Breath Of Life

We go inside the entryway. “Are you positive the two of you will be okay? I can hang out if you need me to. I don’t mind.”

I bet you don’t.

“No, we’ll be good. I want to make not being around up to him.”

Placing a hand on my cheek, she smiles up at me. “That’s sweet.”

I cover her hand with my own, gently pull it away, and ball it up with a shake of my head. “I was serious in the hospital. Things are going to be different now. We’re not going to continue around in the loop.”

“Okay, Ollie.” The disbelief in her tone grates on my nerves, but it’s my fault. I kept playing the same role and taking the steps expecting things to change. Or maybe not acknowledging that it never would. Convenience is a slippery slope that leads to complacency and settling.

“See you in few.” I can’t help but be relieved when I close the door behind her. I turn on my heels and make my way to Rolly’s room. Sitting on his haunches, he’s building with colorful plastic blocks.

“Can I build, too?” I ask as I move closer and lower myself to the ground.

“Uh huh. I’m making a castle.”

I help him build another tower as I soak in the smell of his strawberry shampoo and innocence. Children are so precious because their world hasn’t been tainted by realities of the world. They don’t worry about paying bills or feel the sting that comes with the mean-spirited ways of others. When I look at children, I’m reminded of the best parts of humanity—the side we forget too often while we’re caught up in the business of surviving life.

“We need a moat, buddy.”

“A moat to surround the castle?” he asks as he peers up at me.

“Yep.” I’m proud he remembered. I begin to build up a circular wall.

“That’s cool, Daddy. We need to make a drawbridge, too.”

“Good thinking. How will we make it?”

“We can make the shape with our blocks, the brown ones. In all my dragon books the castle doors are always brown wood. We can pretend it looks like that.”

“Good observation, buddy. That means you pay attention well.”

The stacking of blocks and conversation with my son place me in a state of Zen. The sound of my doorbell pulls me from the designing.

“I’ll be bright back, little dude. You okay here?”

“Uh huh.” He nods his head, never looking up from the drawbridge he’s oh-so-carefully assembling. I ruffle his head and groan as I get to my feet.

One in the entryway, I peer out the trisected glass arch. Quinn? With her arms around her waist and her frame hunched, she appears subdued—a paler version of the woman I’ve interacted with. I quickly turn the lock and open the door.

“Quinn?”

She looks up at me with red-rimmed, puffy eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I hurriedly ask.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.”

I step back inside. She follows me, rubbing her arms like she has a chill despite the eighty-degree weather. I close the door.

“I went to the police station to update the sketches.”

“Yeah,” I say as the guilt hits me. I’ve put off going to the cops for an updated statement.

“He recognized them immediately.”