I’ll tell Mom and Dad I love them as soon as they come downstairs.
I go into the kitchen, and Shadow trots next to me. Through the window of the back door, I see Jonah outside. He’s over by the fence, bending down and pointing to something on the ground, telling the monkey something—probably something about bugs. He reaches down and picks something up. Gross. I do not like bugs, not any kind, except for ladybugs. Ladybugs are beast. They’re pretty and Aunt Ruth says if one lands on you, it’s good luck. Last year, Carlee and I spent every recess in March searching the field for ladybugs. We didn’t do it this year because Ava thinks it’s totally immature.
I’m not going out there to apologize, especially not if he’s holding some icky spider or worm. Forget that. I’ll just wait for him to come back inside, but I’m not going to apologize until after he washes his hands, because I know when I say I’m sorry, he’s going to want to hug me and stuff.
I go to the pantry and pull out my cereal, then grab a bowl from the cupboard. Jonah is creeping along the grass now, and I really hope he watches out for Shadow poop. Mom usually picks it up first thing in the morning so the grass is okay for playing on, but she’s still asleep, so there must be some poops out there. Mom and Dad offered to pay me to pick up the poop, add it to my allowance. Fifty cents a pile. Shadow poops a lot, which means I could totally be rich by summer, but I told Mom and Dad not on your life, no way, not gonna happen. I wouldn’t even do it for a dollar a poop.
Thinking about Shadow’s poop makes me not really hungry anymore, so I set the bowl and cereal box on the counter and wander to the back door. I open it and watch for a minute while Jonah crab walks across the grass, hunched over and staring at the ground.
“Be careful of Shadow poop,” I call to him. He looks up at me and smiles real big.
“Hi, Eden! Happy first day of vacation! Marco and me are finding bugs. Wanna hunt with us?”
Like, not a chance. “No, thanks. I’m gonna watch Young Justice. Want to watch with me?”
He scrunches up his nose like he’s thinking about it, but then shakes his head. “I’m gonna keep hunting. But thanks for asking, Eden.”
I almost apologize to him right then and there. I probably should, but I know he’ll just run over and touch me with his skody bug hands. Shudder.
I go back inside and head into the living room. Shadow is looking out the window again and whining. His tail thwap-thwaps against the back of the couch. I grab the remote from the coffee table and fall back onto the couch cushions, then turn on the TV.
I hear laughter from upstairs. Mom and Dad must be awake. I quickly turn the TV back off. We’re allowed to watch TV on Saturday mornings and on vacation mornings—another double rule, but never before we eat breakfast. I jump up and run into the kitchen, pour some cereal into my bowl, add milk, then scarf it down as fast as I can without choking.
Back on the couch, I turn the TV back on and find Young Justice on Netflix.
By the time the show is over, Mom and Dad still haven’t come downstairs. I didn’t need to scarf my cereal down after all.
I start another show.
SIXTY-FOUR
SAMUEL
I lie awake half the night, alternating between self-flagellation and self-congratulation. Flagellation for the obvious reasons and congratulation for not letting the situation with Greta go any further.
When I dropped her at her car last night, she stood there, waiting for me to alight from the driver’s seat. Possibly she expected a good-night kiss, or a hug, or some other form of intimacy. I stayed where I was, anxious to put my foot on the accelerator and get myself home. Greta gave me a puzzled look, then glanced back at our building, and I could see the wheels spinning in her brain. She assumed my inertia was because I didn’t want to be caught in a suspicious embrace by someone still at work. It was too late in the evening for that to be a possibility, but I let her think her assumption was correct.
Another thing that kept me awake was knowing I need to talk to Greta. Sooner rather than later. Staring at the darkened ceiling, with my wife asleep beside me, I tried to come up with a script for what I would say to her. Nothing sounded right in my head.
I finally succumbed to sleep sometime after three. My dreams were vivid and loud, the scenery and secondary characters constantly changing. But when I woke at six, I couldn’t remember a single detail from any of them.
I awaken again at 7:59. I roll over and gaze at Rachel. She sleeps on her side, facing me. Her reddish curls cascade around her face and stream across her pillow. Her lips are parted, and she creates a soft whistle as she slowly, rhythmically breathes in and out. Her expression is peaceful, her skin ivory with little splashes of rosiness across her cheekbones. She has never looked more beautiful to me, nor more precious.
Watching Rachel sleep, I chide myself again. Then make promises that will not be difficult to keep.
I will be good to you, Rachel. I will never hurt you, Rachel. I will cherish you and Eden and Jonah. You and the kids are my life.
I think these things, rather than give them voice, but Rachel stirs as though she can hear me. Her eyelids flutter open, close, open again. A lazy smile spreads across her face.
“Watching me sleep?” Her voice is low, raspy with the remnants of sleep. Sexy as hell.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Stalker,” she singsongs in a throaty whisper.
I smile at her. Reach for her. “I love that nightie.”
“I know.” She scoots toward me, then turns and nestles against me, her head in the crook of my arm, her back against my chest. “Mmm. You feel good.”
I reach my hand around her waist and pull her even closer. “You, too.” I trail my fingertips across the soft cotton of the nightie, lingering over the generous swell of her breasts. Instantly, I’m hard. Rachel laughs.
“Wow. You really do like this nightie.”
“I’d like it better if it was on the floor.”
She laughs again. “Romantic.”
I cup her chin in my hand and turn her head toward me, then close my mouth over hers. She tries to shrink away from me. “My breath.”
“No worse than mine,” I murmur.
She places her hand on my chest to still me. “Let me brush. I promise, I’ll be right back.”
I throw back my head. “Oh, fine. I guess I’ll brush, too.”
Rachel throws off the covers and climbs out of bed. I follow her to the bathroom. My dick is standing at attention, creating a tent of my boxer shorts. She sees my erection in the mirror and laughs. I feign shock and shake my head.
“You’re never supposed to laugh at that.” She laughs harder and I drink in the sound, then laugh along with her. I realize we haven’t laughed together like this in a long time.
We brush quickly, Rachel’s gaze rarely leaving my crotch. “Don’t worry,” I assure her. “He’s not going anywhere.”