awake.” I stumble to get off the sofa and embarrassment blooms hot in my cheeks.
Ryder grabs and tugs at Aiden’s shirt. “No. No. No.”
I capture his small hands. “Stop it. No. It’s all right”
“No,” Ryder yells. He scrubs a hand along the bandage. “No,” he says in a whisper.
I pick him and cradle him against my shoulder, bouncing him like I did when he was a baby. What was I thinking? Five more minutes and…
“He’s Mommy’s friend,” I say. “Remember Aiden? From the horses? You know him.”
Ryder lifts his head and stares at Aiden. “Mommy,” he mumbles around the two fingers in his mouth.
“Your mommy.” Aiden nods to Ryder. “Yeah. I know. She’s yours.”
Ryder scissors his legs, so I put him down. His small hand folds around my pointer finger and he pulls. Then he removes his wet fingers from his mouth and holds his hand out to Aiden.
“Want us to come with you?” I ask Ryder but glance at Aiden, trying to read his expression.
“Let’s go, big man.” Aiden winks at me. One wink to say so much. To say he’s not scared of this.
“Big man,” Ryder repeats.
We take short steps down the hallway. A nightlight illuminates Ryder’s bedroom and shines on his rumpled bed. It’s a platform bed, low to the ground in case he falls. He releases our hands and climbs on it, settling in the center. Then he grabs my hand to pull me toward him.
“I usually lie down with him until he falls asleep.” I sit on the side of the bed and give Aiden an apologetic smile.
Ryder talks to himself, a mixtape of Humpty Dumpty and Three Blind Mice. He looks to Aiden. “Horse?”
“No horses tonight.” Aiden says. He walks around to the other side of the bed and sits on the edge.
Ryder rolls toward Aiden so he faces him. Patting the pillow, he demands, “Sleep.”
Aiden laughs. A masculine laugh that ends in a ‘hmm.’ The sound rolls gently through my heart. He kicks off his shoes and pulls his socked feet onto the bed. Lying on his side, he looks at Ryder and then me. “Now what? What do we do to go to sleep?”
I lie down and peek over the top of Ryder’s head. “We tell a story.”
Aiden tucks one hand under the pillow, settling in as if he does this all the time. I wish I had a photo of me, Aiden and Ryder like this, looking so content and playful. This is how families are supposed to look.
Or at least it’s the picture I paint in my mind. It’s more Impressionism than Photorealism—only picking up the light parts that I want to see. Probably not like real life, because people can be dark. My daddy taught me that.
I vow I’ll never let Ryder see the dark.
Aiden clears his throat in speaker preparation, and my gaze returns to him. I slam the door on the ghosts threatening to ruin my perfect picture of this moment.
“Well,” he says, drawing out the word and letting us anticipate. “Once there was the little boy named Ryder.”
“No,” Ryder says around a giggle.
“Ryder and his mommy went to see a horse. Aiden went with them, because he wanted to have fun with the little boy and his mommy. They went to the country to see horses and hills and water and dirt and grass and pigs. Oh, are there pigs in this story? I forget.”
“No.” Ryder’s voice is sleepy and small. “No pig. Horse.”
Aiden locks his gaze with mine. Silver eyes that shine.
I can’t imagine a dark place in his entire being.
* * *
M akenna , age 10
“ D addy ?” I’m home. I return my house key to the pocket of my backpack and head toward the kitchen. Milk and cookie time, my favorite ritual. Clicking on the living room lamp as I pass, I frown at the drawn curtains.
Daddy likes it dark in the house. He says he needs the curtains closed to watch TV. The ashtray sits full of cigarette butts, gross evidence. No smoking in the house. It’s Mama’s rule.
Mama will pitch a fit when she gets home.
Should I get rid of the evidence for Daddy and not have to listen to their argument? Yeah.
Ryder grabs and tugs at Aiden’s shirt. “No. No. No.”
I capture his small hands. “Stop it. No. It’s all right”
“No,” Ryder yells. He scrubs a hand along the bandage. “No,” he says in a whisper.
I pick him and cradle him against my shoulder, bouncing him like I did when he was a baby. What was I thinking? Five more minutes and…
“He’s Mommy’s friend,” I say. “Remember Aiden? From the horses? You know him.”
Ryder lifts his head and stares at Aiden. “Mommy,” he mumbles around the two fingers in his mouth.
“Your mommy.” Aiden nods to Ryder. “Yeah. I know. She’s yours.”
Ryder scissors his legs, so I put him down. His small hand folds around my pointer finger and he pulls. Then he removes his wet fingers from his mouth and holds his hand out to Aiden.
“Want us to come with you?” I ask Ryder but glance at Aiden, trying to read his expression.
“Let’s go, big man.” Aiden winks at me. One wink to say so much. To say he’s not scared of this.
“Big man,” Ryder repeats.
We take short steps down the hallway. A nightlight illuminates Ryder’s bedroom and shines on his rumpled bed. It’s a platform bed, low to the ground in case he falls. He releases our hands and climbs on it, settling in the center. Then he grabs my hand to pull me toward him.
“I usually lie down with him until he falls asleep.” I sit on the side of the bed and give Aiden an apologetic smile.
Ryder talks to himself, a mixtape of Humpty Dumpty and Three Blind Mice. He looks to Aiden. “Horse?”
“No horses tonight.” Aiden says. He walks around to the other side of the bed and sits on the edge.
Ryder rolls toward Aiden so he faces him. Patting the pillow, he demands, “Sleep.”
Aiden laughs. A masculine laugh that ends in a ‘hmm.’ The sound rolls gently through my heart. He kicks off his shoes and pulls his socked feet onto the bed. Lying on his side, he looks at Ryder and then me. “Now what? What do we do to go to sleep?”
I lie down and peek over the top of Ryder’s head. “We tell a story.”
Aiden tucks one hand under the pillow, settling in as if he does this all the time. I wish I had a photo of me, Aiden and Ryder like this, looking so content and playful. This is how families are supposed to look.
Or at least it’s the picture I paint in my mind. It’s more Impressionism than Photorealism—only picking up the light parts that I want to see. Probably not like real life, because people can be dark. My daddy taught me that.
I vow I’ll never let Ryder see the dark.
Aiden clears his throat in speaker preparation, and my gaze returns to him. I slam the door on the ghosts threatening to ruin my perfect picture of this moment.
“Well,” he says, drawing out the word and letting us anticipate. “Once there was the little boy named Ryder.”
“No,” Ryder says around a giggle.
“Ryder and his mommy went to see a horse. Aiden went with them, because he wanted to have fun with the little boy and his mommy. They went to the country to see horses and hills and water and dirt and grass and pigs. Oh, are there pigs in this story? I forget.”
“No.” Ryder’s voice is sleepy and small. “No pig. Horse.”
Aiden locks his gaze with mine. Silver eyes that shine.
I can’t imagine a dark place in his entire being.
* * *
M akenna , age 10
“ D addy ?” I’m home. I return my house key to the pocket of my backpack and head toward the kitchen. Milk and cookie time, my favorite ritual. Clicking on the living room lamp as I pass, I frown at the drawn curtains.
Daddy likes it dark in the house. He says he needs the curtains closed to watch TV. The ashtray sits full of cigarette butts, gross evidence. No smoking in the house. It’s Mama’s rule.
Mama will pitch a fit when she gets home.
Should I get rid of the evidence for Daddy and not have to listen to their argument? Yeah.
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