“The sh-show with Bandit, Bingo, B-bluey.”
“I don’t know. Want to go see?”
He nods, running past the couch to the recliner. I search for a cartoon calledBluey. “Is this it?”
He nods and smiles. “It’s so funny, Swade.”
I select an episode and then set the remote on the couch. “I’m going to let Grover outside, ok?”
He doesn’t respond, already fully zoned in on the screen, but Grover, having heard the magic word, is at my feet, ready to go.
I quietly open the back door, and he runs into the yard. I watch, calling him when he’s done.
I pour a cup of coffee and return to the living room with Ollie.
“Swade, watch.” Ollie pats the spot beside him in the recliner.
I sit, and he climbs onto my lap, giggling at the big dog, pretending to toast the two little dogs inside a trampoline.
We watch the full episode of the dogs playing ridiculous games, and Ollie holds my face to be sure I’m catching the best parts.
When the credits roll, he twists. “I’m hungry.”
“What do you usually eat for breakfast?”
Another shrug.
He takes another swig of his orange juice, and I surrender. My plan for this morning is obliterated.
“Do you like pancakes?”
His blue eyes, except for that one brown slice, grow wide, and he nods.
“Bacon?”
He nods again.
“Want to help me make breakfast?”
He hops off my lap. “Can I wick the spatula?”
I set him on the counter, and he mixes the pancake batter as the griddle heats. I drop the strips of bacon onto the pan, and it sizzles. He helps me scoop the first round of pancakes onto the flat surface.
“Oliver Tate, you weren’t supposed to leave the room without waking me.”
Our attention snaps to the doorway and that tone. The one that sounds like we are deep shit.
Sarah holds Frankie against her chest, with a floppy stuffed lamb tucked under her arm, and her face hidden in Sarah’s neck.
“Mama! We’re making you p-pancakes!”
This kid is smooth. I want to fist-bump him, but I’ll save it for later.
“I see that, but you know you weren’t supposed to come down without me.”
“Sorry.” He slumps, and I flip the pancakes and bacon.
I peek over my shoulder, and she’s still standing there, in those short shorts and oversized T-shirt. . .staring. I ignore her and how good she looks, still a bit dazed from sleep.
