“Umm…” I look at Katie. She gives me a subtle nod. “Sure. I guess it’s all right.”
“He can sleep with me.” Trixie looks from me to her mom. Her mom nods.
“I’ll come and get him in the morning,” I tell Katie.
“Sounds good.”
Pop lumbers to his feet and stretches, his pudgy white middle on display.
“Thanks for letting me kick your butt, Mr. Jacobson,” Gabby says, grinning from beneath the brim of Pop’s hat.
“Same time tomorrow,” he says, knocking his knuckles on the table. It’s not even a question. It’s an order.
“Pop,” I start to complain. But he’s already walking toward Katie. He kisses her on the forehead quickly and lingers to whisper close to her ear. She nods, and her eyes tear up. She blinks furiously.
“I’m glad I’m here too. Same time tomorrow.” She squeezes his arm.
I ruffle the dog’s…I mean Sally’s ears, and he sits down beside Trixie like this is where he belongs.
Pop gets in the golf cart and waits to speak until we’re almost home. “I didn’t let that kid win,” he says.
I arch a brow at him.
“She’s a shark, I tell you.”
“Maybe she’ll let you win tomorrow.” I chuckle.
“She had better not,” he grumbles. “That’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” He claps me on the shoulder. “And I got you another date.”
“Pop, that wasn’t a date.”
“Take it slow, son. It’ll all work out. You’ll see.”
I heave a sigh and go inside. It does no good to argue with Pop.
In my head, I try to piece together all the parts of Katie, but they don’t fit. They don’t form a picture at all. Not one that I can make out, anyway.
14
Katie
I walk from room to room, checking on my kids. It’s a habit from when they were small. I still stop in each doorway long enough to watch their backs rise and fall, or to see the covers flutter with the motions of their breaths. The regular motions of breathing can ease a troubled mother’s spirit like a balm to the soul.
Alex is in the top bunk in the room he’s sharing with Trixie. He has one leg flung through the slats on the bed, and his toes wiggle in his sleep. I smile and draw the blanket down around his foot.
Trixie is in the bottom bunk, and she’s lying against the wall, with her arm lifted above her head. Stretched out alongside her is Sally. He’s on top of the covers while she’s beneath them, and I stop to be sure they’re both all right. Sally lifts his head and looks at me, blinking his big brown eyes. Then he heaves a sigh and relaxes. It’s amusing and stupefying the way he has taken up with Trixie. She needed a protector. She needed someone to have her back. And it looks like this great big goofy dog has her back, her side, and he might even have her trust.
I walk into the living room to find Gabby pulling out the couch bed. “You don’t have to do that, honey,” I say. “Go to bed.”
“I’m going to sleep out here.” She starts to make up the tiny bed. “You take the bedroom.”
This worries me more than anything. Gabby has become my protector, after all that has happened. It should be me taking care of her. But it’s not. It’s the reverse.
“Seriously, Gabby. Go to bed.” I
point toward the bedroom and put on my mom face.
Gabby rolls her eyes. “Not happening, Mom,” she says quietly. “You’re eight months pregnant. You’re taking the bed.”