Fuck. This made his fight with Apollo seem particularly petty as real lives were undoubtedly at stake here, and Dylan hated knowing that he’d sent Apollo off rattled and distracted simply because he hadn’t been able to tell Apollo the truth weeks earlier. He spent all night calling himself names and tossing about like a ship in the harbor. Saturday had brought another cryptic message from Apollo not to expect him anytime soon. Still no official word from the base, and Dylan tried not to check his phone while the girls were awake, keeping to his promise to Apollo.
He kept the girls busy with a walk to the park before the day turned too hot for outside play, doing art projects after that, depleting their stores of construction paper and glue and glitter. At least cleaning up sticky glitter after the girls were finally asleep kept his mind off Apollo Saturday night when official word came from the Navy spokesperson that a Black Hawk assisting in a training mission had had landing issues, injuring ten SEALs, some of whom were in critical condition. Further updates were scheduled for later, but the Navy was currently investigating what had gone wrong.
Dylan’s heart sank and his eyes stung. He didn’t need the next text message from Apollo telling him Sunday would be the soonest he’d be back and to be prepared to do Monday without him too. Apollo suggested calling Marilyn and Pat if he couldn’t handle the girls, but Dylan sent back a fast reply that they were fine and to not worry. Which he knew was like ordering a lion not to pace—Apollo was made of worry, and this accident had to be weighing heavily on him. Last thing he needed was any hint that Dylan was frazzled.
Even if he totally was. His stomach was a mess all Sunday with worry for Apollo and sadness about the crash that he couldn’t dare show the girls, but even though he tried to be cheery for them and make them their usual Sunday pancakes and bacon, they seemed to pick up on things being out of the ordinary and were way needier than usual. And they were bored, something they whined about continually.
“Dollies?” Dylan suggested for the tenth time. The girls had an impressive collection, thanks in no doubt to their grandmothers. A lot of the doll clothes were hand-sewn by Pat, and usually Dylan could coax the girls into a long imaginative playtime with the dolls and the accessories, but today they were having nothing to do with the idea. “Or how about art—”
“We used all the glitter,” Chloe said plaintively. “Can’t do art without glitter.”
“Sure we can.” Dylan forced his voice to be upbeat, even though he was dragging in a late afternoon slump that had him wishing the girls still napped. “Hey, I know—it’s a nice day out today. What about sidewalk chalk? I think I remember seeing a bucket in the garage.”
“Okay,” Sophia allowed. Finally. Luckily, the hot streak had broken, and it was a bit overcast and only in the high seventies, perfect for playing outside without needing to be slathered in sunscreen. Dylan led the way to the garage, girls close on his heels. Of course they followed him in—the garage was usually strictly off-limits to them, and the lure of the forbidden space had both of them flitting around him.
“Now where is that chalk?” Dylan tried to think with the girls spinning and giggling. Making sure they didn’t run into the tool bench or the car was taking more of his concentration than finding the chalk.
“Bikes!” Chloe suddenly changed directions on him, darting to the far corner of the garage. “We could ride bikes.”
A couple of adult bikes stood together—a purple cruiser with front basket that had to be Apollo’s mother’s and two mens’ bikes with dusty seats. And sure enough, behind them were two shiny, almost brand-new-looking little girl bikes with helmets dangling from the handlebars.
“You guys have ridden these before?”
“Welllll...” Chloe wheedled. “Not exactly.”
“What does ‘not exactly’ mean?” Dylan tried not to sigh.
“We keep asking Baba to teach us, but he always says he’s too busy and ‘later.’” Sophia’s voice was just short of a whine.
“Or someday,” Chloe added. “But I wanna learn now.”
Dylan could totally buy Apollo as too busy to teach the girls—the man barely had time to breathe most days—and he also felt for the girls having to wait and wait. He’d been almost nine before he’d learned how to ride a bike himself because his own overworked father kept putting it off.
“Okay,” he said slowly. Any other day and he’d text Apollo about this, but no way was he disturbing him today. “If you wear the helmets and listen to what I say—”
“We will.” Both girls were the picture of angelic compliance—big eyes and clasped hands, but Dylan had a feeling this would be trickier than they thought.