Page 48 of Reclaimed Dreams

Jake turned and headed for the door, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

Jo watched as he walked outside to find her daughter. She saw him steal a sip from her Ghirardelli cup and steady her when she stumbled on the cobblestones. Interesting. The fact that Frankie took his arm willingly and arrived back at the bar laughing was another point in his favor. She recognized the look in his eyes as more than collegial. More than friendly. As they chatted near the bar, Jo followed her hunch. "You found her."

"I did. Hot cocoa run." Jake was distracted, still watching Frankie as she schmoozed some execs.

"Did you get your question answered?"

Jake turned his attention back to Jo and grimaced. "I think so."

"You should come to Friday dinner soon."

Jake stuttered in surprise. "Um, yeah, sure. I'd like that. Can I bring anything?"

"Just your patience and a sense of humor," Jo replied. She hugged him briefly before rejoining the party.

Dinner would be soon enough to test her theory. She didn’t want to push too hard, but Jake seemed like just the kind of man Frankie could stand up to but not resist.

27 years ago

Dom had walked in, after a six a.m. start on-site and a busy day in the office, to absolute chaos at home. They were still packed into a too-small rental with the kids doubled up so the baby could have a crib in a nursery that she refused to sleep in. Soon they’d be in the new house, but for now everyone was just making do.

Laundry consumed the couch and abandoned toys littered the floor like a minefield. Gabe, Sofia, and Enzo sat on pillows that Dom was pretty sure Jo preferred to keep on the couch, clustered around the TV for afternoon cartoons. A box of Ritz crackers lay torn open on the ground, and each of his children was steadily consuming a separate sleeve. War might break out over that fourth tube, given their blank stares and feral feeding frenzy.

He’d tiptoed back to his bedroom, where he found Jo curled up around a sleeping Francesca, tears running down her cheeks.

“I think she has a cold. She’s so stuffy that she couldn’t breathe. She’s finally asleep, but she fussed all day and wouldn’t eat, and I’m so engorged, it’s painful. I’m exhausted.”

“Don’t worry. You rest and pump or sleep or whatever you need to do. I’ll handle dinner and bedtime.”

Ignoring her skeptical eyebrow, he went back out to the kitchen to figure out dinner. Pasta. Boiling water. He could handle that.

Pot out, filled with water, on the stove to boil.

Hitting his groove, he pulled a package of spaghetti out of the pantry and looked for a jar of sauce. He moved every can and box in that pantry, before realizing that Jo only ever made sauce from scratch. He pulled out a small can of tomato paste instead and reasoned that he could make his own as well. Starving, he also pulled out a dried salami and some parmesan cheese to snack on. He contemplated getting the fourth sleeve of crackers from out front, but decided he liked having his fingers attached to his hands.

No sooner had he dropped the pasta in the water than he heard the news theme song from the front room. Damn it! Cartoons were over. Sure enough, his three little rascals came strolling single file into the kitchen looking for sustenance.

Each of them comically stopped walking when they saw him at the stove.

“Where’s Mama?”

“What are you doing?”

“Daddy!” That last was from Enzo who toddled to Dom with his arms outstretched, demanding to be lifted and perched on a hip. Dom was pretty sure he couldn’t handle juggling a baby and a pot of boiling water, so he gave Enzo a quick snuggle and then set him back on the floor, where he promptly began to fuss.

“Are you all hungry? Do you want some sausage or cheese?”

“I don’t like that sausage, Daddy. Do you have some fruit?” Sofia complained.

“Fruit. Sure, fruit. I’m sure there’s some around here.” He poked around the fridge and came up with a wrinkled apple and a brown banana.

Sofia wrinkled her nose.

“Never mind.”

“Nana!” Enzo cried, reaching for his favorite snack. The cold, soft banana was his teething treat, but Dom had to cut it up. He got out a small bowl and a spoon and began slicing it up.

“I’ll take the apple, Dad. Can I have it with some peanut butter?” Gabe asked, reaching for the butter knife like he could cut the apple himself.

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