Squared Away (Out of Uniform 5)

“I don’t know what to do with this...not even sure what to call it,” Mark said right as the ocean finally came back into view, a gorgeous vista that Isaiah had been coming to since he was Daphne’s age, after the death of his mom, Aunt Cecily taking him to Torrey Pines or another state park to “get our heads back on,” as she’d say after a bad day.

“Does it help if I say I’m pissed too? I loved them too. So f—freaking much. And I’m pissed as hell.”

“I guess that’s it. Anger. But... I need a plan. Some direction. A way forward. I hate feeling like this.”

“Me too.” Liam was starting to make squawking noises in the back seat, so Isaiah pulled into one of the parking areas, beach beneath them, vast blue ocean in front of them. It was far quieter than the Coronado beaches, making the roar of the ocean seem louder, more untamed somehow. And besides, Coronado had always been Mark and Danielle’s thing, the neighborhood full of families like theirs who came from serious money. Isaiah had been visiting for six years now and still didn’t feel at home there. Not like he did here. This place was special for him, and he felt a weird compulsion to share it with Mark and the kids. “We’re going to walk on the beach now. That’s the plan.”

* * *

“You want to walk on the beach? Here? Now?” Mark was struggling to keep up with Isaiah’s sudden leaps. But Isaiah was already out of the car, reaching over Zoe to extract the baby from his bucket carrier seat in the middle of the back seat.

“Here.” He brought the baby around to Mark’s side of the car along with a bottle. “You give the big guy his snack, and I’ll get the other two to the restroom before we hit the beach.”

“I should feed him?” Mark blinked as Isaiah opened the door.

“Well, he’ll do most of the work.” Isaiah laughed as he deposited the squirming baby in Mark’s lap. “He can usually hold the bottle even, but he likes being held while he eats.”

Mark wasn’t so sure about that as the kid was reaching back for Isaiah and making squawking noises like a full-on fit might be looming. Isaiah stuck the bottle in Mark’s hand. “Just offer him this. You guys will figure it out.”

And with that Isaiah and the girls were off to the rustic building that housed the restrooms.

“No!” Liam protested.

“I hear you, kid.” Mark tried to settle him into a more comfortable position on his lap. “You hungry, huh?”

“No!” But he batted at the bottle.

“I know. I’m not Uncle Ikey. Or the nanny. Or...” His throat closed around the words. Fuck. He hadn’t cried at the funeral, hadn’t teared up at the endless parade of friends and family offering sympathy, but here he was, eyes burning and throat thick from nothing more than trying to get the kid to eat.

“Bah, bah,” Liam chanted.

“Okay, okay.” Mark pulled himself together. He offered the bottle, which the baby grabbed eagerly. The kid settled himself back in Mark’s arms like a little old man arranging himself in his recliner with his favorite drink, making a happy sigh. Mark racked his brain for his limited knowledge about babies. “Are we supposed to stop and burp you or are you too big for that?”

The baby continued to drink happily, head resting in the crook of Mark’s arm, so Mark figured burping could wait. Like the other kids, the baby had a thick head of curly hair, but unlike the girls, Liam had light eyes, almost silvery. His mouth, however, was pure Danielle—perfect rosebud, and like her, he’d have dimples. He gave a grunt when Mark forgot to do his part and tip the bottle, and that sound and demanding facial expression was so Danielle that Mark’s eyes burned again.

“We’re going to work this out, you and me,” Mark promised him as he adjusted the bottle. There was something weirdly soothing about holding the kid. He’d posed for pictures with Daphne when she was born, a teeny bundle in his hands for a quick snapshot while he prayed he wouldn’t sneeze or drop her, but this was the longest he’d ever held a baby, and Liam’s trust hit him smack in the center of his chest. He was depending on Mark to do the right thing here.

Isaiah walked back up, holding the girls’ hands, a grimace on his usually easygoing face.

“What happened?” Mark’s arms prickled, same as they did when something was about to go sideways on a mission.

“Mean man said we shouldn’t be there,” Daphne reported. “Asked if Uncle Ikey had permission.”

“It was okay.” Isaiah looked away, going to the trunk of the car, clearly lying. “I handled it.”

“Point him out to me,” Mark demanded, getting out of the car with the baby still in his arms.