A Place Called Home by Jo Goodman

“Emilie? Are you on the line?”
    There was a soft click but still no dial tone.
    Thea said, “I think you scared her off.”
    “Thea?”
    “Uh-huh. It’s me.”
    “Oh. Sorry.”
    “I’m not offended,” she said. “But you’ll probably have to apologize to Em.”
    Mitch rubbed his back and tentatively tried a lateral stretch. “Yeah. I’m getting to be a real pro at that. Who knew eleven-year-old girls were so sensitive?”
    I did . Thea didn’t offer any response to his rhetorical question. “What happened?” She listened as he told her about his lurch for the phone and try as she might, could not imagine him as graceless as his description. Mitch Baker didn’t have a false move. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said.
    “Not a problem. I needed to be up.”
    It occurred to her that he was standing in his bedroom, disheveled and loose-limbed, and quite possibly naked. Immediately she put briefs on him, changed those to boxers, changed those to sweats, and finally covered him up in a long nightshirt with tails that flapped around his calves. She’d never actually seen one of those on a man, but there was an illustration in a childhood book that she remembered and liked. The man had worn a striped stocking cap as well. It didn’t look good on Mitch.
    “You still there?” asked Mitch.
    “What? Oh, yes. I’m here.” She removed that stocking cap quickly. “I was wondering if I should bring something for the kids when I come out this afternoon. What do you think?”
    Mitch rubbed his chin, felt the stubble, and padded into the adjoining bathroom. He absently scratched his bare chest while he looked in the mirror. The face staring back at him was vaguely disreputable, and not in a sexy way. “I don’t know, Thea. What were your thoughts?” He started running cold water and picked up his toothbrush.
    Thea placed an orange half in the juicer and squeezed. Her mouth watered instantly. “I used to bring things with me when I came to visit. Nothing big, you understand. Puzzles. Games. Maybe a DVD they didn’t already own. Kathy usually had suggestions when I asked. But this is different now. I don’t know how to do it. It’s a visit, but more than a visit. At least it seems that way. I don’t know what they expect from me.” Hell, she thought, I don’t know what I expect from myself.
    “You were talking to Emilie, weren’t you?” Mitch managed to keep the phone in the crook of his neck and shoulder while he put toothpaste on his brush. Multitasking, he thought. It used to be walking and chewing gum was the benchmark for coordination. He was really pushing the envelope here. “Did you ask her?”
    “Ask her what?”
    Mitch jammed the brush in his mouth. “What she expected.”
    Thea frowned at the odd slur in his speech. “Mitch? Are you all right? What are you doing?”
    “Brushin’ ma tee.”
    “Oh.” Thea wrung the juice out of another sweet orange. “You mean I can actually ask her that?”
    “Sure.” He got his crown molars, the back of his incisors, and his tongue. “Jus a min-ute.” Mitch spit and rinsed his mouth. He spit again. “That’s better.”
    Maybe for you, she thought. Thea felt like she was sharing a bathroom with him. If she heard the toilet next, it wouldn’t be the only thing flushing. “What would I say?”
    “I don’t know.” He considered it a moment, running his hand through his hair. “Just maybe ask her if there’s anything she needs from you. She’ll give you some concrete stuff at first, like neon pink fingernail polish and a tongue stud, but I’m pretty sure with a little prompting she’ll get the idea of what you really mean.”
    Thea’s voice was tentative. She paused in pouring her orange juice into a glass. “Umm, about the other two things. I should say no to those, right?”
    Mitch smiled. “Neon pink’s okay. I’m boycotting black even though she says it’s a mourning color. Emilie can be very dark at times and she doesn’t