FQWL: Making connections

[moonshadows]

There's no text from Robert when I wake up. Thankfully, jogging with Craig and telling him about the concert distracts me enough that he doesn't pick up on my irrational worry about Robert. Amanda's excited about working on a project for school, which means she bolts her breakfast and jets.

Okay, Jack. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Good. You can do this.

Robert's key is on its own ring so it doesn't get lost with the rest of my keys. Which...are just my house key and my car key. I walk over to his house, my heart in my throat and my palms sweaty. The key turns in the lock, which has me sigh in irrational relief because it's not like he would make me a spare key and then change the locks or something. I turn the handle and pu-

The security chain rattles and the door stops a few inches in.

If I didn't want you over here, I would have locked the door.

He doesn't want me there. Robert doesn't want me there. I feel cold, numb, and I want to curl up and cry right there on his front porch. Focus. Focus on something. Hands. Fingers. I pull the key out of the lock and twist the ring, separating it from my other keys. I want to text him - I'm sorry, what did I do, do you hate me? - but he doesn't want me there. He doesn't want to talk to me, or he would have texted. I don't know of any other way to apologize for whatever I did - did I come on too strong? - so I carefully thread the ring onto one of the links in the security chain and quietly pull the door shut.

Like a zombie, I walk back to my house and into the kitchen. We've only been here a week, but I take the broom from beside the fridge and start sweeping. I need to do something, anything, or I'm going to just lie down and I don't know when I'd find the strength to get back up. So I do what I've done since I was a child to ward away the despair: I clean. Every room gets swept. Every surface gets cleaned. Every article of clothing or cloth gets washed and dried and put away. Then there's nothing left to do, so I fall back onto my second refuge: cooking.

It's not that I didn't buy the cherries with intent to make them into a pie, I just didn't mean to make it randomly on a Thursday. But hey, first week in the new house is reason to celebrate, right? And Amanda loves cherry pie. Pitting the entire bag of cherries is good busywork. Rolling out pie crust is good busywork. Cooking the cherries is good busywork. Assembling the pie is goo- But then the pie is in the oven and the timer is set and there's nothing left to do. Nothing to distract me.

Robert doesn't want me there.

Despair spirals up and sucks me down into purgatory, a nightmare realm of grey populated by the ghosts of my family and the aching emptiness of endless days alone.

The timer shatters reality, my purgatory breaking up and falling away, leaving me in the kitchen with potholders in my hands as I turn off the timer and pull the pie from the oven, setting it on a wire rack to cool. The front door slams open.

"Hey Pops, what smells like pie in here?" Amanda calls cheerfully, kicking the door closed and leaving her bookbag on the floor as she comes into the kitchen.

"That would be pie," I answer dryly.

She makes a face at me and sits at the table. "How long until I can eat it?"

I set the timer for five minutes. She makes another face at me.

"Unless you want to burn your mouth with fruity napalm again," I point out.

"I'm considering it," she deadpans. Then she grins. "Just kidding. So what's the occasion?"

"We have now officially lived here a week," I tell her, sitting down on the other side o the table.

"Good reason," she says. "But what's the real reason?"

I give her a confused look, and she rolls her eyes.

"Come on, Dad. I know you better than that. The house smells like Windex and dryer sheets. You only bake and clean when something's really bothering you." Her eyes widen. "Does this have anything to do with the fact that Robert hasn't been over in a few days?"

Damn my daughter for being clever. I bury my face in my hands. Amanda gets up and comes around the table to hug me, but then she goes and turns the timer off. I know she's cutting into the pie, I just don't have the strength to fight it. She sets a bowl down in front of me, cherry pie and a scoop of strawberry cheesecake ice cream melting on top. Her bowl has two slices of pie, but she also has a glass of milk.

I pick up my spoon and prod the pie. "I don't know what happened," I say tiredly. "He didn't wake up for breakfast on Tuesday, but he texted T-H-X while I was talking to Mat and I texted 'you're welcome' with a...smiley face emoji...and later he told Mat that I was calming and suggested he ask if I would go to the concert with him. I invited him to dinner, but he didn't text back. He didn't wake up for breakfast yesterday either, and today...I couldn't get into his house."

The ice cream has cooled the pie filling. I stuff my mouth, distracting myself with flavor. For a handful of minute, we just enjoy our pie in silence.

"People are like dogs, remember?" Amanda says slowly. "They lash out because they're afraid of what other people will think and they don't want to feel weak. And...they lash out when they haven't been happy in a long time because they're afraid it's too good to be true and they don't want to get hurt."

"That...sounds like Robert," I admit.

"I think he's gonna come back," she declares. "You fed him. People always come back when you feed them."

That makes me laugh. "Thanks, Panda. I just hope you're right."

"Of course I'm right," she laughs. "I've been watching you feed people my whole life. If he doesn't come back, then he doesn't deserve to have you as a friend. But he'll come back." She licks her spoon. "And when he does, I'll make sure he knows he better not hurt my dad, or I'll kick his ass."

"Amanda! Language!"

"I meant his donkey!"

"He doesn't have a donkey."

"He is a donkey."

"Amanda!"

She comes around the table to hug me. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm angry that he's hurting you, but that's no excuse for calling him names. I know he's not doing it because he's mean, but he still needs to know that his actions hurt you. If he's worthy of being your friend, he'll apologize and not do it again."

I sigh. "I raised you right, sweet pea."

"Darn right you did." She kisses the top of my head and then lets go. "I'm gonna start my homework. Okay if I do it at the table?"

"That's fine," I tell her. "It's pizza night, but I'll be using the center island for that." Suddenly, I remember the message I left for Robert. "Better than fine, actually, because if anyone texts me you can answer without me having to wash my hands."

We clean up from our snack and get settled back in, Amanda keeping watch over my phone as it charges and me getting my hands all covered with flour. Sure enough, as my hands are the stickiest, my phone chirps.

"It's Robert," she confirms. "He says, meet me at J and K. And then he sent a second text with just a question mark."

Robert wants me to meet him at the bar. But more than that, he's asking. My heart jumps into my throat. I want to rush right out, but...

"I'm pretending to be you," Amanda announces. "I'm telling him you're making pizza but he's welcome to join us."

"That works," I say, relief bubbling up and pushing my heart back where it belongs. Then I hear a buzz and more typing. "What did he say? What did you say?"

She puts the phone down and gives me a defiant look "He said even if I'm drunk? and I said even if you're drunk."

In other words, he's already drunk.

"He says he'll be over in ten or fifteen."

"Good, I have time to get the dough off my hands." I shoot her a relieved smile. "Thanks, sweetie."

I've got the pizza dough on the pan when there's a knock at the door. Amanda takes the jar of homemade marinara and shoos me towards the living room. My heart's back in my throat as I unlock the door and pull it open. Robert looks like he woke up hung over and went right back to drunk, and our eyes meet for a single, heartwrenching instant before he looks away. I'm hugging him before either of us are aware that I've moved, breathing in the scent of leather and cloves and trying not to cry. Two shaky breaths and then I release him, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I shouldn't...it's just...I was worried." God, it sounds so lame when I say it out loud.

"Don't apologize," Robert says in a rusty voice. "I was an asshole. I'm sorry, Jack." One hand comes up slowly, the spare key dangling from his fingers. "I won't do it again," he promises in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

Throat tight with the tears I won't shed and the words I can't say, I take the key and tuck it into my pocket. Robert looks relieved as it vanishes from sight.

"Are you okay?" I ask, wanting to pull him back into another hug.

He snorts. "Aside from being a shitfaced mess? I...think so."

"Okay." Tentatively, I smile at him. "Come in, sit down. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Water," he rasps.

He sits across from where Amanda's homework is spread out. I fetch him a glass of water and get a gentle smile that makes me want to both melt and hug him to my chest. Amanda hands me the bag of shredded cheese and goes back to her homework.

"Mushrooms, pepperoni, and green peppers okay?" I ask, head in the fridge. I get a 'yes' from my daughter and a 'sounds good' from my crush.

It doesn't take long to strew sliced veggies and pepperoni on the pizza, and then I put it in the oven and set the timer.

"Thanks or not being angry," Robert says quietly as I sit next to him.

"Dad doesn't really get angry," Amanda says, not looking up from her homework. "He just gets tired and makes you feel guilty for hurting him."

Robert gives me an apologetic look. "It's unfairly effective."

She snorts. "Tell me about it. If you ever wonder why I'm such a good kid, just think about the look on my dad's face and remember I grew up with that."

He's trying not to laugh at my expression. "I can see that."

"Amanda, we're going to need the table in a couple of minutes."

"I know," she sighs, closing books.

As she packs up her things, Robert and I sit in silence that seems to buzz with all the things we aren't saying, and I'm keenly aware of the distance between my hand and his. It's a relief when the timer goes off and I have to get up to take the pizza out. While it's cooling, I take out plates and forks and pour or refresh drinks. Robert opts to stay with water; I pour myself some Coke. Then I cut the pizza into six slices and bring them, two to a plate, over to the table. Somewhat anxiously, I watch Robert's reaction. His eyebrows go up in surprise and hums around his first bite. Amanda and I are beaming at him, and he looks up only briefly before letting his eyes drop to his plate.

I think he's blushing a little.

Dinner is quietly comfortable, and Amanda excuses herself to her room when she's done eating. I'm pretty sure she's deliberately giving us space to talk, but I can't bring myself to care.

"Thanks for this," Robert says in a low voice. "For the pizza. For inviting me over. For taking the key back. I'm an asshole. I'm sorry. I'll try to do better."

I want to just wrap my arms around him and hold him. Instead, I lay my hand on his and my heart jumps when he turns to hold it. "We do pizza every Thursday, except for last week because we were moving. But it's a three-person pizza and it doesn't reheat well. When Ana was on deployment, we'd leave her slices and then throw them out or invite someone over that night. Consider this a permanent invitation to dinner on Thursdays." Shyly, I smile at him. "But if you're willing to put up with experimental pizza some other time, I'd like to try my hand at Hawaiian."

"I'm always up for bringing more good Hawaiian pizza into the world," he says, smiling back.

"Robert..." I look away, squeezing his hand just a bit tighter. "Did I overstep?"

"No, Jack." His hand tightens around mine. "I told you. I'm an asshole. I felt guilty about you being so good to me and I took it out on you. It was wrong of me and I won't do it again."

The words bleed out of me. "I was worried."

"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you."

"You don't have to."

"Yes," he growls emphatically, "I do."

I give his hand a quick squeeze and smile at him when he turns to look at me. "Okay."

That one word seems to dissolve a lot of the tension making him hunch over, and he smiles uncertainly back.

"Movie?" I ask, nodding to the living room.

"Yeah," he murmurs, staring at me with incredulous delight. "I'd like that."

We adjourn to the couch and settle in to watch something - I don't even care what it is, I'm listening to Robert's commentary and focused on how close we're sitting. It feels right, like the proper state of the universe has been restored.

Amanda comes in as the credits are rolling. "Cherry pie?" she asks, but Robert shushes her.

"Yes," he says shortly. Then he goes back to thanking the crew.

Amanda and I beam at each other. She disappears into the kitchen and comes back with warmed slices of pie on small plates, with forks, and distributes them before taking up the last third of the couch. Robert changes channel until he finds another movie, and we settle comfortably back in to nibble cherry pie and be entertained. Amanda hugs me and says goodnight to our guest when it's time for her to get ready for bed, and Robert's warm smile when he wishes her a good night makes me want to melt against him. When the second movie's credits come to an end, he sighs.

"I'm tired but I have to pee," he complains.

I have to forcibly stop myself from kissing the hollow of his cheek. "Want to camp on my couch tonight?"

"If I stand up, I won't be tired anymore." He sighs again. "Oh well."

Robert hauls himself upright and half-stumbles down the hall to the bathroom while I clean up pie dishes.

A minute or two later, he says, "I'm gonna go home and crash out,"  from the kitchen doorway. "I'll see you for breakfast at..."

"Six," I tell him, smiling in what I hope is encouragement.

He smiles back, and oh my god, I'm in love. "Right. I'll be here tomorrow at six." He turns to leave, then stops and turns back. "Jack? I took the security chain off my door."

"You-"

"-didn't have to. I did it anyway.  Sleep well, Jack," he says gently, almost wistfully. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Sleep well, Robert." I'm probably looking wistful myself. "Goodnight."

===

"You look stoked, bro!" Craig exclaims as we start our jog.

"Thursday is pizza night," I remind him.

He looks wistful. "I miss that. So who'd you get to eat the third slices?"

"Robert."

"Haha, bro, that's great! So, do you own his soul now?"

I grin at him. "I also made cherry pie yesterday."

Craig shakes his head ruefully. "I'd probably sell my soul for your cherry pie. Or maybe one of my children. Do you want to trade Hazel for a pie? Firstborn kids are traditional payment, right?"

That makes me laugh. Or it would, if I had the breath for it. "If you want pie so bad, bro, I'll bake you one."

"You should totally bake mini pies for the next bake sale. You'll wreck the competition."

"We'll see," I tell him. "I make no promises except that it will be delicious."

When we get back to the cul-de-sac we high-five before going into our own houses. A quick shower, fresh clothes, and I get things cooking. Amanda wanders out at six, just in time to let Robert in, and she greets him cheerfully.

"Omelets today," I announce, brandishing a spatula. "Fillings?"

"Bacon and green peppers and cheddar," Amanda declares, pouring herself some juice.

Robert arches his eyebrows. He looks a lot better this morning, clean and sober and I want to kiss him. Fuck.

"What are my choices?" he asks.

I point the spatula at the fridge. "If it's in there, it can go in your omelet."

Amanda's already crumbling cooked bacon onto a small plate next to some pre-chopped green pepper that didn't make it onto the pizza and a handful of shredded cheddar. She hands a plate to Robert, who piles it with torn-up slices of ham from the deli and then a small mountain of cheddar cheese. I've already got my mushroom, bacon, and swiss omelet on a covered plate for myself.

I make Amanda's omelet first, since she has to go to school, and it's done about when the biscuits are. While she's digging in, Robert nibbles a biscuit with butter but then comes up to lean against the counter next to me while I'm making his omelet.

"What do you take on your biscuits?" he asks quietly.

"Butter and strawberry jam," I answer.

My attention is mostly on his omelet, but I do notice that he's back to leaning on the counter nearby and when I turn to look at him, he offers me a buttered biscuit half with jam. Blushing, I take a bite and mumble my thanks. He looks pleased, though, and keeps feeding me bites of biscuit until his omelet is done.

"Eat before it gets cold," I say firmly, and he holds out the last bite for me before taking his plate to the table.

He smiles as I join him, making me go weak in the knees, but I manage to sit without incident and we all enjoy a hearty breakfast before Amanda leaves for school with the ritual hugs and exchanges of 'I love you'.

"This was a lot better than frozen waffles," Robert says with a hint of a grin.

I grin back. "Well, I should hope so! ...you're always welcome to join us for breakfast," I add quietly. "Even if you feel guilty. Even if you feel like you don't deserve it."

Robert toys with his fork for a few seconds. "Why didn't you keep texting me? Demanding to know where I was, things like that?"

I look down at my empty plate. "You didn't text back. I thought you didn't want to talk to me. And if that was the case, it would have been rude of me to bother you."

"I don't think it's possible for you to be rude," he says in a firm but low voice. "If I don't respond in an hour, text me again and ask if I'm okay. Remind me that you give a shit. Don't let me shut you out."

"Okay." I look up, see him looking sadly at me, and smile. "And if you don't respond after a second hour?"

The sadness melts into something more like apology. "Ask me where I am. I'll probably be either at home or Jim and Kim's. Take whatever actions you think are appropriate."

Greatly daring, I lean over and hug Robert. After a moment, he hugs back. I let go. "Okay," I say softly, smiling.

Hesitantly, Robert smiles back. I'm so in love, and I've only known him for a week. Help.

"So...got any plans for the day?" I ask awkwardly. "I'm just...gonna see what scholarship applications I can round up for Amanda."

"I've got some...cleaning...to do," he replies. "Thanks for breakfast. I'll...see you later." Somehow, he manages to make that sound like both a promise and an invitation.

"Okay." Come on, Jack, is that the only word you know? "Happy cleaning?"

Chuckling, Robert stands up. "Something like that."

With a last smile in my direction, he leaves the kitchen and lets himself out.

I'm such a sap.

===

Amanda and I spend the evening sorting out scholarship application and filling them out. Despite it being Friday night, we both get ready for bed at a reasonable hour. Me because I still intend to jog with Craig in the morning, and her because if she goes to bed early, she can sleep for ten hours and still hang out with her friends most of the day.

Sweet slumber takes me gently in its metaphoric arms and carries me off. Then a loud buzzing rudely interrupts us, and I find myself awake staring at 11:05 on my phone as it vibrates in my hand again. I'm being texted.

HEY

JACK

HEY

HEY JACK

HEY IM OUTSIDE

COME OUTSIDE

Why is Robert outside? Why does he want me to go outside?

DONT MAKE ME HONK

I WILL HONK

GET OUT HERE

I'm not really awake enough for a full word, but I text back the letter K and get a :) in return. Grumbling internally, I shuffle outside to where Robert's leaning against his pickup truck, which is in my driveway.

"Hey," he says cheerfully and, dare I say, unrepentantly considering the lovely sleep he is depriving me of.

"...hey?" I echo, still not fully with it.

"Wanna hang?" he asks, somehow looking like a dog begging to go for a walk.

I was kind of...sleeping. But when I open my mouth to say that, all that comes out is a pouty-sounding "Now?"

He doesn't seem offended, though. "Come hang out," he urges, almost wheedling, and it's...very hard to say no to my crush when he sounds like that and all I want to do is curl up in his arms.

"...sure."

The happy, relieved expression that gets makes me feel like maybe I don't need sleep after all. Then Robert points at my legs. "You plan on going out like that?"

Right. I'm in pajamas.

"I mean, I don't mind," he teases.

Blushing furiously, I retreat inside to change and leave Amanda a note. Shoes, wallet, keys, jacket, lock the door and I'm back by Robert's truck. He grins at me.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

Robert pulls open the passenger door and gestures me inside. "Hop in."

I don't hop. I climb. I haven't been in a pickup truck in...since before Amanda was born. It has the look of a vehicle that hadn't been cleaned for years and then suddenly had its protective layer of litter rudely removed, followed by an abrupt application of soap and water. Was this the cleaning Robert said he had to do? I buckle in as he comes around to the driver's side and climbs in. He buckles as well, starts the truck, and drives out of the cul-de-sac.

Robert fiddles with the radio for a minute, finding music he likes, then cracks his window open and lights a clove cigarette. We drive in comfortable, clove-scented silence and I think I fall asleep once or twice before I recognize the feel of the highway. I glance at Robert, who's completely intent on driving, and shift a little in the seat to get more comfortable. May as well catch as many winks as I can before we get to wherever we're going.

The truck coming to a stop wakes me. Robert puts it in park and climbs out. I blink sleepily and then jump when he opens the passenger door.

"What are you waiting for?" he teases.

I climb out and follow him to the bed of the truck, where he hops up and pats the space beside him. I hop up as well, resisting the urge to just cuddle up to him and rest my head on his shoulder. He's parked the truck on a hill overlooking the city skyline against the bay. The cool night breeze rustles in some trees near us, and off to the side a path leads into a dense forest. City lights blink in the distance. This is a gorgeous spot.

"This is where I come to masturbate," Robert says softly.

My face is bright red, I'm sure, but what comes out of my mouth is, "Every time, or just special occasions?"

Robert laughs. It's such a nice laugh, light and carefree. It's like I'm getting a glimpse into who Robert used to be before his wife died.

"This is my little spot where I come to think," he says in that same soft voice. "You can see the whole city from up here. Really gives you some perspective."

"It's a good spot," I agree.

Robert shifts, reaching for something under his jacket, and pulls out a knife. Suddenly, I remember my initial impressions of him and start laughing.

"What's so funny?" he asks sharply, a smallish piece of wood in his other hand.

I shake my head while the giggles wind down. "When I met you in the bar, I thought you looked like you'd stab me if I moved too fast. And here you actually have a knife."

He chuckles. "Did you think I was gonna stab you just now?"

"And get my blood all over the bed of your truck? Not likely." I grin at him. "You're too smart for that. If you were going to kill me, you'd walk me at knifepoint into the woods and make it look like a wild animal."

"Well I hate to break it to you, but I did in fact bring you out here to harvest your organs." He tries to keep it deadpan, but there's a little smirk playing about the corners of his mouth.

I shrug off my jacket and reach for the hem of my shirt, like I'm about to pull it over my head. "Okay, but make it quick so they don't suffer any trauma before you harvest them."

Robert laughs again, and I think I can see a hint of a blush on his cheeks. "Ha! Nothing gets past you. Okay, put your jacket back on."

"You sure?" I lift my shirt up to my ribs. "These are prime organs. I'm very healthy and I eat right."

He laughs harder and transfers the knife to the hand holding the wood so he can cover his eyes. "Jack..."

"Fine, fine..." I lower my shirt and shrug back into my jacket. "But when that nun in Argentina needs a new colon, don't come crying to me. You had your chance."

For a minute he just slumps against the side of the truck bed, laughing while I grin like a loon.

"Okay, you earned this," he chuckles, reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket to hand me a folding knife. "So you can protect yourself when the Argentinian nuns come for your colon. Do you know how to use it?"

"I-"

"I'm gonna warn you," he continues, "the last guy I had a knife fight with lost three fingers because he didn't know the eight basic rules of knife fighting. You're familiar, right?"

"Did you forget who you're dealing with?" I unfold the knife and hold it vaguely threateningly. "I learned from my wife. The last guy who came for my organs limped away missing three fingers, both his big toes, five lymph nodes, and an ear."

"Right, or left?" Robert asks.

"Right."

He whistles. "Nicely done."

"Thank you," I say modestly.

There's a beat of silence, and then we both break into raucous laughter.

"Have you ever whittled before?" he asks when we've calmed down.

"I'm a country boy. I've used knives on wood, but never trying to make a figurine."

He hops down and fetches a thickish stick from the ground and hands it to me.

"The most important thing to remember while whittling is to cut with the grain, not against it."

I nod. "If you cut against the grain, the wood splinters. But isn't the most important thing safety?"

"No," he says, hopping back up and sitting next to me again. "Getting hurt comes with the territory. Look at my damn hands."

He holds them out, and I look. Of course, it's dark, so I have to hold them and get real close and stuff. They're calloused and covered in little white scars. They're very nice hands, and I want to rub my cheeks against them, like a cat.

"You can't whittle an omelet without breaking a few hand eggs," he says, the words just slightly uneven.

I let go of his hands, hoping he can't see my blush. We sit in silence for a while, carving our pieces of wood. I'm aiming for something vaguely duck-shaped while Robert is carving...a smaller wooden knife? My knife skips on a knot and bites into the meat of my thumb. I'm bleeding. It's dripping. I hold my injured hand over the ground, away from my pants, and close the knife blade.

"Robert?"

He doesn't look up. "Mm?"

I slip the knife into my pocket and gingerly transfer my proto-duck to my other hand. "I'm bleeding."

Robert looks over, sees me holding my hand away from anything it could drip on because it's still dripping and abandons his whittling to pull a red bandana out of his jacket and tie it around my hand. As soon as his fingers are out of the way mine are right there, applying pressure.

"Good. Hold tight."

He goes further into the bed and rummages for what turns out to be a first-aid kit. Carefully, he takes the bandana off. The bleeding, thankfully, has stopped. He smears some antiseptic on the cut, wads a piece of gauze up, and wraps medical tape around my thumb to hold the gauze in place.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, still bent over my hand.

"Yeah, I'm good. Not the first time I've stuck myself. This is nothing, not compared to the time I had to give myself stitches." I can see him grin. "Scar's on my knee, or I'd show you. When my dad finally took me to the doctor, the doc was impressed that it wasn't infected but frustrated that I hadn't been brought in the same day rather than almost a week later. Stitches were almost ready to come out."

Robert stares at me. "You're...not joking."

"Not this time, sorry." I give him an apologetic smile.

He runs his fingers over the medical tape as though smoothing it down. "Well then, I don't have to tell you to keep that cut clean."

"Am I a real whittler now?" I ask dryly.

"That you are," he says, grinning. "Be careful, though. They're attracted to the scent of blood."

That's...confusing. "Sticks?"

"Cryptids," he answers, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Tons of 'em out here, you know. This town's a hotbed for cryptozoological occurrences."

I put the back of my uninjured hand to my forehead. "You were going to force me into the woods at knifepoint and leave my body for cryptids to eat?"

"Of course not." He sounds slightly offended. "I was going to use you as bait. But now that I know you know your way around a knife, I think we could take the Dover Ghost together."

Robert sounds serious. I can't tell if he's joking or not. "Wait...what's the Dover Ghost?"

"Let me tell you a story," he says, his voice dark and almost angry.

A little worried, I nod and he tells me about going camping with a huge putbull named Betsy and how, on the second night, the woods were completely silent and he heard an unholy guttural growl and saw a misshapen humanoid figure with black eyes that stared at him, vanished, and then vanished the dog. The story ends with how he didn't sleep that night and hasn't slept right since.

"Just one question," I say when he finishes. "What size batteries were in your flashlight?"

He blinks. "Flashlight?"

"The one you used to see that the Dover Ghost's eyes were black."

"You think I'm making this up," he says. "Well, guess what." He pulls out his wallet and hands me a picture of a huge pitbull. "Tell that to Betsy."

He has a picture of a pitbull. But there were no dog accessories in his house. I think.

"They say that if you listen closely on quiet nights," he says as he tucks picture and wallet back away, "nights just like tonight, you can hear the howl of the Dover Ghost."

As I'm opening my mouth to call bullshit, a guttural howl rips through the night. I've heard a lot of wild animals growing up, and I'm sure this is just some animal we didn't have back home, but fuck if my hindbrain isn't convinced it's a goddamn monster. Robert and I stare at each other, and he's just as terrified as I am. Without a word we scramble from the bed of the truck around into the cab and lock the doors. For whatever good that will do us.

"I thought you were yanking my chain," I hiss at him, peering through the window towards the path into the woods.

He starts the truck. "I was, right up until that howl!"

I can see something coming out of the wood, walking slowly and unevenly along the path. It looks human...kind of...but like it's dragging something. Blindly, I flail at Robert's arm.

"The fuck is that?" he demands.

Good. He's seeing it, too.

"Go, go, go!"

Highbeams on, Robert guns it and we drive off like a bat out of hell, booking it down the dirt road towards the highway. He wastes no time accelerating to about ten over the speed limit, and it's a few minutes of staring straight ahead before either of us breaks the silence.

"The fuck was that?" Robert demands again.

Like I have any idea. "The Dover Ghost? Or maybe...someone illegally dumping garbage?"

"Yeah. Let's go with that."

Neither of us says anything until we're closer to town.

"Thanks for coming out," Robert says quietly. "This was fun."

"Thank you for waking me up to come out," I reply, smiling. "And thank you for showing me your thinking spot."

"Too bad I have to find a new one now," he says jokingly.

"Hey, what happened to us taking the Dover Ghost together?"

Robert chuckles. "We both ran, that's what happened." He fumbles one-handed with things in his jacket and lights another clove cigarette. "Been doing a lot of thinking," he says quietly. "Lately, I feel like I've been...drowning in a sea of regret."

My heart jumps into my throat. "Regret for what?"

"My life choices. Chasing after things that I thought would make me happy and only focusing on myself."

"That's a lonely way to live," I say quietly.

He snorts. "Yeah. I figured that out. But the more you get hurt, the harder it is to let someone else in, you know?"

I think about my father. My sister. My mother. I think about Ana, and Amanda going to college a thousand miles away. "I guess it depends on the hurt," I say slowly. "Me...I need people. It's probably not healthy, but when I get hurt it's because someone's...no longer in my life. And I look for someone else to bring into my life to fill the void. Someone else to care about so I don't eat myself alive missing the person who's gone. That's how I wound up married to Ana," I add dryly. "My father was no longer in my life, and even though he...wasn't the best person in the world...I was feeling adrift on a sea of despair. Ana was about six, seven months pregnant and she'd missed her bus so she was stuck in town. She needed someone, I needed someone, so we got married and as soon as she was recovered from giving birth, we moved out here. Never regretted it."

The silence relaxes into something more comfortable.

"Do you ever wish you were a better father?" he asks.

I chuckle. "My dad was kind of a what-not-to-do example. Before my daughter was born, I spent a month reading every parenting book I could find but in the end, I realized there is no 'best' way to parent because every child is different. If you get caught up in what you think you should or shouldn't do, you'll lose sight of what your child actually needs. So I just focused on her, and what she needed, and I figure as long as she turns out okay, then I did okay."

Robert thinks about that for a minute. "If we're judging parents by their kids, then I think you're the best one on the block, hands down. Compared to me, your relationship with Amanda seems...perfect."

"Thanks," I say, grateful he's not turning to see me blush. "But it's not. Nothing's ever perfect except molecularly or geometrically."

"At least you're there for her," he says bitterly.

The emptiness looms before me.

"I'm there for her, but what do I do once she's off at college?"

Robert sits up straight and glances at me, the borderline-hostile look I haven't seen in a few days. "I'll be there for you," he says, and there's something in his voice that I can't describe.

It's like listening to Freddie Mercury pouring his heart into the lyrics of a song - 'Somebody to love' maybe, or or 'You're my best friend' or...no...'Save me'. That's the song I'm thinking of.

Save me, save me, save me. I can't face this life alone.

I'm not sure whether I'm associating the lyrics with Robert, or myself.

"We'll figure it out together," Robert continues.

I feel like I'm going to cry because it's just sunk in how very badly I need him, and the thought that he might understand that...that he might need me, too...

"Thank you," I whisper, hoping he can hear how much I'm not saying. "That means a lot to me."

Briefly, he takes my hand and squeezes before putting it back on the wheel. We drive the rest of the way in comfortable silence, listening to the radio and watching the lights of Maple Bay get closer. Finally, he pulls into my driveway and I reluctantly unbuckle my seat belt.

"I still have your knife," I start to say, but he waves one hand at me.

"Keep it. Never know when you might need it." He gives me a little smirk. "And you're still on my team for hunting cryptids."

I smile at him, and he smiles back. "Thanks. Goodnight, Robert. Drive safe. See you for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Six?" he asks with a little wince.

The clock on the dashboard says squiggle-45. I check my phone and discover it's close to one in the morning. "Maybe seven. I should text Craig, let him know I'm not going to be in any shape to jog with him in the next six hours."

Robert laughs. "Sleep well, Jack."

"You too," I tell him, wishing he were coming inside with me, and close the door to the truck.

He backs out of my driveway and almost immediately pulls into his own. He waves at me as he gets out, I wave back, and we both enter our respective houses.

The note I left on the whiteboard for Amanda read OUT WITH ROBERT, NO ICE CREAM, LOVE YOU in blue dry-erase marker. Beneath it in green, she's added, GO DAD, AW DRAT, LOVE YOU TOO. I grab the blue marker and scrawl WENT CRYPTID HUNTING. BREAKFAST AT 7. NO ICE CREAM. Then I change back into my pajamas and seek out the metaphoric arms of slumber again, wishing they were Robert's arms.

===

My phone vibrates, buzzing and rattling against the bedside table.

JACK

HEY

JACK

I BROUGHT DONUTS

It's quarter past seven. I still don't feel like I slept enough, or maybe I slept too much? Groggily, I shuffle out to the living room where Robert hands me a cardboard cup of coffee and a French Cruller.

"Thanks," I mutter, biting into the donut so I have a hand free to open the door and let Robert in.

Wait.

I look back and Amanda grins at me from the recliner, a chocolate-frosted-with-sprinkles in each hand. Robert's smiling fondly at me from the middle of the room. I'd be super embarrassed if I were awake enough to register shame. Instead, I just sit on the couch and enjoy my coffee and Robert sitting next to me. After the French Cruller meets its fate, I snag a strawberry-frosted from the box on his lap and try not to lean against him.

"I texted Craig for you," Robert says, putting the box on the table and plucking a chocolate glazed for himself. "Told him I was holding you hostage in Bolivia and if he wanted to see you again, to wire twenty thousand gherkins to my Swiss bank account."

Amanda frowns. "Wait...aren't gherkins little pickles?"

"They're not only little pickles," Robert asserts, "but they're the best pickles. Regretfully, Craig just responded with 'okay, bro' and didn't wire me any pickles at all."

"How..." I break off, trying to bludgeon my brain into working.

"Yeah, how would he wire pickles to you?" Amanda asks.

"That's beside the point. The point is that I'm never going to get my twenty thousand gherkins."

Abruptly, I stand up and head for the pantry. I'm pretty sure I have....yes! A jar of sweet gherkins. Serving size...about three...servings per container 9...about 27 gherkins per 16-ounce jar, that's...

...that's...

Would a wholesale club have giant jars of pickles?

"Dad?"

I wander back into the living room, coffee in one hand and pickles in the other. "I need your math brain, sweetie. What's twenty thousand divided by twenty-seven?"

Amanda gives me an are you kidding? look and pulls out her phone. "Seven hundred forty. Repeating."

That's a lot of pickles. I hand the jar to Robert. "I'm not buying you seven hundred jars of pickles."

Robert puts down his coffee and turns the jar of pickles over in his hands as though he can't believe what he's holding. Then he laughs, head flung back, slumped against the couch like the world's gone mad.

"You're really something, Jack," he chuckles, shaking his head as I sit back down next to him.

"Thank you?"

"This is what happens if you throw off his sleep schedule," Amanda says. "He'll be useless for another twenty minutes."

"Really?" Robert looks critically at me. "I'll keep that in mind. What havoc are you wreaking on the town today?"

"Gonna chill at the mall with my friends," she says, licking chocolate off her fingers, "Speaking of, I'm gonna head out." She gives us each a hug. "Behave, you two. Make good choices. Love you, Dad."

"Love you too, Panda," I answer reflexively.

Robert and I chill on the couch, sipping coffee in comfortable silence, until it occurs to me that I I was so out of it I did the cartoon thing where the character doesn't realize the other character is there for a few seconds, and I gave him a jar of pickles. For no reason other than that I discovered he likes them. I cover my face with one hand and groan.

"Huh. Twenty minutes. She was right."

"I'd say something witty," I tell him, "but I'm too busy trying to die of embarrassment."

"No dying," he tells me sharply. "You'll rat me out to the Dover Ghost."

I let my hands drop. "You're right," I declare in my best determined voice. "We're a team. I won't let you down."

Robert grins. "Speaking of teams, Craig mentioned his girls are playing a game this afternoon. And if I were you, I'd make plans for tomorrow or Joseph's likely to try to try talking you into helping him chaperone a Youth Minister thing."

"Thanks for the warning," I tell him. "Also, thanks for breakfast."

He looks pleased but also a little uncomfortable and he looks away. "I thought it was only fair after I dragged you out of bed."

"If I make you a spare key," I start, grinning, "are you going to use it to sneak in and harvest my organs in the middle of the night?"

Valiantly, he tries to hide how amused he is, but the chuckles slip out anyway. "Of course not. I like my lymph nodes where they are."

"Then that's one errand I know I'll be running today. How about you? Got any plans?"

He looks away again. "Laundry."

Do not ask if he wants company. Do not. You did that last time and hit some kind of nerve.

"I should text Craig, see if he wants me to do breakfast at his place tomorrow morning," I say instead. "Give him a morning where he can breathe. If he does, do you want me to come over and do breakfast with you first?"

"Nah. I'll just have frozen waffles and artificial syrup." He gives me a brief, almost...hopeful?...smile. "If I have to fend for myself once in a while, it'll encourage me to take advantage of your hospitality."

I smile back, trying to make it reassuring. "Okay. I better get started making plans, then."

"Yeah." Robert looks away. "If you don't have anything else to do, I'll be at Jim and Kim's with Mary tomorrow night starting around nine."

"Maybe I'll come keep you company, then."

"That'd be good." He points to the box of donuts. There's still several left. "You want any more of these before I take them?"

I grab a blueberry cake donut as he stands up and take a huge bite. "Fnk yw," I mumble.

Robert laughs."You're welcome. See you later, Jack. Take care."

Hastily, I swallow. "See you later. Be safe."

Then he's gone, and I'm flopping over to lay on the couch and eat my donut and think about what a lovestruck fool I am. That holds me for about five minutes, and then I head into my bedroom for my phone. I also realize I haven't checked Dadbook for a few days, what with being worried about Robert and all, so I fire up the desktop.

Brian suggests some late-morning minigolf on...Sunday. Whew. I shoot him a message that I'll check with Amanda, send her a text, get an affirmative, and confirm that we'll be there. Hugo apologized for not getting back to me sooner but trivia night is Wednesdays. Damien formally enquires as to whether or not I am free on the Lord's Day for a picnic, time negotiable. I schedule that for early afternoon to give us time for minigolf. Craig texts me the time and location of the softball game and confirms that my biscuits would be very welcome tomorrow for breakfast. And then Joseph notices that I'm online and messages me asking me to help chaperone his Youth Mixer tomorrow evening.

Wincing, I ask what time it is. Early evening. Right when I don't have anything. I tell him I can be there for a few hours, but then I have other commitments.

What am I getting myself into?

Well, what's done is done. I strip off my PJs and take a shower, mentally organizing my errands as I do.

=

As I'm getting ready to head out, scrawling a whiteboard note for Amanda, the front door opens and she books it to her room so fast the door to her room closes before the front door does. In the wake of those sounds, I can hear her crying. Alarmed, I knock gently on her door.

"Manda?"

The crying stops. "Not right now," she calls tightly. Her voice is definitely strained and I can hear her sniffle.

I test the doorknob, but she hasn't locked it. Then I throttle back my protective father nature and take my hand off the knob. "Is everything okay?" I ask, knowing the answer is no but not wanting to pressure her.

"I don't wanna talk about it!"

Well, that's a no, but it's not a 'go away'. "Do you want company?"

"No! Go away!"

Okay, now we've got a 'go away'. "Okay," I call reassuringly through the door. "I'm heading out for some errands. Don't eat all my strawberry cheesecake ice cream while I'm gone." Meaning she can have some of it, and help herself to the rest of the cookie dough ice cream, which I know she'll understand because I didn't say 'no ice cream'. "Love you, Panda."

It's a few whimpery seconds before she calls back, "Love you too, Dad."

The hardware store is my first errand, getting a copy of the house key made. They have an assortment of key covers, ranging from cartoon characters to one that makes the key look like the blade of a tiny chainsaw, but in the end I just get a set of pre-labeled ones in plain colors. The one labeled 'Mom' is a dark blue and I slip it onto the copy of my housekey, then wrestle it onto a key ring. I've been called Mr. Mom enough, I can roll with it. The red one says 'Locker', but there really isn't an option for 'the house of the guy you kinda wish was your boyfriend' or even just 'friend' or 'significant other', so I I go with red for the shirt Robert was wearing when I met him. Or love. Whichever.

At the grocery store, I pick up strawberries, ladyfingers, and cool whip. Then I browse the baking aisle for red decorating gel. I also stare at the ice cream until I find something that includes "Xtreme" in its name and features an explosion of what seems to be three kinds of chocolate plus caramel. The rest of the shopping goes quick. Amanda's still in her room when I get home, but what makes me worried is the ice cream hasn't been touched. Right, this is why I have plans B and C.

Slicing strawberries would normally be time-consuming, but I've been doing it for most of my life. In a relatively short time I've assembled a "cake" of ladyfingers with layers of strawberries and cool whip. On top, I write "Sorry you're sad but I support you 100%" because I have no idea what's got her so upset. I add a few hearts around the edges and put it in the fridge. It's just about time to head out for Craig's game, so I get my stuff together and knock on Amanda's door again.

"Pumpkin?"

"What!"

I wince slightly. "I'm going out to watch Craig coach a softball game. He said his twins are going to a sleepover after, so we'll probably hang out and catch up. I got you more ice cream - Xtreme Chocolate Explosion or something - but don't just have ice cream for dinner, okay?' I give it a beat and add, "There's icebox shortcake in the fridge, too. Anyway, heading out. Love you, Panda."

There's two breaths of silence before she replies, "Love you too, Dad," in a small voice.

Just to make sure she doesn't forget, I scrawl a note on the whiteboard reminding her that I'm with Craig and there's ice cream AND cake that she can have for dinner. Then I lock the door behind me and head out.

Craig's team is apparently the Maple Bay Flapjacks, and they're playing against the Pinewood Oce-littles. It takes me a moment and seeing their logo to get it. Ocelot, ocelittle, and they're a kid's team. Cute. Craig's all over the coaching thing; it's like he's Team Dad. One of the kids gets smacked in the forehead with the ball about two-thirds of the way through the game, and he's right there hugging and soothing her. I'm thoroughly impressed, and I kind of feel like I'm watching the Ugly Duckling who's grown up into the swan coaching a bunch of ducklings. Or...something.

Whatever the metaphor, he coaches them to victory and all the girls are super thrilled. I go down to the dugout to congratulate him and see what we're doing, just in time to see him get verbally swept into going out for pizza with the rest of the team and about half a dozen moms. He sweeps me with him, though, and I find myself riding shotgun in his SUV with River's carseat separating the twins in the back.

"Good game," I tell him as we drive off. "You sure seem...poplar...with the moms, though."

He flashes me the wide-eyed look of a cornered animal. "It's just like that Kappa Phi Omega house party," he says, referring to a time when he spent the entire night trying to escape, only to have girl after girl waylay him trying to get into his pants. I finally had to do a very over-the-top impression of being his very gay boyfriend to ward them off and get him out.

"Got your six, bro," I assure him.

Sure enough, when we get to the pizza place, one of the moms is poised to pounce - but seeing me makes her pause.

"Craig," she purrs instead, oozing closer, "who's your friend?"

"Jack," I introduce myself, getting the wrist-flip in as I hold my hand out to shake. "I was best friends with Craig back in college. We even lived together, can you believe that? Ha," I add, the routine coming back like riding a bicycle. "And I must say, hasn't he cleaned up nicely? All these muscles..." I slide my arms around him from behind, feeling his chest and abdomen. "Mm. Definitely didn't have these when I last saw you. I'm so looking forward to...catching up tonight."

Craig smiles at the woman. "Yeah, we've got a...busy night planned. You're good to take Briar and Hazel for the sleepover, right?"

"Of course," she says, looking a bit uncertain. "But I could always use some help watching over everyone, if you're not doing anything..."

I let out a brief, fake laugh, playing up the other possible meaning for 'doing'. "I have to say, it was such a surprise to see Craig with kids. Considering how much time he spent in college playing for the home team. If you get my meaning."

With the way I'm draped all over him, it's hard not to get my meaning. I look like I'm about to start giving Craig my meaning right there in front of all the girls.

"Yup, busy night," Craig says cheerfully. "Looks like you've got things under control here, so I'm just gonna head out with my...friend...here. I'll pick the girls up at seven. Night!"

And while she's still gaping, we make our escape back to the parking lot. We get all the way back to his SUV before we can't hold the laughter in anymore.

"That was perfect," he howls, high-fiving me before putting River back in her carseat. "You're a lifesaver, bro!"

I slide into the front seat. "Any time, bro. Any time. As long as you don't mind getting a rep for catching instead of pitching."

He slides into the driver's seat and starts the car. "If it keeps them off my back, I'll go to second base in front of them."

"Not looking for another relationship anytime soon, then?" I ask sympathetically.

"I don't have the time," he sighs. "I've got primary custody of three kids, there's the company to run - thankfully most of that can be done from a laptop - and then there's trying to keep healthy on top of that. Half the time, I feel like a hamster on a wheel running out my stress and the other half of the time, working out feels like the only way I can get some time to myself. My life is exhausting, bro. The last thing I need is another responsibility to juggle. I don't know how you did it."

"I didn't have a pair of twins and an infant," I point out. "Or a company. And Ana was taking care of Fareeha while I was taking classes. You need to find a way to delegate or cut back somewhere, or you're going to burn yourself out. Trust me on that. I've been there."

He shoots me a confused frown. "But you just said-"

"Before I met Ana."

"Forgot about that," he mutters. "My bad, bro. Hey, you still set with those trust funds, or can I tempt you into a part-time job doing busywork for peanuts?"

"You had me at busywork," I tell him, grinning. "I'm going to be going stir crazy when my girl goes off to college. Did I tell you she got into her dream school?"

"Bro! No way!" He shoots me a grin. "That's awesome!"

We pull into a diner that looks like it's the right balance of quality and greasy and pile into a booth with River's carseat on the bench next to Craig. The waitress comes up and hands us menus.

"Is this your kid?" she asks with a speculative gleam in her eye, gesturing to River.

Craig looks like a deer caught in the headlights. I give her a dazzling smile.

"Sure is!" I gush. "Isn't she beautiful? Adoption went through just last week. We're so thrilled to have a little princess of our own to raise!"

The speculation turns to disappointment, but the waitress smiles back anyway. "She's so cute! Hi, you!"

River gurgles and smiles.

"Aw. you're gonna have to beat the boys off with a stick in middle school, but if you can make it through that then you can make it through anything. Congrats, you two! Anyway, my name's Amy and I'll be your server tonight. I'll let you look over the menus for a few minutes, but can I start you off with something to drink?"

"Just water for me," Craig says.

"For both of us," I add.

Amy smiles and goes to fetch us water.

"I owe you again," Craig says in a low voice. "I can never shift gears fast enough to pull that off myself; I always lock up and then it's too late."

"Always glad to help, bro."

Once we've made our choices, we talk about Amanda going to college and then what Briar and Hazel are into. We place our orders and chat some more, mostly about the import-export company and what aspects of running it Craig can delegate to me. Then our food arrives and we dig in, reminiscing about college. When we're done eating, Craig drives us back to the field where we just hang out in the cool dusk air and catch up on everything after college. Eventually, River gets fussy and we break it up so Craig can put her to bed, so we say goodnight until tomorrow's breakfast and take our separate cars home.

=

I can tell immediately that Amanda's out of her room - the whiteboard just has a big heart on it and when I check the kitchen, she jumps up and hugs me. For a long minute I just hug back, thankful that I have a daughter who knows I care and lets me help. Then she pulls the icebox shortcake out of the fridge and grabs a pair of soup spoons.

"It's dumb," she warns me, handing a spoon.

We both sit down. "It's not dumb if it's hurting you," I tell her. "I care about you, kiddo, and I get scared when I know something's wrong and even more scared when I feel like I can't do anything about it."

"I know," she says in a small voice. "Thank you for worrying about me." She takes a deep breath. "You're sure you want to hear? It's stupid high school drama."

"It upset you, Panda. I want to know every detail so I can be properly enraged on your behalf and help you work it out."

"Okay." She digs her spoon into one corner of the pan; I dig into the opposite corner. "So...you know how Emma R.'s going to that fancy art school in California, right?"

I nod, and Amanda starts to explain what's been eating at her. It's convoluted, as high school drama tends to be, but the crux of it is that the boy she has a crush on has secretly been dating her best friend for months and she found out when her friends all supposedly bailed on hanging out at the mall with her, but went there anyway and she saw Emma R. and Noah kissing. The confrontation was every bit as messy as could be expected, there was a flurry of angry texts back and forth, and now she's on the outs with the people she thought were her best friends.

Thankfully, she's pretty stable despite everything because of the 'people are like scared dogs' talk we had, but she's still pretty hurt - and rightfully so - that her best friend lied to her for so long. I break it to her gently that sometimes, people you care about don't care as much about you and there's nothing wrong with remembering the good times and letting them go. I even talk about my father a little, and how I grew to emotionally separate myself from him and how much healthier it is to let go of the toxic people and invest your emotional energy into the people who care enough to not want to hurt you. I point out that in just a few weeks they'll be graduating, and in the fall she's going to be going to her dream school where she'll meet new people, make new friends, and find new things to break.

"Ultimately," I tell her loftily, "I think this says way more about their character than it does about yours, because you're amazing and if they can't see that, well...that's their problem."

"I'll keep that in mind," she says, giving me a small grin. "And hey, isn't that basically what I told you about Robert?"

"It is, and he apologized. He promised he wouldn't do it again and then he took me cryptid hunting to make it up to me."

Amanda grins wider. "Good. I like him. Is he coming over for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Nope." I grin back at her. "We're doing breakfast with Craig and his girls again, and I think this is going to be a regular thing."

She thrusts both arms into the air. "Woo-hoo! River's cute," she says by way of explanation. "So breakfast with them, and then minigolf, and then...?"

"Damien invited me to a picnic, so that's what I'm doing for lunch, and then I agreed to help Joseph chaperone a youth mixer in the evening, so I'll probably graze there for dinner. You're welcome to come along."

"Free food? I'm there."

"I'm only going to be there a few hours," I warn her. "I'm meeting Robert and Mary at the bar at nine, and I expect you to be in bed by ten-thirty."

She salutes me with her spoon. "Roger that, Daddy-o." Then she looks down at the pan.

It's empty.

"Did we...just..."

"Eat the entire thing?" I finish. "Yeah, we did. I think I'm gonna go foodcoma for a bit."

Amanda laughs. "Sounds like a plan. And Dad? Thanks for caring."

We get up and hug again, gently this time. "Anytime, sweetie. I love you."

"I love you too, Dad," she whispers into my chest.

===

Sure enough, when I float the idea to Craig of Sunday breakfast being a regular thing, he jumps on it. Briar and Hazel are envious of Amanda going mini-golfing with Daisy, and when I promise that I'll raise the idea with Brian, excited about the prospect of a multi-family excursion sometime in the future. They call me Uncle Jack when we get ready to head out, which is both endearing and weird.

Brian's already rented clubs for us when we get to the mini-golf course, so I announce that win or lose, refreshments at the end are on me. It's a fun, pirate-themed course and Amanda's loving the opportunity to both talk like a pirate and teach Daisy another aspect of having fun. Surprisingly, Brian's nice to talk to once I get used to him. He's not really that competitive, he just...really enjoys things and he comes across as challenging when he's just being enthusiastic.

Turns out he's so proud of his house and lawn because he's a general contractor who helped design and build the cul-de-sac. He also helped Damien with his Victorian renovation and planted all the greenery the houses started with, including my cherry tree, which explains the know-it-all attitude there. There's some absent worry about Robert's lawn. Apparently he hasn't really tended it since his wife died, and over the last few years Brian had made offers to wrestle it back into shape, but Robert turned them down. Brian also expresses worry over Robert himself and some frustration that despite his skill with a grill, Joseph dismisses his offers of cooking at the neighborhood barbecues.

We all come out with roughly equal scores at the end, and stick around to share a giant plate of nachos and some nice lemonade before going our separate ways. Brian and Daisy are open to the idea of a three-family golf outing and, I make sure he has my number in case I forget Dadbook exists for half a week again. Amanda brings up the idea of having our own cookout sometime so Brian can grill, and he looks so excited by that prospect that for a moment, I can only see him as a big, friendly dog who's been told 'no' many times but doesn't understand what he's done wrong. It strengthens my determination to go camping with him and share my campfire cooking skills.

Amanda decides, once we get home, that living well is the best revenge and she's going to chew on filling out scholarship applications and some school assignments that aren't due for a week. I'm staring at the contents of my closet, trying to decide what to wear to a Victorian picnic, when there's a knock at the door. And, when I check who it is, it's Damien with a picnic basket over one arm.

"I hope the day finds you in fine spirits," he says when I open the door. "I thought a brief stroll might whet our appetites. Would you care to accompany me?"

"Of course," I tell him, smiling. "Ah...just a moment." I lean away from the door. "AMANDA! I'M HEADING OUT! LOVE YOU!"

"LOVE YOU TOO!" she shouts from her room.

I lock the front door behind me, and we stroll down the street.

"Is that a normal routine for you and your daughter?" Damien asks after a moment.

"Yeah. It..." I have to swallow and take a deep breath. "I lost my mother to cancer when I was little. I got into the habit of making sure that was the last thing I said in case..."

Damien takes my hand and squeezes gently. I squeeze back.

"And of course, your wife..."

I nod. "It was a horrible moment for Amanda, trying to remember what she'd last said to her mother before remembering the routine she'd always put up with even though she thought it was silly. Suddenly, it wasn't silly anymore."

"Truly a pity that you had to had to experience tragedy to find that connection. But perhaps," he continues, "the pity is that we as a society insulate ourselves so deeply against our feelings that it takes a tragedy to bare our hearts to one another."

Shakily, I laugh. "I can't argue that point. It really brought home to me how precious every day is and how wasteful it is to be angry about petty things."

"The root of your sunny disposition," he says warmly. "To acknowledge death and become comfortable with it, I think, gives us a certain intimate knowledge of ourselves. Death helps us to appreciate life, a philosophy I myself have embraced. I am very glad that you have shared this piece of yourself with me."

I realize that he's taken us to a graveyard, and that he's gesturing inside.

"...because this is where I intended to take you, and I would not wish you to think me unduly morbid."

"I trust your taste," I tell him, and he practically lights up.

"This way," he says eagerly. "I often come here to meditate on thoughts of life and death, and there is a lovely spot..."

Damien leads me up a small hill, where we have a view of most of the cemetery and the nearby parts of the city. The gravestones in this section are old, easily a hundred years, with interesting carvings and statuary. Together, we spread out the blanket and unpack the basket. There's a bottle of red wine, but also one of sparkling red grape juice, and an assortment of fine cheeses, tiny sandwiches, and cakes.

"Picnicking in graveyards if an old Victorian tradition," he says as he pours the grape juice, having taken my practically ignoring the other bottle as a hint that I'm not interested in it.

While we eat and admire the peaceful surroundings, he tells me how the tradition came about and how sitting among the generations who came before, being alive amidst the dead, brings him comfort. I suspect there's some unhappy tragedy in his past, as well, but I don't bring it up. I ask him about movies, and what he thinks of ones set in Victorian times. Turns out that despite his comfort with death, he's not all that into the horror movies people assume he enjoys. We spend close to two hours discussing film and literature quite happily before the food and drink (except for the wine) is gone.

"A question," he says as we're packing everything up again. "You are not obligated to answer, of course, but...I notice you didn't even look at the label on the wine bottle. Are reds not to your taste, or do you not care for wine at all? I wish to be able to provide satisfactory refreshment to my guests. Robert, I know, prefers liquors distilled from grains...."

I give him a self-deprecating smile. "My mom chose my first name, my dad chose my middle name. It's Daniel."

Damien frowns. "Jack Daniel? That bears an...unfortunate resemblance to..."

"Yeah. Dad's favorite drink. I choose not to partake of alcoholic beverages of any kind."

"Understandable, since you have been so...obliquely objectified. Jack, I must compliment you on the strength and nobility with which you carry yourself despite the blows your life has dealt you."

"Me?" I smile at him, ignoring the memories of my sister that flood my mind. "What about you? Look at the strength and nobility you display, not to mention the gentleness and compassion with which you deal with your son."

Damien flushes. "I...try my best." 

I shake my head. "No. You're nailing it, and in a few years, Lucien is going to seriously appreciate what a good father you are."

"Despite my...eccentricities?"

"If you'd swooped in to be my father, cloak and all, I would have wept for joy."

That makes him stop dead. "You...you really mean that?"

"I tried to report my dad to Child Protective Services once. I had the wrong number. And they didn't take me seriously because I was a child."

The silence stretches as we turn into the cul-de-sac.

"I hope you will forgive my saying this," Damien declares stiffly, "but your father sounds like a complete cad and I am sorry you were trapped under his roof for so long."

"Your assessment is accurate. I'm not offended in the slightest." We've stopped by his house; I bow with as much of a flourish as I can manage. "This was a delightful outing. Perhaps next week some time we could have a friendly outing to the cinema. I would, of course, gladly accept your recommendations as to the location of the theater and the show we see, as the experience I have in this part of town was the movie Robert and I snuck into last week, and I have no idea where it is."

Damien laughs, light and free. "That sounds like quite a tale! I would be delighted to share my expertise. Perhaps we could exchange the numbers to our cellular telephones for the sake of convenience?"

We put ourselves in each other's phones.

"I look forward to your correspondence," I tell him.

His cheeks pink slightly. "You are too kind. Good eve, Jack."

He bows with a flourish. I bow again and head over to my house while he goes up his walk. Once I'm inside, I flop into the recliner and check the time. If I'm going to be out chaperoning and then keeping up with Robert and Mary, then a generous nap is definitely in order. I set a timer on my phone and stretch out.

=

A text wakes me up before my alarm. It's Joseph, begging me to come right now because there's an emergency. I'm a little disgruntled, but Amanda is dying to know what qualifies as an emergency, so off we go and when we arrive, it's all both of us can do to not laugh. A giant banner above the stage reads JESUS IS CUMING in unevenly-spaced letters. Joseph jogs up, clearly frazzled.

"I see you've seen...it," he says, not looking at the banner. "Ernest made it." Joseph looks like he's holding his temper with both hands.

I genuinely can't tell if he meant that maliciously, or if he just misspelled 'coming'.

"Jack, I need your help getting this down before anyone sees it."

"Can't argue with that. Amanda?"

She's backing away. "What's that, chaperone? Sorry, I'm just here for the mixer."

A chuckle slips out. "Okay, okay. Where's the ladder Ernest used to put it up?"

"Oh. Over there..."

Between the two of us, we get the ladder set up. I'm starting to wonder how Ernest pulled this off without Joseph noticing.

"I'm really glad you're here, Jack," Joseph says as I start climbing.

A lot of responses flash through my head, but all I say is, "Hold the ladder steady, I'm almost there."

"I didn't just ask you here for your strong arms," Joseph says, holding the ladder. "I also enjoy your company."

Ah, yes. That vaguely predatory sense I got when he first told me he was a youth minister. He reminds me of the guys who would try to roofie a girl's drink in college. And it looks like the plastic banner is stapled and taped up so thoroughly that I'd have to cut it off.

"It's not going to come down," I tell Joseph. "Not quickly or easily." I start climbing back down. "I have an idea. I need some of the plastic that the banner is made of and whatever Ernest used to write on it. Also, tape."

Within minutes, I've got a scrap of plastic large enough to cover the U and I've drawn AL on it, because JESUS IS COMING isn't much cleaner to a teenage mind. We move the ladder and with the banner piece over my shoulder and the tape in my mouth, I climb up again. It's tricky, taping plastic sheet to plastic sheet with nothing solid to press against, but I manage and I'm most of the way back down before the intended audience arrives, along with a couple other chaperones and the DJ. Quickly, we get the ladder out of sight in the hall.

Joseph intercepts the DJ, and I wander over to where Amanda's browsing the food.

"Nice work." She toasts me with half a tuna sandwich she's holding in the hand that doesn't have a plate of cookies.

"Thanks. So what's good?"

"It's free, Pops. It's all good."

I ruffle her hair. "Fine, then what should I start with?"

She takes another bite of tuna. "Not the roast beef, it's dry. Turkey's okay. Tuna's best. There's sweet relish and water chestnuts in it."

"Sold."

I grab a plate and load it up with a couple of sandwich halves, cheese cubes, pepperoni slices, crackers, and little croissant-wrapped franks. There's several 2-liters of soda and a bucket of ice, so I pour myself some crisp ginger ale and stand off to the side, eating while I have the chance. Amanda brings me a plate with a selection of baked goods, mostly storebought.

"The homemade cookies and brownies aren't that good," she tells me. "Stick with this."

"Bless you, child." I beam at her.

After what seems to be an inordinately long conversation, the DJ starts playing fun, bouncy songs - but the teens only mill nervously. Ah, I remember this. No one wants to be the first. I look for Amanda but she's across the room blatantly Not Volunteering. Joseph hurries from group to group, clearly urging them onto the dance floor, but he's not getting any takers. I pop the last croissant-frank into my mouth and dust the crumbs off my hands. When Joseph finally hurries up to me, I'm prepared. Mentally. Physically. Musically.

"You think you can take me?" I demand loudly, making Joseph pull up short. "That's pretty bold of you, preacher-man, but I'll have you know that no one out-dances me!" Yeah, I've got everyone's attention. Good. My lips curve into a smugly superior smile. "You want a dance-off? YOU'VE GOT IT!"

The teens have no idea what's going on except that a challenge has just been thrown down. Joseph follows me as I walk over to the center of the dance floor like I'm strutting down a catwalk. It's just like being in college, doing stupid shit and taking refuge in audacity. No shame. No holds barred. No reputation to lose.

I wish Robert were here to see what I'm about to do. Oh, Amanda's got her phone out ready to record. Never mind, we're good.

Joseph's looking at me uncertainly. I shake my shoulders out, roll my head, and draw on my college flamboyance - 75% confidence and 25% challenge combine into something that sings 'you want it all, but you can't have it/it's in your face but you can't grab it' in a taunting voice.

Every eye is on me.

I unleash a few moves and then point at Joseph. He's clearly startled, but gamely repeats them and then throws out a few from another dance. Easy. I repeat them with more enthusiasm than he displayed, owning the moves before switching to a different dance and giving him a taste of that one. A few cheers break out as I point imperiously at Joseph. Your turn, preacher-man. Can you keep up with me? He's getting into it now, showing some enthusiasm instead of looking ashamed, and I shamelessly dip into 'feminine' moves. Now we're both getting cheers and applause as we finish our demonstrations. The DJ's getting into it now, too, switching songs and waiting to see who can own or improvise the dance better before cutting to another one.

Then he puts on 'All the single ladies' and I know it's all over because Amanda was obsessed with that dance and had the Emmas over three weeks in a row to learn it, and guess who wasn't afraid to help her practice? Yup. I've even got the hips down, something I'm particularly proud of, and Joseph can only watch in flabbergasted awe as I not only nail the dance but acquire half a dozen enthusiastic teenage girls as my backup dancers. I hope Manda's still rec- yup, she is. Best daughter.

By the end of the song, half the teens are dancing and I'm ready to sit down and catch my breath. I make my way back to where I left my desserts and Amanda's there with a refill of ginger ale for me.

"That was awesome," she informs me. "Plus, I got it all on video."

I down half my glass in one go. "Good," I gasp. "I want a copy of that."

Joseph sidles over, looking remarkably like a dog who's spotted an unguarded sandwich on the table and is moving into position to snatch it. "That was amazing," he gushes. "You really know how to connect with the youths."

"I have a teenage daughter," I point out.

He starts, like he'd forgotten about Amanda. "Yes. Well. C'mon, the rest of the chaperones will take it from here. I have something to show you."

Mm-hm. I am not a sandwich.

"I think we better stay here, just in case."

Joseph frowns. "In case what?"

"In case they start a conga line," I say brightly. "Wouldn't want to miss that, would we?"

"A cong-"

"Or a kickline. Hey, Manda, do you think we could get them doing a kickline? Maybe to that numa-numa song?"

Amanda perks up. "You never know until you try, Dad."

Disappointed, Joseph wanders off. Victory! Amanda and I spend a good hour just relaxing, occasionally breaking up a couple that's getting a little handsy, and eating the free food. Then around eight-thirty I find Joseph and let him know I'm taking her home before I head out to my other commitment. He thanks me for my help, and we make our escape.