Daniel tapped Trey on the shoulder and pointed to the ambulance. "You ready to get checked out so we can head home?"
Trey jammed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Just wanna go to bed."
More concerns. Where would he put everyone in his condo? A small condo with only one bed—a big bed that he could too well envision sharing with Mary Elise.
A headache started behind his right eye, like a tiny hammer rapping with irritating persistence. "Not much longer and we'll hit the road. You'll be in b— Uh, you'll be tucked in before you can say Hershey's chocolate."
Austin pulled his thumb out of his mouth. "Crap."
Daniel screeched to a halt. "What?"
Trey smirked. "I think he heard you say it."
"Thanks. I figured that."
Mary Elise tapped Austin's mouth. "What's wrong, hon?"
"Got no jammies. Want my sailboat jammies. Crap." His thumb popped back in his mouth.
Daniel flinched over the curse, but couldn't bring himself to reprimand his brother. Poor kid had lost his parents and everything familiar in the span of a couple of weeks. "You can both wear my T-shirts. I have one with an airplane on it, just for you, pal."
"Mary 'Lise got no jammies, neither."
An image he did not need, thank you very much. "She can borrow a T-shirt, too."
Another image no less tormenting than the last splayed across his mind in a tangle of long red hair and even longer legs. In his bed.
"And a toof brush and shampoo?"
Daniel blinked back to the present and Austin's latest question. "We'll buy some."
"For Mary 'Lise, too?"
Already he could see, smell her shampoo in his shower. The little hammer picked up speed and force in his head, pounding in time with each thud of his boots across cement. "You bet."
"And toof paste? Bubble-gum kind."
"Yes," he promised, rushing to add before the three-year-old question machine could preempt him, "for Mary Elise, too."
Blessed silence echoed for four strides across the tarmac before Austin's thumb popped back out of his mouth again. "Need my pull-ups."
He turned to Mary Elise for interpretation. "Pull-ups?"
Trey snorted. "Diapers. For babies."
"Am not a baby!"
"Are so." Trey sniffed. "And no way am I sharing a bed with anybody who still wears a diaper to sleep. Yuck!"
The pounding behind Daniel's eye morphed into a jack-hammer.
Mary Elise guided Trey alongside while explaining to Danny, "They're like underwear."
Daniel willed Austin silent. Please Lord, no mentions of Mary Elise's underwear from the peanut gallery. "We'll make a quick stop by the base shoppette for necessities and buy the rest tomorrow. No worries, boys."
End of bedtime ritual discussions. Life back in control, Daniel forged ahead into the late-morning sun.
Yeah, order. Control. Gained from a logical act of the will.