The Burning Side(45)

I fix my face. “News?”

“Yeah, I just heard.” He fills a mug with coffee. “I got a job at Kimberly-Clark.”

Oh! Good news. And it’s in Dallas, which is great news.

I clean a stray piece of eggshell. “Kimberly-Clark, is that diapers?”

He laughs. “It’s a twenty-billion-dollar Fortune 500 company with tens of thousands of employees. But yes, one of their many products is diapers.”

I blink. He sounds like a snob. But he’s a snob who is staying in town at what is apparently an impressive job selling diapers, so oh well. I congratulate him, stepping through Otto’s Cheerio minefield for a hug.

I get a flash of Billy at Cameron’s age, parting the lips of his first patient.

“Gramma Deb?” Sadie tugs my shirt.

“Hm?”

“Are Mama and Daddy at the smokehouse?”

I grin. “They are.” At some point over the summer, Sadie started referring to the Argyle house as the smokehouse and nobody corrected her. It’s fun to imagine Leo and April eating smoked pork rather than sorting through smoked rubble. Cameron knuckles her hair and congratulates her on the tooth, so she launches into the whole saga of it.

By evening, Rachel has arrived and heard the saga too. It has evolved to include delays in China, India, and Germany, and Sadie has laid out a map to track the fairy’s flight path.

Five-forty, five-fifty, six o’clock pass without Billy’s baritone voice, and I get a sinking sensation. Not again. I call him, but he doesn’t answer. So I abandon a chicken casserole and grab the keys. Cameron cocks an eyebrow.

I explain, “It’s after six. I need to go find Dad.”

Rachel stays with the kids while Cam and I go to the car.

Unlike last time, we find Billy quickly, one street from where he should be. And unlike last time, he’s upset. At himself. At the streets for shifting. At everything and nothing. Cameron tries to help him to the car, but he elbows his son. “Stop that. I’m demented, not crippled.”

We drive home in silence. How demoralizing it must be to know your mind is going but have no power to stop it, even as your body is still healthy.

At the house, Rachel waits with her rosy disposition. The kids are snacking on popcorn, and Sadie runs to us excitedly. “Gramma Deb, don’t you think the wedding should be at night because of twinkly lights?” She takes my hand in her little buttery ones as though this is the most important question to ever be asked.

“Sounds lovely to me.”

Rachel and Cameron smile at each other, and I get a pang. I want a wedding. Youth.

They talk about catering options as Billy paces morosely over to his fiddle-leaf fig.

Rachel finished making the casserole, bless her.

When we’re done eating, Cameron says, “I have some thoughts, Dad.”

Billy lifts his eyebrows as he stacks plates. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.”

This gets our attention.

“So, I know you guys don’t like your phones, but—”

Now that’s a bit of a stretch. We simply prefer to catch up in person at the end of the day rather than constantly texting like our kids do.

“—we should definitely share Dad’s location,” Cameron says.

He sees the blank expression on my face and explains how it works.

With a good-natured sigh, Billy relinquishes his phone to our son. “All right, Big Brother.”

“Relax, it’s just Mom.”

“Not sure that’s any better.” He winks at me, and I relish the return of his humor.

Just like that, Billy is tracked, his phone returned to him. Cameron took the opportunity to change the lock screen, which now displays his full name, address, and my phone number.

Billy mutters, “You sure you don’t want to add my social security or bank account number?” But he accepts it, and I squeeze his hand in consolation.

Cameron leans against Rachel, who asks gently, “Wasn’t there something else?”

“Right.” He darts out of the room and returns with sticky notes, ripping off the clingy plastic packaging. “One”—he sets a neon pad in front of his niece—“for Sadie bug.” She squeals and hugs them to her chest. Then he hands the rest to Billy, whose expression is puzzled.

Our son grabs a pen and jots Cameron loves you on a sticky note, placing it on Billy’s medical bag, explaining, “For reminders.”

Until he was four years old, Cameron referred to himself in third person. Camwon wants food. Camwon is sleepy. Camwon loves you. Sandwiched between times, I can almost hear his little voice.

He writes on another note: If it’s dark outside, go back to bed. He sticks this one on a kitchen cabinet, and I kick myself for not having thought of it sooner.

Billy clucks his tongue. “Is this really necessary?”

So I add some reminders for myself too. “Can’t hurt.”

As we walk around the house considering where stickies might be judicious, I pause at our entry table, which is crammed with family photos. There’s one of Billy beside his bike the first time he completed a long endurance ride. Another of our kids from a long-ago Halloween. Josie was wearing a giant homemade coffee cup around her torso, her top half sticking up in the center. A cup of Jo—her idea. Ten years old. Cameron was Pikachu, and April was a witch. I smile as I remember the perfect night. The weather was chilly, and our kids were finally old enough to trick-or-treat without my chasing them around the block. I had a white wine spritzer with a neighbor while our gaggle of kids traded Ring Pops and Fun Dip, their mouths turning bright blue.