FIC: The Geek's and Goon's Guide to Baby and Child Care (Part 2)
By the time I made it home that night, I was sporting one hell of a headache along with a slightly lighter charge. Never-ending vigilance on something that is totally dependent on you for survival is hard, I decided, and I made a mental note to commend Jeannie when I saw her in a few weeks on the fact that Madison had remained uncracked and uneaten for so long.
As soon as I walked though the doorway, I was greeted with a mechanical, “Feliz Navidad!” I winced at the sound, my headache growing as the metal tree spun and blinked happily in the corner. I’d almost chucked the thing this year, almost told John I couldn’t find it in storage, but I knew how much he loved it and I just gritted my teeth until the holidays were over for his sake. Although after the day I’d had, and him being the cause of most of it, I was tempted to turn it off for that reason alone.
John looked up from where he was reading a golfing magazine on the couch with a hesitant, “Hey,” as he removed plugs from his ears.
“What’s with the earplugs?”
“Oh… uh… Dr. Z’s Christmas music in the halls was getting to me. I guess I just forgot I had them in,” he dismissed before his eyebrows rose in question. “What happened to Rodney Junior?”
I sighed and ran my hand across the dark clumps of broom bristles standing out at all angles on top of the ridge of the powdered egg carton. “It was Radek’s idea. He claimed it would be a reasonable excuse to explain the staples if Dr. Nana stopped by for a surprise inspection. And, I have to admit, it was a good idea. Although the fact that he now refers to it as Colonel Junior, makes me think his actions were less that altruistic.”
“Joyeux Noel!” the tree exclaimed and I sat heavily on the sofa next to John. Maybe just for tonight we could turn it off, or I could accidentally push it off the balcony.
He patted my leg. “Just think, thirteen more days and we can celebrate with one hell of an omelet.”
I groaned and rubbed between my eyes. “Thirteen more days? I’m not sure I can take thirteen more minutes.”
With another pat to my leg, John tried for a brighter tone. “I have something for you, something to make it easier on you tonight.” Grabbing my wrist, he stood and dragged me over to the bed. There on the floor at the foot sat a drawer from the dresser. It was lined with a towel and one of the cat’s toys. “It’s a baby bed, complete with blankey and stuffed animal.” He held up the half-chewed catnip mouse before dropping it back in and patting the drawer. “This way Junior can get a good night’s sleep.”
I looked between him and the drawer and back again as a chipper, “Natale allegro!” sounded in the corner. “It’s a container of powdered eggs, John. It doesn’t sleep.”
“It’s a container of powdered eggs that’s making you pass out and pass up blow jobs. Needless to say, I’m a bit concerned with your less than McKay-like behavior.”
Opening my mouth, then closing it again, I finally asked him something that had occurred to me as I was snarling at Miko earlier when she walked within arm’s reach of Junior. “Do you think the SGC is trying to get rid of me? I mean, I’m not entirely sure, but I think there’s a no pay clause in my contract if I’m deemed mentally unstable.”
John leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on my lips. “I think you’ve had a long stressful day and when you get some sleep you’ll feel better and go back to being a megalomaniacal genius astrophysicist and not a megalomaniacal soccer mom.”
“Sleep sounds… great,” I told him with another rub at my forehead.
It had been one hell of a day, the fact that I had been blacked out during large chunks of it wasn’t helping the thrumming behind my eyes any.
“Headache?” John asked sympathetically, rubbing thumbs into my neck.
“Oh, God, that feels good,” I groaned, and even the tree’s “Frohe Weihnachten!” didn’t change that fact. I dropped my chin to my chest as he dropped a kiss at my hairline and I almost felt guilty about not letting him blow me earlier. I crinkled my nose when the dark bristles ticked there but the loosening of tight muscles under John’s fingers was enough to keep me in that position. As his hands moved to work on my shoulders and lips moved behind my ear, I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell I had been thinking turning down sex with him. Maybe I’d blacked out again then, too.
He kissed as he whispered huskily at my ear, “Then let’s get you out of this contraption and into bed.” With a few releases of latches, the baby carrier came free and John took the egg carton and put it in its makeshift crib, pulling the covers up over it until all that was visible were the hand-drawn eyes and its spiky hair. He stood again, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and far too solemn to be serious. “There, all tucked in.”
We stood there like that for a few seconds, just staring at the irritated down-turned eyebrows peeking out of the blanket and the mohawk of bristles running along its head, and I couldn’t help but grimace. “Christ, he’s barely a day old and he’s already an angry punk rocker. I thought that wasn’t supposed to set in until their teen years.”
“I blame society,” Sheppard observed with a disillusioned shake of his head.
“I blame Radek.”
He pushed me toward the bed. “As long as you’re not blaming me, I’m satisfied.”
I landed in a belly flop on the mattress, exhaling happily when John thought the lights down and the tree shut off mid “Merry Christmas!” He straddled my hips and continued his massage, hands running up under my shirt in broad warm strokes. “Am I really such an insensitive prick?” I mumbled into the pillow under my head.
“From my experience, your prick is anything but insensitive.” He pushed the shirt up over my head and kissed along my shoulders before replacing lips with hands.
“So, what?” I snorted with eyes closed, losing myself in his touch. “I just sleep with everyone who complains about me and my problems will be solved?”
“That’s one way to do it. Seeing as I’d have to shoot everyone you had sex with, I guess it would be a form of natural attrition.”
I grinned in lazy contentment. “I love it when you turn from jealous bastard to homicidal maniac.”
“What can I say, McKay? You have a way of bringing out the best in me.”
“Well, then bring it out,” I order with a sloppy wave of my hand. “Else I’m going to fall asleep before I get to reward you for your thoughtfulness with the crib.”
He splayed out on top of me, arms wrapping around my own under the pillow, and sucked and nibbled on the back of my neck. “How could anyone not see how sensitive you are when you say romantic shit like that?”
The trail of kisses had a tingling current running from the base of my skull all the way down the length of my spine and I couldn’t help the way my hips ground into the mattress. I groaned and John’s mouth was at my ear. “Shhhhh. You’ll wake the baby.”
As his tongue flicked its way around the lobe, I growled, “Shut up, Sheppard, and take off your fucking clothes.”
“Now, there’s the Rodney McKay I know and love,” he grinned as he tossed his shirt aside to be quickly followed by both our pants.
And wasn’t I the lucky bastard to be known and loved by someone like him?
At some point in the night, I heard purring in my ear. It took a discontented meow for me to realize it wasn’t John because, honestly, as sated as we both were when we fell asleep, I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if it had been him. I opened my eyes to see Julie Newmar, my own little feline Catwoman, staring into my face. She mewled again before touching her nose to mine. John, who was pretty much sprawled across me, stirred in his sleep, shifting his leg between mine, and I realized, with him wrapped around me, there was no way I could take care of the cat without waking John.
With a gentle shove, I pushed her toward the edge of the bed. “Not now, Jules. Whatever it is, handle it yourself.”
She meowed again, a little louder, and stepped onto my shoulder, and John mumbled into my chest, “Wha’s matter?”
“Nothing,” I assured him with a nuzzle to the top of his head. “Go back to sleep.” Not that he was fully awake anyway. When he seemed to comply, I turned my attention back to the cat. “This jealous competition really needs to stop.”
“Not jealous,” John murmured in his sleep, but his arm tightened around me possessively.
I just rolled me eyes. “Of course you aren’t,” I assured before telling Julie, “You two are more alike than you know.”
She stepped back in, exerting her assumed position of command and nudged at my jaw, and I pushed a little harder. “Down!” I whispered sharply and she finally complied and I drifted off to the sound of her clawing at her scratching post.
Or so I thought.
“Oh, you are dead meat this time.” John’s tone was somewhere between horror and happiness and had me opening my eyes the next morning to see him peering down onto the floor from the foot of the bed… where the egg carton had been put down for the night.
I sat bolt upright and demanded, “What?”
Sheppard did his best to look disgusted with what he saw, but he couldn’t hide the glimmer of pleasure in his eyes as he pointed a finger and proclaimed, “She did it.”
“Did what?” My voice climbed an octave as I scrambled down to the foot of the bed to see what John had discovered. “Oh, you are a bad, bad, kitty.”
Jules was perched in the drawer, looking up at me in pure feline innocence as she was happily clawing Junior into shreds. “Stop!” She simply looked up at me and blinked slowly.
“Here, let me get a boot for you to throw at her,” John offered eagerly.
I glowered and snapped, “You’re not helping!”
“How is this my fault?”
Ignoring him, I snatching the cat off of the carton to survey the damage. “Oh, God, look at it.” I held up the container only to watch as yellow powder sieved out the slices. “How? How does something like this happen?”
“All I have to say is, thank God neither one of us has any ovaries, McKay, or we’d be totally screwed.”
“We? I think the baby would be the one up shit creek.” Turning the container to stem the flow of Junior’s innards, I studied the pile of powder in the bottom of the drawer. “Dr. Nana didn’t weigh him before she handed him over, did she?”
“A diaper!” John exclaimed. “You can put a duct tape diaper on him, to cover the scars.”
“Christ, I feel like I’m in a Lifetime movie about child abuse… When He Was Bad or For the Love of a Child.”
“I think For the Love of a Breakfast Food is the more appropriate title.”
“Once again, you are so not helping here.” When the cat pounced back into the drawer and started digging in the mound of yellow I turned my annoyance on her. “And neither are you.” But I stopped and stared when I saw her snatch the mangled toy mouse out of the mess… the mouse Sheppard had put in the damn drawer. “Oh my God, it is your fault!”
Julie Newmar pranced out of the drawer with the mouse and a swagger that would have put her namesake to shame and John’s eyes narrowed in contempt of the cat before turning back to me in wide-eyed innocence. “She has ten more of those damn things scattered around the apartment. How the hell was I supposed to know she’d go after that particular one?”
“Not another word,” I ground out. “Not one more word.” He opened his mouth and I cut him off with a warning. “Does the term alimony payment mean anything to you?”
“Happy Christmas!” The tree exclaimed as the sunlight hit the sensor and it spun to life, but I was anything but happy and neither was John.
With a sigh, he stood, grabbed his pack and dug out the roll of duct tape, handing it over silently before heading into the bathroom. I watched him go and then turned back to repairing yet another set of damages done. There was a touch of guilt about how I’d snapped at John, but that was pretty much buried by the all out panic that had set in as I tried to scoop as much of the powder back into the damaged container before setting to work bandaging Junior up.
By the time John came out of the bathroom with wet hair and a towel around his waist, I was finished with my first aid, otherwise known as concealing the evidence. “You want me to watch him while you shower?” he offered weakly.
I snorted and pulled the container closer to my chest. “Not if you were the last person in the city,” I told him stalking into the bathroom.
But by the end of the day, my story had changed.
It started with a cup of tea and ended with me lying on the floor wheezing and waiting for the medical team to arrive.
I had spent the entire day trying to split my attention between a project with the solar cells I’d been working on, a problem with the Jumper oxygen scrubbers Radek was working on, and the gate diagnostics McKellan was working on, all the while keeping a constant eye on the damn egg container. I had moved to McKellan’s workstation, standing behind the woman as she brought up the latest readings that showed a three percent drift in the stability coefficients. Radek was also there and he and McKellan started arguing about whether or not the results were real or a false reading due to instrument error, and I took the opportunity to look to where Junior sat with snarling face and spiky hair. Satisfied that he was okay, I reached out and patted the bristles even as I reached for the coffee cup next to my computer and took a drink.
Only I wasn’t at my computer; I was at McKellan’s. And she wasn’t drinking coffee; she was drinking tea… with lemon.
My hand flailed out as soon as the first sharp tang registered on my tongue and Junior hit the floor about a second after the teacup, and my first thought was I hope his container is at least watertight. With bees it took a few seconds before I started feeling the full brunt of the anaphylaxis setting in, but with citrus the effects were almost instantaneous and I could already feel the restriction in my airways.
McKellan looked to the shattered mug on the ground. “Hey, that was my favorite cup!”
But Radek had the wherewithal to know something wasn’t right. Given the fact that I was already turning red from the lack of oxygen, I thought it should have been rather obvious. “Rodney?”
“Lemon,” I gasped out in explanation before my windpipe completely closed off.
I was staggering back to my workbench, going for the epi pen I knew was there, when I heard Radek calling through the radio. “Medical team to Dr. McKay’s lab, immediately!”
Spots were forming in front of my eyes as I pulled the drawer open and I felt the floor meet my knees as I fought to clear my vision so I could find the epinephrine.
“Dr. Z, what wrong?”
John’s voice was filled with dread and I wished like hell that he were here, because he would be able to find the epi pen, he would be able to make everything okay.
Radek responded, standing right behind me, and I let myself collapse all the way to the floor because surely to God after all the drilling Sheppard had done with him in case of just such an occurrence, he would know what to do. “Rodney has accidentally drunk tea with lemon.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I could picture his brisk walk turning into an all out sprint to the lab. “There’s epi in his work station. Top drawer on the…”
“Yes, yes, have it now,” Radek informed him briskly, Santa hat askew as he knelt beside me. I felt the prick of the needle in my thigh and Radek asking in a shaking voice, “There. Is good, yes? You will be fine now and Colonel will not break me into tiny pieces for allowing you to be broken. Okay?”
“Radek, this is Dr. Beckett. Have you administered the epinephrine yet?”
“Yes, just now. How long before it starts to work?”
I was wondering the same thing. I hadn’t had a reaction like this since I was a kid. It had been my first and I had been terrified and not much had changed in the thirty years since. If not for the fact that the waiter at the restaurant had realized what was happening from personal experience and used his own epinephrine on me, the world would have never known the glory and brilliance of Dr. Rodney McKay. After it was all over, I had been torn between relief at being alive and vindication at proving my mother wrong regarding her statement, “Just try a bite of the key lime pie. It won’t kill you.”
“You should notice some improvement in less than a minute,” Carson told him, but I was hoping like hell it would be sooner than that. I was also hoping like hell John was going to walk in the door sooner still.
“There seems to be no change as of yet,” Radek informed him tensely.
“Give him another,” John ordered and I reached out for him only to realize I was still hearing him through the radio.
“Not yet, Colonel.” Carson’s voice sounded like he was running now, too. “Let’s give it a few seconds more.”
The room was going gray around the edges and I fought to pull in a breath, any breath. “I think he is about to pass out,” Radek told them in growing panic and I felt my own giving way to a warm, tingling spreading through my body.
“Carson.”
In response to John’s plea, Carson directed Radek, “Give him the second dose.”
“Yes, I am doing so now.” If he did inject me with another dose, I never felt it. I wasn’t feeling anything but a floating sensation and hearing a buzzing in my ears.
“Dr. Z, is he wearing his radio?” John was so muffled, I wondered absently if we were in bed and he was hiding under the blankets.
“Yes, Colonel, he is.” And why the hell was Radek under the covers, too?
“Rodney, you wait for me,” he ordered gruffly. “Do you hear me? You better fucking take a breath and wait for me.”
I tried again. For John. I tried and was rewarded with the tiniest bit of air into my lungs.
“I… I think it is working!” Radek exclaimed.
But John wasn’t letting up. “Again, McKay. Breathe.”
I tried again and this time I was able to breathe a little deeper. Carson arrived then, Radek evidently making way for him because the Czech accent at my side was replaced by a Scottish one, reassuring me, giving directions to the medics, but the only voice I was interested in was the one coming through my radio.
“I’m almost there, Rodney. I expect you to be sitting up bitching at Carson when I walk through that door.” That wasn’t very likely, but when the medic slipped the oxygen mask over my face, I was actually able to suck a little bit of it into by burning lungs.
John skidded into the lab about the time Carson was starting an I.V., practically elbowing one of the medics out of the way to reach me. “What the hell are you doing lying down on the job?” I lifted my hand that had that odd sensation of feeling heavier than lead and lighter than air all at the same time and he grabbed it and pulled it to his chest the same time I pulled in a wheezing breath. Any other time the sound would have had John frowning in worry, instead he smiled encouragingly. “Keep it up, McKay. That’s what I want to hear.”
It just goes to show that everything really is relative, and in John’s book, me breathing was better than me suffocating any day.
“Aye, Colonel, he’s doing much better already.” Carson stood and waved an arm at the medics with him. “All right, lads, let’s get him on the gurney and down to the infirmary.”
John helped transfer me, reclaiming my hand as soon as they were done and moving down the hall. When I smiled up at him hazily, already feeling the effects of the drugs, he squeezed my hand. “I swear to God, I can’t let you out of my sight for a second. I’m going to have to set up closed circuit cameras in the lab or a goddamn baby monitor at the very least.”
That triggered a memory and I mumbled behind the mask. “Junior.”
“Hey, don’t worry about that stupid egg box. We’ll get it later.”
With a shake of my head, I wheezed out, “Can’t… leave him.”
“Rodney…” he started in frustration.
“Can’t,” I repeated, gripping his hand as tight as I could. If the fact that I was trying to save that fucking instant omelet while on my deathbed didn’t convince Dr. Nana that I was committed to caring for my slightly mangled responsibility, nothing would.
With a sigh, John looked back toward the lab. Radek, seeing his distress at the thought of leaving me, offered, “I will go retrieve Colonel Junior. Deliver him safely into hands of proud Papas.”
Given Radek’s history with Junior, I wasn’t exactly confident that it would happen, but a few minutes after we arrived in the infirmary, so did Radek and the box. I gave it a quick once over before handing it over to John. “He’s your responsibility now. Don’t let me down.”
And as I finally gave into the drugs and drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t tell if the distraught expression on John’s face was over me or Junior.
* * * *
As Rodney slept, I contemplated the box of eggs, the concept of nearly being a single father, and who precisely I was going to have to fuck up in the lab. Holiday season or not, I wasn’t exactly feeling charitable right at that moment. I turned my head towards Radek, “I seem to recall banning citrus from the lab. Sure, I finally broke down and let the Daedalus bring it for the cafeteria where Rodney tends to pay more attention to his food, but I distinctly remember gathering up all the geeks and asking pretty politely: no goddamn lemon in the goddamn labs.”
“Was Dr. McKellan,” Radek winced. “She is to be forgetting. She is still new. I will remind….” Then he slid into Czech, which I suspected was to get out of the conversation. Dr. Z used to like me, but since Rodney and I had gotten married, I was beginning to think he thought I was as much a pain in the ass as the esteemed Dr. McKay. Rodney was a loud egomaniac who stole everyone’s powerbars and I was an overprotective goon with a gun. I hadn’t pistol whipped anyone yet…well, I’d considered it with Kavanagh…but who knows, the geeks probably thought. I could lose it at any time.
I sighed, sat in the chair beside Rodney’s bed, and placed the egg carton on the floor. On second thought I picked it up and kept it in my lap. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered to myself as Dr. Z hurried off, no doubt to barricade the lab door. I reached back out to reclaim Rodney’s limp warm hand and felt the weight shift in my lap. I was responsible for that thing for at least a day now and so far I hadn’t been exactly helpful on that front. Dropped number two. Managed to get this one shredded. Although forget the catnip mouse, that damn evil cat had done it out of pure spite just to get me into trouble. And now a whole day of trying to keep Junior alive. I looked down at it. “No way you’re mine,” I said. “Rodney must be cheating on me or you’d have kicked that cat’s ass.”
“How we doing here, lad? Need anything?” Carson’s hand rested on my shoulder.
“Sedatives,” I said in resignation.
“Rodney’s fine,” he commented in confusion. “Out like a light he is.”
“For me,” I exhaled. “I need them for me.”
Normally Rodney would bounce back in a few hours after an allergic reaction. He’d nap it off and be up and annoying in no time. But this wasn’t like most times. He slept nearly six hours. One of the nurses picked us up two trays from the cafeteria. One: because I wasn’t leaving Rodney…in excellent medical hands or not. And two: I was afraid to go anywhere with that stupid egg carton. I could see why Rodney had such a complex about it now. He didn’t want to fail Dr. Nana. Hell, he feared failing her. And I didn’t want to fail Rodney…and, yeah, okay, I feared him a little bit too. I did not want to spend a nookie free week. Not that he’d use sex as a weapon. Oh, hell, what was I saying? Damn straight he’d use sex as a weapon and anything else he could think of, devious bastard. Devious, oblivious bastard.
“You couldn’t just once pay attention,” I said under my breath, squeezing his hand. “You couldn’t just once watch what you were drinking instead of some computer screen. Damn it, Rodney.”
His brow wrinkled lightly as if he’d heard me, but he slept on, sheet pulled up to his waist, IV in his arm. Most people…99.9% of the people…fine, everyone but me, thought Rodney was a huge whopping hypochondriac. Maybe he had a few tendencies in that direction. Whatever. But when you have life threatening allergies, a mitral valve prolapse, hypoglycemia, and a blood pressure that thought shooting for the stars was a fine motto, it was hard to blame him at freaking out at every little pseudo symptom that might waltz past.
Carson had noted that since we’d married my blood pressure had shot up by ten. Yeah, big surprise there.
He finally yawned, blinked eyes, licked dry lips, and focused on me, frowning. “Okay, whose fault is it this time?”
“God’s,” I replied ruefully. “Either that or you have enough bad karma to make up for than Darth Vader and Mussolini combined.” I swung the over-the-bed table over his lap. The food on the tray was long cold, but Rodney wouldn’t care. The man actually ate at a Korean-Swedish buffet once. Tepid, unidentifiable food was a hobby of his. Of course I spent that hour as taste taster to prevent just the situation he was in now and spent the following week in the bathroom cursing him, his family, his cat, and his malicious, cast iron stomach. “Ready for some figgy pudding?”
He sat up, automatically checked on Junior in my lap and grunted in satisfaction. He then frowned harder at the mystery meat, fake potatoes, but the frown shifted to a rather evil sideways smile as he spotted the two sugar cookies in the shape of Christmas trees. I’d given him my cookie on top of his. Hell, the man had had a hard day. “I forgot,” he reached for the cookie first, took a huge bite, and said around it. “The mission tomorrow. The tree.”
“Oh God.” I closed my eyes. Talk about psychologically challenged. The holiday trees were my area. Get chased by one horde of pissed off bald squirrels, have one try to live in your hair, and you’ll think twice about cutting down a tree again. Or getting near one. “You’ve been through a lot with the Nana narcolepsy and mutilation of your kid and all, I think I’ll assign this one to Lorne and his team.”
“Oh no. I’ve been waiting for this all year.” Strong teeth snapped through the other cookie. “Granted Junior and I will watch from a distance, but I know how you love Christmas and I really know how much you loved mocking me when that purple goat sexually assaulted my leg. No way I’m missing this. Besides I nearly died…I deserve a little entertainment and a holiday outing.”
“You did not nearly die,” I scowled at him. I’d said it mentally to myself about two hundred times while he slept. It didn’t sound anymore convincing out loud. “I don’t want to go. The goat was years ago, so let it go already. And….”
He picked up his fork but hesitated, repeating, “And…? And what?”
“And you did not nearly die,” I mumbled. “I have to go the bathroom. I’ll try not to get Junior wet or vaporized.” The toilets on Atlantis did take some getting used to.
By the time Junior and I got back Rodney was already done with his food and ready to go home. He was still tired, sleepy, and a little wobbly on his feet, but Carson checked him out and turned him loose with instructions for resting the remainder of the day. Not a problem for most people, but a near impossibility for Rodney, which is why it so sucked that when we did get home, he promptly climbed in bed. With prominent dark circles under his eyes he reached up, snagged my shirt and pulled me down for a kiss. “You’re right,” he said with absolute assurance. “I didn’t nearly die. Everyone overreacted and I was a complete hypochondriac as always. Promise.”
My lips curved. “Okay. Good.” I kissed him back and whispered, “Thanks.”
Five minutes later he was out like a light and I was trying to find a place for Junior where the cat couldn’t reach him, because there was no way, vows or no vows, that I was wearing that thing on my chest. “Definitely not my kid,” I muttered at it. “Can’t fight. Haven’t seen you once hit on any hot and sexy bacon or toast. Plus, you’re much better off without me.” My old man taught me the best way to raise a kid was to ignore it. I didn’t imagine I’d do much better. It’s hard to shake off the first lessons you learn in life.
I proved that in less than three hours.
I locked the cat in the bathroom, then I did reports with the carton clamped between my knees while Rodney snored on. I sent online chocolate baskets to his sister and Nana, a gift certificate to some organic food company to Kaleb, from Wal-Mart some kind of doll that looked like a miniature hooker to Madison…signed that ‘Love Uncle Mer’ and sent her several books from ‘Uncle John.’ Sure we would see them in a few weeks, but it’s not like the SGC has a duty free shop right next to the cafeteria or anything. Besides, I wanted to see the thank you he got from his sister over streetwalker ‘Ashlee and accessories’ in person. Make me go get the damn tree, would he?
After making sure Rodney’s relatives received Christmas presents before April, I wrote a letter to Lieutenant Robinson’s mother thanking her for the Snickerdoodles. They hadn’t arrived yet, but they would. The man had saved Rodney’s life before giving up his own, and his mother didn’t blame us. Just didn’t. She was proud of her son and sent cookies every conceivable holiday. Some people…they had the most goddamn amazing families. Rodney, Robinson….I looked over as Rodney turned in bed onto his stomach and began drooling on my pillow…me. I smiled. I had the most amazing family too.
It didn’t make me any better at watching his pride and joy. We…Jesus…I was just getting a little air on the balcony, Junior in sight at all times-sitting on the edge of the broad stone rail and safely out of reach of the cat I had finally released from her prison. I looked at the jagged teeth and snorted, “You can bitch all you want. You’re not getting any sun screen.” Four seconds later I was leaning over that same rail to watch the minute splash far in the distance. The seagull responsible squawked, tried to peck my head as it flew over, and then the worse….
Rodney strode out behind me and demanded, “Where’s Rodney Junior?”
I folded arms on the rail, buried my head in them, and groaned, “I think you better call Social Services.”
* * *
PART 3