Duplo City had developed to a concerning level of urban sprawl. Even if he had owned any other furniture, it wouldn’t have fit. But rather than becoming more uniform, the city was growing in diversity. Besides Duplos, other building media were now being utilized, including a Lincoln Log church, a Mega Block hotel, a Lego Sherwood Forest, a Playmobil police station complete with jail, and a Tinker Toy oil drill on the outskirts. That was certainly the less desirable region, being sparse and without amenities, but in time, it would increase in value.
Casper was planning on expanding his own childhood Lego collection now that he could trust Joule not to eat them. He and Joule liked to scroll through images of the newest sets, coveting the spaceships, submarines, and the scale model of the Shire that cost five-hundred bucks. He scoured the internet for deals, waiting to pounce on a sale. He still didn’t have much money to throw around, but lately he didn’t care.
He had been phoning it in at work, partly because he was exhausted. He lay awake, drifting off sometime after midnight, only waking with a start when Joule toddled into his room six hours later. He left emails and instant messages unanswered for hours rather than responding in minutes as he had always done before, and let projects go till the last possible hour. Only then did he sit down and clack some keys, but since a high school freshman could have done his job, his lack of effort had gone unnoticed. There were only so many ways to fail at a spreadsheet. For the first two years at Kleen-Sol, he had been intent on climbing the ladder out of the data and analytics department, hoping to eventually transition into production or research. But he didn’t care anymore. He was making enough for them to get by.
Nick stopped by every Sunday afternoon to bother him about missing church again, but he always told his brother the same thing. He was watching the service online. No, of course it wasn’t the same thing as being there in person. But he couldn’t do it.
He had tried once, the very next day after the party. It was impossible. The assault on his mind was unbearable; every moment, he was attacked on a different flank, spinning helplessly to meet the blows. He was not troubled by the familiar sense of his own wretchedness. Rather, it was the disorienting effort to grasp an absolute. He needed someone to tell him that he was right. Or that he was wrong. He didn’t care, because he believed both.
When he closed his eyes to pray, his words were hateful to his own ears. So meager and self-serving, begging for some light, or even a fistful of that supernatural ability to discern good from evil. Many times, he forgot to ask for anything but an end to his own torment. He was afraid to pray what he ought, those words he had memorized as a boy. Ancient words handed down from the mouth of God Himself, small enough for a child to grasp, yet strong enough to clutch the very hem of His robe. Whether muttered in secret, proclaimed in a gleaming cathedral, or desperately cast from a bitter heart into the heavens, by some infinite kindness, they did not fall to the ground unnoticed.
Thy kingdom come, thy will—thy will. Like an error message. Thy kingdom come, thy will. Like standing on the edge of the ten foot cliff at Pierce Lake, his skinny knees trembling, his white toes curled over the edge, while Nick and the other kids urged him from the water below. Thy kingdom come.
It was ridiculous, laughable. Petitioning the supreme Ruler of the universe to establish His throne, but if You please, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Sovereign purposes to be left unfinished on a technicality, because one minuscule being was afraid to say the magic words. He knew that it would come to pass anyway, no matter what he wanted.
Then perhaps, it would come to pass even if he did the wrong thing. Who was he to stand the way of the divine fiat? He could do what he liked, and it wouldn’t matter. He was a speck of dust in the universe, and any single action of his, regardless of its significance to him, had no power to wrinkle the fabric of the cosmos.
Thy kingdom come.
—
He lay next to Joule in his twin bed with Firefly curled up at their feet. Joule was fresh and warm from the bath, contentedly rubbing his chin with the corner of his blanket as Casper read aloud.
“‘Sammy looked up at the blue sky and pointed. ‘It’s a plane,’” he cried.’”
“Dad, why come we don’t drive a plane?”
“I don’t have a pilot’s license. But that would be cool, wouldn’t it?” Joule nodded and cuddled closer, squeezing Boba against his chest. Casper kissed his hair and continued. “‘The plane left a long white tail behind. Sammy wondered if he could catch it.’”
“He not do that!” Joule giggled. Casper smiled.
“‘Sammy asked his mother for some paper. Perhaps, Sammy thought, he could build a paper airplane to fly into the sky.’ See how he’s folding the paper, Bud? I could show you how to do that tomorrow.”
“Dad, where Abby?”
“She’s at her house, Bud.”
“Why come you just never go to work? I want to go Abby house with Bubba.”
“You don’t need to anymore. My boss said I can work from home. So I can stay with you and Firefly all day now.” Technically, it was still on a probationary basis.
“I love Abby,” he said fondly.
“Me too.”
“She’s my mommy, right?” Casper shifted. Don’t tell him anything else about me.
“Not yet.” He looked up at Joule’s wall and glanced at the empty space. He hadn’t thrown out the drawing after the party. His hand had hovered over the trash bag jammed with bits of chocolate cake and dirty plastic forks. But he had slipped it between the leaves of an old sketchpad and hidden it away.
“Abby not live with us. But then she be my mommy.”
“Yeah. Sort of.” Please don’t tell him anything else about me. He couldn’t forget the look on her face.
Joule tapped him on the belly.
“Dad, why you stop the book?”
—
Firefly and Jessie were a sight to behold. Abby and Casper stood at opposite ends of his backyard and flung the frisbee to each other, while the two canine zealots raced in hot pursuit. Joule liked to chase them, yelling encouragement to whichever dog was behind; most of the time, it was Firefly.
“Why come Fi-fly never wins!” Joule groaned, falling to his knees after one particularly brutal loss. “Why come she is so slow!”
“Sorry, Bud,” Abby panted, sitting next to him on the grass. “Jessie’s always been fast. But Firefly will catch her one of these days. I know it.” Casper sank to the ground next to them, handed Joule a water bottle, and cracked open a seltzer. He took a sip and passed it to Abby, then zipped up Joule’s jacket against the brisk April breeze.
“So,” she began, looking at him. “Have you talked to her yet?”
“No. There’s nothing to say.”
“Casper, it’s been over a month. You’ve got to try to make this right.”
“Why should it be me? She’s the one who went behind our backs. And what about you? Aren’t you still mad at her?” Abby shrugged.
“She told me she was sorry. She told me she’s never seen you so happy.” He glanced at her bare fingers and thought of the velvet box in his sock drawer. “I honestly think she was as horrified as you were when Reagan showed up.”
Yes, Mom had told him the same thing.
“I’m sorry.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close to him. “I’m so sorry about all of this.”
“I hate it, Jorgenson. It makes me feel like a horrible person every time I think about it.”
“When you think about my mom?”
“About Reagan. About Charlotte.” He sighed and tightened his arm around her waist. “It doesn’t feel right that we get to be happy.”
“Hey.” He tipped her face toward him. The warm spring sun lit her gray eyes like pools of enchanted water. “You have nothing to feel bad about. Neither of us do.” She twirled the drawstring of his hoodie around her fingers.
“Then why don’t you come over as much as you used to?”
“My job is fully remote now.” He still hadn’t admitted to her that it was his idea, not Brent’s. “It’s been a bit weird with your parents, too. I don’t know.” She looked doubtful. He gently twisted her ponytail and watched it unfurl. “But it’s not because I feel bad for anything. Why would I? I’ve got the best girl in the world.” She blushed, and he smiled. “I’m not sure you got the best guy in the world, but I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” She sat back and leaned her cheek against his arm. His soul ached with longing.
“Please talk to your parents, Jorgenson. For me.”
—
Mom closed the dishwasher as Casper stood in front of her, his arms folded, Pepper and Silver-Foot mewing around his ankles. Dad leaned quietly against the kitchen counter. Joule was at the dining room table with a set of crayons. Mom took a deep breath.
“Honey, I understand why you’re upset. But you need to—”
“You should have told me! I should have been made aware that you were sending pictures of my son to my ex!”
“As if you would have agreed to it,” Mom pleaded. Casper scoffed.“Anyway, she has a right to know, doesn’t she? Look. After Joule’s surgery, I tried to find Mark on Facebook, but I found her instead. And we don’t even talk about you that much. We mostly talk about Charlotte. And William and Kate sometimes.”
“Who are they? You mean that all this time she never told you about Mark’s episodes getting worse? Or Foster dumping them?”
Mom shifted.
“She never told me anything but I could fill in the blanks. I knew—,” she hesitated, and looked at him. “I knew something wasn’t right.”
Casper stared at his feet.
“But you had no idea she was coming.”
“No, Casper,” Mom insisted. He uncrossed his arms and dug his hands in his pockets. Behind him, he could hear Joule making waxy scribbles on construction paper.
“Look, I was really sorry to hear about all of it,” Casper admitted. “It’s horrible. And I hate Foster for it. But Charlotte is not my kid. Joule is. He’s my concern.”
“Reagan is his mother.” Dad said quietly, looking him squarely in the eye. “That makes her your concern.”
“Dad, what am I supposed to do? Dump Abby?” His parents were quiet. He scoffed wearily and rubbed his face with his hands. “Are we in the middle ages?” he asked helplessly. “Marriage is nothing but an economic convention? What about what I want? What Abby wants? What about—,” he lowered his voice. “What about Joule? Am I really expected to upend his life?”
“Honey, you upended Reagan’s life first,” Mom pleaded. “Not that it was going so well to begin with,” she added softly.
“Fine!” Casper snapped. “I can’t deny it. But at least I stepped up! I did the responsible thing.”
“Cass, that was the easy part,” Dad replied. “That was the least you could do.”
“Easy! Do you think any of this has been easy?” He glanced behind him at Joule, whose large hazel eyes were fixed on him, a string of drool glistening from his open lips, a yellow crayon poised in his chubby hand. “It’s okay, Bud. Everything’s okay.” He turned back to his parents and lowered his voice. “Nothing about this has been easy. And she left me — she left him — to go through all of it alone. I wouldn’t have gotten through it, but in the end, I had you and Mom. I had Nick and Rosa, and I’ve got Abby. She was there for me and for him. You all were. But Reagan wanted nothing to do with us, and that’s what she’s going to get.”
“I don’t like that, Casper,” said Mom softly. “It’s ugly.”
“Do you know what’s ugly? That neither of you have even considered Abby’s feelings! You don’t know what she’s been through, and it’s like you don’t even care. All she’s ever done is care for Joule. And me. She trusts me. I would never do this to her. It’s unforgivable.”
“You don’t think we care about Abby? We’ve seen you two together.” Mom’s eyes suddenly brimmed. “It’s all we’ve ever wanted for you.” He thought back. He remembered the endless prodding and posturing he had endured as Mom attempted to interest him in that lovely Rice girl. “But Abby is young, and sweet, and beautiful.” He stared at the floor. He knew that. Everyone knew that. “She will be all right. Reagan is—,”
“Dad, are you really going to stand there and tell me that I should do this? That Abby’s feelings don’t matter? What I want doesn’t matter?”
When they looked at him, unwilling to admit it, he stormed over to Joule at the table, swept the crayons out of his fingers, and picked him up.
“It’s okay, Bud,” he muttered as Joule protested. He left without another word to his parents.
—
“So they’re openly cheering for the other side,” Abby pronounced somberly into the receiver.
“I wouldn’t put it like that. My folks think the world of you. They just think—,” he shrugged, unable to say it. He sighed and sank his head back into the couch. He stared up at the yellowed popcorn ceiling.
“They think that she deserves you more than I do,” Abby finished.
“No, it’s not like that. They think—it doesn’t matter, Rice. This is about you and me. Nobody else.”
“Don’t they care that she hasn’t spent any time at all with their grandson? That they’d be shoving him into the arms of a perfect stranger? She’s never wiped his nose and she’s certainly never wiped his butt. No, she just swoops in and gives him that dumb fish and suddenly she’s the mother of the year.”
“Well—,”
“If you correct me right now, I’ll kill you.” He smiled in spite of himself. “You told me your mom tried to set us up when you were still at Carver! What changed? That Reagan likes gossiping about Prince Harry? Forgive me for not caring about something stupid! Though if I had realized it would make the difference between winning and losing you…”
“It’s not a competition, Rice. It doesn’t matter what they think anyway.”
“Of course it matters, Casper. And it is a competition. One-hundred percent.” Abby sighed. “And I feel like she’s winning.”
“Abby, that’s ridiculous.”
“Is she even a good mother?”
“What?”
“Is she?”
“What does that have to do with anything? I don’t have enough data to answer that.”
“Of course you do. I meant Charlotte. Does she take good care of Charlotte?” He shrugged and was about to say no. Absolutely not. When he hesitated, Abby sighed again.
He wished he could lie to her. He wished he could forget Reagan’s sallow face as she struggled through Stuart Little, insisting on doing all the voices and clutching her belly as it roiled with ginger ale and Texas toast. He wished he had never seen her braiding Charlotte’s hair or changing soaked sheets. He wished he could deny the utter terror he’d seen in her green eyes when she first saw Joule’s riven heart on the ultrasound. He wished he had never heard the relief in her voice when they met Andre and Quinn, and her joyful eagerness at the prospect of such excellent people taking their son before she had the chance to ruin him.
And every night, he wished he could forget her desperate hand clutching his own like a beggar, ashamed and unashamed.
“Yes,” he said at last. “She’s a good mother.” Abby didn’t say anything. “But I told you, it’s you and me. Nothing else matters. My parents will come around. They just feel sorry for her.”
“Has anyone considered the possibility that she’s lying?” His stomach sank like a stone. “Maybe she’s embellishing? Maybe things aren’t as dire as she’s led you to believe?”
“Abby—,”
“She’s clearly still in love with you, Jorgenson! That’s all it is! You saw her!”
“Rice, come on. If she really is in love with me, this would be the first time.”
“Don’t be so naive. She didn’t show up at the party in sweatpants, for crying out loud,” she muttered bitterly.
“Stop it,” he snapped. “You know something, Abby? I wish she were lying!”
“What makes you so sure she’s not? Why are you so willing to believe whatever she says? Maybe you’re not as over her as you think!”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about! Look, I know her dad, Abby. He is—,” he paused, “a rough individual on his good days. And during an episode, the man is catatonic. And the stuff about Foster—,”
“About that,” Abby huffed, “it’s pretty convenient she shows up when the child support dries up.”
“That’s ridiculous. She knows I don’t have any money!”
“Look, you’re not the only one who feels bad for her. I feel sorry for her too, Casper! Why don’t you just admit it? Admit that you feel just as guilty as I do!”
“Guilty? For what? You and me. That’s it. That’s all I want.”
“But you’re not happy! Don’t you think I can tell? Whenever we’re together, we end up fighting. And I know you’ve been avoiding me, too. You can barely stand to be around me anymore. You feel guilty for wanting to marry me!”
“That’s ridiculous! Why should I feel guilty? I love you, all right? I’m happy! This is all I’ve ever wanted.”
“No, it’s not! At one time, you wanted her, too. You loved her. She made you happy. She was all you wanted. What if you change your mind again?” He couldn’t believe it.
“Do you really think so little of me? Do you really think I would change my mind about something like this? That I would make a decision of this magnitude over something so insignificant? That I would cause a seismic shift in my son’s life based on such a minuscule, selfish detail?”
“I don’t know,” she said wearily. “But maybe you should consider your feelings. Because you’re miserable, Cass.”
“Don’t call me that. You never call me that. And I’m not miserable.”
“You’ve been miserable ever since that night.”
“Yeah, because that night was horrible.”
“Never mind. I’m gonna go. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up before he could say another word.
—
He lay awake, staring at his phone. He was unable to distract himself with anything for long. He had worn a circular path, treading a wheel that seemed to be moving ahead, yet only drove itself further into the soft ground of his mind.
You’re miserable. You’ve been miserable ever since that night.
It wasn’t true. There were reprieves.
At one time, you wanted her, too.
He had kissed her fingers, one at a time, then her palms, before clasping them to his heart. As he looked at her, he realized that his entire world had narrowed till nothing else mattered to him but what was contained within the borders of her body.
I love you, Reagan.
He sat up in bed and threw off the sheets. His t-shirt was cold with sweat.
He whispered into the darkness. The words spilled out of his mouth easily. “
“Thy kingdom come, thy will—,” he paused, panting. “What do I do? Please, tell me. I don’t know what to do. Whatever I do, someone is going to get hurt.” He waited in the silence. “I’m going to get hurt.” Firefly sighed on the floor. “Tell me. I just want to do the right thing. You know—You know, don’t You? You know what I should do. Tell me.”
The old house groaned around him. Outside the open window, he could hear the wind cooing across the plains.
Firefly followed him into the kitchen for a drink of water. He stroked her glossy coat, finding relief in the repetitive motion. Firefly groaned with contentment and sank to the floor, rolling to her back and dangling her paws in the air. He sat next to her and scratched her belly. He glanced around the kitchen, cavernous and still, dated and yellow, but clean and neat. But, as if illuminated by stage lights, he could see Abby skidding through in her slippers and critiquing his marinara. Joule scampered in with a Duplo caboose, followed by Firefly.
Casper smiled.
Cramped counters cluttered with crayon drawings, old coupons, orange pill bottles, a heel of bread, a half-empty bottle of vodka, a jelly lid.
He rattled the thought from his head.
He turned to the sprawling dining room, still vacant. Abby would help him pick out a table, and the three of them, and Nick, Rosa, and Mikayla would have dinner together. There was a recipe for chili verde he wanted to try, with white beans and pork shoulder. Firefly would lie underneath, waiting for fallen crumbs.
A tiny round table, littered with spilled beads, newspaper clippings, and half-empty drinking glasses. The front entry crowded with mismatched shoes and a sagging bookshelf.
He shook his head and walked into the living room. Firefly jingled behind him. Curled up on the couch, a glowing Christmas tree, the Hawkeyes on TV.
A little girl, sprawled on her belly with a coloring book, a grizzled figure on the disheveled futon, his hand outstretched for his medicine like a child.
He padded down the hallway. Three bedrooms, hollow and silent.
Purple glasses, horse drawings, and a cheap eraser.
He softly opened the door to Joule’s room and heard him breathing deeply.
He went back to bed and lay awake.
—
Nick put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the refrigerator.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me.”
“So was I,” Casper replied. Nick smiled grimly. The ancient dishwasher sloshed and hummed, rattling with effort. Its cleaning jets had relinquished their power many years before, yet it still functioned as a serviceable sanitizer for plates which Firefly had obligingly licked clean. As the good dog lay at Casper’s feet on the kitchen floor, Joule raced Hot Wheels along her back. Nick crouched down on his ankles and scratched her belly.
“You know how much we love Rice. And I know much you do.”
“But that wasn’t my question, Nick.” His brother sat back on his heels and picked up one of Joule’s cars. He spun the plastic tires with his thumb.
“All right,” he said finally. “You may not remember this, but right after you got home from Joule’s surgery, you were in a bad place.” He remembered. All the elation over leaving his sagging hopes behind in Madison and starting over again in Grover, the ebullient forgetfulness that allowed him to believe all would be well — it all vanished, and the memories he had cherished only days before turned bitter. “I told you then to move on and forget about Reagan. That Joule needed you to be at a hundred percent. You said you never would. That you never could.” Casper swirled the remaining coffee in the bottom of his mug. “But something changed.”
It wasn’t one thing. The slow, agonizing process of waking and continuing, not from selflessness, but from necessity, had dragged him flopping along the ground till his flaccid muscles hardened and he learned to crawl. Then to stand, then to walk, even if his steps were shallow and unsteady. It was not goodness that impelled him forward, but rather the truth, like a rod in his back, that forced him ahead. The truth that he lived not for himself anymore. He couldn’t. That possibility had been closed to him, and he was no longer sorry for it.
Or so he had thought.
“Cass, I remember how you talked about her, way back in the beginning. The whole time, I thought it was only an obsession. Things like that always peter out. But even when she turned you down, you wouldn’t give her up.”
“What’s your point?”
“Maybe there’s more between the two of you than you’d like to admit.” Casper sighed and shook his head.
“No, Nick—,”
“And those feelings can flood back to you just as quickly as they went away.”
He would be a happy man — well, perhaps not happy — but he would not have struggled in such agony if his chief concern were his lack of feelings. He knew full well the changeability of his own heart, and its frightening oscillations. As naturally as he had worshipped her, he had hated her, pitied her, and yearned for her.
“If I were worried solely about that, I wouldn’t be asking you for advice. I would have already proposed to Abby by now.”
“Then you’re a better man than most.”
“Don’t say that, Nick.” He raked his fingers through his hair then hid his face in his hands. “Please, don’t say it. I can’t stand it. Whatever I do, it’s going to be wrong.”
“No, Cass. Hey, look at me.” Nick shook him hard by the shoulder till he did, but didn’t let go. “You have it all backward, man. Whatever you do is going to be right. If you didn’t change anything at all, nobody could blame you. There is nothing wrong with bringing Abby into your family. I’d think less of you if you didn’t want that, and a few years ago, you wouldn’t have.”
“Then why am I so miserable?” Nick’s hand softened on his shoulder, and he gave him a firm clap before sitting on the floor again. Joule offered his uncle a miniature cement truck and he took it, turning the mixer drum with his finger. After a moment, he looked up again at Casper and sighed.
“I really wish you hadn’t asked me.”
—
The next time he went to church, Abby wasn’t there. When he texted her, she told him she was sick. He wished he could believe that nobody else knew, but there were far too many sincere inquiries about the general progression of his life. He could almost hear the prayer chain clinking around him. If there were hundreds of petitions going up on his behalf, he didn’t want to know what they were asking for.
He stayed near Nick and Rosa and avoided eye contact with Ed and Kerry, though he couldn’t escape Sarah’s glare, twin lasers which could have sliced through sheet metal. He grimaced back politely. Rich was off being important in Cedar Rapids or somewhere, but without Abby running interference, Josie, George, and Ezra were writhing like a passel of raccoons in a dumpster.
It gave him a petty sense of satisfaction to observe Sarah’s ineptitude in corralling her own children without Abby’s help. He surprised himself. He’d never had a personal problem with Sarah, though he did harbor an uneasy distrust that she took Abby for granted.
He believed they should have forgone the second Lincoln and given Abby a fat raise instead. He had researched it once, when Abby had complained to him about it. She was easily worth three nannies, and even if Abby later told him to forget that she’d brought it up, he wouldn’t. She was indispensable. She couldn’t have cared more for Joule if he were her own.
Finally, Sarah exhaled loudly in frustration and stalked to the back of the church, half-dragging George behind her. Kerry quickly followed. Must be nice, he scoffed.
Immediately, he was reminded of the uncomfortable fact that he had been bailed out by his own family on countless occasions. He had to acknowledge that he never would have lasted this long without their constant interference.
Reagan’s face was sallow and tired as she sipped the ginger ale at the cramped table and cradled her growing belly. Miss Stacy placed a paw on her knee and Charlotte asked her for a sandwich. Upstairs, Mark coughed. There isn’t enough of me to go around, she’d said. There is no one else.
Casper shook his head briskly.
He glanced next to him at Mikayla, who was nestled under Mama Reyes’ plump arm. On her lap was a magic ink pad, which she scribbled on happily during the sermon. After filling in all of the blank sections, a purple unicorn was revealed. She gasped and lifted it up to her grandmother, who grinned and stroked her cheek. Mikayla cuddled back against her, drew up her knees on to the pew, and returned to her task, the marker hissing over the paper.
Mom had folded the dishtowel over the oven door handle. We don’t even talk about you that much. We mostly talk about Charlotte.
Who else had Reagan ever had? Somebody who wanted to talk about the progression of ear infections, gummy vitamins, and playground drama. Somebody to exult over school pictures and ask about the last eye appointment. Somebody to be nosy. Somebody to notice.
Mark. She had Mark. Sometimes. The false eyelashes fluttered and drooped. He’s mean, Cass. Charlotte gets so scared, and I’m afraid. I’m afraid she would end up like me. As she removed the stiff, black lashes, her own became visible. Soft and brown, like he remembered. She’s afraid of my dad and she’s afraid of him dying, and there’s nothing I can do about either.
She clutched his hand like a frightened child. Please. We have nowhere else to go.
—
A few nights later, he texted Abby again. It was unusual that he hadn’t heard back from her since he’d wished her a good morning. He didn’t go to bed at all, knowing any attempt to sleep would be futile. He took out a sketchbook and went to the living room. Firefly hopped up next to him on the couch, and he balanced the sketchbook on his knees like an easel. He began to faintly shape her ears, muzzle, and head with his pencil, glancing up several times a minutes to check his work. She watched him, occasionally nosing his arm till he obliged with a scratch behind her ears. He sketched her eyes and nose, smiling as the drawing came to life. When he was pleased with the placement of her features, he started on her glossy coat. He’d gotten pretty good at Firefly’s portrait over the past few weeks, and she proved to be an excellent model as long as she received frequent petting.
“What do you think, Fly?” He held up the drawing to her. She sighed and nosed him. He smiled again and pencilled the date at the bottom, then flipped the page. He drew in a breath. A drawing of Joule’s sleeping face, framed by the porthole of a plexiglass incubator, with an oxygen tube laced under his nose. Dated the night of the surgery. He flipped again, and again. The view of the state capitol from their hospital window. Joule’s fist, tagged with a hospital bracelet, wrapped around Casper’s left finger. He flipped again. The faint lines of a portrait. All of the facial features had been placed and the symmetry lines marked, but nothing was drawn in or shaded. It was dated from three days after Joule’s surgery. He remembered. He had put it down moments before Mark arrived, and had never finished it.
When she says she’s done, she means it. Mark sat up in the hospital recliner and coughed.
He added nostrils. They flared even as her nose was pinched with tears. Her lips were pressed tightly together in hesitation, her dimple a dark furrow in her cheek. She was preparing herself. Her brows were turned down in desperate supplication. Her eyes gleamed, and her eyelashes were spiked with tears. He added in her hair, overgrown and heavy around her ears and throat. He sat back and evaluated it. Just like his last attempt, the lines, placement, and proportions were correct, but it was lacking something. It was flat, without any depth. Like voiceless words on a page.
He began with her eyes. He rimmed them with shadow — anxious half-moons, faint and sleepless. He added a star of white in each of her irises, a weak point of light. He shaded her brow ridge, heavy and softened with cares. He crowned her forehead with concern, and her temples with strained patience.
So he continued, adorning the face with the contours of sorrow and survival. It was strange to see the likeness emerge beneath his own hand, as if he were uncovering something buried, delving his hand into the earth and bringing it closer to the light with each moment of effort.
But it was not the fountain of passion that he found, bubbling and frothing hot through the mud. Nor was it the glimmer of red hair tipped with gold, eyes of mesmerizing green agate, or a shimmering dust of amber freckles. What he found, as he studied the face on the page, was himself.
He didn’t sleep well that night.
—
>> Good morning, beautiful. I miss you. Like, a lot. Call me back or I’ll show up at your house and make a scene.
>> hey, jorgenson. i miss you too. don’t do anything crazy. i’ll be there tonight after sarah gets the kids.
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Katie Bertola 