If you've ever had one child getting treatment and three others bored and insufferable, attempting to play with hospital equipment, you'd understand the pit of dread in my belly then.
What I saw was Mark lapping at a scrape on his arm like a cat cleaning its coat, then getting on with his play.
"You're not going to treat him?" Miss Perfect asked, eyes full of disgust.
"Like he's hurt when he isn't? I'm really not going to do that," I agreed, looking away again.
Aside from constantly having stained clothes from God-knew-what one of the boys rubbed on me, the only thing about motherhood I really didn't like was, well, a lot of my fellow mothers.
I had tried in the beginning to do the 'right' thing and make mommy connections, arrange playdates.
For about, say, three whole days before I decided they were the most judgmental group of people I had ever come across. I didn't use the right soaps, didn't nurse correctly, didn't get my baby on a schedule right away; the list went on and on. I figured I was better off on my own.
"Oh, no! Baby! Mommy's coming!" Miss Perfect yelled, making my head move toward the kids once again, finding Ryan rushing over to the little girl who had just fallen on her diapered butt off the jungle gym, staring up in unsure shock. He grabbed her under the pits, lifting her back onto her feet like he had done for his brothers countless times in the past.
She was starting to smile wobbly up at him when her mother came breaking into the scene, throwing her arms around the little girl who immediately started to cry, taking her cue from her over-protective mom.
Ryan looked over at me, giving me a shrug before running back off to his brothers who had seemed to find an old soccer ball somewhere, the sides torn and dirty. It might as well have been brand new with how excited they were about it.
"You're welcome," I said under my breath as Miss Perfect rushed off with her daughter. Likely to the local emergent care center.
"They look like you."
That was a voice I hadn't heard in a long time.
Years, actually.
Not since that motel room all those years ago.
Another life, it felt.
"Connor," I said, turning my head to look at him, finding him standing just a few feet off, still in his uniform blues, the years turning his boyish features into those of a man, handsome, sure of himself. "I don't see it," I added, looking over at my boys who, to me, were miniature Xerox copies of their father. "Not a single one got my eyes," I added, but without upset because I would much rather look at four sets of Charlie's eyes. "Maybe this one," he suggested, waving at my belly as he moved to sit down, but as far to the side as he could and still be on the same bench.
"How have you been, Connor?" I asked, finding I genuinely wanted to know.
"Good. Good. Lost Pops last year," he admitted, a bit of pain slipping into his voice.
"I'm so sorry to hear that," I told him, genuine sadness slipping into my voice as well as I reached over to give his hand a squeeze. "He was a good man."
"He was," Connor agreed.
"You got that from him," I added.
"I hope so," he agreed, nodding.
"I know for a fact."
"How is life, Helen?" he asked, glancing at the boys then back at me, gaze holding.
"Crazy. Chaotic. As you would expect when you are outnumbered by your children."
"How's Charlie?" he asked, voice a bit strained. Even after the years. I didn't, however, as I might have in the old days, assume the position of vanity, imagine the strain had anything to do with feelings for me. It was likely the way our lives were at odds with each other.
He was a cop, meant to enforce laws.
I was married to a loanshark who made his living breaking them.
"He's doing well too."
Better than well.
We'd sold our first home the year before, moving into a four bedroom with a yard. Work had picked up. Enough that he had eventually found an enforcer to add to the job, giving him more time with us.
"Can I perhaps give you a piece of advice?" he asked carefully.
"You can give it," I agreed, the inflection clear. But I may not accept it.
"He is starting to get noticed. By people you don't want him to get noticed by." Cops.
"That took a long time."
"Got a lot going on in this town lately," he told me, giving me a small smile, both of us knowing that the town we were calling home was complicated to say the least. There was an intricate web full of venomous spiders. Drug dealers. Mob. Arms dealers. The cops had their hands full with the bigger organizations. It was easy for Charlie to fall under the radar.