Page 72 of Missed Sunrise
Heaving my achy body out of bed, I rolled my eyes at my inner dramatics. I stretched my arms above my head and, catching a whiff of myself, cringed. Still a little smoky, even after showering last night.
Once I’d scrubbed myself raw again, I left the houseboat, got back in my evidence-filled truck, and drove straight to my dad’s house, forgoing a courtesy call.
I blamed the hanger I was battling—I really needed a snack—for my inability to see how dumb it was to surprise visit my other parent after the fiasco of doing the same to the other.
But that’s show business.
Fifteen minutes later, I parked in Dad’s expansive driveway in front of his open garage and creaked open my truck door, freezing halfway out of it as a scream pierced the air. I listened intently as an answering scream sounded, and then two child-sized blurs came into view as they raced through Dad’s backyard, just visible above the short white picket fence that enclosed the space.
A third child fell behind and had apparently given up the race in favor of ripping open a pack of fruit snacks and upending the entire bag into their mouth like a savage.
My stomach roared. I wanted to be that savage, and no one was here to keep me from taking some fruit gummies from an almost-baby.
After slamming my truck door, I beelined to the backyard, planted my palm on the post, and jumped clear over to the other side. I gritted my teeth against my sore shoulder as my gaze flitted around the space, trying to make sense of what, exactly, I was seeing. The smell of burnt hot dogs—my preferred way to cook them—wafted into my face, and all conscious thought abandoned me. Groaning like a starving man just back from months at sea, I stalked across the lawn.
Zeroing in on my prey, I went right for the table covered with a pastel-yellow vinyl cloth, grabbed a pastel-pink plate, and loaded it up with three hot dogs from the disposable foil pan, put them in buns, and traced a line of mustard on each. I eyed the table intently, wondering if Dad had brought any sauerkraut.
For the probiotics.
My campaign for gut health was interrupted when I locked in on three sets of eyes staring at me from the other side of the table.
Staring right back at the tallest kid in the group, the one who was giving off alpha kid energy, I took a giant bite of one ofthe hot dogs, maintaining eye contact and therefore establishing dominance.
He cracked a grin, displaying a few missing teeth, and his eyes lit with recognition before he wrapped his arm around his brother beside him—the resemblance was unmistakable—and leaned down to whisper in his ear, “See that, Sully? Cody made it to your party!”
Bewildered, I watched and chewed as the middle one relaxed at his brother’s words, but the youngest didn’t seem convinced yet, eyeing me shyly.
The oldest—Jaxon, I remembered now—squeezed him again before adding, “Remember the pictures we saw of Mr. Frankie’s son yesterday?” The kid squatted down to his brother’s height and pointed at me. “That’s him, all grown up, just like we will be one day.”
Mr. Frankie?I would definitely be calling Dad that from now until the end of time.
The rest of his words registered one by one, and I glanced up to see a giant blow-up Easter bunny balloon, its string anchored onto the table in front of me by a dirty rock. I hoped an adult showed up soon because I was not up for the task of deciphering these clues.
Something slapped my toes—I was wearing a pair of raggedy slides—and I glanced down in surprise to see Sully emerging from where he’d crawled under the table. Raising his dirty hands in the air, he looked at me with his pleading ice-blue eyes—Jeanne’s eyes, I realized—and said, “Cody play?”
My soul softened at his earnest gaze, and I abandoned my hot dogs on the table before lifting the boy into my arms. “Is today your birthday party, buddy?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed and then pointed past my shoulder at the back of the yard where a toddler-sized bouncy house was set up. It wasn’t huge by any means, but it was big enough to beg thequestion of how the fuck I’d missed that when I’d jumped the fence.
“You wanna go bounce, buddy?”
He slapped the sides of my cheeks with his sticky hands and squished, making my lips purse like a fish’s. “Not my name, silly! I’m Sully Bear!”
I was no longer king kid in this yard. All hail Sully Bear, first of his name.
Speaking through mashed lips was difficult, but I rocked it as I answered, “I’m so sorry Sully Buddy Bear, can we go play now, pleaeeease?” I drew out the word, and he squealed in delight, but before I walked us over to the blow-up castle, I turned my attention to his siblings. Sully’s hands fell from my face, and until either Jeanne or my dad showed their faces, they were the authority on their brother’s dance card. “I’m guessing you’re Jeanne’s crew?”
Jaxon frowned. “No. That’s our mom. And you’re Cody.”
I nodded seriously. “I am. Are you both okay with me taking Sully to jump in the castle?”
He puffed his chest out in pride at being asked such a thing, and I instantly wanted to adopt all three of them.
Or have Jeanne adopt me, perhaps.
“Yes, you’re allowed. But…,” he trailed off, eyeing me seriously but seeming hesitant to continue.
I held his gaze and dipped my chin. “Speak freely.”
