Quickly, I move his hand and duck out of his reach. “It’s never going to happen, Justin.”

He laughs. “I’ll wear you down eventually.”

“No, you won’t,” I say. I have no interest in him and he knows it; it’s just the bourbon talking. He’s only halfheartedly fishing, checking to see if I’ll bite. I turn around to face him, rolling my eyes to show him that I know he’s kidding.

He laughs and heads toward the door, passing Elisa on his way out. She walks into the basement, giving Justin a curious look. “What was that all about?” she asks.

“Bourbon,” I say.

“I’m sorry about Sam,” she says. “That man has no filter.”

“It’s not just him,” I say. “I guess I’m not feeling very social tonight after all.” She hugs me good-bye and I slip away after thanking Bridget and Sam for their hospitality.

Entering the dark house through the garage, I notice the light showing through the crack at the bottom of the office door when I walk by. My husband is in there; I can hear his fingers tapping on the computer keys. I think about asking him how much longer he’ll be working, but then I just keep on walking. I check on the kids and after I take a quick shower, I scoop a sleeping Tucker off the floor by the foot of the bed and slide between my sheets. I stroke his soft fur, happy that I have something warm-blooded to cuddle with, and he settles into the space behind my knees when I turn onto my side and close my eyes.

20

chris

I hear Claire come in. I know she wanted me to stay at Bridget and Sam’s, or to come home with me. I should have explained that they fired someone on Friday and now I’ve got to spend the weekend doing his work, and mine. I should have told her that I’ll be traveling five nights a week now, instead of four.

I don’t know why I’m not telling her these things.

Maybe because I keep thinking that I’ll get caught up and then I can spend time with her without all this other shit getting in the way. But just when I think I’m close to getting caught up I get more work piled on top of me and then I fall behind again. It’s a vicious cycle.

When I finally stop working around 3:00 A.M., I go upstairs and get ready for bed. Since the Fourth of July I’ve tried really hard not to fall asleep on the couch, because I know that sleeping with Claire makes her happy. Even if sleeping is all that I’m capable of.

She’s lying on her side, with Tucker snoozing in the space behind her knees. The moonlight coming in through the window casts a slight glow on her face. I brush her hair back and my fingers trail along her cheekbone. She doesn’t stir, not even when I pull the covers back and slide in next to her.

21

claire

Jordan’s tennis shoes are too tight and since both kids need new shoes anyway, we drive to the mall and make a day of it, window-shopping at a toy store and stopping for lunch. As we’re walking through the mall I spot Bridget standing near the cash register at Scheel’s. I catch her eye and wave. “Come on, kids. Let’s go say hi.”

Bridget is frowning at the cashier as we approach. She takes a credit card out of her wallet, hands it over, and says, “Try this one.”

The bored-looking teenager operating the cash register swipes it and hands it back. “It went through,” he says.

“Hey, Bridge,” I say. “What’s up?”

“Oh, hi.” She looks distracted. “Sorry. There was something wrong with my credit card.” Her brow furrows as she slips both credit cards back into her wallet. “That’s never happened before.”

“Sometimes they won’t go through if you’re spending more than usual. It’s a preventive measure. It’s supposed to protect you from fraud.”

“Well, I’ve spent a lot today,” she says. “Back-to-school shopping.”

“Us, too,” I say. “Just shoes, though.” I liked T.J.Maxx so much that I plan on buying the kids’ clothes there again this year.

Bridget gathers up three enormous bags of clothes. “I’ll see you later. Have fun shopping.” She doesn’t have a free hand, but she gives Josh and Jordan a quick smile. “Bye, kids.”

We spend forty-five minutes at the shoe store, Josh acting bored and grumbling about how long it’s taking his sister to choose between two pairs of shoes. “Better get used to it, buddy. Girls like to change their minds,” I tease, but he’s in no mood for such nonsense. He perks up when Jordan finally makes a selection. The shoes are sparkly and pink, and the soles light up when she jumps, which delights her. The sales clerk boxes up the tennis shoes Josh spent all of two minutes deciding on, but Jordan wants to wear her new shoes home. The saleslady puts her old shoes in the shoe box instead and hands the kids balloons, a red one for Jordan and blue for Josh. Jordan beams, as if her day couldn’t get any better. As we’re leaving the mall she lets go of her balloon and wails as it soars upward, and though I jump and grab for the string it’s already way too high for me to reach. Her tears flow and I bend down to wipe them. “I’m sorry, honey. You have to hold tight to the things you love.” I stand up and look toward the sky, but the balloon is a red speck I can barely make out.

And at that moment I can’t help but wonder if Chris realizes just how untethered I’ve become.

When we get home I call Elisa. She and Skip are moving forward with becoming foster parents and they have their first home visit with a social worker today.

“I’m so nervous,” Elisa says when I ask her how she’s doing. “I’ve cleaned this house from top to bottom and I’ve threatened Travis with his life if he blurts out ‘God damn it’ like he did the other day when he dropped a hammer on his toe. I just keep worrying that one of us will say or do the wrong thing.”

I laugh. “Travis said that?”

“It’s not funny. I’m afraid he’ll do it again. Or that Skip will, because that’s obviously who Travis picked it up from.”

“It’s kind of funny,” I say.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “It is. I had to turn my back so he wouldn’t see me laugh.”

“Everything will be fine.” If there were ever two people who were qualified to be foster parents, it’s Skip and Elisa.

“What about you?” she asks. “Do you have big plans for the rest of the day?”

“I got the design job for the police department. If I can find something to occupy the kids, I’m going to get started on some mockups. I have a few ideas swirling around in my head and I don’t want to lose them. Call me after the visit, okay? I want to hear how it goes.”

“I will. Wish us luck.”

“You don’t need luck,” I say. “You’ll do great.”

After we hang up and I convince the kids to play in the backyard, I turn on my laptop. I set Daniel’s business card next to it so I can refer to the existing logo. He mentioned something about giving it an updated look. I open Adobe Illustrator and come up with a few mockups, which I promptly reject because they don’t match the vision I have in my head. I don’t force it and eventually I get into a groove and lose myself in my work as the ideas flow faster. When the kids come in an hour later, tired, hot, and thirsty, I have several designs that I’m happy with.

Satisfied, I turn off the computer, feeling a twinge of excitement when I think about e-mailing Daniel.