Something like awe.
And joy.
Aww God. Imagining Matt reconnecting with his kids and seeing it are two different things. My heart is melting as I watch it happen before my eyes. It’s so cute, so touching. Nobody could remain unmoved, no matter what else has gone down between us.
If I felt nothing, I’d have a heart of stone.
“How was your day?” I ask later, with the kids settled in the living room watching cartoons on TV.
I should be heading home, but I’m strangely reluctant to go. After all, if he’s to talk to me about anything, including his late wife, I’d have to be around, right?
This is how I complicate my life.
He’s quiet, looking at his children, and I think he won’t answer me. Maybe it has already been too much effort, being sociable for one evening.
Man, he looks haggard. His face looks thin, even with the beard. He barely touched his food at the table, and how is it that I’m more worried about him not eating than his kids?
Maybe I should just go.
“Tay,” he says.
Just that, and I know I’m not going anywhere. “What is it?”
“Do you think I can win them back?”
He doesn’t say who, but he’s looking at his kids, so it’s easy to guess.
“You never lost them. They need you.”
He seems to be chewing on something. “I know what you’re thinking. That they’d be better off with their grandma. That it was cruel to take them away.”
“No, I don’t think that.” And I mean it. “I think you should call their grandma, have her visit you, or go visit her—but you are their dad, and they’ve known you all their short lives. You’ve always been there.”
“They are afraid of me.”
“Maybe so, but they also look up to you and depend on you. Show them that they can also have fun with you, be open with you, be vulnerable with you. Let them love you.”
He rubs at his eyes, and my heart twists again.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
And I can’t help it. I smile.
Chapter Nineteen
Matt
Dark dreams draw me under, again and again, suffocating clutches of nightmares that won’t let me rest. I wake up drenched in cold sweat, my teeth gritting, my legs tangled up in the covers, until I give up on sleep and roll out of bed.
That’s routine. Stumbling into the bathroom to take a piss and splash my face with cold water, trying to chase the clinging cobwebs of the dreams from my mind. Stumbling back out to grab a T-shirt and down the stairs to the kitchen. Deciding if it’s late enough for booze or early enough for coffee.
The sky outside is a deep blue. Over the houses and trees, the sky is lightening, silver and gold shooting through the east.
Damn. Coffee it is.
I start the coffee machine and scratch at my beard. I should trim it.
Or braid it like Viking warriors did.