Mud.
The memory resurfaces, and all I can think about now is Devon. I’m unsure if what I saw on his blanket was actually there, but I do know one thing: I can’t afford to take chances where my son’s safety is concerned. Someone could still be in the house and trying to harm him.
I rush toward the stairs.
On the way up, my mind shoots into rewind, still trying to track the evening’s events. Then I wonder why Jenna didn’t come down to wake me.
Because you scared her, you idiot, this new voice tells me, and put the fear of God in your son.
I try with all my might to ignore the voice and climb the steps faster.
I’m not an idiot, but I am an ass, and my behavior at dinner was deplorable. I know this, not only because of the horror I saw emanating from my wife but also because, during all our years of marriage, she’s never gone to bed angry at me. I’ll make it up to her, but first I need to see my son. Make sure he’s safe and take care of what I’d set out to do earlier—or what I think I did, before my mind decided to skip through time.
The instant I enter Devon’s room, my vision zooms to his covers. Though it’s dark, there’s enough moonlight through the window to see there is no mud on his blanket.
Another hallucination. Another sign of trouble.
Jake is lying on the floor.
Of course he is.
I send the thought packing and focus on Devon, lying in peaceful sleep. I lean over and kiss his forehead, still fearful that I may inexplicably find myself back downstairs.
Devon responds with a gentle stir and tries to narrow his focus on me.
“I love you, kiddo,” I whisper, “and I’m very sorry for getting upset earlier. It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”
He gives me an eyes-half-closed smile that, while shrouded in sleepy fog, tells me he’s already moved past it. That all is well. Seeing him this way leaves me tongue-tied. It’s as if the earlier incident never happened, as if he’s pulled some giant lever, putting our turbulent world into reset. This amazing child finds forgiveness so easily, is so secure in his love.
“It’s okay, Daddy,” he says, voice weakened by sleep. “It was just an accident, that’s all.”
I run my hand over his head, watch him surrender to repose.
And I smile—I can’t help it—because despite what I’ve been through tonight, despite everything, I still have him. Right at this moment, that seems like more than enough.
I take an extra few seconds to enjoy the comfort of that feeling, then head for the door.
“Daddy?”
I turn back.
“I want you to be okay now,” Devon says.
I’m not sure whether he’s talking about the accident or my outburst downstairs, and I’m afraid to ask, so I simply say, “Me too, buddy . . . Me too.”
He slips away again, the only sound now, his soft and easy breaths falling into a tranquil, sleepy rhythm.
I move toward our bedroom, the weight of information overload heavy on my mind. So much happening, so much of it I don’t understand.
I want you to be okay now.
If only it were that easy.
Just an accident.
There have been a lot of those lately.
Joining Jenna in bed, I wrap myself around her and take in her scent. The warmth of my wife’s body feels like a needed layer of comfort. She stirs, and in a whisper I say, “I’m sorry for tonight, sweetheart. I was wrong, and I’m . . . well . . . I’m just so sorry.”
Moving into my arms, covering my hand with hers, she looks up at me. Through the dim light, I see forgiveness in her half-awake smile. I bury my head in her shoulder, feel her body flex and relax into the contour of my arm. I become one with her.
And there you have it. Why each day, without fail, and with astounding strength, I find more reasons to love my wife in ways no words could come close to describing.
I kiss her lips, and she reciprocates, and in this moment, we are again good. No, we’re better than good.
We are amazing.
26
Just a few feet into the hospital parking lot, something yanks at my nerves. At first, I’m unable to peg it, then I pull into my space and feel a peculiar sense of absence.
I look out my window at more empty parking spots than I’ve ever seen before.
Odd.
At least for this time of day, it is. Thinking I’ve perhaps arrived a bit earlier than usual, I check my watch, but I’m actually a few minutes late. I peruse the lot once more, then get out of my car and hurry toward the building.
Inside, I head directly for Adam’s office.
“Got a minute?” I say, my steps unsteady as I enter.
He looks up at me from the screen and abruptly closes a red folder on his desk. “Sure, pull up a seat.”
Eyeing the folder, I lower myself to the chair and try to think for a moment before speaking.
“I need your help,” I say.
“Done. What’s up?”
I drop my gaze, fuss with my hands, then look up at him. “I wasn’t going to involve you in this, but you’re the only person I can trust.”
Adam’s lids flutter with one part apprehension, one part concern. He leans forward and gives me his full attention.
“What we talked about yesterday—my edginess over the accident—it’s all true, but there’s a little more to this. I’ve got some concerns about my head injury. There have been other symptoms. I didn’t mention them yesterday, because they seemed to be going away, then last night . . .”