blankets off the bed and threw a new set onto the top of the dresser.
She had just tucked the last corner of the fitted bottom sheet around the mattress when: “Daddy, why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”
Will, Jr., stood in the doorway, his eyes riveted on his father.
Willard grabbed one of the cast-off blankets-fortunately mostly dry-and whipped it around his waist, never letting go of Sams.
“Will, what are you…?”
“Daddy didn’t have any clothes on?” That was Burt, coming up just behind his brother to stand in the doorway.
“It’s okay,” Catherine said, hurrying over to the two. “Sams just wet himself in our bed and Daddy’s clothes got all wet, too.”
“Oh.” Both boys nodded. Curious mystery of nature explained.
“Why does Daddy…?”
“That’s enough.” Willard let more than a little of his impatience-and embarrassment-show in his tone. “What are you guys doing up. It’s”-he glanced at the clock-“3:15.”
“We couldn’t sleep.” Will answered for both of them.
“And we can’t go back to bed.” That was Burt.
“There’s something in…”
“Oh, for…” Still wrapped in the blanked, still clutching Sams to his chest. Willard led the boys back down the hall. Catherine had told him about the frequent night-time visits over the past days, and Willard had thanked her for taking care of things and letting him sleep. She had also told him about the putting-which-ever-boy-it-was-to-bed routine.
He didn’t have to put Sams in bed. The baby was still shaking, although not as much, and was fast asleep. Willard didn’t want to disturb him. And anyway the kid didn’t have a diaper on yet.
But he could turn on the Mickey Mouse lamp, check the closet and with one hand shift the hangers around to reassure Will and Burt that nothing lurked behind them. He watched Burt crawl into his bunk and Willard climb up the end of his, then stretch out and pull the sheets up. He switched off the lamp, called a quiet “Good night,” and left before either of the boys could answer him.
“Catherine, what in hell is going on?” He was whispering but his voice carried over the soft rustling of bedclothes being smoothed.
“Let me have Sams. And you put something on.”
She laid the sleeping Sams onto the bed and deftly dressed him in a dry diaper and fresh pajamas. She had already tossed the wet things in the hamper in the bathroom, but the air still carried an ammoniac tinge. Willard wrinkled his nose in distaste.
He dressed in fresh boxers and a different-but just as faded-Lakers T-shirt and crawled into his side of the bed. Catherine laid Sams between them and settled herself.
“Are you going to let him sleep in here? I thought we agreed that he was old enough…”
“Just this once. I think the poor baby was really frightened. He felt like a nestling that has dropped to the ground, terrified and shaking and… And I want him to stay with me tonight.”
Willard stared for a moment.
“Okay. Now let me get to sleep.” He grunted and rolled over, his back to Sams. Catherine noted that he left a small space between his body and his son’s. Just in case.
The rest of the night-what was left of it-passed undisturbed. Willard managed to pull himself out of bed when the alarm clanged, changed quietly enough that Catherine and Sams never stirred. When he left, he carefully closed the door, although something inside of him wanted, oh so badly needed, to slam the door.
Let them see what it was like to get wakened from a sound sleep.
That morning at breakfast, the boys were subdued, even more than they had been for the past little while. Suze was fine; she chattered and ate and got ready for school with no problem.
Sams was sleepier than usual but that was perhaps to be expected. And-Catherine noted with no little surprise-he didn’t bring his blanket with him to the table. As soon as he had eaten, though, he disappeared for a minute, then came wandering back into the kitchen with the wretched thing dragging behind him. Okay, so he was all right.
Will spoke very little. He didn’t remember why he had come into his parent’s room that late. He didn’t remember dreaming, or thinking he had seen anything. Neither did Burt.
Both boys did remember seeing their father without any clothes. Willard was fairly modest-except, of course, when he and Catherine were alone…they did have four children, after all. So none of the children had ever seen him naked.
The boys started to ask questions, but Catherine simply shook her head. No, this is not the time.
They both seemed unduly fascinated by what they had seen.
5
The same thing happened over the next three nights, Tuesday through Thursday.
Well, not the same thing, exactly, but for one reason or another all three of the boys found themselves, singly, in pairs, or as a triad-standing by Catherine’s bed in the middle of the night. Each night there was enough commotion to rouse Willard. Each night he handled the interruption of his sleep with less and less patience.
“What is this,” he bellowed at Will, Jr., when the boy was leaving for his own bed at 4:15 on Thursday night, “a damned tag-team performance?”
“Willard,” said Catherine, laying a hand on his arm.
He shrugged it off, perhaps more vigorously that she expected.
“Well,” he said, not modulating his voice at all out of deference to Suze, who was still asleep in the next room and hadn’t caused any problems all week. “It might as well be. It if isn’t one of them, it’s the other. If it’s not that one it’s the third. Or all three of them.”
To be fair, Catherine thought, he has a point. Not all of the nightly visits had been quiet, or easily resolved. More than once, Sams had been in tears. Burt came in on Tuesday night sobbing as if his best friend had died. Will, Jr., was generally quieter, but as Willard’s anger grew, he took to glaring at his father, as if trying to stare him down. Twice, it had been enough for Catherine to traipse down the hall with the wanderer-or wanderers-and go through what had become an established ritual. The other times, it took either Willard or both of them to persuade the boys to return.
“Can’t.”
“Won’t”
“Don’t want to.”
“Scared.”
“Birds.”
“Someone…something…in the closet.”
At breakfast on Wednesday, long after Willard had departed for work, just as Will, Jr., was stepping out the front door to walk to school, he turned to Catherine.
“Mom, there really was someone in the closet.”
“Okay, Will.” She was distracted, trying to watch Burt and Suze as they made their way down Oleander.
“Really. He was like Dad was the other night?”
“What” Again absently.
“You know. He wasn’t wearing anything/”
She turned to stare down at her eldest son. “He… Why on earth would you say something like that? We both know there was no one in the bedroom, there never has been anyone in the bedroom. The door are all locked at night, the windows are locked, we don’t even have a fireplace for Santa to come down on Christmas Eve. And we both know Santa wears a big red suit with white fur trim.” This last in an attempt to wrest a smile from Will.
It worked…a bit.
