dad is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dad doesn’t brush my bangs back when I’m laying there sick like you do.”
As much as I would have loved excoriating Mike, especially when the man deserved it, I’d have to keep that shit to myself. “He loves you, Devon.”
“I know. But I’d rather be sick with you.”
“What about you, Sarah? How was your time with grandma and grandpa?”
“It was awesome. They let me hand out all the candy when kids came to the door.”
“So you had fun, honey?”
“Yeah.”
I stirred my soup, waiting to see if either of the kids had anything else they wanted to say—and, when a soft silence descended upon us, I decided to broach the subject.
“Guys, there’s something I need to ask you.”
Although both of them looked at me, it was Devon who asked, “What?”
I set my spoon in the bowl. “How would you feel about Justin moving in here?”
“That would be awesome.”
“Sarah?”
“Yeah. We like Justin. But…grandma and grandpa won’t like it. They say it’s wrong.”
“Wrong how?”
“You’re supposed to be married.”
I took in a slow breath. “Yeah, honey, that’s what they teach in their church.”
“Will you go to hell if he moves in here?”
“Let’s just say I don’t believe everything grandma and grandpa do. I think if two people love each other and make a commitment to one another, it’s the right thing to do.”
Sarah asked, “Do you love Justin?”
Oh, God. Even if I hadn’t said the words to him, maybe I needed to tell my children. “Yes, I do.” It was true. And, although I’d never said it out loud before, it sounded right to my ears. “Besides, he’ll help with the bills, so we’ll have more money to do fun stuff.”
“Yeah,” Devon piped in. “I could buy a new video game!”
“Maybe.” I fought the urge to cough, because I wanted to get through our conversation. “You sure you’re okay with this, guys? If you’re not, we won’t do it.”
Devon said, “Dad’s always asking me if Justin lives with us.”
“What?”
“He asks if Justin lives here.”
“He does? Is he mad about it?”
“No. He lives with his girlfriends sometimes.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
Later that night, I spent extra time tucking them in bed, assuring them of how much I loved them. These two children were the world to me.
And I would never, ever, ever tell them that I’d almost committed murder less than twenty-four hours ago for that love. I just prayed that Justin was right…that justice would be served.
* * *
The next day, Kathy sent me home early from work, because by then there was no denying just how sick I was. The shit coming out of my lungs was unlike anything else I’d ever seen.
I couldn’t even enjoy a cigarette. Literally. I’d take one puff and have to toss the cigarette, because all I could do was hack and cough.
That afternoon, Justin sent me a text asking something I already should have told him. Have you asked S & D about what we talked about?
I replied, Yeah. It’s a go. If you still want to do it.
Do you?
Yeah.
You okay if I come over now?
I smiled before coughing up more phlegm. Yeah.
Before he arrived, though, I started feeling even worse, so I lay on the couch, half-watching a crime scene show.
Devon said, “Mom, you look bad.”
I drifted off, resting my head against the back of the couch. Sometime later, Sarah’s voice pulled me out of my semi-sleeping state. “Do you need us to get you anything, mom?”
Glancing around, I knew I’d already gathered most of what I needed—a glass of water, a box of tissue, and a small trash can—but I was cold and shivery. “If you want, sweetie, you could get me a couple of blankets from the hall closet.”
It wasn’t long before my daughter had fetched three of them and I lay back down, pulling them on top of me. When the doorbell rang, Devon answered it, letting Justin inside. After chatting with my son, Justin walked over to the couch. “God, woman, you look like hell.” Gently, he sat on the edge of the couch and rested his hand on my forehead. “You’re burnin’ up.”
“I don’t feel so good.”
“You don’t look so good. Did you work today?”
“I had to.” When I started coughing again, I grabbed a tissue and covered my mouth.
“And you sound awful. Are you going to the doctor?”
“I can’t afford it.”
“Like hell you can’t. You’re going tomorrow.”
“Justin…”
“No arguments. You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”
When I tried doing just that—arguing—I started coughing again. But I let him