these kids. Carine’s children.