? ? ?
A noise woke me, and I sat up quickly. Waited in the silent dark. Had I actually heard something? Or was the dull thud part of a dream? My mind was cloudy and my head hurt a little, probably from such an abrupt waking. I waited, scratching my beard and stifling a yawn. Then I heard it again. It was coming from downstairs, most likely Scotty trying to get a snack in the kitchen. He did that sometimes in the middle of the night. I picked up my phone to check the time—just after four. I bet Jillian is sound asleep. For a moment, I pictured her in bed, her skin warm and soft under the blankets, and imagined what it would be like to roll over at four in the morning and throw an arm around her slim waist. Pull her closer. Breathe in the scent of her hair.
Get hard against her ass.
Thump.
Sighing, I stood up and headed down the hall, where a nightlight kept the stairs well lit. They creaked as I went down, and the house felt a little chilly, the wood floors cool under my bare feet. We’d had a warm September, but soon I’d have to turn the heat on at night.
I went to the kitchen, where all the lights were on and Scotty was opening and closing cupboards. I figured he was looking for his cereal bowl, since the box of Fruity Pebbles was already out on the counter.
“Hey, buddy,” I said.
“Do you want some cereal?” He meant that he wanted cereal. Pronouns still gave him trouble, and although his language and communication skills had improved a ton with therapy, he often repeated questions he’d heard asked before. Almost like he had scripts he recalled in certain situations when he couldn’t find the right words to ask the question or make the statement he wanted.
“It’s not time yet.”
He ignored me and went on looking for his bowl, the dinosaur one he likes to use at breakfast. It was probably in the dishwasher, but I didn’t want to tell him that. When he’d finished looking in all the cupboards he could reach, he stood still and fidgeted, facing away from me. “Let’s have breakfast right now.”
“Hey.” I went over and hugged him from behind, hoping to head off his frustration. “It’s only four in the morning, so we’re not having breakfast yet, OK? We’ll find the bowl at breakfast time. Come back upstairs with me.”
“But I woke up, and after I have breakfast and get dressed, I can play on the iPad before church.” He pointed at the fridge.
I laughed a little. Pinned to the fridge with a Detroit Tigers magnet was the Sunday chart with a symbol for each thing Scotty would do today. Once each thing was done, he’d move the little symbol, which was Velcro-ed to the chart, over to the column that said Done. If he got through three things on the chart without hassle, he got fifteen minutes of free iPad time. “That is the order of things, you’re right. But look at the time. That order needs to start around seven in order for Dad to be sane. Let’s go back upstairs now.”
He let me lead him up the stairs, and I could almost taste the victory of a couple more hours of sleep, but he fussed when I tried to go back into his room, glancing down the hall like he might try to make a run for it.
“It’s not time to wake up yet, Scotty,” I said firmly.
“But you’re dressed.” He pointed to my clothes—the wrinkled, unbuttoned white shirt and rumpled black pants I’d fallen asleep in.
“Not really, bud. This is what I wore to the wedding last night.”
“You slept in your clothes?” A hint of a smile.
“I guess I did.”
“I want my iPad.”
I sighed, exhaustion weighing down my bones. “How about if I lie down with you in your bed?” In my head I could hear my mother telling me this sent a confusing message. Either you want him to follow the rules on his own or you don’t. She was probably right, but sometimes I just needed to buy myself a little more rest. Scotty loved to be close to me, and usually fell asleep right away if I lay next to him.
He considered it while he twirled a hand in his hair. “OK. Yes.”
We both climbed into his double bed, me on my right side and Scotty on his left. Immediately he reached over and started to play with my earlobe, almost like it was a security blanket. He’s done it ever since he was a baby, and his therapist says it probably calms him, quiets his mind so he can relax. But sometimes he even does it during the day while he’s playing—he’ll just run over to me while I’m working at the table or folding laundry or cooking dinner and rub it for a few seconds, and then take off again. Those times make me laugh, which he loves, so maybe he’s doing it for me as much as for himself. But in my heart I think it’s his way of telling me he loves me and feels safe and happy. Those moments are gold to me.