“And?” Jon held up a Barbie doll, an incredulous glint in his eye.“What happened after that?”
“Tess came over,” shereplied, like it was the most obvious answer. Her eyes darted to mine, to uttera silentduh, and I hit her with mybestlisten to your dadglare.
“Tess comes over everyday,” he retorted exhaustedly, tossing the Barbie into the girls’ room.
“She’s adis-raction,”she explained. I half-expected Jon to say that she and her sisters should cleanup before doing anything else, but he didn’t. His eyes met mine, his infectioussmile stretching across his lips, and with his backpack and bag hanging fromhis arm, he came to me. “Yeah. Shekindais,” heuttered gruffly, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. I blushed, and Shelly giggled.
“Yougottago,” I said, pressing my hand to his arm. “You don’twant to be late.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”Henodded, andcalled to Lilly and Annabel. They ranfrom their room and he knelt before them. “Okay, ladies, listen up. I’m goingto be gone all day and I won’t be home until late tonight. So, even though it’sstill the morning, I need you to tell me you love me and tell me goodnightnow.” And they did, without question orcomplaint.
“Can we startThe Phantom Tollboothagain tomorrow?”Shelly asked him, settling against his chest as they hugged.
“You don’t want to readsomething else? I haveMr. Popper’sPenguins,The Lion, The Witch, andThe Wardrobe—”
She shook her head. “Iwant the princesses.”
“There are princessesin other books,” he reasoned, but she shook her head adamantly and said, “The Phantom Tollboothprincesses aresmart.”
“Just like you,” hemuttered and kissed her temple. “Okay. We’ll start reading it again tomorrow.”
He stood up and headedto the door when Lilly stopped him. “Wait! Daddy!” He turned and asked what waswrong, and she replied, “You have to say it to Tess.”
“Say what?” He cockedhis head, his gaze meeting mine with question.
“Tell her you love herand tell her goodnight.”
My lips fell open in asilent gasp as his throat bobbed incessantly. The girls looked on withexpectancy, smiling and waiting, and I found that I was, too. Waiting. Waitingfor him to confess the thing I’d been suspecting, to prove my writing to be,once again, prophetic.
He smiled and wasnearly timid as he said, “I love you, Tess.” He let it linger, let it settle,before adding, “Goodnight.”
But I couldn’t be surethat he meant it the way it felt. Maybe it was a friendly thing, or the way Iloved my grandmother, but my hand laid absentmindedly over my heart, protectingit from the truth as I replied, “Love you, too, Jon. Goodnight.”
***
He didn’t say it again when he returnedhome a little past midnight. He was exhausted, yawning uncontrollably andbarely able to keep his eyes open, but he kissed me sweetly and told me he’dsee me on Monday. I assumed that the simpleIlove youhad been nothing more than a way to appease his daughters, anddespite the distinct feeling of disappointment, I felt it was still for thebest.
Even if my ownI love youhad been genuine.
“Hey Tessa,” Timwhispered the moment I walked through the door. He was sitting on the couch,legs crossed with his book laid over his lap. Grandma was snoozing in herrecliner, arms splayed over the armrests, with Harriette purring away on herlap.
“God, Tim, I’m sorryI’m so late,” I apologized. “Jon got home a little later than expected, butthey laid down a lot of tracks today, so I guess that’s a good thing. I mean,of course, it’s a good thing. What am Isaying …”Iwas rambling without a point in mind.
Tim cocked his head,allowing his blond hair to flop gently to one side. He took in my expression,the defeateddroop ofmy arms, and asked, “Do youwannachat?”
I suppressed my awkwardlaugh, not wanting to wake Grandma up. I forced a smile, shifting my gaze tothe image of Richard Dawson on the TV. “No, I think I’m okay. I should probablygo to bed, or, um, maybe I’ll get some work done …” I was struck with a renewedrecognition of what my work was, the collision between fiction and reality wasundeniable and the fact pounded against my chest with such a blunt force, Ithought I might collapse from the impact. Lifting a hand, I wiped the hair offmy forehead, and seriously began considering the backspace key far more than Ihad in months.
I’d been so worriedabout hurting Jon and not wanting him to know what I was writing, that I hadn’tstopped to realize how much I was hurtingmyself.
Tim stood up, tuckingthe book under his arm, and grasped my elbow gently in his hand. He tugged metoward the kitchen, sat me at the table, and took the seat beside me. “Youknow, I’ve been in this business for a while now,” he began, clasping his handstogether. “And something I’ve learned is, while I’m taking care of the oldfolks, nobody is there to take care of the family members who are losing them.”
I shook my head andsmiled into his kind eyes. “Really, I’m fine. You should get home. You’reprobably exhausted”
“Sweetie,don’t worry about me. And you don’tlookfine,” he told me gently and I diverted my gaze. “I won’t force you to talk tome, but I am offering. It helps, I promise.”
I remembered Jon andhow he had firstopened upto me months ago. I thoughtabout the progress he’d made since—the color in his face, the smile he wore,the confidence in his eyes. It was a beautiful, bittersweet transition frombroken to mending, and while I could never compare myself to what he’d beenthrough, I wondered if talking might help me, too.
Settling my chin intothe palm of my hand, I turned to Tim and managed a weak smile. “I needed a jobto run away for a little while.” He nodded and encouraged me to continue withthe reassuring upturn of his lips. “It gets so, um, sad around here. She …Grandma … won’t be around for a whole lot longer, and I guess I can feel it. Idon’t even recognize her sometimes.”
