Shelter Me by Juliette Fay

cute little moves like eye pokes and foot stomps. We grabbed each other’s wrists and learned how to twist out of it. It’s too much partnering up and touching for me. Debbie said we might have a hard time falling asleep tonight, we might be too wound up. Not me. I’m exhausted.
    I N THE DARK , J ANIE woke from a dream of floating in fog. The source of her levitation seemed to be a steady hum, flowing like a low-voltage current through the marrow of her bones. She opened her eyes to a creaking, scratching sound and froze in her bed. Even her hair strained to determine the source of the noise. She sat up quickly, certain that someone was walking up the stairs.
    “WHO’S THERE?” she boomed, having given herself permission.
    The creaking continued.
    “Mommy?” said Dylan.
    Janie leaped out of bed and lunged to the top of the stairs, prepared to eye-poke the intruder to death. No one was there. She flung herself into Dylan’s room, where the noise was louder. Squinting through the darkness, Janie saw the light on the baby monitor flickering erratically, and ripped the plug from the socket. The noise stopped.
    “Who yelled?” said Dylan.
    “It was just me,” said Janie, trying to regulate her breathing as she straightened his tangle of blankets and tucked them around him.
    “No,” said Dylan. “Who said, ‘Who’s there?’”
    “Me.”
    “Were you being a giant?”
    “Kind of,” she said. She kissed him and stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers. By degrees his muscles undid themselves and he drifted off.
    Having slain the mighty monitor, Janie sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for fatigue to topple her over. But her heart continued to pound, apparently unaware that the battle had been won. Knowing sleep was a while off, Janie decided to kill some time by ordering a new baby monitor.
    Downstairs in the cluttered office she flicked on the computer and surfed haphazardly through several websites, one offering medical advice on postoperative care of implanted heart monitors, and one hawking very expensive baby clothes. After a while she found a good-enough monitor at a reasonable price with no shipping charges, and clicked Purchase.
    Before shutting off the computer, she checked her e-mail. As usual, there were several from Aunt Jude, mostly forwarded messages from her online friends. There was an account of a vision of the Blessed Virgin seen in the boughs of a Douglas fir tree in Washington State; pictures of pets found sleeping in unusual places, including a dishwasher and the basket of a tricycle; and a quiz that would supposedly determine which Sesame Street character you were most like. The only message Aunt Jude had actually written was a reminder not to wear jewelry to the self-defense class. She had made that mistake herself, and her necklaces had gotten all tangled up in her purse. Since Janie only ever wore her wedding ring these days, it wasn’t difficult advice to follow. Delete, delete, delete, delete.
    One last e-mail was from Father Jake: “I forgot to ask—is Dylan entering kindergarten in the fall? If so, you might want to sign him up for religious education sooner rather than later. It’s filling up.”
    Janie responded: “Not going to KG till next year,” and hit Send.
    The plans for the porch caught her eye and she picked them up and studied them. Robby’s porch. His last gift in a long line of gifts he had given her over the years. She wondered which detailshad been his ideas. For instance, had he been the one to say, “Build the door diagonally across the corner closest to the driveway,” or had that been the contractor’s suggestion? She thought of asking Malinowski, but then dismissed it. Too pitiful.
    A faint ping from the computer gave notice that an e-mail message had arrived. It was from Father Jake: “Okay, just checking. Hope the course is going well.”
    Janie replied: “Going okay. Was not sarcastic even once. At least not out loud. What are you doing