Page 98 of Play With Me

Just then Cap opens his eyes. “Dad!” he says, weakly.

The urge I had to run vanishes. “Hey, dude,” I say, leaning in and kissing his barf-scented cheek. My stomach squishes, but I just focus on Cap’s face.

“You came,” he says, his voice crackly.

The hum of the HVAC comes on then, and I breathe a little easier just knowing the scent will at least be chilled in a few minutes.

I glance over to where Nora’s closing the little control panel by the bedroom door. “Of course I came. I’m always here for you. Nora’s here too.”

Cap lights up as Nora comes back around the bed. Then he grimaces. “I barfed.”

“I know, buddy.”

“A lot.”

“That’s okay.”

“Can you stay with me?”

“I’m already taking off my shoes.”

“Nora, can you stay too?”

Nora looks to me. “Please stay,” I say, trying not to sound desperate. I can’t help noticing how these are the words running through my mind back when we drove her to the airport that day.

Does she see? Is she scared off by my need for her?

“Of course I’ll stay. Jude, maybe you guys should go wash Cap off? I’ll go tell Farrah what’s going on.”

The relief coursing through me is outsized for the situation, and it’s not just about having help with Cap.

Half an hour later, Cap is bathed, the barf shampooed out of his hair, and in clean pajamas. Luckily the bed seems unscathed, and Nora has mercifully cleaned up the bucket and towels, so the space is clean by the time we’re done.

“You need anything else, honey?” Nora asks my boy, holding his hand as she sits on the bed on the opposite side of him from me.

“No.” Cap yawns again. “I have you guys. I don’t need anything else in the whole world.”

My chest fucking clamps at that. I don’t dare look at Nora. Instead, I sit down next to him, stretching my legs out, and flick off the bedside lamp.

“Wait,” Cap says tentatively.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Nora, can you sing our song to me?”

Nora and Cap have a song? Since when? I’ve never heard Nora sing, except for the odd time I’ve caught her singing along to a song on the radio. I’m tempted to ask, but I don’t want to shatter the moment.

I want to hear her sing.

Nora’s quiet, as if deciding, her back against the headboard like mine. The only light is what’s coming in from the window outside—moonlight and the low glow from the exterior lighting. Her features are bathed in the cool light, but I can’t see her eyes because of her glasses.

“Okay,” she whispers finally.

She’s as unable to refuse as I am when he asks stuff in that sweet little sick kid voice.

I hold my breath, waiting.

Then she begins.

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