Read Online Jack & Jill by Kealan Patrick Burke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kealan Patrick Burke
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wait. Checking on the kids was infinitely more important than what I suspected was either another telemarketer, ignoring the rules about appropriate times to call, or worse, Chris's mother. If the latter proved to be the case, then it would be just the thing to end the night on a bad note, and I wasn't willing to let that happen. Although I knew months of damage couldn't be undone in a few hours, tonight had certainly been an encouraging start. We would have to be careful around each other for a while, but if I stuck to the promises I'd made while maintaining a more positive attitude, regardless of whether the nightmares continued or not, it would prove to Chris that I was dedicated to rescuing us. He would have to play his part too, of course, but I had seen in him that he was willing, and for now, that was enough.
"I'm going to check on the kids," I called to Chris.
"Okay. Now that I've made room, I'm gonna have a beer. Just one."
"You're going to regret this in the morning."
"Oh, didn't I tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"I have the day off tomorrow."
" Since when?"
"Since about a minute and a half ago when I walked into the sink and then tried to take a leak without taking my tire iron out of the trunk. Also, I have the distinct impression my esteemed and foul-smelling boss Mr. Taylor would rather not start his day watching me upchuck a half-dozen McDonald’s hash browns into his wastebasket. So, humanitarian that I am, I'll spare him the ordeal."
"Sounds like you have it all planned out," I said.
"I think it's best for all concerned." He pronounced this conzerned .
Smiling, I made my way through the living room and headed upstairs.
* * *
I checked on Sam first and found him asleep in one of those positions unique to children of that age. He was lying on his stomach, face mashed into the pillow, mouth open, butt raised slightly in the air, knees bent, as if he'd dozed off while kneeling. He was drooling slightly— his mother's son , I thought wryly—and as always, he'd managed to kick the covers not only off himself, but off the bed too. They lay in a pile on the floor.
As I picked up the comforter, I looked around and was reminded of my brother’s room. I felt a brief twinge of regret that I hadn't explored my own room when I'd had the chance, if only to compare how it had been treated by my father. I had the sad feeling I'd have found it either bare or used for storage. Sam's bedroom, like John's, had barely an inch of wall that was not covered in posters, though instead of cartoon and comic book superheroes like The Hulk and Spider-Man , my son preferred to gaze upon characters from video games. Here was a scowling Kurt Russell-looking figure dressed like a ninja. There was a handsome if ridiculously overbuilt guy wielding an equally oversized gun flanked by an exotic and buxom female sidekick as they pumped rounds into a horde of the undead. Yet another poster showed what was presumably a man, dressed from head to toe in a copper-colored and segmented spacesuit, his visor filled with blue light as he posed in the doorway of what I supposed was a spaceship of some kind. I vaguely recalled seeing Sam engrossed in these games, none of which I'd thought appropriate, all of which Chris had assured me were fine. Another battle I'd lost and one that didn't seem quite as monumental now as it had back then.
Sam never slept without his night-light on. He to ld us it was simply so he could find his way to the bathroom if he woke up in the middle of the night, but we knew better, and had no plans to dissuade the habit. He would outgrow it in his own time, and both Chris and I could clearly recall those nights when we were children when no amount of adult assurance could convince us there wasn't indeed something in the dark just waiting for us to be left alone.
In m y case, that suspicion had been confirmed on many occasions.
I spread the comforter over my son and tucked the edges under the mattress.
"I'm going to check on the kids," I called to Chris.
"Okay. Now that I've made room, I'm gonna have a beer. Just one."
"You're going to regret this in the morning."
"Oh, didn't I tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"I have the day off tomorrow."
" Since when?"
"Since about a minute and a half ago when I walked into the sink and then tried to take a leak without taking my tire iron out of the trunk. Also, I have the distinct impression my esteemed and foul-smelling boss Mr. Taylor would rather not start his day watching me upchuck a half-dozen McDonald’s hash browns into his wastebasket. So, humanitarian that I am, I'll spare him the ordeal."
"Sounds like you have it all planned out," I said.
"I think it's best for all concerned." He pronounced this conzerned .
Smiling, I made my way through the living room and headed upstairs.
* * *
I checked on Sam first and found him asleep in one of those positions unique to children of that age. He was lying on his stomach, face mashed into the pillow, mouth open, butt raised slightly in the air, knees bent, as if he'd dozed off while kneeling. He was drooling slightly— his mother's son , I thought wryly—and as always, he'd managed to kick the covers not only off himself, but off the bed too. They lay in a pile on the floor.
As I picked up the comforter, I looked around and was reminded of my brother’s room. I felt a brief twinge of regret that I hadn't explored my own room when I'd had the chance, if only to compare how it had been treated by my father. I had the sad feeling I'd have found it either bare or used for storage. Sam's bedroom, like John's, had barely an inch of wall that was not covered in posters, though instead of cartoon and comic book superheroes like The Hulk and Spider-Man , my son preferred to gaze upon characters from video games. Here was a scowling Kurt Russell-looking figure dressed like a ninja. There was a handsome if ridiculously overbuilt guy wielding an equally oversized gun flanked by an exotic and buxom female sidekick as they pumped rounds into a horde of the undead. Yet another poster showed what was presumably a man, dressed from head to toe in a copper-colored and segmented spacesuit, his visor filled with blue light as he posed in the doorway of what I supposed was a spaceship of some kind. I vaguely recalled seeing Sam engrossed in these games, none of which I'd thought appropriate, all of which Chris had assured me were fine. Another battle I'd lost and one that didn't seem quite as monumental now as it had back then.
Sam never slept without his night-light on. He to ld us it was simply so he could find his way to the bathroom if he woke up in the middle of the night, but we knew better, and had no plans to dissuade the habit. He would outgrow it in his own time, and both Chris and I could clearly recall those nights when we were children when no amount of adult assurance could convince us there wasn't indeed something in the dark just waiting for us to be left alone.
In m y case, that suspicion had been confirmed on many occasions.
I spread the comforter over my son and tucked the edges under the mattress.
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