Feels like Home (Lake Fisher 2)

“I know.” I do know. I just don’t want to do it yet. Not with the tension we’ve had between us since her mom died. I want to fix us before I have to break us. “I’m kind of jealous they’re going to get to sleep in the fort.” I force out a chuckle I don’t really feel.

“Does the little dude sleep well?” he asks.

“He sleeps almost the whole night. If he does wake up, he just wants a bottle and a diaper change, and then he goes right back to sleep.”

Miles is heavy on my lap, his head tucked into the crook of my arm at an odd angle, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He fell asleep about a half hour ago. I didn’t want to put him down.

“You want to go sleep in the fort?” he asks. “I won’t give you a pillow or a sleeping bag.” He holds up his hand like he’s testifying. “I won’t even give you a good-night kiss.”

That brings a smile. “I have Miles,” I remind him and jiggle Miles a little.

“I’ll sit with the rugrat,” he says. “As long as it’s asleep.”

I shake my head. “He might wake up. I can’t guarantee he’ll sleep all night.”

“Son, it’s not every night you get a chance to sleep in a blanket fort.”

“A blanket condo,” I correct.

“It’s not every night you get to sleep in a blan

ket monstrosity,” he goes on to say. I almost see a smile on his face, but he’s not known for his smiles. He’s known for his grumbling. “Plus Jake will need somebody to help him clean that shit up in the morning.” He pokes my knee with his gnarled old-man finger. “Unless you don’t feel up to it.”

“I feel okay, actually.” And I do. I’m not feeling pukey. No dizziness or muscle aches. I just feel tired.

“Go sleep in the fort, dumbass.” His voice is soft but firm. He makes a fist in the air between us. “This is the time to grab life by the horns.”

“You’re sure?”

“Stop asking stupid questions,” he grumbles. “Put that thing to bed while I set all the lightning bugs free.” He reaches over to grab one and starts to open the first jar. He tips it so that the grateful fireflies can escape. “Well, hurry up,” he admonishes.

“Yes, sir,” I reply with a laugh. I don’t even try to bathe Miles or put him in pajamas. I do a quick diaper change, since he was only wearing a t-shirt and a diaper, and I tuck him into bed without him even waking up. I stand there and count his breaths, all ten of them.

“I used to do that with Jake, too,” Mr. Jacobson says from behind me where he’s standing in the doorway to the bedroom.

“What’s that?”

“Count Jake’s breaths. I don’t need to do it now because he snores so loudly that I can hear him all the way down the hall.” He makes a sound between a chuckle and a snort. “But a father always worries. That never changes.”

“I have more worries than I can account for,” I admit softly.

His hand lands heavy on my shoulder. He gives me a squeeze. “It’ll all work out. We walk by faith, not by sight,” he says, and his words sink deep inside me.

“Yep.” I blink hard to clear my eyes.

“Go climb in the fort with those kids of yours.” He rocks his head toward the door. “Go on. They might still be awake if you hurry up.”

“Thanks, Mr. Jacobson,” I say. “I appreciate it. My cell number is on the fridge.” I had left it there for Gabby in case of an emergency. “Call me if he wakes up.”

“Sure thing,” he says. He pulls a paperback book out of his back pocket and plops down on the rocking chair that’s in the bedroom.

I go in the bathroom and change into a pair of pajamas that Lynda bought for me a few years ago for Christmas. They are a hideous print, with Christmas party lights on the pants and the t-shirt, but I love them, mainly because Lynda gave them to me. I slide my feet into my bedroom slippers and pop into the bedroom one last time.

“Don’t ask me again if I’m sure or I’ll feel led to leave,” Mr. Jacobson grumbles in warning.

“Good night, then,” I say.

“’Night, Aaron,” he replies.