my father for a couple days—including Father’s Day. I’d leave Wednesday and would be back Monday night late if you could cover me until Tuesday.”
“I think you should run it by Emmet first.”
“I think I already did.” She laughed. “His only concern was the dinner party. Can you handle the boys and the guests?”
“Blindfolded,” I said confidently. “Amanda will be here too.”
“I’ll let Emmet know. And thank you, Annie…” Her smile said the rest.
We continued to cook together well into the afternoon. I really couldn’t believe it was Friday afternoon already. In my former life I hated Friday afternoons. I was perpetually exhausted because they were filled with crunched deadlines and the awareness that I would be working all weekend. I guess over time I grew numb to the fact the rest of the world was having fun on the weekend, and I was still working.
This Friday was different. There weren’t any important deadlines. Nobody’s freedom or life depended on my knowledge or efforts, except my own. My days were almost entirely stress-free. I was able to go running every morning and my biggest worry was to not hurt anyone with my cooking the next evening.
The days that week were relaxed and full. The nights were when I worried. I had difficulty getting to sleep wondering what was going on with Lawrence. Was he close to finding me? Was he even still looking? I wanted to talk to Theresa but she instructed me only to contact her in an emergency. My being wimpy didn’t constitute an emergency.
Michael had given me a gold medal with the Archangel Michael on it…the angel of protection. When I left the house it was in my purse, when I went running it was in my sports bra, and at night I slept with it under my pillow. It wasn’t that I felt the medal protected me; instead it reminded me I had a bodyguard who was watching over me.
The next afternoon I had an assessment with Harold, the owner of the kickboxing studio, to see if he would take me as a student. Maybe I would feel better if I had some self-defense skills. I would have bought a gun, but I couldn’t have a loaded gun with children around; even pepper spray could be harmful if they found it. Harold was a good option. I just hoped he didn’t accidently break any of my bones.
10
The boys came up with a list of pictures they wanted me to take of them with their father. There were only a few rooms in the house bright enough to shoot without a flash, but I had to be careful not to get caught. We called it our secret mission. It was a riot to see them drag Emmet randomly all over the property. I was sneaking around the bushes shooting pictures. Certainly I would end up with chiggers or poison ivy before the secret mission was over.
The boys were dying to see all the pictures, but Emmet didn’t leave the house at all that day, so it would have to wait until Wednesday when Emmet would be at the office. I just couldn’t risk getting caught and spoiling the surprise.
Wednesday, I picked up the boys from school so they could come to the scrapbooking store and choose the photo album or scrapbook they wanted for Emmet’s Father’s Day surprise. Emmet thought we were going to the pet store to look at snakes and lizards; something Susan would never take them to do. We would stop at the pet store too, but only after we had finished our first errand.
Agreeing on a scrapbook was a much easier task than I had anticipated. The store only had two with reptiles on it, and one was too “babyish” for them because the reptiles were cartoons…not like the real reptiles they had, they said. This gave us plenty of time at the pet store, although the boys were anxious to get back to the house so they could see all the pictures I took of them with their father on Sunday.
Back at the house, the coast was clear. Emmet was still at work. That didn’t prevent us from adding a bit of drama entering the house with the scrapbook as if it was the Holy Grail. The boys and I crept along the side of the house as though our lives depended on not getting caught. Luckily, our entrance to the house wasn’t too physically taxing. My body still hurt from my “assessment” with Harold on Saturday. In thirty minutes he exhausted every muscle in my body—each one continued to protest when I used it.
Even laughing hurt, which was difficult to refrain from while watching the seriousness on Josh and Eli’s faces. One by one we advanced our position toward the back door. Josh went inside first. After a few moments he came back, looked at Eli soberly, and waved him into the house. Another couple of moments passed and Eli repeated Josh’s actions mirroring his every move and facial expressions to wave me in.
I carefully hid the scrapbook in my room, joining the boys in Josh’s room to review the pictures from my camera’s memory card. Josh’s huge computer monitor made it easy to scroll through all the pictures. Each boy chose twenty shots to put in the book and I emailed them to Wal-Mart for developing. Josh and Eli gave me some of their priceless artwork to incorporate in the book as well.
I removed the memory card from the computer and was running through the timeline in my head—pick up the pictures tomorrow— assemble the scrapbook by Friday—finishing touches with the boys on Saturday. I smiled in satisfaction a nanosecond before the crash. Lego pieces and parts were all over the place and Josh was screaming at Eli.
“I told you never to touch my Legos! Never, never, never. And Dad told you too. You stupid retard!”
“Josh!” I said. “That’s no way to talk to Eli. I’m sure it was just an accident. I’ll help you put your Lego cars back together.”
“You can’t. You don’t know how! Only Dad knows how and he’s not here!”
“Your Lego cars are stupid. They’re stupid, and you’re stupid,” Eli said lisping with each word.
“Get out of my room! Annie, make him get out. Why don’t you go to your own room and break some of your stuff ! Get out of my roooooooom!”
As much as I tried to calm Josh down, it didn’t help. He wouldn’t be happy until Eli was out of his room and his father came home to rebuild his Lego fleet. Almost on cue, Emmet came in the door. “What’s all the yelling?” He said, entering the room.
The boys went back and forth explaining their side of the story complete with who started it and who called who a bad name. Emmet was so calm with both of them, I wasn’t sure how he could keep a straight face. I wished all my life’s problems were as easy as putting Lego cars back together.
“Annie, will you take Eli downstairs and have him help you with dinner while Josh and I reassemble some of these cars?”
“Of course,” I said. Poor Eli. I could tell he felt badly about wrecking his brother’s things. However, one helpful attribute of a six-year old is they are easily distracted. We made a game out of setting the table and took turns describing the ultimate ice cream sundae. Eli had an incredible imagination and as he gave his final description of the ultimate-ultimate ice cream sundae, his blue eyes widened as he pictured it.
Dinner was almost ready when Josh entered the kitchen.
“I’m sorry for calling you a stupid retard, Eli,” Josh said.
“Sorry I broke your stuff,” Eli answered. Emmet nodded at both his boys and that was it; crisis over. I didn’t remember it being like that with my sisters and me. Maybe there was a different dynamic with boys, I thought. Or maybe it was because their father was over six feet tall and outweighed each of them four or five times.
Emmet
