Feels like Home (Lake Fisher 2)

I stand outside the door of Aaron’s cabin and try to catch my breath. I don’t want to reminisce about good times with Eli. Because the bad times far outshine the good. I go back to our cabin and go to the bed, getting in on my side. I might as well use the bed since Eli’s not here.

The bed smells like Eli does after a shower, and I stick my nose into the edge of his pillow and inhale deeply. Eli’s soap smells like a mix of citrus and mint, with something woodsy added to it. I used to love that smell. Now, it just hurts.

It’s a long time before I fall back asleep.

13

Aaron

I wake up the next morning to the sound of humming. Whoever it is has a scratchy voice and a poor sense of timing. I open my eyes and look up into Mr. Jacobson’s face as he stares down at me. “Good morning, sunshine,” he says.

I look to my left and right and find that the other sides of the air mattress are empty, as are the other two mattresses. “Where is everybody?” I ask.

“They went fishing.” He reaches over his head and unhooks a strand of lights that was attached to the blanket fort, and then starts rolling it up around his arm.

I wipe the drool from my chin with the heel of my hand and stare down at it. “Jake didn’t draw a dick on my forehead again, did he?” He did that once when we were twelve. I wore that thing like a badge of honor for two days because my mom couldn’t wash it off.

“No. This time, he gave you titties.” He points to his forehead and shakes his head, laughter shaking his shoulders.

I roll to my feet and rush to the mirror on the wall, already scrubbing my saliva-slicked fingertips across my forehead.

“Gotcha,” Mr. Jacobson sings out. His chuckles get louder.

Motherfucker…

I suddenly remember Miles. “Who has Miles?” Oh, God…I slept through my kid waking up. “You were with him the last time I saw him.” I look around like I’m going to find him stuffed into one of the couch cushions. He’s not there.

“He’s with Eli,” the old man says.

I look down at my watch. It’s almost nine in the morning. I never sleep this late. “Why didn’t anybody wake me up?”

“You needed your rest.” He glares at me. “Last time I checked, you didn’t have a big red S on your chest and you didn’t change clothes in a phone booth so you can save the world. And last time I checked, kryptonite wasn’t the only thing that could take you out. You have cancer. Exhaustion is a poor bedfellow, my friend.”

“But my kids—”

“Your kids are happy and well taken care of. Isn’t that why you came here?”

“Among other things,” I grumble.

Katie breezes into the room carrying a load of laundry in a basket.

“Have you seen my kids?” I ask her.

She freezes. “I saw them when I fed them breakfast, and then Gabby took them to your house to get dressed.”

“How did I sleep through all this?” I ask more to myself than to them. I never neglect my kids. Ever since Lynda died, I’ve been the one who takes care of them. The only one.

“You were tired, Aaron,” Katie says slowly and succinctly. “It’s not going to do them any harm if someone else feeds them breakfast.”

“They looked pretty happy to me,” Mr. Jacobson says. “They played the quiet game, you know, to see who could be the quietest while they had breakfast.”

“Next time, just wake me up, will you?” I know I sound sour, but I don’t like feeling like I’m failing at parenting.

“Sure thing,” Mr. Jacobson says, his voice clipped.

I scrub at my forehead again, even though I know it’s clean. “Did Miles sleep all night?”

“Nope.”