* * *
That night,I dream many dreams—starting off with a fan favorite, Skyla, Logan, and me back at West, back in those mythical halcyon years where we were unstoppable in our unity. And after that, I dream of water. There’s always water in this hallucinogenic world of my own making. I’m wading through a stream that quickly morphs into an ocean, only the water isn’t blue, or clear, or even green. It’s red. And I marvel as I stare down at the sanguine liquid. It’s blood. It’s my own. And just like that, my lids blinkopen.
I give a lazy flutter of the lids, my hand swooping over the cool bedside next to me where my wife usually warms the sheets. But Skyla isn’t there. I shouldn’t have expected her to be. It’s been a solid week, and we are still at Whitehorse. Skyla is spent. Her energy depleted. She’s begged Ezrina to help her figure out which formula comes closest to breastmilk because she wants to start supplementing, and I don’t blame her. She’s tried feeding Angel right along with the boys, and it’s drained all the color from her skin, the purple rings under her eyes are a testament to the fact it’s not the greatest idea. She’s taxing her body and her mind. Skyla is housebound for the most part, but on the odd moment she does leave, she takes off with Chloe. She claims they’re turning in the dead to the government, and sure enough, in each city they venture off to, a vague article on petty crime pops up. Skyla swears that she’s keeping out of danger, that Chloe is doing all the heavy lifting—but with Chloe around, Skyla is only keeping companywithdanger. When I asked how they were traveling, Skyla said they’re light driving. She’s not playing with fire. She’s making love to it, letting it enter into places that it never should be in the first place. Skyla is already burned beyond recognition. She just doesn’t know ityet.
It’s the night of Brielle and Drake’s shared bachelor, bachelorette party before their big do-over in a couple of weeks. Bree mentioned she needed ample time between the big party and the big event. In all honesty, knowing how much Bree and Drake like to party, they’ll need a couple of weeks to rid themselves of thehangover.
Skyla and I stop by the Landon house to drop the boys and Angel off. Logan comes along for the ride because in a week’s span of time he’s become the world’s most doting father, making me feel like a bad dad by a paternal mile. He went insane one night on the Internet, and the next day everything that you might need for a child arrived at his doorstep. He gave Skyla the task of filling Angel’s closet and handed over his credit card like some sort of American Express god. And as much as I may not want to admit it, Skyla was in pink-ruffled-tutu-bow-wearing-sparkly-shoed heaven. Every time she made a purchase, she bounced around the house with glee. I’ve never seen her so thrilled to shop for the boys, but, in her defense, I’ve never handed over my plastic as if it were a Black Card and let her have atit.
“Knock, knock!” Skyla sings as we stride on in. The Landon house looks the same, slightly chaotic with a sprinkling of toys and pets everywhere. It smells the same, perhaps better than usual because Emily has all but taken over the kitchen. Tonight, it’s grilled cheese, using her favorite vegan cheese replacement, I’m sure. Em might have turned into a world-class granola cruncher, but hot damn, the girl can make shoe leather taste like filet mignon. Yes, we’re eating vegan, organic fare that she has Drake ante up for, but we are eating like kings. Not to sound like an ass, but Em has found her calling. I’d encourage her to open a restaurant, but I’m wise enough to put it off until Skyla and I are out of the house for good. Just the memory of Lizbeth’s cooking brings the bile up in the back of mythroat.
“Jessie, Mary, and Joseph!” Tad grunts at the sight of us. “Told you she was keeping the stray.” He points his cane in little Angel’s direction. The cane is a new addition, but long overdue in my opinion. My stomach grinds hearing him go off like that because I’m so fucking sick of Tad’s insularbehavior.
“She’s not a stray.” I lean Nathan in toward the tiny tot, and they give one another open-mouthed, sloppy, wet kisses on the cheek, and the entire room melts in a puddle of oohs andahhs.
“Skyla!” Lizbeth scoops Barron from her. “God, she’s so adorable! How are you ever going to give that little princess back?” She gives Angel’s cheek a squeeze, and the little girl trills a sweet laugh to the ceiling right from her father’s arms. Logan has held her longer, stronger this week than anything he’s ever touched in hislife.
Tad honks out a laugh. “Now that’s the best idea you’ve ever had. Give that creature back to its mother. She’s probably some teen queen who’s off enjoying her summervacay.” He wags a crooked finger at his wife. “And don’t think for a minute these two coconuts haven’t thought about doing the same.” He waddles right up to my face, and the urge to deck him rises in me. “Listen here,Greg. You’ve got enough of your own responsibilities now. Don’t you go letting the little woman snap up kids off the street left and right, or you’ll end up like me—in a house full of spider monkeys trying to crawl into yourpants!”
There are so many things wrong with that sentence I don’t know where tobegin.
“Don’t worry.” I offer a placid smile. “I won’t end up like you.” If anything, Tad’s existence as a whole is more or less a cautionarytale.
“Okay”—Skyla hands the bloated diaper bag to Melissa—“I’ve already fed them dinner, but I threw in a few extra jars anyway. And if you could put the bottles in the fridge right away, I’d appreciateit.”
“Bottles?” Lizbeth’s tit radar immediately goes up, and Logan and I exchange a quiet laugh because we know what’s coming. “You know I’m not totally opposed to pumping, but you won’t be that late, Skyla. And a good mother knows it’s best to keep them on the nipple. It’s still not too late for them to start rejectingyou.”
“Geez, Mother”—Skyla takes Nathan from me and hands him to Mia—“you make it sound so personal. I can’t keep up this pace any longer. They’re ravenous—and have I mentionedbitingme? Plus, they don’t seem to mind the formula atall.”
Both Skyla and Lizbeth freeze. I’m pretty sure that was a slipup on Skyla’s part. She’s been pretty staunch on keeping this bit of manufactured news from hermom.
“Oh my living God!” Lizbeth thunders so loud the house shakes. “You are not giving my grandchildren powdered toxins from the grocery store! Please do not tell me you have resorted to putting trash into your children’s bodies, or Iwill—”
Skyla lays a finger over her mother’s lips in an effort to silence her. “You will survive, and so will they. Besides, it’s not trash. I have it on good authority that the formula I selected is as good as mommy milk. My friend Ezrina can attest to this. And I’m still feeding them every night—religiously.”
Lizbeth’s face contorts in grief, red as a turnip. “My God, you only made it six months,” she wails. “I should have been there for you. I can’t believe I idly stood by and allowed this to happen. It’s all those damned vaginas’ fault.” Her chest bucks with a silent cry, and both Logan and I exchange a worried glance. Who the hell knew a simple bottle could lead to a meltdown of vaginalproportions?
“Okay, fine.” Skyla cups her mother’s face. “I’ll only use the bottles in the event of an emergency. I promise I’ll keep myself front and center as the boys’ favorite chew toy.” She gives Angel a sly look because she just so happens to be her favorite chew toy as well. “Mostly.”
We wrap up the party and say a quick round ofgoodbyes.
Tad limps us to the door, right along with Lizbeth. “And don’t you bad mouth those pink bits and pieces! Those tiny portals of humanity are racking up quite the payday around here. Don’t knock it till you try it!” He slams the door behind us as if to exclaim his vaginalpoint.
We step out onto the porch and pause as the cool Paragon air wraps itself around us as Skyla makes a beeline for the car, already texting someone—most likelyChloe.
Logan knocks me in the ribs with his elbow. “Here that, Greg?” That shit-eating grin of his spreads ear-to-ear. “You can make a nice nest egg for yourself selling a little piece ofass.”
“The only piece of ass I need is right there”—I nod to Skyla, slightly sickened by my own dry humor, even if it were a play on words—“and my chief concern is my nest. I think I need to ask Liam to help me whip that place into shape. I’ll spend every last dollar and every last breath doing it.” That dollar drop sponsored by Dominique Winters comes to mind. I have more than enough to renovate the place from top to bottom. I meant to get to the renovation sooner, but with the dead hanging around the house, I didn’t bother with theremodel.
Logan lets out a white plume of a sigh. His shoulders depress as he offers a weary nod of agreement. “I’ve got a few dollars rolling around and all the spare time in the world. I’ll help you get whatever shit you need knocked out. How about we set a goal of getting the two of you moved in well before youranniversary?”
Something in me loosens, and it feels as if Logan and I are back on track, not the adversaries for Skyla’s love and affection, the heavy competitors for her heart that we’ve been all week. The truth is, I’m tired of warring it out with Logan. I’m still married to Skyla. I win. That should be enough forme.
“Soundsgood.”
He meets me with a fist bump as we head out to theMustang.
I win when it comes to Skyla. I shake my head at the thought as I crawl into the back seat—Logan and Skyla in the front like acouple.
