The Burning Side(55)

LEO


August 7, 2022

SUNDAY I’M BACK AT LEXINGTON Avenue to pick up Sadie and Otto. We thought I might take them to the science museum, but we thought wrong. When I arrive, Sadie begs to go to “the park with the roundy-round.” She means Klyde Warren. Last time we were there, she almost made herself sick on the merry-go-round, and she loved every minute of it.

April shrugs from across the room. We’ve not said hello. She’s in a blue cotton dress, and I wonder what her plans are while the kids are away. She thumbs something sticky from Otto’s chin and says, “They have those water features to stay cool. Up to you.”

I look down at Sadie. “Okay, but you can’t stay on the roundy-round the whole time.”

She jumps up and down, raring to go.

They already have shoes on, so I take Otto’s bag from April and confirm, “I’ll bring them back mid-afternoon.”

“Otto might nap in the car.”

Sadie stops cheering. “You’re not coming?”

April looks down and says gently, “I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I just have things to get done around here.”

“What things?”

April glances at me furtively as she says, “It will be fun to have special time with Dad.”

But Sadie digs in. “I want us all to go.”

Here’s the thing about kids: they’ll break your heart. They’re somehow dictators and powerless at the very same time.

April says over Sadie’s head. “I don’t want to take your time with them.”

This is how it will be. We haven’t even started a settlement, but time is one more thing to be divided, and we can’t put off explaining this to our daughter forever.

Sadie is standing between us, one hand in her mother’s and the other in mine. So I find myself looking at April and saying, “If you wanted to join?”

She nods, and Sadie resumes her cheering.



* * *



At the park, I trail Otto around, grateful that April can monitor Sadie on the merry-go-round. By the time we finally go to the food trucks for lunch, I’m looking forward to a few minutes to sit.

We take our food to a bistro table beneath the tunnel of shade trees. In the distance, there’s a sound check happening. On the synthetic grass, college kids toss a Frisbee. And beside us, a group of silver-haired women discuss the new exhibit at the art museum across the street. Our kids cram their faces with food, quiet in the warm breeze.

April swallows a bite of her street taco and says, “So, Josie got her results.”

“Yeah, she texted me. Good news.”

“Oh.” April refolds the end of her taco. “Yeah.”

After a few more bites, I ask, “Have you thought about getting tested?”

Frowning, April eyes the kids. “?’Course I’ve thought about it.”

“And?”

“And it’s a personal decision I haven’t made yet.”

Sadie is watching us, and she’s at that age where she understands more than we know. So I phrase it carefully. “It’s not entirely a personal decision. It impacts two other people.”

April stops chewing her bite, then starts again slowly. “Two people who already exist.”

It’s another form of Cameron’s question: What would it change?

Then Otto makes a break for it, darting toward the grass.

April hops up. “I’ll go.”

As she does, I focus on Sadie. “Good quesadilla?”

She takes a big bite and grins. Then she runs after her mom and brother.

In the quiet of the shade trees, one of the silver-haired women pauses by our table and leans toward me. “You have a beautiful family.”

I follow her gaze to them. April is scooping Otto up as he obliviously bulldozes through the game of Frisbee. They all laugh, even the guys with the Frisbee. April looks over at me and shrugs, smiling in the midday light.

I throw away our trash and jog to catch up with them, determined to give our kids some memories that are good enough to break through if their minds should one day fade, dios libre.

For the rest of the afternoon, we splash through the water feature, take turns on the roundy-round, and play in the sun until our noses turn pink.



* * *



Back at my trailer in the evening, I slip my shoes off and unbutton my shirt, exhausted. I ignore my dirty dishes and fall onto the couch with a book.

Thirty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.

I open it to find April, cheeks flushed from the heat. She must have driven here with the windows down. She loves doing that on a summer night.

She holds out my phone. “This somehow got into Otto’s bag.”

“Oh!” I take it. “Thanks.”

She scans the trailer.

I follow her gaze. “Want to come in?”

She bites her bottom lip like she does when she can’t decide. “For a minute,” she says.

I step to the side, clicking the wonky door latch behind her. “Here, I’ll give you the grand tour.” I gesture to my left. “The sitting room.” I gesture to my right. “Sleeping quarters.” I gesture behind me. “Kitchen.” I shrug. “And that shall conclude our tour.”