Comfort & Joy

Daniel studies his son. In that one look, I see a world of emotion; a man who knows how to love. “I’d take you, you know. ”

Bobby looks up at his dad, then at me. “I need Joy. ”

“We all could go to church,” I say quickly, but it’s too late. The damage has been done. Bobby has chosen me over his father again. I have to do something fast to change the mood. Somehow, I have to get these two to remember who they are to each other and what they have left. Sometimes that’s all that matters: what remains. “Tell me about the time you and your dad went to the carnival. ”

“The time he le-let me keep the change?” Bobby asks.

I nod. “That time. ”

Bobby glances at his dad. “You remember that, Daddy? When we went to the carnival?”

That’s all it takes—a word from Bobby—and Daniel’s face changes. His smile takes my breath away. “Aye. At the county fair, it was. I’m surprised you remember that. ”

“You carried me on your shoulders. ”

“You spilled juice in my hair. ”

Bobby giggles at that. “Mommy said you looked like an alien with purple on your face. ”

Daniel’s gaze is as soft as velvet, yet it hits me hard. I’ve never seen a man who looks at his son with such unabashed love. Once Bobby sees that, he’ll know he’s safe in this world. “You were too little to get on the bumper cars. ”

“You said they were a dumb ride anyway. ”

“Aye. And so they were. ”

For the rest of the meal, they trade memories and stories. By the time we head back to the truck, they are smiling at each other.

On the way home, we listen to the radio. It’s Randy Travis’s whiskey-velvet voice singing “I’m Gonna Love You Forever and Ever. ” As the words float through the cab, I find myself looking at Daniel.

When we get back to the lodge, it’s almost seven o’clock. Bobby immediately runs to the television and puts a DVD in the machine. He’s chosen The Santa Clause.

I start for my room.

“Where you going, Joy?” Bobby says.

“You and your dad need some time together. I’ll see you to . . . ”

“No. ” He turns to Daniel. “Tell her, Daddy. Invite her to watch the movie with us. ”

I draw in a breath, waiting. I know he will release me and keep Bobby to himself. It’s not even the wrong thing to do.

“Please,” Daniel says softly, smiling my way. “Stay with us. ”

It isn’t until then, when I hear his velvety brogue wrap around those three small words, that I realize how much I wanted Daniel to ask me to stay.

“Sure,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as desperate as I feel.

Daniel and Bobby sit on the couch together. I curl into the red chair, opposite them.

As I sit here, listening to Bobby’s laughter, I consider how quiet my own house has become. If I’m to be honest—and why would I lie now?—our house was quiet long before Thom left me. Before he started sleeping with my sister. When I look back on my marriage, the truth is that it was too quiet from the beginning.

On that last night in Bakersfield, Stacey was right. My marriage had been falling apart long before she came into the picture. It’s a truth I can finally admit.

“He’s getting fat ’cuz he’s Santa!” Bobby yells, bouncing in his seat.

His happiness is infectious; in no time, Daniel and I are laughing with him.

When the movie is over and Daniel says, “Time for bed, boyo,” and Bobby grumbles and whines that he’s not tired—even though he can’t keep his eyes open—I am sorry to see the evening end, sorry to face the prospect of going back to my room.