My chest didn’t break when she said those words, and panic didn’t rise inside my gut. I nodded my head, slowly, but steadily. “When I get out, we’ll talk to the attorney.”
“Together.”
“Yes. Together.”
Chapter 38: Sadie
Two weeks after he awoke, Theo came “home.”
His eyes glowed with happiness on the afternoon we drove up the snow-spattered driveway of his new rental place and stopped at the top. The icy porch sported mylar balloons and tissue paper flowers, and the door handle donned red, green, and blue crepe paper streamers. Pink doily hearts adorned every available window.
“Who did all this?” He scanned the entire length of the small house. There it was, almost February, and the Christmas lights had never been taken in by the previous tenant, and a random tree ornament still hung in one of the dormant dogwood trees flanking the garage. A smile twitched at his lips, and moisture glistened at the corner of his left eyelid.
I reached my hand out to his forearm as he took in the scene. “Friends, family, colleagues.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and tears fell freely now down Theo’s scruffy cheeks. “I don’t quite know what to say...it’s all—”
The arrival of the kids at the front picture window interrupted Theo, and he grappled for the interior door handle. By the time he’d hauled himself out of the car, with a bit of help from me, even Lexie had made her way to the edge of the driveway—arms spread wide, snow boots unfastened, huge smile affixed to her cherubic face. Carefully grabbing all three children into his arms at once, Theo rested his head on top of Charlie’s hair and stood there, looking stronger than I’d seen him in months. He stayed there for a long time, in the moment, smile on his face, head tipped to the sky. Tears continued to fall, and he didn’t wipe them away.
Theo’s return to the world could have been difficult, and the pre-accident Theo would have made it that way. But the post-accident Theo seemed like a changed man. And because he had changed—or at least was making a concerted effort to do so—my confidence soared. In who I was. In who we were. And in who we might be moving forward. And if my confidence waned, he found a way to bring it back.
Three weeks after he’d returned, during my favorite task of washing dishes—he’d spent the dinner hour with us—he called me out on my behavior.
“What’s with the silence from time to time?” Theo asked from behind me in the dining chair.
I grabbed the dish towel and dried my hands as I turned to face him. “What?”
“I’m still mostly the same guy I was when you met me, and you’re mostly the same girl you were when I met you. We might have added a few new characters to the plot,” he inclined his head toward Andrew, who sat in the family room playing a board game with the little kids, “but there’s no need for awkward silences, my dear.”
The grin on his face spoke more than his words, which, just like that, restored my trust in the idea we’d chosen wisely, and we’d make it, whatever our odd circumstances might be. That night, I finished dishes all the while chattering on about my day—the good and the bad—and Theo conversed with me in full. And after Andrew and his family reluctantly headed home, the kids drifted in and out of the kitchen. Charlie needed help with science homework he’d forgotten about, and Lexie wanted a book read to her before bedtime. Theo helped them both without reservation while I worked with Delia on her multiplication tables before taking on the bath duties and getting everyone to bed. Those mundane, ordinary actions became the cornerstone of our lives, and we performed them together on many nights.
And soon, we’d crossed the days off on the paper calendar and another Father’s Day was upon us. Unlike the year before, I planned to cook something special to commemorate the occasion. A few days prior to Sunday, the kids and I gathered in the kitchen to make a list for our celebratory dinner.
“What would Daddy like to eat?” I asked the kids.
“Pulled pork!” Charlie shouted.
“He likes strawberry pie,” Delia said.
“Peas! And potato chips!” Lexie chirped.
Charlie scowled. “Peas? For Father’s Day? Are you kidding me? Dad isn’t going to want peas.”
I ruffled the hair on Charlie’s head and then pulled him in for a side hug. “Hey, watch the tone, please. Lexie is still little. If she thinks Dad will want peas and chips, then that’s what we’ll do. Pulled pork, strawberry pie, peas, and potato chips it is.”
“And what about Andrew?” Charlie put a finger to his chin in his classic pose. “He’d like the pork, but he loves baked beans, corn on the cob, and éclair cake. Can we add those to the menu, too?”
Charlie’s words and acceptance of Andrew tugged at my heart. Unconventional family we were, but apparently, it worked for us.
“And one more thing,” Charlie continued. “What about a present? What are we—never mind! I have it. Delia, Lexie, come with me.”
The three kids ran for the back room and didn’t come out again for the rest of the afternoon. When they did, their eyes twinkled, and their mouths twitched.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” they all said.
On the day of, the kids and I, along with Andrew’s children, donned our aprons, pulled out all the necessary ingredients, and began chopping, grating, measuring, and mixing. Theo and Andrew wandered in and out throughout the morning and reached over to each child in turn, tickling bellies and backs, or, in the case of Charlie, lifting fists up for a bump. By the time late afternoon rolled around, the kids
