blocks all across the carpet in random patterns that sent him into fits of giggling.
Willard set the spring-action child gate across the door. There, that would keep him happy and out of the way for a while. Nothing in there can hurt him, Willard thought as he glanced over the room crowded with piles of toys. It’s been completely kid-proofed.
Willard returned to the front bedroom and looked in on Catherine. She was still asleep, but from the way the covers were twisted around her and pulled from the bottom of the bed, it had not been an easy sleep.
He slipped over to the side of the bed and touched her forehead with his hand.
“Huh!” She startled awake immediately.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly.
“What time...oh no, it’s late and I....”
“I took care of everything. The kids got off to school okay. Sams is up and dressed. He’s playing in the bedroom.”
“But...I....”
“You needed to sleep. So I let you sleep.”
She dropped her head back onto the pillow and smiled. “What about work?”
“You wanted me to stay home today and help out a bit.”
“I...did I ask you to? I don’t remember.”
“Well, you were pretty much out of it when I got up. Anyway, there’s nothing at work today that can’t be handled tomorrow, and you really did need to get some sleep. And besides, it was...uh...interesting to see what goes on around here on school mornings. I finally learned the proper way to make a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, compliments of Burt.”
He grinned. Catherine smiled back, but the movement seemed strained. There’s still some carry-over from last night, Willard decided, like the half-remembered echoes of a particularly bad nightmare that linger well into waking.
“Are you okay?” he asked gently.
Catherine seemed to understand that he had subtly shifted the topic of conversation. He was not asking about how well she had slept since he got up at five, or whether she felt better for the additional rest. As obliquely as possible, he was asking about last night.
“I...I don’t know. It was so horrible. They were everywhere. I touched...I felt them.....” She shuddered.
He hugged her reassuringly. “I think I got most of them with the Raid. There were a...a couple of dead ones this morning. I cleaned them up.”
She shivered again—and Willard realized that in spite of the exertion of the morning, in spite of being fully dressed, in spite of the furnace roaring away in the living room as it combated the mid-thirties outside, he was chilly, too. He pulled off his shirt (the tie had disappeared long before, about the time Suze grabbed it and smeared a long streak of cinnamon butter on it, a permanent reminder of her breakfast of choice) and toed his loafers off. His pants followed, and then he slipped beneath the covers next to Catherine. They lay together, snuggling in the warmth of their body heat.
Distantly, they heard Sams laughing to himself, following by the occasional click or thump of his building blocks as he devised new shapes and arrangements.
Somehow, without quite being aware of the direction of their movements, Willard and Catherine moved from passive cuddling to more active, more directed movements. Willard was momentarily surprised by the fervor and passion of Catherine’s embraces, aware that she had never felt quite comfortable with making love during the day—a hold over from her rather rigidly traditional upbringing. But this time there was an unusual fervency in her movements, a fevered sense that communicated itself to him as she held him and her hands ranged over his body as if seeking solace...or protection.
Afterward, they lay back, their bodies still intertwined. And as gradually as they had passed from comforting to loving, they passed from loving to sleep. Sams’ cries woke them.
This time Catherine was up before Willard. He was just pulling on his shirt when she returned, swathed in her robe, carrying Sams. The sunlight glinted in the
Willard set the spring-action child gate across the door. There, that would keep him happy and out of the way for a while. Nothing in there can hurt him, Willard thought as he glanced over the room crowded with piles of toys. It’s been completely kid-proofed.
Willard returned to the front bedroom and looked in on Catherine. She was still asleep, but from the way the covers were twisted around her and pulled from the bottom of the bed, it had not been an easy sleep.
He slipped over to the side of the bed and touched her forehead with his hand.
“Huh!” She startled awake immediately.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly.
“What time...oh no, it’s late and I....”
“I took care of everything. The kids got off to school okay. Sams is up and dressed. He’s playing in the bedroom.”
“But...I....”
“You needed to sleep. So I let you sleep.”
She dropped her head back onto the pillow and smiled. “What about work?”
“You wanted me to stay home today and help out a bit.”
“I...did I ask you to? I don’t remember.”
“Well, you were pretty much out of it when I got up. Anyway, there’s nothing at work today that can’t be handled tomorrow, and you really did need to get some sleep. And besides, it was...uh...interesting to see what goes on around here on school mornings. I finally learned the proper way to make a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, compliments of Burt.”
He grinned. Catherine smiled back, but the movement seemed strained. There’s still some carry-over from last night, Willard decided, like the half-remembered echoes of a particularly bad nightmare that linger well into waking.
“Are you okay?” he asked gently.
Catherine seemed to understand that he had subtly shifted the topic of conversation. He was not asking about how well she had slept since he got up at five, or whether she felt better for the additional rest. As obliquely as possible, he was asking about last night.
“I...I don’t know. It was so horrible. They were everywhere. I touched...I felt them.....” She shuddered.
He hugged her reassuringly. “I think I got most of them with the Raid. There were a...a couple of dead ones this morning. I cleaned them up.”
She shivered again—and Willard realized that in spite of the exertion of the morning, in spite of being fully dressed, in spite of the furnace roaring away in the living room as it combated the mid-thirties outside, he was chilly, too. He pulled off his shirt (the tie had disappeared long before, about the time Suze grabbed it and smeared a long streak of cinnamon butter on it, a permanent reminder of her breakfast of choice) and toed his loafers off. His pants followed, and then he slipped beneath the covers next to Catherine. They lay together, snuggling in the warmth of their body heat.
Distantly, they heard Sams laughing to himself, following by the occasional click or thump of his building blocks as he devised new shapes and arrangements.
Somehow, without quite being aware of the direction of their movements, Willard and Catherine moved from passive cuddling to more active, more directed movements. Willard was momentarily surprised by the fervor and passion of Catherine’s embraces, aware that she had never felt quite comfortable with making love during the day—a hold over from her rather rigidly traditional upbringing. But this time there was an unusual fervency in her movements, a fevered sense that communicated itself to him as she held him and her hands ranged over his body as if seeking solace...or protection.
Afterward, they lay back, their bodies still intertwined. And as gradually as they had passed from comforting to loving, they passed from loving to sleep. Sams’ cries woke them.
This time Catherine was up before Willard. He was just pulling on his shirt when she returned, swathed in her robe, carrying Sams. The sunlight glinted in the
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