Give Me War - Kate McCarthy Page 0,6
deeper, and the frustration inside me would rise. It expands even now, inside my chest. I want to click my fingers and magically give her what we both want but I can’t. How do I tell her how shit I feel, when I know she’s feeling even shittier? How do I tell her how inadequate I feel, when she’s probably feeling even more so?
When we married, I promised her the world. I promised her I’d give her everything. How do I live with the knowledge that I’ve failed her in this?
“Daddy, where’s my pancake?”
I jolt again and flip it quickly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I got you, bud. It’s coming.”
Walking over to the table, I grab the syrup-laden plate and bring it back with me. After flipping the pancake on it, I cut it into bite-sized pieces and place it in front of Wolf.
“You aren’t havin’ some?” he asks when I take the seat opposite him, setting down my mug of coffee.
“Maybe later, little Wolf.”
He kicks his legs as he eats and speaks with a mouthful of food. “How many sleeps now ‘til Santa?”
“Just one.”
“How does he get inside?” Wolf looks worried, his little brows pulling down as he studies the lower floor of our house. “We don’t got a chimney.”
“He uses magic.”
Wolf takes another bite of pancake while he contemplates this phenomenon, syrup dripping down on to his little cop uniform. “He can’t come in with no warrant.”
I crack a smile at that. The kid is a true Valentine, alright. “Bud, a warrant would be for him to come inside and legally search our house.”
Wolf ignores me and abandons the table. A kid on a mission. He makes for the living room where all his drawing paper and coloured marker pens scatter the floor from yesterday. Adjusting his police badge with care, he drops to the floor and grabs a fresh white sheet. “Imma write one.”
Three hours later, we’ve cleaned the kitchen, pinned Santa’s ‘warrant’ to the front door, taken our little dachshund, Peter, for a walk, and wrapped presents. I assumed Evie was coming home after her surf before shopping, but maybe she’s hitting up the Westfield at Bondi Junction on her way back to save time.
It niggles at me. That she hasn’t checked in.
I swipe at the screen of my phone while Wolf sits in front of the television watching his favourite movie, Tangled, with a sandwich and juice. He’s obsessed with Flynn Rider, his facial expressions morphing as he attempts to match Flynn’s smoulder, his green eyes intense beneath dark, thick lashes. God help all you future women of Sydney and beyond. Wolf Valentine is already learning how to lure you in.
Returning to my screen, I consider tracking Evie’s phone. My thumb hovers over the button. It’s not something I usually do, but that niggle is something I’ve learnt to never ignore. Not when it comes to my wife or her reckless posse of friends.
A loud knock comes at the door.
Wolf gasps, abandoning his smoulder to eyeball the entryway. “Is that Santa?” he yells. “You’re early!”
I pocket my phone and head for the door, trying to ignore the niggle. I’m on edge because of this morning. Because she couldn’t seem to hurry out the door fast enough. My stomach sinks as I swing the door wide.
Mitch stands on the other side, surprising me.
“Uncle Mitch!” Wolf’s voice is a shriek as he comes barrelling toward us. A Mitch visit is rare. My eldest brother is not the type of person to just drop in unannounced. At least, not anymore.
Wolf slams into his legs and Mitch stumbles backward.
Being a high-ranking member of the Australian Federal Police, Mitch is my son’s idol. His arms come around Wolf’s little shoulders and he squeezes him close. “How’s my newest recruit? Ready to report for duty?”
“Yes, sir!” Wolf shouts, squeezing him even harder.
My lips press tight, holding back a solid wave of emotion. “You want to come in?”
Mitch nods, and when my boy finally releases him, he picks up a giant box he must have set down by the door, and follows us inside. “Saw your warrant, rookie.” He sets the box down by the tree, saying, “Nice work.” He offers a fist and Wolf bumps it with his own, chuffed at the term ‘rookie.’ “When are you going to come work for me?”
Wolf takes on a serious expression, his little brows pulling down. “I just gots to finish Tangled first.”
Mitch laughs. He actually laughs. Something he hardly ever does.