 
### A Slider, Tumbling

### By Anna Scott Graham

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 by Anna Scott Graham

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. It is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this novel, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, incidents, and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For two brothers who lost their father in 2010.

**Table Of Contents**

Chapter 1 - Wednesday Morning, October 28th, 2009

Chapter 2 - Wednesday Afternoon, October 28th, 2009

Chapter 3 - Wednesday Evening, October 28th, 2009

Chapter 4 - Thursday Morning, October 29th, 2009

Chapter 5 - Thursday Afternoon, October 29th, 2009

Chapter 6 - Thursday Evening, October 29th, 2009

Chapter 7 - Saturday Morning, October 31st, 2009

Chapter 8 - Saturday Afternoon, October 31st, 2009

Chapter 9 - Saturday Evening, October 31st, 2009

Chapter 10 - Sunday Morning, November 1st, 2009

Chapter 11 - Sunday Afternoon, November 1st, 2009

Chapter 12 - Sunday Evening, November 1st, 2009

Chapter 13 - Monday Morning, November 2nd, 2009

Chapter 14 - Monday Afternoon, November 2nd, 2009

Chapter 15 - Monday Evening, November 2nd, 2009

Chapter 16 - Wednesday Morning, November 4th, 2009

Chapter 17 - Wednesday Afternoon, November 4th, 2009

Chapter 18 - Wednesday Evening, November 4th, 2009

Chapter 19 - Monday Morning, November 1st, 2010

Chapter 20 - Monday Afternoon, November 1st, 2010

Chapter 21 - Monday Evening, November 1st, 2010

Chapter 1: Wednesday Morning, October 28th, 2009

It was 4.34 by the faint digital clock on Summer's bedside table. Hard to read, a lousy cross between a useful time-telling device and a techie piece of crap that she never properly used. Summer never plugged her iPod into it; she never thought about listening to music before she went to bed.

She rolled onto her right side, a small indentation in the mattress causing to her flop to her back. Laying on her right always seemed like falling over a cliff. The slight tinkling of wind chimes added to the effect, as if tiny pieces of hillside were giving way, specks of dirt rolling and falling, leading to larger pebbles and stones all coated in grit, or maybe they were grit. Summer felt around the mattress. Something was _in_ her bed.

No light outside, not at four thirty in the morning. She noted it was now 4.36, but no different, only a Wednesday, hump day, start of the series. The World Series, but what was on the sheet?

Did she want to know, was it worth getting up, feeling the small chill? If she got up, she could go further, turning on the heater. The system was digital, complicated. She could program it to start at whatever time she liked, but then she would have to learn to program it first. Which would take days, ages, eons, and it was easier, if not colder, just to get up, pad down the hall, listen for other breaths, then hit the top button, check the time, and see just how cool the house was. Just how cool was it?

She turned from whatever gritty remnants lay along her mattress, slipping out on the clock side of the bed. The left side, not her side. Dressed in a three-quarter sleeve thin, pink pajama top besides her underwear, she stepped along the carpet, noting those slumbering rhythms. All were asleep, except for Summer, which was normal. The time wasn't too off, 4.24. And the temperature of the house wasn't miserable, sixty-four degrees.

Sliding the button to _heat_ , she disappeared back to her room, then turned on the bathroom light, allowing just enough to illuminate her bed. What were those gritty remnants that she had obviously missed hours ago, but now demanded her attention? Not rough, or she'd have noticed. Not smelly either. Not something _she_ had put there, she would have remembered. Instead, it looked to be graham cracker crumbs.

At least it wasn't peanuts, she sighed.

Summer stood in the shower, thinking that if it had been peanuts, she really could give Nat the what-for. If he had gone to those kinds of lengths, then a little reprimanding would be entirely allowed. Instead it was Skye, and how to tell a three-year-old that eating graham crackers in Mommy's bed was a no-no when it had been Mommy to invite the crumbs in the first place? Mommy was going to need to get her act together or Skye was going to run the house.

As a mommy, Summer Caravella had been lacking, maybe that provided enough reason for Nat's constant reminders. Peanuts in her bed would have been going overboard, but she had found one on the nightstand, near the clock/iPod player. Some small piece of him, and she had left it sitting there, it caused no harm. It did nothing, only taking a bit of space, far less than the stupid clock. Less than the crumbs, less than... Less than a lot of things, peanuts miniscule in the grand scheme. Summer had found peanuts all over the house, even one in her car. But that might have been accidental. Summer wasn't sure.

She never asked him about the goobers, which he sometimes called them, but Skye misheard, thought her older brother was talking about boogers. Boogers to a three-year-old were like gold, either the saying of the word or the boogers themselves. Boogers was easier to say than goobers; goobers took more emphasis, which was the whole point. Summer knew what the goobers were all about, even if she said nothing.

She knew what boogers were about too, but she only admonished her daughter to stop picking them, eating them, wiping them on the furniture. Not that the furniture was especially covered in boogers, but it was nasty to sit down and find one on the arm of the sofa. Better than other things, Summer allowed, but still no fun.

Boogers weren't fun for her, but the goober issue... Goobers seemed to have caught Nat's fancy, but peanuts were better than other alternatives, like boogers. Also better than Nat hitting kids in class or wetting the bed or how many other ways he could act out. He could be engaging in all sorts of nefarious activities, or whatever ten-year-olds did to drive their mothers and other caring individuals up the wall. Ten and a half Mom, he would sigh, kicking his shoes along the carpet. Ten and a half.

What did ten, and a half, year-olds do to cause a stir? Hers set peanuts around the house, on her keyboard, near the coffee pot, on the lid of the most recently dated yogurt in the refrigerator. Or sometimes on one way in the back. Never two on a yogurt at the same time, that would be overkill. And never the same place twice in a row; one peanut on a yogurt, then somewhere else that she would find within a day or two. How Nat had so much free time to plot out the locations of inadvertent goobers, Summer wasn't sure.

But it was better than boogers and better than graham cracker crumbs in her bed. That was inadvertent and wouldn't happen again. Summer toweled off, the door mostly closed, the tiny bathroom warm and pleasant. And peanut-less, as Nat didn't invade this private space. Somehow his mother's small master bathroom was hers alone. Maybe that was because over the summer, she had told him about sex. About the birds and the bees and what periods were for girls and erections were for boys. Maybe Nat didn't want to run across an errant tampon.

As if he found one, might it stop the peanut assault? Summer giggled, then set the damp towel on the rack. The bottom rack, the top one now empty.

"No more crackers in Mommy's bed at night, you dig?"

"I dig. Mommy, I love you."

"I love you too Skye."

This was breakfast conversation, early in the morning, but two hours after Summer woke to crumbs in her bed. At 6.34, she administered toast to her three-year-old, then watched as the other two fended for themselves, Nat at ten, and a half, capable with his own toast, eight-year-old Erika pouring milk into her bowl of cornflakes. "Mom, we need milk."

Summer nodded. Milk and more graham crackers, but where Nat got the peanuts, Summer didn't know, wouldn't ask. It was none of her business, unless someone came knocking on the door, asking where all their goobers were.

"Mommy, it was your idea about the crackers."

"I know. Remind me it's a no-no next time."

"No-no next time," Skye repeated, over and over, all through breakfast, then as they piled into the car, heading to Aunt Autumn's, to drop off Nat and Erika. The kids had been released from the litany of _no-no next time_ , but Skye chanted it on the way to day care. She was still saying it as Summer gave her a kiss and walked out of the building.

_No-no next time_ followed Summer along the road, her eyes caught by the falling leaves, the falling of autumn. She hummed that notion, viewing trees along the highway, orchards on either side of the road. Prunes to her right, enormous English walnuts on the left. The walnuts were still green, leafy and imposing. The prunes were shorter, the tops yellow, but the scraggly branches seemed more visible. Was that because there was less to see, in the few seconds Summer allowed, her eyes catching not only the trees, but the permanence.

Falling fall, falling into autumn, which was similar to how her children landed at their aunt's house Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, every weekday morning. Her eldest children tumbled like yellowing leaves out of the car, onto the porch, into Autumn's house. Then the door was closed and maybe if Summer was paying attention she might catch another glimpse, that of her sister alongside the season, but it was silly. Summer's Autumn was born in spring.

Summer was born in winter and Spring was born in autumn and Forest was born in... _No-no next time_ ; Skye's small chant returned to a mother's head. No-no next time, Summer hummed, wondering for a moment why her parents had given their four children such ridiculous names. She continued along the road, almost hearing the clicks of dancing leaves which followed along. Pulling into the grocery store parking lot, Summer parked in the back. _No-no next_ _time_ seemed incongruous with fall, with seasons, with parents and siblings. _No-no next time_ had to do with something else entirely.

More than graham crackers, more than peanuts. Or goobers or boogers, or work. But Summer was at work, like every other weekday of her life. Like two-thirds of her children at Autumn's or Skye at day care. Or baseball. Stepping from her car, Summer shivered, a small wind reminding that it was autumn, not summer. It wasn't summer anymore.

"So I told her that if she slept with him _again_ , well, she'd be risking more than an STD. And you know what Shasta said to me, what she had the outright gall to say?"

Summer shook her head, setting cans of cat food in a paper bag.

"She said if I ever talked to her that way again she was gonna come to my house, _my house_ Summer. My house, and dump dog shit all over my lawn! Now, I about slapped her right there, but you know, the kids were close and she'd have raised hell, and that's the last thing I need. But I swear Summer, and I really, truly mean this. I swear to you and everybody in this store that if I find out she's still sleeping with him, I will personally go to her house and empty my cat litter boxes all over her dahlias. And I mean it too."

Summer scanned the bag of cat litter, then the second. "You want these in paper or plastic?"

"Oh plastic please honey, thank you so much. So I haven't heard or seen anything of her lying ass all week. But I know she took my words to heart, I saw it in her eyes. Summer, you ever been cheated on?"

"Nope. Well, not that I know of."

"No? Well good. It's miserable you know."

"I imagine it is."

The total came to fifty-four dollars and thirteen cents. Summer waited as Hannah Lingley counted out that exact amount, holding up the line. Hannah never got out her wallet early, never used a card, never bothered to think about anyone standing behind her in line because she was too busy telling everyone within faint earshot all her life. Summer smiled, moving from foot to foot, having bagged all of Hannah's purchases in paper, except the cat litter; that went in plastic. As Summer set bills and coins into their compartments, Hannah looked up and down the aisles. Hannah was searching for help, but it was early, no one handy.

Summer had bagged the items as she scanned them, but that was her habit. Why shove to them to the end when it was just as easy to set cans and cartons and produce into whatever carrier the customer wanted? A checker for fifteen years, Summer felt it was her duty, not just her job, to get people in and out as quickly as possible. Not in an impertinent rush, only that when she stood in line, nothing was more aggravating than listening to someone else's bullshit when all she had was a gallon of milk set between sticks.

A gallon of milk; Summer couldn't forget the milk! "Hannah, sorry. Nobody's here to help with your groceries."

The guy behind Hannah Lingley tapped his foot. Jordan Hower was twenty if anything, someone Summer had watched come in and out of this store from the time he was little. One time his mother Cheryl hadn't been paying attention and Jordan rammed his head into the side of the cart, cutting the edge of his right eye, a thin trail of blood trickling along a five-year-old's face. Summer still remembered that, but she didn't have a moment to see if a scar was visible. She was too busy watching Hannah scouring for someone younger than herself to push the cart, set two bags of cat litter into the back of Hannah's aged truck. Not that Hannah was an invalid. Pushing fifty, Hannah Lingley was just lazy.

Jordan heaved a long sigh. "Mrs. Lingley, if you want I'll help you as soon as I get through."

Sniggers hit all their ears, even Hannah's. "Oh no, that's all right. Back's been acting up is all. See you later Summer."

Hannah Lingley set spotted hands on the cart, then took her time wheeling it out, still attempting to catch the eye of anyone near. Summer scanned Jordan's items, two bottles of vitamin water and a box of condoms.

"Stupid old bitch," he muttered. "All that's wrong with her back is too much time spent on it."

Summer didn't smile, didn't nod, aware his words were correct, also a diversion from what he had needed that morning at not even eight o'clock. "Paper or plastic?" she asked.

"Paper's fine."

To conceal the rubbers Summer allowed, so many years of ringing up anything the store sold whether it was cat litter or bottled water or prophylactics. She noted how Jordan used a card, swiping it as soon as she said the total. He took no time in punching the green button, then signing the receipt in legible, not far from high school script. Summer smiled as he left. She had already forgotten all about his bleeding right eye.

On her break, she remembered Jordan as a towheaded kid. His mother Cheryl was a bleached-blonde, so whoever had fathered Jordan gave him those fair genes. In a small town details were easy to retain, especially when constantly refreshed, like the blip of a scan, as if everyone that came through her line only had to reach Summer's eyes, then their data bank was retrieved. All that Summer knew about Hannah and Jordan was lost until they returned to her aisle, Monday through Friday, fifty weeks a year.

Ten working days were holidays, precious time that Summer guarded. It was used if her kids fell ill, but now that Skye was nearly out of diapers, those days off were more for an actual break, like the one they took in July, she and the kids along with Spring and Forest and their partners, easing the load for Summer. One thing to concentrate on three kids and only one in double digits. Another to throw a disabled brother into it.

She would never say that to Forest, _no-no next time Mommy_. Keeping dubious thoughts from her goober-filled head, but not everyone was so astute. Not Hannah Lingley, asking if Summer had ever been cheated on. But what was Summer supposed to say?

After Jordan Hower left, Ann Simpson had stepped forth, saving Summer. Ann had tact and kind eyes. Ann was the same age as Hannah, their names similar. But there the parallels stopped; like Summer, Ann worked in retail, down at the CVS drugstore. Not Longs anymore, but everyone called it Longs and would, Summer assumed, until someone like Jordan was an old man. Would he still be buying his condoms at the grocery store? Didn't Longs sell vitamin water too?

Maybe Longs or CVS or whatever it was hadn't opened. Maybe that was why. Maybe they opened at eight and Jordan had some hot date in need of a good screw. Or he needed a quick lay. But at least he used condoms. No one knew who Cheryl Hower had slept with to make that kid, but at least Jordan wasn't going to do that to someone else.

The next time Summer saw Ann, she would ask what time Longs opened. It was just down the strip mall, not more than a minute's walk if one was active. Summer had no idea if Hannah's boyfriend had been cheating, but if Hannah was too infirm to lift a couple of bags of cat litter into her truck, maybe his catting around was explained. She smiled, cat litter for a catty woman catting around. _No-no next time_ indeed.

Summer would ask Ann, and Ann would probably smile. She had seen the few items Jordan placed on the belt; one box of Trojans, but Summer hadn't noticed the style, and two bottles of vitamin water, maybe they were blue. Or purple. Or one was blue and the other was orange, bright, stand-out colors to obscure the real item Jordan had needed. Ann only bought the basics; bread, eggs, milk. Milk! Summer had to remember the milk!

Bread, eggs, milk, what else? That had been three hours ago, but Summer's memory wasn't poor. Neither was Ann's, but Hannah was as dumb as a post. Ann had bought a loaf of wheat bread, honey wheat. A jar of jam, two cans of stewed tomatoes, spaghetti, onions, hamburger, and other miscellaneous items that totaled over a hundred dollars. Ann mentioned she was going to make spaghetti for dinner, that her husband Greg had been pestering her. Ann's smile had been generous, but not overbearing. Warm, thoughtful. Only some people were that way.

But the biggest thing Summer had noted in that small exchange, one that would easily be swept aside for how many customers she had already rung through, was that Ann hadn't said _boo_ about that night's game. As if some tacit acknowledgement, Ann with too much discretion to bring it up, too much insight. Discretion and insight were different, Summer allowed, also appreciated. Some people had asked if she was going to watch baseball, their quiet, muffled voices trying to be friendly, but everyone knew, no one but the Hannah Lingleys and Jordan Howers were ignorant. Hannah knew, Summer decided, but was too selfish to remember. Jordan probably didn't know, too young to pay attention. All he cared about was getting laid and leaving no trace.

But everyone else in that town accepted what baseball meant to Summer, or more what it _had_ meant to her. It had meant loathing the despicable Yankees, who would be making their eight-hundredth appearance, or what it seemed like. It seemed like the Yankees were always in the World Series. Summer wished George Steinbrenner would fall off a cliff, maybe in a rush of graham cracker crumbs or peanuts sliding his butt down a slope Summer didn't wish to follow. But waiting at the bottom... She sighed, the clock ticking in her head, not the silent, hard-to-read numbers in her room. It was time to punch that clock, get back to work. Back to where everyone knew everybody. Small towns were notorious for that, nothing Summer didn't already realize as well.

The Yankees crowded her thoughts; were there really so many Yankees fans, even here, on the West Coast? The series was an East Coast wonder, Philadelphia and New York, and Summer hoped to God the Phillies would clobber the Yanks, the stupid New York Yankees. Then she thought of Ann, making spaghetti, which sounded good. Summer wouldn't go the lengths of Ann Simpson. She would buy three jars of Prego, two pounds of hamburger, a loaf of sourdough bread. And the milk, she had to remember the milk!

"Hey Dan, how are you?"

"Good. Been busy?"

It had been a busier than usual Wednesday with way too much talk about the game. Dan Bailey's items streamed along the belt; bread, lunch meat, sliced cheese, and an assortment of chips.

"Busy, yeah. Been really busy. You?"

"Just working nights now, all that roadwork on I-5."

"God, when are they gonna finish that?"

"Oh, probably 2020, but only if you're lucky."

"Dan, you're great. Get to work man, get to work!"

"Employment is all I ask Summer, all I ask."

He owed her twenty bucks even and he gave her that bill, then a smile. "Take care," his voice telling. Not saying a thing about baseball, but he knew. Dan Bailey was like Ann Simpson. They knew.

"Will do!" Then came the next and the next and by the time Summer neared the end of her shift, only one person had actually mentioned Jody. Eighty-six-year-old Cora Harper was spry in health, addled in mind, hot and cold in spirit. That day Cora was peeved, too many teenagers ahead of her in line. Summer watched the old woman, her blue-white hair freshly set, bejeweled hands clutching the handle of the cart, her cane sticking out near those ancient digits. Cora's few items were stretched along the length of the belt, leaving no space for those behind her to set their groceries anywhere.

In front of Cora stood teens that Summer knew by sight, their names eluding her. She knew their parents, but the kids were fifteen, sixteen maybe. Once on their own, using credit cards, then she would recall their names, but until then they were anonymous, too old to associate with Nat and Erika, too young to possess their own personalities. If they accompanied their mothers, Summer would recognize them, otherwise they could be from anywhere.

Not established like Cora or Hannah or Ann or Dan, names that rang in Summer's head. Cora and Hannah and Ann and Dan were like _no-no next time_ or falling fall. But that the teens wanted to buy cigarettes made Summer snap to attention, her next words by rote. "Can I see your ID?"

They fumbled, the candy bars on the belt only a ruse. "Oh uh, I left it in my car."

"No ID, no sale." She didn't even ring up the candy. "You still want those?"

Heads shook and Summer smiled as they fled. How dumb were kids these days to think they could get away with buying tobacco uncarded in a union-operated grocery store?

Yes, the town was small. Yes, Summer was only a checker. But she had health benefits and two weeks of paid vacation and now that her kids weren't tiny, she wasn't spending much or even half of it wiping booger-filled noses or cleaning up puke that didn't make the bowl. Summer set the candy bars to the side, then smiled. "Good afternoon Cora."

"Hello Summer. My goodness, what are kids coming to these days?"

"My thoughts exactly."

Summer rang through the seventeen items, then watched as eighteen-year-old Elisa Gonzales bagged Cora's milk and juice, saltines and tuna fish. Elisa worked her butt off, arriving as soon as she was done with her last class at the high school. Summer would be leaving in another fifteen minutes, but Elisa stayed as late as closing. That she was already eighteen had boosted her hours, that and she was the most efficient bagger on the premises.

Cora looked right through Elisa as if staring at the wall. "So Summer, you watching the game tonight?"

"Sure am. You?"

"Oh no, can't stand the sport. But I know how you are with those Yankees."

"Yup."

"Still, it's too bad Jody isn't here. He always did like their skipper, Girardi right?"

"Yes ma'am, Joe Girardi. The only good thing about New York."

"Well yes, I suppose. I really don't know too much about them."

"Better for you Cora," Summer's voice as light and airy as her name.

As Cora let the invisible checker wheel out her two bags, Summer noted how it was Elisa to take the cane from the cart, Elisa letting Cora lead the way. Then Summer smiled at the next customer, Tad Jarvis, who was thirty-seven, two years younger than Summer. Tad nodded, his face aware. Even Elisa was aware. But Cora?

An old lady who remembered that Jody hated the Yankees and knew enough about the game to refer to their manager as the skipper. Summer would bet ten bucks Cora Harper was going to watch baseball that night, until she was tired and went to bed.

But Jody? Summer smiled at Tad, ringing up his case of beer, some pretzels, two bags of tortilla chips, and one jar of picante sauce. "You watching the game tonight Tad?"

"Uh yeah. You?"

"Of course. Can't imagine not, even if it is the Yankees."

"Yeah," he smiled. "I guess that's right. Say hi to Forest okay?"

Everyone wanted Summer to say to Forest if they knew him. As everyone knew Jody was dead, they also knew Forest was still in his wheelchair, those two points now fixed forever. "I'll pass that along. He and Betsy are coming for dinner, which I better start thinking about."

Tad laughed. "Not just pretzels and beer?"

Summer felt a small glow, wishing that was all she had to do, eat some pretzels, drink some beer. She would drink a few if she could. Instead she had sheets to change, dinner to cook, a three-year-old in need of a bath, and baseball to watch. No use watching it if she couldn't think straight. "Oh Tad, I wish it was just pretzels and beer."

No beer to cry into that night. Maybe if she spilled some milk, but she would have to remember to buy it first. As Tad Jarvis walked away, carrying his case of Budweiser in one hand, the slight weight of the snacks in the other, Summer shifted in her shoes, then scribbled down the items for dinner. She added milk in all caps, underlining it twice.

Chapter 2: Wednesday Afternoon, October 28th, 2009

One gallon of milk gave birth to four bags of groceries, Summer a midwife hauling them to her car. Summer's car was three years old, Jody having bought it for her right after they had Skye. For all of Skye's life, her mother had driven an unassuming small SUV that Jody insisted was really a truck.

It was a game, Jody noting all the vehicles they passed: _truck, truck, not a truck_. Summer's car was a _truck_ with a capital T, which Jody pronounced with a small drawl, as if Summer owned a behemoth. As she approached the day care facility, she thought about Jody, serious thinking about Jody for the first time all day.

She could blame Cora Harper, but that wouldn't be kind. Cora was an old woman, recalling what she liked. If she liked Jody or not was irrelevant. Summer had never been cruel to Cora, but perhaps someone in Cora's past had.

Really, if Summer was going to blame anyone, it should be the dead man himself. She had gone back and forth blaming Jody; sometimes it felt liberating. Sometimes it burned like scalding coffee. Sometimes it numbed like ice.

At that moment, he was a pest, drumming _truck, truck, not a truck_ into their children's heads, what Summer thought, also what Skylar Sims thought too. She wasn't tripping over _no-no next time_ , only repeating the make of her mother's small SUV. Forest also called it a truck. Summer said he was ridiculous.

"Truck, truck, not a truck!" Skye trilled at what seemed to be the very top ranges of her young voice. "Mommy, we have a truck!"

"We do not Skye," Summer's tone that of a tired grocery clerk aware her work day was nearly over. Get home, unstrap Skye. Lug in four bags of food; why had she bought so much? She was only going to buy milk. Summer was sure it must be Jody's fault. Somehow, someway, it must be.

She had been thinking of him since Cora Harper, that old bag, then things began to pile in Summer's cart. First it was pretzels, because you couldn't watch a ball game without pretzels. A purist, Summer chose large twisted, an apt metaphor she considered. Then two bags of potato chips, one salted, the other barbecue. Forest would bitch otherwise.

Then to dinner items; three jars of Prego, one with mushrooms. If she bought two, Nat would complain. The others were _Flavored With Meat_. Summer never bothered to see what meat. Instead she would add her own hamburger, the cheapest grind. She had parmesan cheese at home, but selected a pre-sliced loaf of sourdough. Spring would bitch if there wasn't any bread.

Her siblings bitched, her children complained. Summer didn't say _boo_ until she checked out, heading to Joe Stammers' lane. He was competent, overly friendly, somewhat dingy. But she would get through his lane the fastest, time at a premium. Not for collecting her daughter from day care, only in leaving work, getting home, making dinner before the game started.

If Summer missed the start of the game, she'd be the one whining.

Instead, Joe was affable but not cloying. He didn't remark about baseball or Jody, even though like just about everybody else, Joe knew. But sometimes Joe acted slow, dim-witted. Not like Hannah Lingley, only as if Joe was using half the deck. He was great with numbers, remembered customers from twenty-five years back, when he had started at the store. Summer had been a checker for fifteen years, but Joe recalled those older, many of them dead, their families still living, still shopping. Everyone had to eat.

Joe wished her a good evening, even if it was still afternoon. It was the end of her shift, as if she worked nine to five, not seven to three. But now it was three-twenty, all Jody's fault.

Autumn was bringing popcorn, Forest the beer and soda. Spring had brownies, or she better have brownies, Summer thought, as _truck, truck, not a truck_ bounced from one side of the car to the other. Skye possessed her father's voice, the only one of their children so gifted.

If Terry and Rafe stopped by, they would have drinks in hand, but no food. Maybe that was why Summer bought two bags of chips and the pretzels; they would bitch if not enough snacks graced the kitchen counters, looking as if Summer was the only cook in town, the only kitchen graced with their presence. Which wasn't true, but it did make her feel...

Not forgotten. Loved, appreciated, wanted. Needed, but not desired. Which was fine. Summer required human contact, but no sex.

Not that Jody's best friends would dream of it. Summer didn't dream of sex. She dreamed of falling off the cliff in her bed, the small hump that had emerged over the years, years of kids in bed with her, years of boyfriends, maybe she might call them that. A boyfriend, just one in particular, in between Jody. Summer had never been cheated on, she was sure. But in a slight, accidental way, she had cheated on him. On Jody. Her ex-husband. Even if he wasn't her ex-husband at the time.

"Truck, truck, not a truck! Mommy, what does that mean?"

Summer smiled. "It doesn't mean anything Skye."

"Oh. Truck, truck, not a truck!"

"Skye, do you remember who taught you that?"

"Nat did."

"No, not Nat."

"Uncle Forest then."

"No, not Uncle Forest."

"Uncle John?"

The child's voice was at the end of the road, unless she thought to access her Aunt Autumn's boyfriend, but Summer sighed. "No, your daddy did."

"Oh yeah, Daddy! Truck, truck, not a truck!" Then the singing stopped. "Mommy, where is Daddy again?"

"Heaven Skye. He's in heaven."

"Oh yeah. Heaven, he's in heaven with a truck, truck, not a truck!"

Summer laughed, the angry pit of her stomach churning.

By four o'clock the sauce was simmering, Skye was still singing, but Nat was in his room. Usually Summer would ask him to come out, even more usually she wouldn't have too. But it was the baseball, she knew that. For as busy as she was, Summer didn't miss that trick.

Nor had she missed the peanut sitting on her pillow, before she changed the sheets. Nat wouldn't disturb her bathroom, but he did leave one unhusked nut on her bed, the dark brown catching her eye. Normally they were salted, generic looking. This one was rust-colored, as if a message. Baseball was on that day, it seemed to say.

And since she found it, Nat had been in his room. Erika was at Abby's house, but knew to come home at four thirty. As Summer stirred the sauce, Skye ran into the kitchen. "Mommy, I remembered! I remembered!"

The little girl hugged her mother's legs and Summer closed her eyes, allowing something good along the fabric of her jeans, reaching her hips, but not stopping, heading north to her arms, one of which stirred the sauce, the other down to her youngest. "What Skye?"

"I remembered Daddy teaching me that."

Balancing the spoon on the handle of the pan, Summer squatted. "Did you really?"

What did Skye remember, Summer often wondered, if she was feeling morose. If she was in a mood, a _Blame Jody_ mood, Summer would ponder what a three-year-old recalled of a man she was just starting to joke with, understanding parts of her father that meant she wasn't a toddler anymore. She was a little girl, occasionally wetting through her naps, especially during the seven months Jody had been dead.

"Mommy, I remember Daddy liked baseball."

Summer smiled. That was more like a recent prod. "What else?"

"Hmm. Well, he liked me. And Nat and Erika."

"Uh-huh. Anything else?"

Skye wore a frown, then put her small hands in the air, her face a quizzical gaze. "Did he like you?"

"Yeah, he did. I love you pumpkin."

An embrace to last was how Summer thought of it, as if Skye might forget anything about her one remaining parent. If Summer could, she'd shove herself into her daughter's brain, but at three, too much teemed. Skye learned something new every day. And all those new things were crowding out the old things, not like Joe Stammers' gray matter. Joe had room for more than Summer could imagine. But what Skye imagined when it came to her dad was growing smaller, if not gone altogether.

"Hey hey!"

"Hey hey!" Summer looked at her brother, a grocery bag on his lap. "You're late."

"Not that late."

She bent down, kissing his face, taking the beers. "How many beans you count today and where's Bets?"

"Erika's showing her something." He wheeled his chair past his sister, toward the kitchen. "Work was usual. God that smells good. You been cooking all day?"

"Oh sure. Grew the tomatoes myself. Tad says hi."

"Hi back to Tad." Forest Caravella's warm voice floated through the large opening between the living room and the kitchen.

Summer looked out the front windows. Wind chimes hung from the awning over the abbreviated concrete porch that wasn't raised, except for the ramp connected to her front door. She needed to fill the hummingbird feeder, maybe if she got a spare minute after dinner. During the commercials. When she wasn't running Skye a bath.

Then she saw her daughter and Forest's girlfriend. In addition to a twelve-pack of soda, Betsy Plummer held Erika's hand, arms swinging back and forth along with their long brown ponytails. They laughed and Summer was pleased. Erika's smile was a rare gift anymore.

But they didn't come right inside, Erika pirouetting in the yard. She hadn't done a single cartwheel since spring, but had started twirling around like she used to. Something had gotten into her, maybe it was just the party, a week-long bash until either the Yankees or Phillies had won. Every evening Summer's home would be an open house, even on school nights. Only one person was missing.

"Where's Nat?" Forest asked.

"His room."

Forest licked his fingers. "Sauce's good. Could use some pepper."

"You can put in your own pepper. How'd you taste it?"

His chair wasn't as high as her stove and the sauce sat on a back burner. His smile teased. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Screw you." Summer pointed to the hallway. "Go talk to him. Hey, are you the one giving him the peanuts?"

"What peanuts?"

"He's been putting peanuts everywhere, well, in many different places. I found one on my pillow when I got home."

"I don't like peanuts."

She smiled. "Me neither. And he knows that. Go talk to him. At least tell him dinner's in ten minutes."

Her brother wheeled away.

"And tell him he has to eat out here tonight!"

But by then, Forest was down the hall.

Down the hall to Summer meant maybe he'd heard her, maybe not. Maybe she could go check, but instead she stirred the sauce, thinking of this time last year. The first game of the series, and she had made spaghetti, but only now did she remember it. She had been standing in this spot, her kitchen full of people, when Jody had been alive.

_When Jody had been alive_ was a phrase Summer tried to ignore, even if she prodded their youngest child's subconscious with it. Maybe all Skye would recall was that he loved baseball. Or that someone had told her he did.

They talked about Jody, when they were alone. In the car on the way to day care, or coming home together. Or when Skye was in the tub, or at bedtime as Summer finished a story. She told Skye that Daddy had read stories too, sometimes more often than Mommy and certainly with more panache. But she didn't say _panache_ ; she said that Daddy was funnier than Mommy. Skye always smiled, nodding her head.

But would Skye remember that herself or was Summer planting those notions, like spring bulbs, summer flowers waiting to poke through the ground months later. Months later all Skye knew was that her father loved baseball. And that he liked her and her siblings. Better than nothing.

Better than what she would know one day, that for as much as Daddy liked his children and baseball and maybe even Summer, for as much as Jody Sims had liked all those things and people, he had still hung himself. He had still taken his life.

Skye didn't know that. She knew he was dead, but what was dead to a kid who thought _truck, truck, not a truck_ actually meant something? Maybe she would understand those concepts, and the fallacies behind them, at the same time. Maybe she would be Erika's age, maybe Nat's. Maybe her mother's which was only fair as Summer didn't understand it either. No one did, and everyone knew that too.

Summer stirred the sauce so it wouldn't stick. Then she set parmesan cheese on the table; they would be squeezed what with Forest's chair on the end, three kids along the bench. Summer allowed snacks in the living room, but not spaghetti.

If Autumn and Milt arrived for dinner, which they were supposed to, they could stand. Maybe they would be late just to have a place to sit after everyone else had finished.

The kids had to sit and Forest never stood. Summer giggled as she heard the sound of his chair approach. "Okay Nat, we'll see you in a few minutes."

"Well?" Summer asked her brother.

"He says he'll eat, but he doesn't want to hear any baseball."

Summer looked to the clock, then sighed. "Well, that's not gonna happen. Kid has to eat."

"Says he won't while the game's on."

"Not even for you?"

"Not even for me. Not even for his poor wheelchair-bound uncle," Forest's voice maudlin. And loud, loud enough that Summer was sure her son had heard him.

He did, as Nat's door closed with an even louder slam.

"This is really good," Betsy said, sprinkling cheese on her pasta.

Summer's plate was cleared, she had eaten quickly. Was it that the game started in another five minutes and she didn't want to miss the first pitch? Was it that her son was not among them, and if she got up now, fixing him a plate, he might wolf his food as fast as she had?

"NAT!" Skye yelled. "DINNER!"

"I think he heard you the first four times," Forest smiled.

"Well, he's not here yet." Skye tossed pigtails to and fro. "NAT!"

"Here, sit with your uncle." Summer stood, setting her daughter on Forest's permanent lap.

Standing outside his door, Summer knocked, offering that courtesy. "Nat?"

"I don't wanna hear it."

"Listen, I don't like the national anthem either but..."

He peeked from the door, Jody's face staring at Summer. "Mom..."

"You're gonna make Skye keep screaming."

"Can't you make her be quiet?"

"Hah!"

He sighed. "Can't I eat in my room again?"

All through the playoffs he'd been eating in his room, Summer allowing small concessions. Or else he ate early, or else the games had been during the day, and it was a non-issue. It was the baseball, only the baseball, not any particular team ruffling his feathers.

"NAT! COME EAT!"

He sighed again, looking to the floor. "Can I use your iPod?"

Summer nodded. "But not during the commercials."

"All right."

That was how Nat Sims ate his dinner on the first night of the World Series. With his mother's headphones in his ears, but not on the commercials.

Chapter 3: Wednesday Evening, October 28th, 2009

Each piece of popcorn is different, Jody had told her. Summer considered his words as she nibbled on the salty, unbuttered nubs that went from her hand to her mouth, but not without first going to her eyes.

The Phillies were winning in the bottom of the fifth, one to nothing, pitcher Cliff Lee with a stellar performance for the visiting team. He owned the mound, throwing strikes as if it was so simple, the way Summer gnawed all the kernelled edges from every piece of popcorn she ate.

Did he feel the same, noting the catcher's signs, considering each batter only a piece of popped corn? Summer didn't mind the shape of the kernels after popping; if it was a round, solid puff with a hanging skirt, or whether it seemed to have imploded, tiny fragments of skin scattered all over. She ate them without regard to their contour, but only once she had bitten off all the kernel specks first.

She sat in the corner of the sofa, Skye on her lap, Erika sitting on Forest's limp legs. The kids had never seen their uncle without his chair, and only Nat might recall Forest without Betsy. Summer chewed another piece of popcorn, thinking how last year she was in the center of the sofa, Jody to her right, Spring on the left. Then Forest, which lead to Autumn and Milt squeezed on the loveseat, Nat between them. Betsy had stood behind Forest for much of it, then when Erika went to the floor, Forest's girlfriend took that space as if they were one body and she had been surgically removed for a short time.

The way Jody had held Summer was similar, as if they were together, and they sort of had been, all through the playoffs. Not that the Yankees had been involved, but that Jody and Summer were kind of entwined. Together, in the loosest sense, except when he held her on the sofa, Skye between them. Now it was only Summer and Skye.

Summer crunched another piece of popcorn, the seating arrangements somewhat altered. Terry and Rafe had the loveseat, Autumn and Milt watching from the kitchen, eating dinner. They were late and neither Terry Quarters nor Rafe Marlowe looked at all willing to budge from the smaller sofa.

No one spoke of Jody, but he hung around everyone and everything, mostly because Nat refused to watch. But even as Summer's son slipped from his room for handfuls of pretzels and the occasional brownie, the night would still feel clunky, cumbersome. Maybe it was just the way of mourning, the first this and the first that after someone dies always a bitch. Summer wasn't looking forward to Thanksgiving in a few weeks, or Christmas. But those holidays were one day long, a build-up yes, but the actual festivities were short. As soon as December twenty-sixth arrived, it was over.

The World Series was at least four games over five days, and if it went beyond that... Summer couldn't go past four games. Maybe the Phillies would take it in four, get it done and over with. She loved the nation's pastime, but that night she stared more at the popcorn than at the television.

The kernels were mute until she crunched them, unlike the people in her living room, or the wind chimes which swayed in the breeze. She could hear them, but no longer noted the buzz of hummingbird wings. That was only due to the timing, dusk having silenced those small creatures, but the chimes didn't care. She had risen to them that morning. That and crumbs, and the feeling of losing her balance.

Losing her grip, so instead she took another piece of popcorn. Sometimes she dissolved the puff in her mouth, but that night she crunched and crunched, getting kernels stuck between her teeth. Like crumbs in her bed, the ache on her skin. Like the girl on her lap, reminders of the past.

Skye really needed a bath, her hair oily, her feet smelly, having kicked off her small tennis shoes after dinner. "You're stinky," Summer whispered to her.

"Am not," Skye replied.

"I'm gonna start a bath. And you're gonna be in it."

"Bubbles please?"

"Bubbles thank you."

Summer handed Skye to her youngest sister, bypassing Erika, who was actually watching the game. "If someone needs to pee, you'll have to use mine." But no one seemed to care.

Summer imagined either Terry or Rafe would have to go, but if they moved, Autumn would take that seat, didn't matter which man remained on the sofa. "I'm fine," Terry muttered.

"Me too," Rafe said.

"One of you is gonna have to pee eventually," Autumn called from the kitchen.

Neither man answered her.

While Summer's bathroom was no bigger than a closet, the house facilities were spacious, and actually, any of the women who needed to go could. It would be the men to squeeze themselves into Summer's bathroom, all but her brother unless the situation was dire. "Forest, you sure?"

"Yeah," he called, distracted.

Summer started the water, then plugged the drain, adding a small bit of soap. Bubbles rose, the scent inoffensive. Nat had complained until Summer bought something less feminine.

"Knock knock." Autumn Caravella smiled, then closed the door. "Decided if those jerks weren't gonna give up their seats, I might as well go."

"Get here earlier tomorrow night."

"We'll try."

Summer watched the tub. Skye only needed a small amount of water, enough to splash around the walls and spill on the floor. "Can you send her in here?"

"Sure. Take out her pigtails?"

Summer smiled. "Yeah."

"You got it."

Autumn closed the door, keeping the room warm. Not that it was cold outside, but Skye was little. Summer would sit with her or just crack the door, less than two inches of water in the tub. Jody had never left her alone, but then if Jody was watching her, Summer was close. Now Summer was a single parent, even if a houseful of adults sat ten feet away.

Autumn returned with a wiggly three-year-old, Skye's light brown hair poofed from the sides. "C'mere Princess Leia."

"Am I a princess?"

"Of course. Thanks Autumn."

She smiled, then shut the door.

Skye slipped from her clothes. "Mommy, was Daddy here this time last year?"

Summer set her daughter in the tub, then sat on the floor. "Yeah. Why?"

"Rafe and Terry were just talking about him."

Not around me, Summer smiled. "And what'd they say?"

"That Jody would be really glad the Yankees are losing. Mommy, why do they spit all the time?"

Not Rafe and Terry, Summer knew. "I have no idea. Isn't it gross?"

Skye made a face. "I think it's dumb."

"Don't say dumb. Say silly."

"I think it's silly."

"You're absolutely right."

Summer wondered what else Rafe and Terry had said after she had stepped away. Was it muffled, so all Skye heard was a bit about the Yankees, or was Skye listening for her father's name. He was Jody and Summer was Mommy or sometimes she was Summer if Skye was forgetful or others were close.

Summer's parents never thought anything odd in those outdated monikers. Jody had called her Summer until Nat was born. Then she was Mommy, what Summer preferred. "Skye, did they say anything else?"

"Something about Aunt Autumn not getting the couch."

Summer smiled. "I'm gonna wash your hair once all the bubbles are gone."

"Okay. Are you gonna stay here?"

"Do you want me to?"

Skye nodded. "Unless you wanna watch baseball."

"I'd rather watch you."

"Is that 'cause Daddy's dead?"

A hole emerged and Summer fell and fell. "Yeah honey. 'Cause Jody's dead."

In the kitchen with her sisters, Summer recounted that short conversation. Short because all a three-year-old needed was a straight answer and then Summer had left the room.

She hadn't left her daughter alone, Betsy with Skye. But Skye was tiring of Betsy. "SUM-MER!" echoed down the hallway.

Spring laughed. "My god, when she says it like that I just can't help it!"

Summer giggled, wiping tears that weren't from bliss. "I know, what a comedian."

"SUM-MER! I'M DONE!"

"COMING!"

"Shut up!" Forest yelled. "You too Skye!"

"UNCLE FOREST?"

"What?"

"TELL MOMMY I NEED HER!"

"Mommy..."

"Yeah yeah."

"No, I'll go. You look like shit."

Three years Summer's junior, Autumn walked down the hall, Skye's small voice as large as she could make it. "MOMMY!"

"Funny how when she talks to you, it's Summer, but then to Forest, it's Mommy." Spring set an open beer can in front of her sister.

"Funny," Summer sniffed, taking a long drink.

"Should we not do this tomorrow?"

"Well, qualify _we_."

Spring looked to those in the living room. Erika seemed non-plussed, Rafe and Terry slightly squirmy. All that was visible of Forest was his back, but he raised his arms, then set them down again.

"Forest, are you stretching or cheering?"

"Shut up!"

"Like it matters," Spring huffed. "All they're gonna do is swing and spit." She looked at her sister. "We don't have to come make such a big deal out of it."

"If you're not here Nat's still gonna hide in his room, Skye's still gonna scream, the Yankees are still gonna win."

"Not tonight. It's four to nothing Phils."

"Tomorrow for sure. No, I mean, unless you don't want to."

"Maybe just me. I think John has to work."

"Whatever," Summer sighed.

A wet, wiggling girl ran down the hall in a long faded nightgown, landing in her mother's lap. "You've been crying," Skye said.

"Yeah baby."

"Because of the game?"

Spring left the room as Summer nodded, burying her face into Skye's clean belly.

After the game was over, Summer said goodnight to her children. The Yankees had lost six to one and Erika was disappointed. She was rooting for New York, but no one could get out of her exactly why.

The kitchen was tidied as Skye was put to bed, three sisters cleaning, one brother spinning a yarn that took little time to ease Skye to sleep. Forest wouldn't say what it was about, but Spring had caught enough, something do to with fairies and vegetables, a rutabaga in particular.

"Why a rutabaga?" Summer asked, drying the last of the large bowls.

"Rutabaga is just the most hilarious word. She had no idea what it was anyways," Forest said.

"Was it a rutabaga, in the story?" Summer asked.

"Actually it was the name of the fairy queen. Just so you know."

"Just so when she starts singing queen rutabaga tomorrow in the car I'll get it. Thanks."

"Anytime," he smiled. "Bets, you ready?"

She stood behind him, her hands to his shoulders. "Yeah. Summer, tomorrow, are we on?"

"I am. Anyone willing to brave the insanity, stop on over."

"We'll be here, early too. What's for dinner?"

"Whatever you bring," Summer smiled at Autumn, then looked to Spring, who was shaking her head.

"We'll see you guys on Saturday. Phils'll kill them at home."

"They killed them in New York," Summer smiled.

"Cliff Lee killed them in New York," Forest said.

"As long as someone's killing somebody." Summer walked them to the door, her brother easing himself down the ramp. Half of his life spent sitting, but now at thirty-four, he didn't need to careen, possibly spilling out of his chair. In years past, Forest had taken that ramp as a challenge. Lately he seemed subdued.

"Goodnight," Summer said, not loudly.

"Goodnight!" voices answered, just as softly.

Once all cars had departed, Summer closed the door, then the blinds. The wind chimes made a few gentle pings, as if announcing it was time for slumber. Summer heard them, but paid no heed.

Instead she sat at her computer, staring at the wallpaper. The beach, from summer, when she, Spring, John, Forest, and Betsy had taken the children to Santa Cruz for a week's vacation. Jody had been dead for four months and as if a trip might erase the truth, they piled in three cars, caravanning down Interstate 5, through San Jose, over the mountains. Landing at the Pacific's edge, they went from the Santa Cruz Boardwalk to various spots nearby, spending a day in Monterey. Summer had paid for those excursions, but the cost had been well worth it, ridding themselves of the hot Sacramento Valley for seven days, not to mention the weighty ghost from which there was no escape.

Not in vehicles or in the hearts of children bereft, adrift, confused. Even then Skye was hurting, wishing for her father, unable to comprehend how Daddy had been right there, visiting every day, staying at night until she was so tired Jody had carried her to bed. For three weeks, not that Skye would recall the number of days, but three weeks straight a father had spent the afternoons and evenings with his family, with his kids and ex-wife. Then a man and woman shed those terms, making out on Summer's sofa. How it began, just two former spouses, long time lovers, getting horizontal.

But at the beach it was Summer alone, Summer unaided. Summer as a single mother, which technically she had been since the divorce. Since 2003; that Skye was born in 2006 was just another slip, like in March, when Jody started coming round, baseball season right around the corner.

In the photo, a small curl of wave extended, just spilling over itself in the center, still forming on the ends. The day was cool, high cloud that felt good on overheated bodies, this one of the last pictures Summer took. So many had been snapped, she tended to forget about the others, concentrating on only a beach, the children waiting in the car, Spring on the stairs that led to this part of the shore.

Forest hadn't seen this at eye level, only in photos. He had wheeled himself around the Boardwalk, but this was Capitola, a few miles down the road. It wasn't a bright day, but something about that view made Summer take rickety steps, the whole area a construction zone. It was the second time Summer had been there, the first years back, on her honeymoon with Jody.

But the children didn't know that. Nat wouldn't care and Erika was too young to ask. Would she ever ask now, Summer wondered. Erika's parents had divorced, her father was dead. Her dad was gone, but Jody had taken Summer to a San Francisco Giants game, then they made love in a mediocre Bay Area motel. Then he drove her to Santa Cruz, where they spent the last days of their week-long honeymoon walking along the beach, ignoring the Boardwalk. Then finding this spot, The Hook, in Capitola. She wasn't exactly sure where they had sat, watching the water curl and retreat, waves never the same to what had rolled in hours or minutes before, but this shot was close enough. When Summer gazed at her computer wallpaper, she was back there, safe in his arms.

Where she had been only seven months before, when he spent nearly every night with her for three straight weeks. Almost every night; at four each morning, he got out of her bed, dressed, then kissed her good... bye? Good morning, for it was morning, and she hadn't gone back to sleep. She was still on that same schedule, up at four-something every single day, except on Sundays. She had started sleeping later on Sunday, waking at... five.

At the time, she had no idea why he had to leave, other than the flimsy excuse he provided, that he didn't want the kids to find them together. Summer hadn't cared, Nat and Erika aware Skye hadn't just plopped from the heavens. But Jody had insisted, until three nights before their last night. Only then did Summer learn why he had to go.

"I need a drink, okay?" his voice so pained, as if telling her was worse than admitting his addiction ruled. "I just need to go home, have a beer."

"Only one?"

"No. Three, four maybe. Then I'll just go back to sleep."

"Have one here. Jody, there's most of a six-pack in the fridge."

His guilty, pained face when he turned to her was as clear in her mind as the photo she stared at every day. Several times a day, trying to remember his strong arms around her, his hot breath against her skin. Against skin that after he said those words would only lie along hers for a few more evenings. "Summer, no. I won't drink around the kids. Or you."

"I don't care."

"I do."

His face had been shaking, his hands as well, but it was his aching gray eyes she couldn't forget, weary of fighting, unwilling to lie to her. He'd been lying for over two weeks, also making her miss him. That night, as he left, Summer missed him. She'd had no idea it was only the beginning.

Chapter 4: Thursday Morning, October 29th, 2009

At 4.21, Summer stirred to what she would swear was a hummingbird. The feeder! She had forgotten to fill it yesterday.

She wasn't going to do it at that ungodly hour, but would remember to do it before she left with the kids. She wouldn't come home to hummingbird blood on her hands.

As she stepped in the shower, she washed her hair as if something was clinging, but it wasn't graham cracker crumbs or hummingbird guts or peanut shavings. It was the ocean, as if the finest grains of sand had never left her, not from summer or her honeymoon. As if Jody was still on her, right over her skin.

She smiled, relieved. She had felt something odd, haunting, real but not. That morning, as she wondered if hummingbirds were waiting for the kill just as she stepped from her front door, she inhaled calm, steady breaths. It was Jody, sand, memory. That was all it was.

The warm water felt soothing, as now she didn't have to scrub, didn't have to wonder why she wasn't getting clean, not how Skye's tummy felt last night, just soft, sleek, naked skin. Summer had lifted the nightgown and set kisses all along her little girl's tender underbelly, then blown raspberries, making Skye scream. Forest had hollered too, for them to shut up! But Summer hadn't stopped, needing that tonic, some lift, a real purpose to counter the imaginary sense of something or someone still lingering.

Jody was lingering and that morning, for the first time since Terry called with the news, Summer felt aroused. She smiled, running the washcloth over breasts that had been fondled for three straight weeks, then nothing for seven months. Even after she'd had all of her kids, as soon as sex was possible, Summer was on it. On someone, only one; Jody. Jody had been there, even after Skylar, a baby they hadn't planned, not reunited over, but even after Skye, Summer and Jody had gotten it on again. Then Jody returned to habits Summer now allowed he never had any power to break. But that time, it had been Summer to insist he leave.

Jody. Summer breathed that name, still finding him along her flesh. How long would it take to remove him, and would she ever? Was that possible? Three children stood, not in the way, but certainly as proof, reminders, remnants. The remnants of Jody Sims slept not far away. Parts of him would never be far away.

Parts of him, yet the rest of him she would never have, hold, see, smell, kiss. But that was physical and Summer accepted it. More difficult was this notion of him there, on her; was he crawling under her skin, embedded so far down she would never feel clean again? Not unclean, just not... tarnished. Itchy, uncomfortable. Achy, but not pained. No, that wasn't true. Summer hurt like nobody's business.

But it was only her business, especially missing him the way she was right at that moment, the heightened sense of arousal so strong that she masturbated in the shower. How long since she had done that wasn't known, but it took her no time, and she clutched the top of the curtain rod, keeping her balance. Then she noticed the feeling had abated. Jody seemed not so close. Her smile began, a grin of relief, gratitude. And knowledge. Now she knew how to get rid of him.

"Rutabaga queen!" Skye sang loudly to the tune of "Mississippi Queen", which Summer didn't miss.

"Who taught you that?"

"Uncle Forest. Rutabaga queen!"

"When did Uncle Forest teach you that?"

"Last night. He said you'd really like it."

"Uh-huh. Erika, you getting a bath later?"

The girl hadn't taken a shower that morning and Summer watched as she spooned cornflakes, milk dribbling onto the table.

"I'll get one tonight."

"There's baseball tonight," Nat's tone of doom.

"God yes, the awful wretch called the nation's pastime. Or maybe it's just the Yankees. Erika, are you gonna watch it again?"

"Do you think the Yankees will win?"

"Of course."

"Oh." Erika took another bite, mindful of the milk. "Well, I'd like to see them win."

Summer nodded. "Well then you either need to shower before the game or..." Erika's thin brown hair looked greasy. "You need to shower before the game."

Erika sighed. "Okay Mom."

"Why do you wanna watch it anyways?" Nat sulked.

"Why don't you?" Erika retorted.

"Rutabaga queen!" Skye offered.

"That's enough, all of you." Summer didn't need to look at the clock, low daylight finally emerging through the front windows. She stared again at the feeder, but no time now. The birds would just have to find a way to survive until she got home. "We're gonna be late, rutabaga queen," and she tickled Skye's neck.

Nat and Erika said nothing, finishing their breakfasts as Skye kept chanting. The chanting continued throughout the drive to Autumn and Milt's place, where the two eldest couldn't get out of their mother's car fast enough, then more chanting toward the day care center, Summer driving speeds she wouldn't usually attempt. To tell Skye to be quiet was like telling a bull not to charge. Summer had spanked her youngest, put her in time out, denied TV, bedtime books, and anything else that wasn't essential to continued growth and good health. If Skye got something in her head, until it was gone, the rest suffered.

"What are they gonna do with you today?" Summer asked under her breath. She never felt Skye was so unruly at day care, or maybe they were used to her. She'd been going on and off since she was two months old, Jody sometimes looking after of her if he was sober and around. If he was only around, he never offered, saving Summer from the unpleasant task of denying him the opportunity. If nothing else, Jody had been a cognizant alcoholic.

He'd been too aware, maybe that was it. Maybe that's why he killed himself, and Summer considered that until another refrain of "Rutabaga Queen" emerged.

Summer smiled at the staff, then took her leave.

"Rutabaga Queen" was the theme of the day; how many rutabagas did she scan, asking Joe Stammers three times for the code before she knew it herself. 8472 was the number, 8472 was another number, Summer was sure. It meant something else, but instead of pondering that mystery, all she did for the entire morning was punch in 8472, as everyone that day bought at least one rutabaga.

Maybe there was a sale or some cosmic baseball legend attached to a rather unappealing root vegetable. Sometimes they were bagged, sometimes rolling solo along the belt. One woman who Summer didn't know bought ten of them! Ten rutabagas, then she smiled. It was from _Sesame Street_ , an old ditty about produce from Summer's childhood, veggies and the number ten.

Ten of this, ten of that; collard greens and banana squash, mangoes and apples, Brussels sprouts and... The song ran through her head, displacing "Rutabaga Queen", easing the morning. If people weren't buying rutabagas , they were talking about Cliff Lee.

Or just about baseball; everyone had an opinion about the Yankees, either hating them as Summer did, or finding some wonderful piece of Americana within a franchise that dominated not only a city's skyline but the whole of the major leagues. From the strapping payroll that Steinbrenner administered to the graceful memories of historic figures, but Summer concentrated instead on rutabagas. Rutabagas and black-eyed peas, lettuce and eggplants and...

"Summer, hello? You there?"

She looked up, smiling at Dan Bailey. As she did, all considerations of vegetables fell out of her head, but the rest of her shivered. "Yeah, just thinking about _Sesame Street_."

In explaining her morning, Summer noted Dan's warm grin, and that no one stood behind him. She bagged his condiments, mayo and mustard, pickles and sweet peppers. Then she noted how he spoke, slowly, in no rush. Was he working that day, did he have any... "So Dan, you watching the game tonight?"

"Yeah, but I think I missed a good one last night. Hear Cliff Lee pitched a stunner."

"He did." But Summer hadn't really been paying attention. She ate popcorn, bathed her daughter, wept. "Listen, feel free to stop over. I'll have a houseful."

A check-out aisle separated a twosome from years back. Summer's smile emerged not from any immediate need, but what this man had done in the past, as recently as two years ago. "Only if you're not busy and don't mind listening to a lot of screaming."

"What, the kids get into it?"

"Oh no. Forest's a little insane this time of year."

Dan nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

I bet you do, Summer thought. "Well, like I said, if you want a crowd, come on by. Terry and Rafe and Autumn and..."

Dan nodded as Summer shifted in her shoes. "Hey, sounds like maybe I will."

"Good," she smiled. "That'd be real nice."

On her break, Summer considered what she was doing, or what she was hoping to do; sleep with Dan Bailey. She had slept with him before, two different intervals that seemed still with him. When he handed her another twenty, their fingers sparked something, or at least Summer felt it. Dan had smiled, picking up his bag, leaving with a friendly nod her way.

Summer stared at her unadorned digits. She wasn't married, hadn't been married the second time she slept with Dan Bailey. The first time she had, but was separated. Jody's idea, Jody the one who moved out. Jody had been gone for two weeks when Summer slept with Dan, in her house, in that bed. Not the exact same mattress, but a bed in her room. Then it was a double. Now it was a queen.

Either way, a hump had arisen in the center, hardly noticeable in the full mattress, very apparent in her current bed. Not that she had spent so many nights sharing her queen-sized bed, but enough, indenting the sides, leaving a bulge that now she was attempting to diminish. Since Jody died Summer been sleeping in the middle of her bed.

Before, she took the right side, Jody or whoever else, but there was only one other, on the left. Only one, Dan Bailey. Summer had slept with two men in her life; that Jody had been her first and only until he left her was something. Summer was never unfaithful to him, not until after he split. Then she slept with Dan.

Dan Bailey was Summer's age, or maybe he was already forty. He worked for Caltrans, on road crews up and down the northern end of the Sacramento Valley. Dan Bailey was similar in body type to Jody Sims, maybe a little taller, definitely a little heavier. He was more fair than Jody, comparable in how he had made her feel, at least in the physical, which was why she had slept with him later on, after Skye was born.

Dan had been important in Summer's life at two different points, both some post-Jody exorcism; would this be a third? She shuddered, then looked at the clock. Five more minutes.

In five minutes, could she clear what sleeping with Dan would mean, in what she wanted it to mean. What would it mean? It would mean...

That I've slept with one man at two times when I needed to assert who I was. To myself, and yes, to Jody.

That I've slept with one man at two times when I needed extreme physical comfort that Jody had decided not to provide.

That I've slept with one man at two times when I needed... to not be alone. That was the crux. Summer had slept with Dan Bailey for the first two, but it was the last that sealed the deal.

Why had he slept with her? Because an attraction existed, all right. Because she was nice to look at, okay. Not because he had anything against Jody, that had nothing to do with it, but it had negated a third, only last year, early in 2008. Jody had been drying out, Summer was lonely, Dan was friendly. But ultimately Dan was also unwilling to threaten Jody's recovery. Not that Summer's needs were less important, but as everyone knew how Jody died, everyone also knew how he'd lived, one beer at a time.

One long drunk moment with some sober relapses; as a teenager, Summer had fallen in love with a drinker, their relationship established in their twenties as Jody played in bands and turned into an alcoholic, their marriage and foray into parenthood and his continued drinking as they hit their thirties. Then Summer looked at her life, wondering what was happening.

As she did that afternoon. But this time, Jody wasn't coming back.

As her shift wound to a close, Summer concentrated on scanning, on bagging if Elisa was gone. They worked as a team; Summer was proficient without her, but if Elisa could be spared, they would clear a busy line as if by magic. As if a magical rutabaga solved all problems, or one Caltrans employee; if Summer slept with Dan Bailey, maybe she would wake feeling human again, not like an alien with a skin of... sandpaper. The finest grain, the smoothest touch, but still not hers, not human flesh but something else. Some other species, another version of humanity, and she punched in 8472, feeling unsettled. Not about sleeping with Dan that night, but those numbers. They meant more than rutabagas.

Then Jordan Hower stood in front of Summer, another box of condoms and two more bottles of vitamin water on the belt. Summer rang them up, not even asking if he wanted paper or plastic. Into a small brown bag it all went and if Jordan didn't like his rubbers and water mixed, he could buy them at separate times.

Then she smiled, but not at him. Longs or CVS was open now, yet, he bought the condoms at the grocery store. Summer wondered why.

His items were already concealed when Elisa stepped their way. Jordan nodded to her, Summer not surprised. The high school was a tight clique. Elisa was an old senior, already eighteen, and Jordan couldn't be much past twenty. They'd probably had two years together, of course they knew each other.

As Summer noted their small conversation, all the while his condoms were clutched as close as those years, but hidden. Now he was graduated, beyond her. They were friendly, a side to Jordan Summer hadn't seen. He wasn't as ass, didn't look through Elisa just because she was still in the public educational system. Not that or any other reason, and Summer went back to work as Jordan and Elisa moved to the wall where charcoal and large bags of dog food were located. Cora Harper may have missed Elisa yesterday, but Jordan would have spotted Elisa if she'd been there and not in class.

Before she left to collect Skye, Summer bought one thing, but not at her store. She punched out promptly at 3.01, then walked to her car. Then in a rare act of lethargy, she drove the hundred yards to CVS drugstore, pulling up in front, next to a disabled spot. She headed to the back, found the aisle where pads and tampons were kept. Right across were the condoms.

Scores of them, the prices about the same as what Jordan paid. For some reason he wouldn't buy his here, but Summer picked up a box of six, lubricated, not colored. She didn't need that, only a method of birth control and to avoid contracting anything else.

Ann Simpson stood at the front and Summer felt no shame. She and Jody hadn't been married; how many knew they'd been sleeping together? He hadn't spent the entire night, not any of those evenings, for three straight weeks. If someone was really nosy, they could have figured it out, and maybe the rumors had gotten around town, but they were exes. They had already conceived Skye out of wedlock, and if luck had been with them... Summer smiled at Ann, setting the condoms in the middle of the short belt.

"No difference in price between us," Summer said. "I wonder why Jordan buys his from me."

"Because you're younger than I am," Ann laughed, scanning the Trojans. "And because his car practically lives down my street."

Summer stared at the older woman. "Really?"

"Mmmhmm. Not that it's any big deal, but some guys, some young men, well..."

Usually steering clear of town gossip, Summer was aching to know. Not that it mattered, not at all by the way he'd spoken to Elisa. Summer laughed, setting it aside. "Yeah well, better that than getting anything you don't want."

"Yes it is. Have a nice day Summer."

She smiled; they were her condoms. Women could buy their own prophylactics, not very invisible in a sheer plastic bag. She reached for the handle, swinging it as she stepped away. "I will have a very nice day Ann. And I hope you do too."

"Go Phillies," Ann laughed.

"Indeed," Summer added, stepping through the door. "Go Phils!"

Chapter 5: Thursday Afternoon, October 29th, 2009

Rutabagas rang in the car, through the house, inside Summer's head. It seemed to rain rutabagas and Summer pulled up the old _Sesame Street_ clip, singing in a loud, off key voice. Summer had never held any pretensions toward being a musician. That was Jody's profession.

From Skye's clip and tenor, she could head in that direction, but Summer wouldn't push it. Not that Jody's drinking resulted from his musical attributes, only that people might expect one of his kids to follow in his footsteps. To sing, to perform, and if that occurred, Summer wouldn't fight it. But she wouldn't press for it either.

They sang of turtles and produce, the number ten to which Skye could easily count. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 was chanted as Summer filled the bird feeder, as Erika took a shower, as Nat hid in his room, then ate an early dinner, leftover spaghetti at four o'clock. Then he rummaged through the cupboards.

"Whatdya need?" Summer asked, wiping down the stove.

"Are there any pretzels left?"

"Uh-huh." Summer grabbed that bag, and the potato chips, from the top shelf. She could reach it, but not her ten-year-old son.

Ten and a half, and she stared at him, wavy brown hair and gray eyes, Jody's face and movements. A part of Summer wanted their son to ask about his father, inquire to Jody's talents. Maybe the kids just took it for granted.

"What are you gonna do tonight?" She knew he wouldn't join them for the game.

"Read."

"Oh. What're you reading?"

"Harry Potter."

She nodded. "Which one?"

"The second to last."

Summer smiled. If he'd said the actual title, it wouldn't have helped. She knew there were seven books, the only Potter lore which she recognized. But Nat had jumped head-first, all Jody's doing. Jody had read them all and she giggled.

"What?"

"Just that your dad would've known if you'd said the title. Good thing you didn't."

Nat's tiny smile was a small gift, or maybe the biggest treasure. "Yeah, I guess."

He took a handful of pretzels and headed to his room. Then, just outside his door, past the bathroom, he stopped. Summer glanced away, but she'd been watching him.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Who's coming over tonight?"

Someone I'm going to sleep with hopefully. "The usual. Probably not Spring and John. Maybe Dan Bailey."

Nat stared at his mom. "Dan Bailey?"

"Yeah. I invited him today. He was buying stuff for sandwiches." The second straight day, no, the third. Actually, when Summer thought about it, it was the fifth straight time she had seen him, thinking back to last Friday. They had been talking about baseball then, a subject Dan hadn't shied from, not around Summer.

"Why Dan?"

"Because I like him and he had nothing better to do."

Might her son think they were again more than just friends? Nat knew about sex, but he only seemed surprised. "Am I gonna have to come out, you know..."

"Well, it might be nice, just to say hi. Shall I knock on a commercial?"

The pretzels were crumbling in his small grip, a few pieces falling to the carpet. "Uh, sure. Yeah. I don't wanna be rude."

Summer nodded. "I'll knock once he gets here. If it's before the game, maybe you can hang out. Only if you want."

"I'll think about it." He didn't smile, but did bend over, picking up the bigger pieces that had fallen.

His door closed as Summer responded. "You think about it Nat."

Forest had called; they would be late, unlike Autumn and Milt, who arrived at four-thirty. They brought fried chicken and side dishes, more than enough for Summer and her family. "If those guys want some, that's fine," Autumn said, licking her fingers. "They're not gonna be sitting on the loveseat tonight anyways."

The smell of chicken roused Nat and he ate again with family, but said nothing. Milt did most of the talking, about his folks in Florida, how his mother was starting to lose her mind. His mother, the same age as Summer and Autumn's, was beginning to slip.

"What's your dad gonna do?" Summer asked.

"I have no idea." Milt's voice wasn't honest, but Summer asked nothing else, watching how Nat ate three drumsticks to the bone. Not that he was starving after a healthy portion of spaghetti half an hour earlier; it was exactly how Jody had devoured his favorite piece of chicken.

In moments like these, Summer had to wonder if she wasn't going slightly insane. Partly because she noted these things, how Skye sounded like Jody, how much Nat looked like him, how Erika was rooting for the Yankees not due to any great love of the game or that team, but that her father had a love-hate relationship with them, hating what the Yankees stood for, big money and bloat, but adoring their skipper. Something about Joe Girardi's humble but accurate managing spoke to Jody, seemed to have reached Erika. She was too young to fathom the reasons, only within her genetic makeup, all these kids tied to a man they would never see again.

"Hey Mom, when's Dan coming over?" Nat asked.

"Dan?" Autumn repeated. "As in Bailey?"

"Mmmhmm," Summer said. "Not sure Nat."

"Why's Dan coming over?" Autumn asked.

"'Cause I asked him to."

"Oh."

"Uh-huh."

"Wow."

"Uh-huh."

"Why wow?" Erika asked.

"Oh uh, just because I thought he was working. On 5. Like he's been for the last eight years."

Autumn's sarcasm wasn't directed toward Summer but to the constant roadwork on their section of the freeway. Summer smiled, noting surprise on her sister's face, on Milt's too. Maybe a little of the sarcasm was headed Summer's way.

"Has it really been eight years?" Erika asked.

"Feels like it," Milt sighed.

"Maybe one," Summer said.

"Maybe," Autumn agreed.

"Maybe." Summer finished her mashed potatoes. "This was great. Thanks for cooking."

"Did you cook all this Aunt Autumn?" Skye's voice not at all sarcastic.

"No, the colonel did," Milt laughed. He stood, then smiled at Summer. "Well, if Dan's coming, that's really gonna put a premium on that sofa. Nat, I'm gonna go turn on the pregame, okay?"

Nat nodded, seemed pleased for the allowance. "Okay. I'm full anyways. Thanks for bringing chicken."

They left the kitchen together, Milt ruffling Nat's hair. "My pleasure Nat. My pleasure."

Erika seemed eager to watch the hype Summer never cared about. "I'm done too."

"Okay. Skye, what about you?"

"All done." She licked her fingers. "Can I go watch too?"

"You save my seat Skye." Autumn stood, then returned with a wet paper towel. Once the girl was clean, Autumn picked her up, then set a kiss to her face. "Go give that to Milt for me."

"Uncle Milt," went the call as Skye ran from the room.

Which left two sisters, each with something to ask, but Summer would let Autumn go first.

From lawn chairs on the patio they could hear the hum of commercials, the drone of pregame bullshit. Also the furious beating of tiny wings as two hummingbirds swooped back and forth chasing each other, then diving to the feeder. As wind chimes rang, Summer closed her eyes, hearing Milt's patient voice explaining to both girls what was being said.

"So, Dan Bailey huh? That's a surprise."

"I just asked him today. He seemed amenable."

"Yeah, I bet." Autumn giggled, then leaned close. "He gonna stay for the post-game wrap-up?"

Summer smiled. "If he likes. I'll not shoo him away."

A cool breeze blew, but the early evening was still pleasant. "Summer, are you ready, I mean..."

"Autumn, it's not like we haven't slept together before. Not like I'm initiating some new stud in the barn."

"Jesus Christ!"

"Well..."

Both laughed as the hummingbirds chirped at each other. "Look at them, stupid things! No bigger than my thumb and they think they're Klingons." Summer turned around, her daughters both sitting with Milt. "I need to, you know, for me."

"Yeah?"

"He's here, all over me. I've never felt so..."

"Haunted?"

Summer smiled. "Maybe. Something. If nothing else, I want him, Dan, I mean. Maybe that's enough."

"Maybe. Does he want you?"

"I don't think he'd have accepted my invitation if he didn't."

"I see."

"Yup. That's about the long and short of it."

Betsy's car pulled up and Forest opened his door. "Hey, you waiting on us?"

"Not for eats!" Summer yelled.

"What's for dinner?" Betsy asked, retrieving Forest's chair from the back seat.

"The finest chicken this side of the Mississippi," Autumn said.

Summer watched motions so rote for Betsy; a few quick jerks and the wheelchair was open. Then she pushed it to where Forest waited. Sometimes they used his van, but it was a lot for a short drive. Forest was independent, but if Betsy was home, they usually took her car.

Forest set himself in the seat, arms double the size of his stick-thin legs. Then Betsy was done, as Forest closed his own door, wheeled himself through the dust until he reached the smooth concrete path that lead to the small cement patio. Summer and Autumn sat to the left, the ramp a divider.

"Girl talk?" he smiled.

"Most definitely. Guess who's coming to watch the game with us?"

"Who?" Betsy asked.

"Dan Bailey."

"Oh-ho," Forest smiled. "That is most definitely girl talk. I'll leave you to it. Dinner in the kitchen?"

"Yeah," Summer said.

Betsy gave her boyfriend a small shove up the ramp, then smiled at Summer. "Well, if I wasn't starving, I'd stay and get the scoop. But..." Her voice revealed something else, something known. Something Summer didn't know and she stared at both women, then only at Autumn. Betsy stepped into the house, saying hello to the girls and Milt, asking where Nat was.

Summer stood, not looking to the road. "So what do you have to tell me?"

Autumn sighed. "Milt's going to Florida after new year's."

"For how long?"

"A while. His dad really needs the help."

"His mom that far gone?"

Autumn nodded. "But it's not just that." She stood. "His dad's been wanting him to come home for a while."

"Are you going with him?"

"Yeah, for a couple of weeks. We're leaving on the third, the third of January. I'm coming back on the fourteenth."

"And Milt?"

"He's staying there."

"Will you be going back?"

"Yeah, yeah, I am. I mean," Autumn sighed again. "I love him and I don't wanna be away from him. Besides, he's gonna need my help. Who better to go than me?"

"Can you take that much time off work?"

"I'm uh, I'm quitting. Summer, this's for good. Well, for a while."

"Until his mother either dies or goes into a home."

"Yeah, one of the two. They're as old as our folks, just not as healthy."

"Weather's a bitch in the summer."

"Like it's not here," Autumn laughed.

"Humidity's different, worse than a dry heat." What Jody always complained of when he toured southern states.

"Yeah well, that's just what's gonna happen."

"How long you known about this?"

"Since after you got back from the beach. Summer, I know the timing's bad but..."

"No, I mean, you have your own life." The hummingbirds blew past them, one on the other's heels. Summer couldn't tell them apart, not these two, both perching as they gulped sugar water. There was one other, but it never perched, only fluttered at the base, going from spout to spout, but she hadn't seen that one lately.

"Summer, I love you. I love him too. I need to do something different, get outta this town."

"Are you gonna work there?"

"No, just live with his folks. She'll be my full time responsibility."

As a nurse, Autumn was suited to this task, and Summer nodded. "Well, as long as that's not gonna be a problem."

"No, look. It's just for a few years, you know. His dad's health is pretty crappy, all kinds of heart trouble. If he was better, we wouldn't have to go and..."

"You don't have to explain to me."

"I feel like I do."

Summer stopped watching the hummingbirds, but could hear something else approach her house. "You don't. Life goes on. Jody's dead, but Milt's mother isn't, and I've not lost my mind. In fact..."

A truck parked in front of Betsy's car. It wasn't Terry or Rafe and Summer smiled. "Maybe this's the best time."

Dan Bailey stepped from his pick-up, a bag from the grocery store in one hand, a bunch of flowers in the other.

Only minutes remained until the start of the game, what Erika kept repeating while Dan said hello to Autumn. She took the bag from his hand; candy, pretzels and chips. Then she smiled and went inside.

"Those for me?" The bouquet wasn't from Summer's store. The outside wrapping was nicer, actually looked as if someone had done it by hand. Not that flowers sold at her workplace were industrially shoved into cellophane, but a blue ribbon was tied around the thick red paper, which encased a colorful assortment of blooms. No roses, but that would have been too much. Instead it was lilies, carnations, and mums autumnal in hue with plenty of garnish, baby's breath and ferns. But the outside wrapping was bright, primary Phillies red and Yankee blue.

"These are for you and your daughters," Dan smiled. "Didn't know what to bring Nat. He can have some of the M&M's, Autumn took them in."

"You didn't have to bring anything for any of us."

"I know I didn't."

She smiled. He really didn't; she already bought the condoms. "You hungry?"

"Sure. What is there?"

"Well, besides M&M's and pretzels..." Summer led him in as the noise rose. Skye was singing the _Sesame Street_ song Summer had taught her, one that all the grown-ups in the room knew too. Erika hummed along as Milt muted the national anthem.

Dan and Summer sat next to each other on the bench as Forest had the end, Betsy to his left. No sign of Terry or Rafe, but Autumn completed the group, and they spoke of local gossip, the road construction on the interstate, Autumn's move. That was said in low tones, but Forest and Betsy had already been told.

Summer noticed that, didn't comment. As Dan ate, a knock was heard, Terry offering hello. The TV blared as lineups were announced.

"Sorry I'm late," Terry said. "Didn't think I was gonna get the loveseat anyways, so what the hell." His laughter preceded him, but as he reached the kitchen, he grew quiet, noting who sat at the table.

Not that Summer or her family surprised. Only one man Terry knew well, liked even. He really did like Dan Bailey even if Dan had been the bane of Jody's short existence.

Chapter 6: Thursday Evening, October 29th, 2009

If the night before Summer had focused on popcorn, that evening she watched baseball. She also stared at her sister and Milt while nestling into Dan, whom she knew Jody had not liked. Yet, Jody hadn't always hated him and Summer knew the precise moment it had begun.

"Summer? You home?"

She had been naked, in the double bed, with Dan beside her. It was the middle of the day, the kids at Autumn's. Jody and Summer had been split for two weeks; he left her after a vicious fight about his drinking and her intolerance. Her prejudice toward him when he was drunk, which, at that time in 2003, was more often than not. But it had been Jody who left, Jody who screamed at her, as near to threatening Summer with bodily harm as he ever came. After he found her in bed with Dan, Jody never raised even one finger her way.

"Summer! I know you're here, I saw your fucking car. I can see the kids are gone. What, you send them to Autumn's?"

His voice was slightly slurred, but he'd been sober enough to drive, or to not get arrested for a DUI. Jody had made it plain they were _over_ ; he was through with her tirades and bitching about his _problem_. Yes, he drank too much, on occasion, okay. Maybe more than he should. But Summer knew this from when they were first together, or at least she should have seen it coming.

Why his drinking was her fault she never understood. But after that day, Jody never blamed her again. Maybe he blamed Dan Bailey, but he never did say it was Summer's fault.

"Summer! Damnit, answer me! Fucking where are you?"

She said nothing, Dan's body a shield. He was nude too; they had only finished a few minutes before Jody started pounding on the door. She had meant to change the lock, but hadn't gotten around to it. But in her heart, she was done with him. Or at least done being his _wife_.

They wouldn't be _done_ with each other until he really ended it, but Summer didn't know that at the time. All she knew was as soon as he stepped in their room, now her room, he would know. He'd know she wasn't only his anymore.

Dan had caressed her hip as Jody's voice neared the door. "I'll take care of this," Dan said. Summer didn't fear some fistfight between her slightly drunken husband from whom she was separated and the man with whom she had made the break. She also wasn't naive enough to assume she and Jody were really _finished_ ; of course they would sleep together again. What was definite in her mind was the end of her marriage. It was going to end that day, not months later by divorce. Her marriage ended the moment Jody walked in the room, finding Dan in bed with his wife.

Now Summer sat in Dan's arms, Skye on her lap, as if Jody Sims had never existed. Skye was a baby she'd had with Dan, Erika too. If Nat had managed to poke his head out, perhaps her bubble would be popped, and Summer would be forced back to reality. But for the first three innings, she cuddled her youngest, accepting the warm embrace of an old lover, reality slipping right out the wide-open front door.

Reality had hit her hard already; she didn't need it again that night. It had hit back in late March with Terry's words, Jody's death. It had hit when Jody left years before, nearly slapping Summer in the process. Reality was a sword with an unbearably sharp edge that could cut again and again, and did so whenever it felt moved. Reality was painful and that night, regardless of who won the game, Summer was going to set reality in an escape-proof box. The box wasn't labeled, so reality would have no idea where it had been placed.

Dan didn't do any more than let her lean into him, offering respite. That's what he was and she wondered if he knew it. Everyone there but the children did, but even Terry was friendly. Rafe wasn't.

Rafe didn't say two words to Dan, but Nat appeared, in the bottom of the fourth, right as New York tied the game. Erika's loud whoop brought him out, but he said he only wondered what was going on. Forest had been screaming too, Erika not as loud as her uncle. Only Skye might best Forest's yodeling.

Nat didn't look at them, went straight to the kitchen, returning with a handful of pretzels. And peanuts, Summer spotted. Dan had brought a jar of those too.

"Hey Mr. Bailey," Nat mumbled.

"Hey Nat! Make sure you get some M&M's before they're all gone."

Nat looked back to the kitchen. "Oh uh, okay."

Summer smiled, using that opportunity to display the first hint of her desire. She squeezed Dan's hand, then ran her right fingers along his left thigh. "Thanks."

"No problem," Dan said, his voice smooth.

Summer saw her son return their way, a small plate in his grip. "Thanks Mr. Bailey."

"You bet," Dan with a quick smile, then back to the game.

Nat disappeared down the hall, Summer noting the muted close of his door.

In the bottom of the sixth, the Yankees got another run, a solo homer by Hideki Matsui. Erika screamed again, jumping from the middle of the loveseat where she sat between Autumn and Milt. Terry and Rafe had pulled kitchen chairs into the living room and Summer maneuvered around them and Forest, carrying her sleepy three-year-old to bed. Skye had started dozing in the fifth, but now was nearly unconscious.

To avoid the noise, Skye was laid on Summer's bed, Summer affixing a pull-up the last time Skye went to the bathroom. For two nights Skye had woken with a dry bottom, earning great praise. If she did it three nights' running, Summer might get her a balloon, something to encourage the nocturnal dryness. Skye was nearly limp, worn from too many songs about rutabagas, and Summer wouldn't even have to read a story. She slipped the nightgown over Skye's body, then Summer picked her up, tucking her into the toddler bed Jody had bought last Christmas. Pink plastic surrounded a twin mattress, Erika sleeping on something similar until she asked for a proper bed frame, something a then six-year-old deemed necessary.

"Goodnight rutabaga girl," Summer whispered, then closed the door most of the way. Shouts had calmed, but before she would disturb her son, Summer returned to the living room. "She's out. Let's keep it that way."

"Yeah yeah," Forest sighed.

"Whatever Mom," Erika sighed with more emphasis.

" _Whatever Mom?_ " Summer said.

Erika's eyebrows shot up. "I mean _yeah Mom_."

"That's what I thought you meant."

Milt and Terry chuckled. Dan and Rafe said nothing.

Summer stepped down the hall, knocking on Nat's door. Not that he would make a peep, but it was an opening. "Nat?"

He cracked the door. "She asleep?"

Summer smiled. "Yeah. How's the book?"

"Fine. Is Dan still here?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, okay." Nat didn't roll his eyes or look embarrassed. He nodded, then closed his door, leaving a thin crack.

Summer walked to her room, gathering Skye's clothes; small underwear and socks, purple leggings, a blue long-sleeved shirt. Summer threw them in her laundry basket, then stared at the bedside table. If Dan stayed, she would let him take that side, condoms waiting in that drawer.

Someone was coming, but they stopped at the bathroom. She heard the lid go up, one of the guys. Then the lid went back down. It had to be Dan, as the rest never bothered to return the lid where it belonged. Even Nat knew better, but he lived in a house of females.

The bathroom door opened and Summer also heard the hesitation. Dan didn't return to the living room immediately. She restrained a giggle, looking to where those condoms sat, as if they were screaming as loud as Forest and Erika combined.

"Summer?"

"In here," she called.

She stood near the door, but he didn't close it. "She asleep?"

"Oh yeah. Just worn out." She turned to him. "How's the game?"

"Still two to one."

"I'm sure the Yankees'll win tonight. No way they're going to Philly down two games."

"Yeah, probably not."

"Nope."

She stared at his face, some stubble; he probably hadn't shaved that morning. He had a few crow's feet, working in the elements. He'd never married, had no children. He'd had her, twice. Did he want her a third time?

"Dan, thanks for coming. It was a nice..."

"Distraction?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Spring and John were gonna take tonight off."

"I'm making up numbers," but his voice wasn't cruel.

"Yeah, something like that. You working on Saturday?"

"Nope."

"Well, same time, same place for the start of the Phillies's home stand."

"I'd like that."

His voice turned softer, also how he took her hand. Very gently, as if her fingers were broken. But he knew the part of her in need of real healing.

"Dan, would you like to stay here, tonight?"

He nodded, but not as soon as she offered. At first he closed his eyes, a long blink. Then he gave his silent agreement. Then he spoke. "Yeah, I would."

He didn't release her fingers, didn't try to touch her in any other way. "Good. I'd like that too."

"Good. Yeah. But uh, I have to work in the morning. Need to be there a little after six."

"Okay." It would be just like Jody, another man leaving before the kids were awake, before the night truly turned to day.

"So maybe I'll get up at four, go home, get a shower. That okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine. Four's fine."

Then he kissed her on the cheek, but not quickly, setting his lips to her skin, resting for a few seconds before he moved away. Summer's reactions were her small gasp, her grip on his hand, then her breath released. Then they walked back to the living room, Summer leading the way.

The rest of the night was hushed in comparison, Forest wildly cheering as if mute, not partially paralyzed. He owned no feeling from his hips down from a level T-9 spinal cord injury, but his upper body cried for a Phillies' victory, a win that did not materialize that evening. Instead the Yankees scored once more, in the bottom of the seventh. After two innings by their closer Mariano Rivera, they took the second game three to one. Rivera threw thirty-nine pitches to earn six outs, marking his tenth save in World Series play.

Numbers filled Summer's head as she sat even closer to Dan. Six condoms waited in her room. Dan had to leave at four. The series was tied one all. The next three games would be staged in Philadelphia. At least five would be played. Autumn said one piece of chicken was left. Erika noted there were eight M&M's in the bowl. Terry said he had to deliver nine boxes of books to the high school and Rafe finally entered the conversation, that he was due at the garage in twelve hours, three broken transmissions waiting for morning.

The number Summer was most anticipating was two, when it was only two conscious people in her house. Erika didn't ask if Dan was staying, it never entered her mind. She said goodnight to everyone, kissing her aunt and uncle and their partners. Then she hopped down the hall and Summer never heard any more out of her.

Nat emerged as soon as he heard Erika in the bathroom. Everyone was leaving, but not quickly, although he just got to say goodbye to Rafe, who was the first to depart. Terry ruffled Nat's hair, remarking how long it was. Nat smiled, then looked to his shoes.

"He wants to grow it out," Summer said.

"Well, it's getting cold you know." Terry grinned. "Nat, don't let her tell you what to do. Fight the man, fight the..."

"Mom?" Summer asked.

"Sure, whatever. Okay, see you all on Saturday, same bat time, same bat channel."

"Like a baseball bat?" Nat asked.

"Like a Batman bat." Terry reached the door, then he turned, whispering something to Milt. Then Terry Quarters was gone.

Autumn and Milt were next, but she loitered long enough to see Nat to bed. Summer smiled, appreciating the small interference. Dan hadn't moved from his space on the sofa.

"Well, the Phils better play with more heart than they did tonight." Forest wheeled toward the door. "What time Saturday?"

"I don't know. What time does it start?"

"Earlier, I think," Dan said.

"I think you're right," Forest said. "I'll look it up and call you."

"So you bringing dinner on Saturday?" Summer smiled.

Forest laughed. "Yeah sure. Pizza okay?"

"Sounds fine to me. You wanna bake it here?"

"Yeah. We'll figure it out when I check the time."

Betsy stood behind Forest, then set her hands to the back of the chair. "Thanks for having us Summer."

"Any times Bets. Drive safe."

"Safer than what he'll take this chair at, I'll tell you."

"Get off me woman," Forest growled with a smile.

Summer giggled as he opened the door, then sped down the ramp as Betsy chided, closing the door behind her.

For a few seconds Summer forgot about Dan until he moved from the couch. The small noise reminded, also excited. "Seems like most had a good time."

"All but Rafe. Even Nat seemed okay."

"He's not been out here with you all?"

"Not since the playoffs began."

Dan sighed. "I'm sorry about that."

Summer looked back, toward the bedrooms. "Me too. But at least he's not setting things on fire." Just placing errant peanuts in specific locations. She had found one behind the kitchen faucet as she put cups in the dishwasher. That nut went into the garbage, but now that a half jar remained, who knew how many would appear?

"Listen, if it's gonna be a problem, I don't have to stay."

She had been thinking about her son, forgetting about Dan. His voice and words were reality, slicing her skin. "No, please. I don't want you to go."

She'd meant to say _leave_ , but _go_ slipped. It sounded desperate, maybe she was. Maybe she was scared to death, then she smiled. Scared to be alone, in her bed, where Jody might reattach like some flesh-eating monster. "Dan, if you want to, I mean..."

"I don't." Then he kissed her, not on the cheek, lasting longer than a few short seconds. Summer opened her lips, allowing him further. A test, she thought, to gauge how it might be.

As they stood there for several minutes, she decided it would be fine. Good. Very nice in fact, moving her body into his, finding he seemed to feel the same, or at least his groin agreed. Which he pressed into her, a non-verbal pact being sealed.

In case her children did wake, they didn't go right to her room. Dan checked his phone for messages, writing some texts. Summer sat at her computer, but didn't look at the wallpaper. Instead she noted Saturday's start, slated for the usual five o'clock. Then she stepped down the hall, her son's drones steady. Erika and Skye didn't snore, but Nat did, just like Jody, only that at ten, and a half, Nat's weren't the volume of his father; Jody's snores could raise the dead.

Nat's only set her mind at ease. She returned to where Dan sat on the sofa, but he had changed ends. Summer lay down next to him, placing her head in his lap. If she hadn't slept with him before, she wouldn't have been so forward. Or maybe if the circumstances had been less invasive. When Jody found them together, he'd ripped the sheet away, even though Dan's bare upper body wasn't concealed. Once Jody found both were naked, he had stumbled back in astonishment, unable to speak. Dan had placed the sheet over them again, something for which Summer would always be grateful.

He could have been an ass, leaving them revealed, leaving her exposed. Instead, as soon as Jody saw Dan's legs around hers, the cover was returned. No need to be exploitative about it.

"Summer, thanks. For having me here."

She giggled; would they do it on the sofa? "Uh sure. Thanks for uh, staying."

"My pleasure." Then he chuckled. "Shall we go to your room?"

She nuzzled into him, wanted to smell him. All she noted was fried chicken, pretzels, a beer. He'd had one beer, then drank water. As if he was hoping she would ask, but not counting on it.

If he'd been expecting it, he might have had another brew. The first one was enjoyed with dinner, early enough that he could drive home at the end of the game. Now it was nine o'clock, but Dan Bailey wasn't going any farther than Summer's bedroom.

"Dan, I just wanna tell you something."

"Yeah?"

"I uh, I wasn't expecting this, you know? I mean, when I saw you earlier. God, that seems like more than just what, after lunch?"

"Yeah, I mean..."

"Initially I asked you over here tonight as a friend. But," she laughed. "After work I stopped at Longs, CVS, whatever. I stopped there and bought..."

"Condoms."

She giggled. "Yeah. I'm not on anything and I didn't wanna have you come over, then not be prepared." She pressed her face into him. "I was hoping, okay? After you said yes, then okay. Then I was hoping."

His hands traced her neck, which made her shiver. "Thanks for being so proactive."

They both laughed, his voice somewhat serious, but his touch was more than deliberate. It caused her to put her arms around him, then her right hand went to his fly.

Dan helped her, easing his erection from his jeans. If any of her children happened to wake, finding their mother and Mr. Bailey in these positions would call for explanations. Nat knew the basics of sex, but none of the emotions, not why his mother might need a man with whom she had already been intimate, much less a man Nat's father detested. Erika wouldn't understand any of it, and Skye would only ask why mommy was crying.

Summer was crying, and all Dan did was hoist her to his chest. Then he kissed away her tears.

Then he carried her to bed, where he made love to her twice. Summer cried on and off as he reminded her why she had asked him to dinner, to watch the game at her house. Dan and Summer hadn't spent an overt amount of time as lovers, but enough had been accrued that preferred methods were employed, Dan quick to push her buttons, making Summer feel alive in ways she hadn't known for seven months. And a few more.

While Jody and Summer had shared about every possible position, Dan and Summer had been more conventional, the ways those men had gone about loving her also opposed. Jody had often been drunk, but when he wasn't, Summer had felt nearly possessed by him. With Dan, it was a different element, that of being caught during their first go-round, which after having occurred, didn't spoil the rest of that tenure. The second time, in 2007, she was the mother of three, Skye nearly a year old, Jody on tour and a bender. Summer hadn't missed him, but she had been thinking about Dan.

They had hooked up in a similar fashion, in that he showed up in her line at the store, and she invited him over for dinner and a baseball game, the all-star game. Her invite for game two of the current World Series had a precedent, no question in Dan's mind what Summer really needed.

He had slept with her all through July and most of August in 2007. When Jody returned, the outings waned, a few times in September, once in October. Then Dan and Summer were done. As if she was only his during the season of her name, by fall they were through. Yet, now it was fall; Summer had asked and Jody wasn't coming back. He wasn't on tour, he wasn't drunk. He was dead. Jody was dead and Summer was lonely.

She was lonely, hurting, but now she was also sated, exhausted. She was still pained, small slight twinges from her lower body. Was she still lonely? Setting her arm over Dan's warm frame, she decided no, not at that moment. Not that night, or not until Dan left at four a.m.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, oh yeah. You uh, you still know how."

"Like riding a bike. Summer, I uh..."

"You don't have to say anything."

So he didn't. Summer inhaled a room full of familiar scents; Dan Bailey, sex. Heated passion, which could be the same as sex, but also just the warmth another provided. It was nearly November, the nights growing cool. Summer would need her pink nightshirt, but only in case one of the girls interrupted.

If one of the girls came in, they would go to her side, closest to the door. Maybe Erika would note Mommy wasn't alone, but Skye would just get in bed and snuggle close. If she was a better mother, Summer would put on some underwear. But the bed was cozy, she wasn't going to fall off any hump. She was cocooned in her old groove, that of her body on the right side, and near a naked man.

A man she knew, cared about. Had slept with before and was reminded of why, the way he touched her all over, then added to her pleasure. They might not have been together all that long, but Dan Bailey did own a fondness for her. And Summer had to admit, she possessed a heart inclined to him.

Or at least a libido. She set her lower body against his, some small firmness remaining. "Dan, thanks. For this, for staying the night. Or staying till four."

"Summer, thank you."

Why did he need to thank her? Wasn't she the one taking more, using him? She didn't like that and closed her eyes. "Dan, I don't want you to think I just wanted someone, you know. I mean..."

What did she want? She wanted Jody gone from her body. Against Dan, Summer felt no notion of Jody Sims anywhere near her skin. Maybe once Dan was gone that familiar itch would return. Or maybe it wouldn't. Maybe this was all she needed, one night with a man comfortable, kind. Dan was kind, and hard.

Summer moved to her back, opening her legs, a simultaneous motion that only required Dan to retrieve one more rubber. One more for the night, then they could fall asleep. Then she would wake at four and see how she felt. Sore, she was guessing, but it wasn't her interior to concern. It was her outer layer, her skin to which she was most curious. If she woke and Jody was gone...

"Oh just a sec." As Dan rolled over, a rubber was retrieved. Summer considered rutabagas, ten please. All the vegetables of the song about the number ten, but she didn't need to be that worked over. Three condoms were just as adequate.

As he slid into her, she caught her breath. It felt different, not just as minutes before. It felt... Old, new, exploding, expanding, and she gripped him, unprepared for it. She'd expected some friction, but had he even put on the condom?

"Dan, oh god, are you wearing it?"

"Yeah. Does it hurt? You want me to pull out?"

"No. No, it's fine. Oh Dan, no, it's just fine." It was more than _fine_ , but she didn't have any idea how to tell him.

Instead she let her body attempt to describe, but still she felt it wasn't enough. As she came, she sensed he understood. He stopped moving as she shuddered, as if aware any continued motion would set her under. Summer tried to breathe, tried to stay quiet. If not for her three children, she would be screaming.

As he started again, it took all she owned not to make a peep. Perhaps he realized the same level of confusion and bliss, how she felt, unsure and undone. Dan's orgasm was silent, but carried an equal measure of ferocity. And Summer noted, as he pulled out but clutched at her, panting for air, just as unforeseen.

Chapter 7: Saturday Morning, October 31st, 2009

In the middle of a dream that was neither good nor bad, Summer woke to a snort, Dan also dreaming. His wasn't good and his sudden, jerking movements stirred her, but not him. Dan was pressed against her, he was hard. He was also one of the soundest sleepers Summer had ever known, and the audible snort only took him from fitful slumber into unconsciousness slightly less stressful. Summer didn't move, wondering what time it was.

But to see that, she would have to turn, and that was the last thing she wanted. All she wanted was to lie next to Dan, snorting or not, perhaps entice him to wake by some small, rhythmic movements. She tried that, but he began to snore.

Then she slipped from bed, eyeing her clock; 5.42. She had slept past five, and it wasn't even Sunday! Actually, she'd slept till nearly six, and if he hadn't snorted, she might still be snoozing. But she needed to pee, and there was the issue of her children. On Summer and Dan's second night together, they had decided to risk it, Summer aware of the usual Saturday routine. Only Skye would wake early, before seven. Nat and Erika were logs on weekends, even on Halloween, and she would rouse them herself. Saturday morning cartoons meant nothing to this generation, only blissful resting hours coveted by children who always woke early. Summer thought her two eldest were teenagers in practice when it came to sleeping late.

She peed a long time, it had been five hours, maybe six. They went to bed after ten, making love until at least midnight. Summer had let Dan fall asleep first; she wanted to go out to those small, safe noises; breaths, maybe snores, or just the presence, the awareness of another beside her, someone bigger than her three-year-old. Nat hadn't come to bed with Summer since he was Skye's age, Erika ceasing the practice more around the time she received her current bed. At six, she had decided the pink plastic frame was for babies, and apparently so was getting into bed with her mother.

Which had been fine, as by then, Dan had been back in the picture, both kids aware Mommy had a boyfriend. That neither Nat nor Erika had asked about Dan's presence this time only meant one thing. Jody remained on everyone's mind.

He was on Summer's and she slipped back into bed before he could attach beyond her brain. Sex with Dan had rid Summer of Jody's clutches, as long as Dan was close. If he was within the house, Summer felt normal, well, better than normal. She was on a cloud as the sex was out of this world. Even with condoms, both remarking in small, embarrassed voices that their previous encounters didn't hold a candle to what the last two nights had offered. One of the reasons Dan had stayed again, one of the reasons he was still in Summer's bed. The other was that she had pointedly asked him not to leave.

Not at four, not until he had to, which was before the eldest two rose. And after Dan said he would, then Summer told him why.

Nearing six o'clock, Summer began complicating Dan's restful state. She started by running fingernails along his slightly hairy chest, not anywhere near his nipples, but edging her way to those small circles. He was still hard, but she avoided that, too easy. Instead she aggravated his slumber by slight touches, just to the point where he began to wake. Then she would stop, give him a minute, maybe ninety seconds, to readjust. Then she began again. On the fourth attempt he moved into her.

Then he opened his eyes. "Oh god Summer," his words slurred but direct, as were his next motions, lying on top of her, nothing left to mistake. They kissed, morning breath not an issue. The issue was that he needed to get a condom.

But he didn't, and she was torn. She wasn't on any birth control, it was the middle of her cycle. She and Jody hadn't bothered in March; if she had gotten pregnant, they would have had another baby. For ten days after his death she waited for her period, half hoping not to get it, but when she did the mixture of relief and sorrow thrust her into another pit.

Did Dan want her to have his baby? "Dan," her voice leaving it open. Maybe if she became pregnant by another man, the Jody itch would have no room to stay.

"What?" Dan's tone weathered, aching.

"Are you gonna..."

"Oh god, yeah, sorry." His absence was brief and Summer's heart again split. As the package was ripped open, she felt gutted, reality again doing its precise and surgical job. Dan didn't waste any time; soon he was on her, but not pressing for more than to feel the length of her underneath him. Then he attacked her left breast, causing her to moan louder than she liked.

"You better just do it," her voice a half-laugh.

"Okay." And he did.

As he did, she closed her eyes, the room dark, but she didn't want to see him, or for Dan to see her. He was very attentive and she came in a muted, voracious fashion, causing him to climax right after her. Not even a quickie, she considered. More by osmosis.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to that fast."

"It's okay. Neither did I."

She hadn't, it just happened, and she breathed a small peace. This with Dan had just occurred like Jody's death. A part of her still believed he hadn't meant to kill himself, how could he? He knew she loved him, and what about the kids? When Summer thought about their children, the Jody-skin was thick, almost impenetrable. Almost; Dan Bailey seemed to know his way around it.

It might take him twenty minutes, or as he also showed, about thirty seconds. Maybe forty. Maybe a whole minute. Maybe, Summer finally smiled. Maybe.

Certainly not very long, and he pulled out, then removed the spent condom, hardly getting his money's worth. He'd brought a box of them yesterday, when he arrived for dinner. The children were surprised, but it was pleasant, no baseball to watch, only supper to eat, stories to read, some homework that Erika wanted to complete before the weekend actually started. At eight-thirty Skye went to bed. At nine Erika said goodnight. But Dan and Nat were playing chess, Dan taking over from where Jody had left off, teaching Nat the basics. Summer had no idea Dan played chess. He let Nat win once, then used smarter moves. Finally at ten, Summer said enough, and Nat mumbled that he hoped Dan would come tomorrow night, before the game.

Summer had watched them with half her visible attention, all her conscious efforts to hear how Nat sounded, not like a delinquent-in-training. She did dishes, finding a peanut in the cupboard, on the stack of plates. If he did that again, she would say something, not wanting vermin tempted.

Perhaps she needed to nip in the bud the whole peanut issue, but she wanted to let him break it off, perhaps it was just a baseball thing. It had started right after the season ended, as the playoffs began. Instead she threw it away, waiting for ten. Even on weekends, Nat's bedtime was ten o'clock.

That Dan had found a way to pique Nat's attention was a reason Summer was inclined to him. Also that he was willing to take some of the responsibility for his own presence. Dan seemed eager to stay and after Nat's drones were detected, at ten twenty-five, the couple was in bed, naked, making love. Summer wouldn't try to say it was only sex. What she and Dan shared reached beyond hot passion.

He made love to her and she to him, and then they did it again. Then they fell asleep, maybe after one. Maybe later than midnight, or maybe time didn't matter. Whether it was a three-hour marathon or a twelve-second quickie, Summer was being loved, and nearly without any way to prevent a pregnancy.

"Summer, listen, I should probably..."

"Yeah, I know." Her voice was kind. He had to leave, not for work, just to avoid an awkward situation. Which might not only mean facing her children. He had felt so good against her skin without the rubber. It would have been so easy for him to just slip inside, nothing between them, but then maybe she would have raised holy hell, waking the kids. All three at once would have been just a little too much for Summer, even with seven months gone past.

Seven months ago she had been devastated, then clinging to a thin ray of hope Jody hadn't left her completely. Maybe, she had told her sisters, maybe she was pregnant. Maybe he had left a piece of himself behind.

But no. She was only late, and what did she expect? At thirty-nine, she wasn't a young thing anymore. Skye had appeared after a short bout of screwing around with Jody, but Summer had been in her mid-thirties then, not pushing forty. She would be forty in January, time really no longer on her side.

But it would be her luck that if Dan went without protection, she probably would get lucky, and then what? Have another illegitimate kid, be tied to a man that while very nice outside of bed and tremendous within her sheets might not appreciate going from Dan to Dad. Better to use the condoms, even if it meant Jody still bruised her skin.

"Summer, I'm sorry."

"No, I mean," and she giggled. "Better for the kids to see you later today than first thing this morning."

"No Summer. Not for that."

She stared at him. He hadn't wanted to use the condom! He wouldn't look her in the eye; if it was just facing the kids, he wouldn't be so furtive. "It's okay. Jody and I weren't using any those last three weeks either. I could be seven months pregnant right now."

He chuckled. "If you were, I'd probably not be here."

"Yeah maybe not. But maybe. Who knows? Who knows why anything happens?"

He didn't answer her, nor did he move away. She was dying to know the time, but didn't want to force him to leave. If Skye came in at that moment, she'd say good morning to Dan, then get in bed next to her mother. The only thing Skye might ask was where was Mommy's nightshirt?

"Dan, I almost didn't make an issue of it." She almost let him leave her with his issue, and she wanted to see his eyes, let him see hers, that she wasn't offended, not in the least.

He still wouldn't look at her. "Summer, I just..." He sighed, then turned her way. "I just wanted to know. It's been so good, really good. I just wanted to know if they made any difference."

He didn't wish to knock her up, only test a theory. Ascertain if the last two nights were some odd aberration, or was fucking around during baseball season with a woman still grieving over the suicide of her ex, but still pretty attached husband, an especially big turn-on? That was a lot of words, and Summer wasn't sure how to boil it down, extract the essence. The essence was this; was the sex fantastic because Jody was dead, or due to something else?

In that moment, Summer could think those words, Jody was dead, and nothing hurt, nothing grated, nothing felt odd or miserable or tacky to her body. Nothing was tacky because she and Dan were responsible adults, condoms used every time. "Dan, I'd like to know too." She would. She would love to know why this time fucking him was so incredible. They could call it any variety of terms, but really, the sensations and perceptions were noted by both, no question. He was screwing her brains right to the wall, she was giving as good as she got. That the children hadn't been stirred was some odd blessing. Maybe that's what the condoms were for.

"Maybe if we didn't use the rubbers, we'd wake my kids," she said, then smiled. She hoped he could hear her grin, feel it in the still dark of the room.

"Maybe," he chuckled, and she moved his way, laying her head on his belly. He smelled so good, ripe, tempting. Then she moved her head toward his groin, felt he'd gotten hard. All their talk, and maybe age didn't matter. Maybe that was a fallacy. They were having lots of sex; he wasn't having any trouble getting it up. She slipped her mouth around him, causing a moan, but her door was closed and the kids were sleeping. For another ten minutes, or however long it took, Summer hoped her offspring would remain unconscious.

Dan left at seven, a slow shuffle to his steps. They hadn't discussed condoms or the lack of them any further, but he had again made the point that what they were achieving was the best it had ever been. The way he said it, Summer had to wonder if he meant between only them, or really the best he'd ever known.

She hadn't considered it further, wasn't going to set any barriers that may not be reached later. Instead she started coffee, still tasting him in her month. He even tasted better, how was that possible?

Waiting for the coffee to brew, she wrote a small list, a few groceries that Forest and Betsy could pick up. Summer never went to the store on the weekends unless it was an emergency and they could use some more milk, especially if Dan stayed all night again. If he was willing, she would tell the kids Mr. Bailey was her guest for the evening.

Only Nat would get it, Erika not fully aware of sex other that it was something mommies and daddies did to make babies. Which was how Summer and Jody had explained Skye's arrival, that even divorced mommies and daddies could still find a way to conceive a child.

But Summer wasn't married to Dan, not divorced from him. He had been her boyfriend, maybe that was enough. Summer wasn't a nun, not that her kids would understand that either. She was a human being, a woman with physical requirements like everyone else, and Nat knew about some of those now. If he was embarrassed, too bad.

If Erika questioned her mother, Summer would tell her she liked Dan, wanted to have a big family breakfast on Sunday morning. Jody used to stay over for that very same reason, nothing new. Another precedent set, and Jody had slept in the same place Dan would, Summer's bed. Men slept in Summer's bed, then stayed for Sunday breakfast, just one of those things.

Skye wouldn't care, wouldn't bat an eye. She might tell everyone that evening that Mr. Bailey was going to eat breakfast with them, but those who heard her would understand. Even Rafe, even Rafe would realize what Summer needed. A break, a respite, some good sex. She just wouldn't tell them how great it really was.

She wouldn't tell the men. She might tell her sisters, if they asked. If they happened to come early enough, before Summer had a shower and got her act together, they would probably see it for themselves.

"Mommy, what are we doing today before trick or treating?"

"Well, I'm doing laundry. What do you wanna do Skye?"

"Well, I'd like to find some rutabagas."

"Where?"

"At the store Mommy!"

"You know I don't go to the store on weekends Skye."

"Not the grocery store Mommy! The rutabaga store!"

"Who told you there was a rutabaga store?"

"No one. Where're you supposed to get them?"

Summer's morning was a litany of Halloween, rutabagas, and other innocuous conversations that a three-year-old and her patient mother could speak in hushed tones. Or Summer's was hushed, reminding Skye not to sing, not to shout, but Skye was in a mood, and even after Summer threatened her with no Halloween, Erika and Nat were roused before eight-thirty.

They stirred to "Rutabaga Queen" and a medley of Skye's other hits, snippets of songs and sayings that she put to whatever tune she concocted. As Summer began the first of many loads of laundry, Skye skipped around the house, watching for hummingbirds, asking when Mr. Bailey was coming back.

"Is he coming tonight, before we go trick or treating?" Nat asked.

"He is. In fact, I think we'll have breakfast with him in the morning." Summer had just set the dryer for another ten minutes, and she stared at Nat's face, then poured more coffee.

"Breakfast?" Erika squealed, forgetting all about that night's festivities. "What'll we have?"

Summer looked in the fridge. Half a dozen eggs, but not much else that could be considered morning fodder. A box of Bisquick waited in the cupboard, but they would need bacon, maybe extra cheese for omelets. If Dan had any other preferences, he could supply those himself.

"Is he gonna come over in the morning?" Nat asked.

Summer stared in the fridge. "No. He can sleep here if he likes."

Erika continued her pleased shrieks, listing all her favorites; waffles and pancakes and biscuits with jam, more food than a horde could consume. Summer stood, noting ignorant bliss on her daughter, curious ponderings on her son.

"Is this like when he was here before?" Nat asked.

"When Dan was my boyfriend?" Summer said, her face solemn.

Nat nodded.

Erika seemed to have forgotten that part of her mother's history, but Nat held it, along with who knew what. Summer wouldn't pick at his brain, but she did sit down in front of them. She had a chair, they had the bench, and Skye wandered in, Summer taking her to her lap.

All three kids, all in one space. Seven years separated Nat from his youngest sister, and Summer kissed Skye's head. "Dan and I are sort of friends again, like boyfriend and girlfriend maybe. I'm not sure exactly, but he is going to probably spend the night here tonight and we'll all have breakfast together in the morning."

"Where will he sleep?" Skye asked.

"With me," Summer said.

Nat looked at his breakfast, but Erika faced her mother. "Like how Daddy slept here sometimes?"

Summer nodded, stroking Skye's head. "Yup."

"Are you and Dan getting married?" Skye asked.

"No," Summer laughed. "How do you know about that?"

"The rutabaga queen was supposed to marry her boyfriend, but he ran off with the marshmallow princess."

Nat's small giggle couldn't be stifled.

"Did Uncle Forest tell you that?"

Skye nodded. "Yeah and that the rutabaga queen said that was why no more marshmallows could be eaten in her kingdom. Now you can only eat an apple, or a mango. And no Halloween candy either." Then Skye began trilling the song from Sesame Street, chanting verses out of order, wiggling from her mother's grasp.

Erika laughed without reservation. "Uncle Forest is so funny."

"Yeah, isn't he?" Summer smiled. She looked at Nat, who wanted to laugh. He'd love to be small again, as if his youth ended seven months ago. Now he was a teen, or some adult midget. Summer listened to Erika's quiet giggles as Skye continued singing, but Nat said nothing.

In the middle of the morning, Skye was stilled by the sheer ecstasy of being invited to play with Erika and her best friend Abby. Summer hadn't even needed to ask, perhaps Skye had endeared herself to Erika with the marshmallow princess anecdote, or just the permeating thrill of that evening's escapades. Summer could hear them in the front yard, three girls playing quietly. Only Nat's presence in the house was noted.

He was drumming, or what he said to his mother, rhythmic taps he made with drumsticks Jody had put into Nat's stocking last Christmas. Last Christmas would be in Summer's head for years, a delineation symbolized by Skye's pink plastic bed, Erika's paperback _Little House On the Prairie_ books, and those sticks. Forever Summer would remember three gifts, as if from the Magi, the last treasures her children received from their dad.

Forever shorted, Skye's wouldn't last the ages. She wouldn't remember Jody, and eventually she would outgrow the pink bed frame. One day Erika wouldn't read Laura Ingalls Wilder's books, but she could pass them down to her children, along with the memory of when they fell into her life, and why they were so important. For the first two months after Jody died, Erika clung to one of those books as she fell asleep, some piece of her dad no one could remove.

As for the sticks, they might last that long, even in pieces, but they'd be lost, Summer assumed, for Nat wasn't careful with his possessions, not even the Harry Potter books. He had loaned them to friends and Summer thought he had four in his room. Maybe a fourth was hiding under the bed. But not all seven. Maybe he was reading the second to last one only because it was the easiest to find.

Yet that morning the _tap tap tap_ of drumsticks was evident, not against the practice pad that Jody hadn't been able to slip into the stocking. It had been wrapped, under the tree, and a quick explanation was fabricated for the girls, both of whom still believe in Santa Claus. Stockings and Santa presents were opened first; when Nat revealed the accompanying piece to his very small drum kit, Jody had announced that Santa had told him to get that. Skye took it as gospel. Erika had been more discerning, but not enough to accuse her father of a falsehood. Now Erika would never accuse Jody of more than breaking her heart. Or Summer would do it, if Erika couldn't.

"Nat, you got any more dirty clothes?"

Summer stood outside his door, which opened, the sticks in his hand. "No. Wait." He disappeared, then returned with an armful, in what seemed to be a matter of seconds. Summer didn't question; certain things could happen in the shortest time space, and she fought a giggle, then pressed her feet into the floor.

"Mom, are you and Dan..."

Sleeping together? Summer allowed, but Nat only cleared his throat, unable or unwilling to ask in that manner.

But that was what he was asking and Summer wouldn't lie. She had told her two eldest the truth about Jody, not just his death and the exact manner it had been achieved, but about his drinking, why they were divorced, why after they were divorced Skye had arrived. That he loved them, that she didn't understand why he was gone, so many things Summer had said that were the truth, even if they were also confusing as hell not only to her kids, but still to herself. Jody had crawled right back where he'd been since the end of March, even if Summer had been worked over to the nth degree.

"Nat, Dan and I are..." Did she want to say _sleeping together_? Now that mystery wasn't shrouded for her ten, and a half, year-old son. "Dan and I are..."

"What?" Nat asked, nearly afraid for her answer.

"We're friends. Maybe boyfriend and girlfriend." The same line as at breakfast was all Summer could say.

"Oh. Okay." Then he smiled as if he'd asked what time they were going trick or treating. Then he closed the door. Summer stood for a moment, taking a breath. The scent of boy hit her noise and she left the hallway, walking to the garage, setting her son's clothes and inquisitive mind atop an already heaving basket.

Right before lunch, Nat poked his head out, Summer in her room folding clothes. If she had no plans for that evening, she would have done it in the living room, but she could see the girls from her bedroom window. Erika and Abby seemed to have accepted Skye as an honorary, if not temporary, member of their crew.

Their small chatter slipped through Summer's window for more than her to eavesdrop. The scent of last night and that morning was thick. While her children hadn't noticed, she didn't want to leak that on their clean clothes. As if she was a smoker, Summer was sure sex could be as lurking and invasive as tobacco, or at least the aroma of it. Then she heard Nat's door close, the resumption of drumming, the quiet, soft calling of a peanut. Or maybe she was just losing her mind.

She didn't move immediately, didn't want him to think she was ready to pounce. Instead she finished folding that load, then knocked on his door. She handed him a stack, then returned to her room with the girls' apparel, putting it all away. Usually she would leave Erika her part of that task, but Summer wanted time to let that peanut stew, let Nat think she wasn't on to him, let his recovery unwind as needed. The last thing she wanted was to compromise that process. If it was only peanuts, she wouldn't argue.

Summer didn't find that morning's parcel until they were eating lunch. She had retrieved a different coffee cup, a small bug floating in her previous mug. As she took one last sip, something passed down her throat. She swallowed, then stared at her son.

Nat's eyes bugged as Summer couldn't quell the cough that followed.

"Mom, are you okay?" Erika asked.

"Mommy?" Skye's voice wasn't as alarmed as her sister.

"Yeah, just..."

Nat stood, his body shaking. "I, I..."

"It's okay Nat. Something just went down the wrong way."

That something was a peanut, the one he had set into a mug that his mother had chosen. One in front, one that anyone else might have used, but not understood. One that Summer didn't consider was anymore to Nat than just another place to unload a part of his heart, but as a ten-year-old, he hadn't stopped to consider the consequences of someone unaware of his... not even trickery. What was this habit of Nat's, Summer wondered, as he plopped into her lap, sobs falling upon her jeans, but no words. He couldn't say he was sorry, because that would be admitting what he had done. Not tried to kill her, or anyone else. Death was the reason for the peanuts in the first place.

Only to set out notice of his pain, which was now coupled by the overriding fear that he could lose another parent, and this time, it would be his fault. "It's okay Nat, I just didn't know. I didn't know honey. I wasn't looking."

She had been searching while making the kids peanut butter and jelly, maybe he had thought she'd found it. But she hadn't, until she nearly choked on it.

"What's wrong?" Skye kept asking, but Erika didn't say a word.

"Nat's just sad," Summer whispered.

"About the marshmallow princess?"

"No Skye, just that sometimes we all get sad," Summer said, stroking Nat's tangled mop.

Chapter 8: Saturday Afternoon, October 31st, 2009

"Okay, well, good. That's good." Summer couldn't help her giggle. "All right well, what do _you_ wanna eat for breakfast?"

Her list from that morning was pared to the basics; bacon and eggs, pancakes and if she felt indulgent, French toast. Summer hoped Dan was writing these things down, but from the unmistakable giddiness in his voice, she would hope for the best. "Oh and some juice, orange or cranberry, whatever you want."

She hadn't sounded so chipper when he called, still reconciling the peanut incident, in the middle of telling her sister Spring about it. Spring didn't seem bothered by the length of this interruption, but Summer wanted Dan off the phone. The quicker the call ended meant the faster he would reach the store, the sooner he would arrive. She wanted his presence, but not for herself. Nat needed his chess buddy.

Dan wasn't aware of that detail and Summer added a few _yeah's_ , then one more item, something they would need, something she hoped he'd be willing to collect. But she was not going to say _condoms_ in front of her youngest sibling because if she did, Spring wouldn't stop laughing. Or teasing. But Dan seemed thick on that subject. If he forgot, Summer would send him out after a few rounds of chess.

"Okay, yeah. Okay. See you soon. Bye." The cell sat in her hand, his voice still in her head. He'd nearly said _I love you_ , but caught himself. She had heard that from him before, inadvertent and then hastily disarmed by other phrases. If he slipped again, right now Summer would take it.

"So, breakfast. Dan's coming for breakfast or staying for breakfast?" Spring's tone was like her name, bouncy and energetic, hinting of life to come.

"Staying." Summer sat back down, across from Spring. Over eleven years separated them, but Summer felt able to say more to Spring than Autumn, as if somehow Spring really did come first. "He didn't leave this morning until nearly seven."

She could speak her mind as Skye was napping, Nat huddled in his room. Erika was at Abby's, the daughter of Summer's nearest neighbor, the Stanton's house further down this quiet road off the highway. It took the girls a few minutes to walk between the homes, but they used the orchards as cover, a well-beaten path established over the years. It kept them from the road where cars went too fast and protected them from possible predators. It was a small town, but Summer wasn't a fool.

Or was she? If Dan didn't buy any condoms, would she make him leave for some? She heard Spring's voice, something about good thing the kids were asleep, that Skye was clueless, that Summer was... What was Summer? Happy, sated, enthralled, nearly dead. She had come close, choking on that peanut.

"Summer?"

"What?"

Spring laughed. "Where are you?"

Going down on Dan. "Thinking about the differences between..." Now Summer laughed.

"Between what?" Spring's voice teasing.

It felt good to smile, to think about a man alive, not deceased. "Spring, we nearly didn't use a condom this morning."

That caused Spring to choke on her coffee and Summer giggled. "Well, you asked."

"Not about that!"

"He knows about me and Jody, about what happened in March." All about March, all there was to say. "Honey, it's good, really good." Too good, but really, how much better could it be?

"Are you serious?"

Summer knew she meant the condoms, not the quality. "He wanted to know if it would feel any better. I can't imagine how it could, except that technically it should." Theoretically, and how better to test a theory than to just do it? "But I'll tell you..."

"Oh god don't!"

Summer grinned. "No, just that if we did, we'd wake the kids. That'll probably be why we will."

"Will what?"

"Will keep using them."

"Good. The last thing you need right now is another kid."

Spring's voice wasn't condescending, only truthful. Sometimes it bordered on patronizing. Summer smiled. "Are you and John using condoms?"

A quiet snicker rose from Summer's sister, then she dipped the end of her pinky into her coffee. "Maybe."

"Uh-huh. Well, I'll be good if you are."

"I'm married Summer. You're not."

Then Spring reached across the table, grasping Summer's hands. "Oh god, that was awful. I'm sorry, really!"

Summer closed her eyes. "No, we're not married. Didn't make any difference with Skye."

If Summer opened her eyes, might Jody be standing there? She felt him all over, some itchy, vicious rash that had descended like a clap. Not _the clap_ , but close. Summer imagined that was how it felt, but she had never suffered a sexually transmitted disease. Jody lingering was bad enough.

"Honey, I am so sorry! Please Summer, please look at me?"

"He's not there, is he?"

"Who? Oh no, come on, please!"

Summer set her head on the table, wishing for a warm, soft lap like what she had offered to Nat. "I feel him, all over. Like some allergy, but he's gone when Dan's here."

"Summer, I love you. Oh honey, I love you!"

Then Spring was around her sister, an embrace like a defense, but Jody didn't budge, tightening his grip. Seeping under Summer's skin, poison ivy and eczema and psoriasis and whatever else, making her only want that outer layer peeled away. Even that wouldn't be as painful as the atrocity Jody had committed.

They sat in the loveseat, Skye between them. Summer's tears had stirred her daughter, Nat too. Nat kissed his mother, then ran outside. But not far; Summer could hear him scuffing his feet along the side of Forest's ramp, as if waiting. For who, Summer wasn't sure.

Maybe his dad, but probably not. Not Forest either, even if Nat repeatedly knocked his feet against the wooden slats. Maybe Nat was waiting for Dan, his chess-mate, and they could check-mate each other all afternoon. Then Dan could set Summer wherever he liked in the evening. After trick or treating. Once everyone was gone. And the kids were all asleep.

"Mommy, why does it hurt so bad?"

"I don't know Skye. Can you feel it?"

Skye reached for her mother's head. "No. Is it still there?"

"Yeah. I think I need more Tylenol."

"I'll get it." Spring stood, walking to the kitchen. Summer had cried so hard she owned a headache, what she had told Skye when the girl toddled from her room, wondering why Mommy was so sad.

Skye nestled into Summer's middle as if she had never left. It had been an easy pregnancy, Skye conceived with effortless notions as if all Jody had to do was hold Summer's hand. He'd done more, but it seemed that graceful. They had fallen back into each other, ran out of rubbers. Taking a chance, they had risked it, aware if worse came to worse, it really wouldn't be so bad at all.

And Skye wasn't troubling, wasn't anything but an enormous ball of fun, a little ball of Skye. Healthy and lighthearted, if not somewhat loud, occasionally obnoxious, but Summer thought she would grow out of it. Erika had been like Skye, free-spirited and jovial, but now she was more serious, not as cautious as Nat, but soon. It would only take time.

Time, what time was it? How long did it take Dan to buy a few groceries, get his ass over here? Summer needed him, but more, Nat needed him! "What time is it Spring?"

"Two-thirty."

"What time did he call?"

"One, I think."

"Who Mommy?"

"Dan. He wanted to know what we ate for breakfast."

"Is he staying with us, sleeping with you?"

Summer heard her sister's giggle. "Yup. As soon as he gets here."

"I like Dan. He's nice."

"Yes he is."

"I like rutabagas."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They're nice too."

Another giggle from the kitchen, which traveled with Spring as she set two white tablets into Summer's open hand. They went into Summer's mouth, followed by a drink of water. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Skye, you go pee yet?"

"Oh yeah!" Skye jumped from the sofa, running toward the bathroom.

"God, I'm glad you remembered. Shit. I just can't think anymore!"

A warm, comforting arm draped across Summer's shoulders, and she leaned into her sister. Then a truck pulled up and Nat was off his chair, running to the gate. He returned to the house with two grocery bags, looking glad to be of help. Dan followed with two more, flowers sticking out the top of both.

"Oh god." Summer felt weepy again. "Are those for..."

"Well, they're not for Joe Girardi." Dan leaded down, kissing the top of her head. Then he looked at her.

His face seemed a mirror, for Dan's eyes clouded, his mouth agape. "I'm okay," Summer whispered. "Nat needs you."

Dan nodded, still pained, Nat running back outside.

"How much did you buy?" Summer asked, trying to clear her throat.

"MOMMY!" Skye called from the hall.

"I'm coming instead," Spring shouted as she stood from the loveseat. She patted her sister's shoulder. "You stay here," she said quietly.

Dan set the groceries on the floor and Summer could see roses, red, yellow and white, probably a dozen of each. "Oh shit, what'd you do?"

"What did he do?"

"Nat or Jody?"

"Nat. Are you okay?"

She shook her head. "Got a bad headache. I nearly choked on a peanut."

"Oh Christ."

"Yeah. He spent all afternoon until about ten minutes ago in his room. It was an accident, I just didn't see it. Play some chess with him, he's been waiting for you." She stared at the flowers. "Dan, you didn't have to..."

"This is the last of it," Nat's voice not that of a ten-year-old. More like pushing fourteen, wishing to be twenty.

"Thanks Nat. That's great. Listen, you got that chess board handy?"

"Yeah, oh yeah!"

Summer nodded, the uplift of her son's tone easing her headache. The roses had gone to her heart. Then Dan whispered, "It took me so long because I talked to Forest. I picked up the stuff they were gonna bring, all but the pizzas. And I got more condoms."

"Yeah?" Summer's tone shaky and grateful.

"Yeah." Dan stroked her face. "Don't worry about a thing."

Spring unloaded the groceries, then crammed the flowers into the few vases Summer owned. The roses carried no scent, but the colors were striking, and Spring mixed them equally in the two vases, then added the extras to the flowers from Thursday. Summer lay on her bed, having moved clean laundry to the side. She listened to Skye and Spring, then to Nat and Dan. When she heard Erika's teary voice, she got up.

"What?" Summer met her daughter in the front of the hall. "What happened?"

"I hate Abby! I'm never gonna play with her again!"

"Oh honey, what now?"

The girls were close, but the rare small tiff separated them for maybe a day, perhaps two at most. Over a weekend was easier, but if it was during the week, Erika would sulk, too many hours spent at school not allowing for the healing process. Maybe this with Jody would never end, or maybe life was always in need of mending.

Erika didn't know about her mother's outburst, but sitting on the loveseat, she cried equitable tears, not all over Abby's miscue. Erika didn't elaborate, but it could have been anything, and Summer held her, letting the peanuts fall where they may.

"Listen, why don't you call Uncle Forest, ask him what sort of pizza he's bringing. Dan's here; he got some fancy pancake syrup, apricot I think."

"Really? He's really staying for breakfast?"

The small relief hit Summer like a brick, so little necessary to ease Erika's mangled heart. "Yeah. Spring put away the groceries, seemed impressed by that syrup."

Erika nodded, wiping her eyes. "Where is he, Dan I mean."

"In Nat's room, playing chess."

Unlike Skye, Erika didn't leap from the loveseat. She snuggled against her mother, offering the proper goodbye. The allowed departure time, what an eight-year-old had learned, better than to just abandon someone. Summer wondered what else Jody's death had taught their daughter.

It was a mother to relinquish, giving Erika that desired but not demanded freedom. Summer received one more kiss, then Erika took hesitant steps, looking around the corner one last time. Then she sped down the hall as if Summer would never hear her.

What Summer also noted, beside those steps, was Erika's voice, not as broken, asking if she could watch. Not play, just observe. Nat and Erika were mindful, had been before, now it was less of a game, more of necessity. Did they wonder if they could have saved their father, that if they had paid more attention, they would have seen Jody's actions on the horizon, could have done something, any tiny thing to change... Change it, stop it, halt, delay... Delay. Summer had never considered that word in conjunction with Jody's death.

She had wished to change it, stop it, halt, but delay... If she could, she would have, even with Dan's presence. Dan eased Summer's heart, might remove a moment of grief from her kids. But Jody was forever their dad. And forever he would be dead.

"So, how's it going?' she asked, poking her nose into Nat's room.

Her son didn't look at her. "Dan's a good teacher."

That meant Dan hadn't let Nat win. "Well, that's great. Erika, what do you think?"

"What? Oh yeah. Looks fun." But she wasn't watching them, instead reading her book. Not Harry Potter, but _On the Banks Of Plum Creek_ , from her Christmas gift of last year.

"Well good. I just got a text from Forest. They'll be here in about twenty minutes. Anyone hungry for pizza now?" He had asked if they should feed the kids early, what with Halloween and Nat's anti-baseball mood. Summer had been pleased for both of his insights, but she wasn't at all interested in eating. Yet it was four, the game starting in an hour, the kids trekking in town at six. "So?"

"I'm hungry," Nat's voice preoccupied.

"Okay. Anyone else?"

Spring and Skye stepped from Summer's room. They'd been lying on the big bed, talking of rutabagas and other vegetables. "I'm hungry. John gets off work at six, but yeah, let's have some grub now."

Nat looked up, first to his aunt, then to his mother. "Yeah, that'd be good."

Summer gave a smile, received one. Who knew if the peanut assault would continue, but at least her son knew all was forgiven.

"Okay. I'll preheat the oven."

"Okay," Nat said, returning to the board.

"Okay," Dan said, catching Summer's eyes as she left the doorway.

Pepperoni went in first, the Hawaiian would be next. Forest had been ready to eat, four large cellophane-wrapped pizzas on his lap. Betsy had pushed him up the ramp, demanding his hands on the food. He had grumbled, but only for effect, Erika getting a kiss from him as soon as his delivery was made.

In the kitchen, Summer set out snacks, poured soda, got Forest a beer. Having driven, he would only have the one brew, and Betsy sipped her own, poured into a glass. Forest had maneuvered himself into the edge of the bench seat, his chair folded against the wall around the corner of the kitchen.

Sometimes he sat that way, always at Thanksgiving, wishing to make as much room as possible. He drank his beer, eating a few pretzels, carrot sticks and cucumber slices. "When's Autumn and Milt showing up?"

"Closer to five." Summer took the chair across from Betsy. "Terry called, he's coming."

"And Rafe?"

Summer shook her head. "His loss."

"Your gain," Betsy smiled.

Summer grinned too, setting her can of soda near Betsy's glass.

"You okay?" Forest asked, taking another carrot stick.

She nodded, unsure if he could tell it was a lie.

"You look like shit."

"Thanks Forest. You don't."

"I never do. Gotta thank Bets for that." He kissed her cheek. "So, breakfast tomorrow morning?"

Summer heard all her children in Nat's bedroom, Spring and Dan as well, talking about costumes. "Yeah. You're invited."

Forest laughed. "I hear Dan's invited for more than breakfast."

"Forest," Betsy chided.

"No, that's okay. Yeah, Dan's sleeping here tonight. You want a blow by blow in the morning?"

Forest laughed. "Only if it's all about blows."

"It won't be, I assure you."

"God you two." Betsy stood. "I'm gonna go play dress-up."

"You already know how," Summer teased. Then she stared at Forest, who had watched his girlfriend step away. "What's up?"

"He's good for you."

Summer knew what he would have said, if Jody wasn't dead. That Jody wasn't that good for Summer. "He's good, yes he is."

Forest looked around the kitchen. "More flowers I see."

"Yup."

"Summer, be happy okay?"

"Sure thing. Taking my happy pills every morning."

He leaned back, then used his left hand to steady himself. "I can't tell you to just get over him. But..."

She had watched her brother since Betsy moved away, Forest occasionally balancing himself either with the side of the wall or his left hand. His lower limbs provided a solid seat, but sometimes, as if feeling off kilter, Forest would use some prop or one of his arms to confirm that equilibrium. "Forest, how long did it take you to get used to your chair?"

"Maybe, oh... Hey, that's not the same."

"Why not?"

He didn't have an immediate answer. "Summer..."

"Jody was like my legs, okay? I needed him, especially after we had the kids, actually, before the kids I needed him one way, then after we had the kids it changed, but I still needed him. Dan's a different set of legs, but I can't just forget what the first ones were like."

"That's not fair."

"Why not? It's the same thing. I'd had him since I was sixteen, knew him since I was fourteen. Started having sex with him when I was..."

Her voice had lowered, but Forest waved her off. "Don't."

"No, you stop. You stop and think for a minute what I really lost. Not just the love of my life, but the first lover I ever had." Summer now whispered her words. "The first and maybe not the best, but damnit Forest, he meant something, he mattered. And not just to me, to them." She pointed toward the hall. "They're a part of me just like my legs. And he gutted them, which guts me. And I have no fucking idea how long we're all gonna feel so damned useless, maybe you can tell me Forest. You tell me how long you felt like nothing mattered?"

He stared at her.

From the hallway, Skye's chirp intruded. "Rutabaga queen!"

Forest didn't break his stare with Summer until Skye jumped on the bench, bumping his hand. His concentration and balance disturbed, Forest looked at the little girl still chanting the phrase he had taught her.

"See, you just never know when something's gonna come and knock you down Forest. You just never know." Summer stood, noting her legs under her. Then she turned to the oven, checking the pizza.

Ten minutes later the table was full, Autumn and Milt, Terry too. Betsy sat beside Forest, who remained subdued, with Skye between them, Nat on the end in an extra chair from the garage. It was five o'clock, but rain was falling in Philadelphia, a delay with no end in sight.

Summer stood, watching them, also listening to Erika and Dan in Nat's room. Erika recounted the disagreement and Dan offered small advice, little expertise with the feuds of young girls. Forest had shot Summer nasty glances all during dinner and she wondered if any of them discerned that he was stuck at the table until Skye and Betsy were done, someone to retrieve his chair. He wouldn't get down on his hands and belly. Forest had some pride and that pride continued to glare at Summer until she walked away.

The TV showed a rainy stadium, but the sound was muted, as no one wished to hear the endless prattle of announcers trying to maintain an audience. Summer went to the garage, checking the last load of laundry, then found Dan and Erika sitting on Erika's bed. She was showing him the _Little House_ books, telling what each was about.

Summer stood at the edge of the doorway, observing her daughter's careful handling of books already weathered. All those nights of sleeping with them, but she had read each one, with some assistance, and was already talking of the day when she would track down all the Harry Potter books. Dan looked up a few times, no smile, only small resignation. Snack foods and chess lessons, flowers and condoms were nice, but nothing at all on the scale this family needed.

Maybe it was too much for him, maybe he would bolt. Maybe he would change his mind, not spend the night, but Summer shook those worries from her head. They were anxieties, not just thoughts, and she stepped away as Erika said she was ready for dinner.

In her own room, Summer folded a few more items, then stared at the pile waiting. Mostly the kids' clothes, which was cumbersome, small pieces, more to sort. She took a pair of Nat's jeans and shook them. In doing so, she missed the footsteps until it was only her name, spoken in a soft voice.

"Yeah?" But she didn't turn around.

"You hungry?" Dan came her way, setting his hands on her shoulders.

"No, funny, not since lunch. Other than water, I can't imagine putting anything down my throat. That little peanut's holding."

"He's so sorry. He told me, told me what happened."

"Really?" That alone made her stomach growl. "Oh god, did he really?"

She faced him and tried not to cry. He wiped the few tears to escape. "Yeah, just said he'd put something in the wrong place. I said that maybe he could just hug you next time."

"Oh Jesus, what'd he say?"

Dan chuckled. "He smiled, said that would probably be better. Then he checkmated me, little twerp."

"You know, for a guy with no kids, you seem pretty..." She had to be careful, _amenable_ or _proficient_ or _handy_ sounding too permanent.

"Competent," he offered. "Maybe it's the element of surprise. They don't know me, I don't know them. We're just getting by on luck."

"They know you care. Kids are smart, they can pick up on that no problem."

"I do care. I really do."

Dan touched more than her face, setting his open palm against her breast. He nudged the nipple, then lay that same hand to her head, along her ear. "How's your headache?"

Her lower body twisted. "Fine," she croaked. "How many condoms did you buy?"

He smiled. "Enough. But I wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?" She giggled, willing to say _yes_ to anything short of murder.

"You busy, tomorrow afternoon? I was thinking, maybe I could take you to a movie."

"A movie?"

"Well, actually, we can tell the kids I'm taking you to a movie. I want to take you to my house."

"Your house?"

"I wanna test a theory."

Oh Jesus, she thought, ready to just close her door and do him right there. It was all from memory, not just Dan, of course it wasn't _just Dan_. Jody too, or maybe any man implying not just sex. Something else that made her so aroused, downright horny. Every time Jody had teased when they were trying to make Nat, then Erika, Summer had been at his mercy. Even the thought of it set her on edge.

But it wasn't conception Dan wanted to test. Something else, and she knew that too. Still it made no difference. Summer squirmed. "Dan, I..."

"I'll pull out, god, whatever you want, but I have to know. It's been driving me crazy all day long!"

She smiled. "Is that why you didn't come over earlier?"

He nodded. "Yeah, one reason. I also wanted to give you time with the kids. You don't get much of that during the week, just time with them."

"No, I don't. Thank you."

"You're welcome. So, you wanna see a movie with me tomorrow?"

If she said yes, it was more than just a movie, not some date. It was an experiment, one with possible lasting repercussions. He seemed willing to take the risk; had one afternoon with three kids eased his mind, a little chess and good advice proffered, bonding time with wobbly children setting into Dan Bailey something more lasting?

"Can I give you my answer later?" It wasn't something over which to just say yes or no, regardless of what her body wanted.

"Yes you can. You can even wait and tell me tomorrow. Just so that we can get someone to watch the kids."

She nodded. It would have to be somebody here, well, anyone but Terry. If Erika and Abby were still fighting by night's end, Summer wouldn't be able to fob them off on Abby's mom. "Yeah, okay. By tomorrow breakfast. By then I'll give you my answer."

Chapter 9: Saturday Evening, October 31st, 2009

An eighty-minute rain delay didn't ease any answer from Summer, but it did keep Nat from his bedroom, a jovial Halloween mood prevailing as Dan and Forest played two intense games of chess. Forest took the first, Dan the second. Summer spent those moments watching no rain fall out her front door, only hummingbirds, willing to fight to small deaths.

The game was muted, then turned up, then muted again, offering some balance to the extreme quiet of the kitchen, the more noisy tenor of the living room. Summer, Spring, and Autumn took the chairs out front, leaving Betsy to help Skye and Erika into their costumes, Terry and Milt monitoring the chess mavericks.

The women spoke of Milt's folks in Florida, their own parents in Oregon, then to Spring and John's consideration of a family. That John wasn't there aided that discourse, Spring feeling their three years of marriage had laid a solid-enough foundation. She used _enough_ to qualify Autumn's assumption that no time was perfect, no child was either. Summer held her tongue, because Erika might hear her.

Erika wouldn't have expected her to blatantly defend the hallowed position of motherhood, Summer wasn't that sort of woman. The only time she had stood her ground was in 2003 when Jody berated her for not accepting his drinking. In her early thirties, she wasn't his teenage girlfriend, or twenty-something lover, but the mother to his children, his wife. In 2003, Summer had taken enough.

"You lousy bastard," she had yelled in that very house, in their room. Which was her room now, but then it was a cool day, the doors and windows closed. No one heard them, not Abby's family to the right, not anyone who might be in the adjoining orchards, English walnuts between Abby Stanton's house, prunes across the street. No one but Jody was going to hear what Summer was finally ready to tell her husband.

"Don't you tell me how hard it is! How long've I loved you Jody, how long, but it's not you anymore, it's this, this asshole! You're an asshole when you're drunk, an asshole to me, to Nathan, to Erika, to all the people who love you, which is more than the bastards at Jack's Liquors. More than the fuckers you sit with night after night swallowing your whole life away. Our lives Jody, mine, the kids, what we are to you, what we mean to you. What I mean to you Jody! What do I mean to you anymore?"

She had marched up to him, pointing her finger in his face. Her thin brown hair was short then, to her shoulders, but she let it grow after that, because after that night, Jody left. He nearly slapped her, the one moment physical violence was threatened. Summer had lurched back as the man she adored raised his hand to her, and she stumbled over some shoes. She caught her balance on the bed, but it shocked them both, and he fled, screaming that he hated her, that she didn't really love him, that she never had! Jody didn't come back to the house for two weeks, at which time he found his wife in bed with Dan Bailey.

Since that night, Summer hadn't cut her hair, except for a few random trims. It didn't grow fast, but fell to the middle of her back, wavy along the last four inches. Her hair was dark brown, nearly black, but the kids had their father's medium brown hue, the girls with Summer's oval, open face, Nathan, shortened to Nat, a replica of his late father.

As Autumn kept talking, Summer watched the hummingbirds, two tiny beasts as unkind to each other as she and Jody had been that night. But what had he expected, that she would continually look the other way, that he could simply fade from their lives, her life, from her, Summer, the one who loved him? Dan Bailey, well, Dan Bailey had been a nice guy Summer saw at the market once or twice a week, was friendly, good looking, amiable. Dan was more than kind, and when, a few days later, Dan chatted her up as she sat outside on a warm afternoon during her lunch break, Summer felt tempted. Dan wasn't making it difficult, so attentive, charming, willing. That was why Jody hated him so much. Dan had been willing.

Willing to step into another man's home, even if that man was a drunk, and an asshole, Summer remembered. What she had said to Dan in anger, that her asshole drunk husband had left, but good fucking riddance. Summer used to swear much more, and it was Jody's fault.

Dan had been more than generous to Jody, which had endeared him more to Summer. Dan hadn't just agreed with her, didn't just suck up to her; Jody had been drinking since high school, Summer had known what she was tackling. But Dan also knew it wasn't easy, his dad an alcoholic, hard to live with someone like that, to which Summer had readily concurred.

He took her out for dinner the night after that talk and they made out on his sofa. But she wouldn't sleep with him at his house, preferring her own place. Why shouldn't she date? It was over with Jody, _he_ had walked out on _her_ and _their_ kids. On Nathan and Erika; Summer still sometimes called Nat _Nathan_ then. Nathan and Erika were with Autumn two days later when Summer first slept with Dan Bailey. The moment Jody barged in was their third time.

Dan was sober, took care of himself. Jody had moved into his sloppy drunk phase, which lasted until 2005, when he was arrested for a DUI. Then he cleaned up, and a few months later enticed his ex-wife into bed. A few weeks after that, Skye was conceived.

But in 2003, Jody had really let it all go to hell, what Summer had griped about all spring. All winter and spring of 2003 she whined and complained, their children hardly seeing their father, and when they did, Jody was more often sloshed off his ass. His goddamned ass, Summer had bitched, on and on until Jody left. But what really broke them was when Jody returned. And Summer wasn't alone.

She knew her sisters had stopped talking to her, for her name wasn't mentioned anymore. They were talking about Autumn's move to Florida, what that might be like, what it might be like if Spring and John eliminated the birth control. That first time with Dan Bailey, Summer was still on the pill, but even that hadn't felt like the last two nights. The last two nights with condoms had blown her mind, felt exactly as overwhelming as when she and Jody decided to marry. Summer pushed that away as wind chimes blew their song into the air, as minute birds added a bass line, their furious wings like her words, but then calm as one perched, sipping nectar, quiet with the breeze having died away. So quiet was it when Jody had encountered his wife lying naked and intertwined against the body of another man. So quiet was Jody then.

As quiet, Summer imagined, as when Terry and Rafe found him with a broken neck at his apartment. Probably as silent as that, Summer mused.

The wind picked up again, the hummingbirds long gone. They flitted in and out like bits of Summer's memories, those darker moments balanced by so many happier times, like the beach on their honeymoon, chasing him around town in the little VW Bug she used to own, leaving him messages at his first apartment, where she would live with him as soon as she graduated high school. Years she had spent with that man, so many days, nights, and the last three weeks of his life she had slept with him not all night, but most of the night. Most of the night they alternated sleep with sex, lovemaking sometimes, until around four in the morning. Around four in the morning, Jody needed a drink.

But not there, around her or their children. He left Summer, night or early morning after night or early morning, going home and drinking three or four beers. That's what he told her. Jody told Summer a lot of things.

He told her he was drinking a few beers, then falling back to sleep. What she later learned was that he was drinking eight or nine beers, then passing out. Then he was roused around two or three in the afternoon, either Terry or Rafe calling until Jody answered his phone. Not his cell, but a landline only for that purpose. Then Jody would stagger into the shower, hose himself off, sometimes defecating there. Then he would drink one beer, then drive to Summer's house, the house he bought for her when money was good. Summer owned that house outright, solely in her name, and Jody drove to it where for three straight weeks he played the guest starring role of Summer's husband. That of her spouse, father to their children, of a normal, human man with no other interests except being with his (ex) wife and kids. And after those kids were all tucked in bed, Jody and Summer performed the roles of (ex) spouses, characters so engrained within them. Divorced for nearly six years, they dusted off old lines, slipping into her bed, their bed, into each other. They used no contraception, didn't speak of old times. Those three weeks had been lived as if he still was her husband, she his wife, no one ever between them.

Not Dan Bailey or whatever Jody had to drink.

Summer smiled, so trite to think of it that way. Inside her was more than Jody's bodily fluids. It was him; the way he smelled, which for those three weeks was how he smelled during the good days. She didn't detect the heavy drinking, for he was arriving at her house having slept it off, having woke as if for work, some tasking. The heavy drinking happened at night, in the middle of the night, but with Summer, night stretched as far as Jody could take it, four a.m. At four in the morning, Jody hit a wall, hit whatever plateau that called for relief. Not sleeping with Summer or waking to see his children eased that throbbing, one she understood now, taking respite from Dan. Summer understood Jody's demons. He had left them to her upon his death.

In his will he'd bequeathed the agony of addiction, the awful shakes and tremors, the unquenchable need for a beer. Or two. Or six, or whatever it took for Jody Sims to find peace, sleep. Unconsciousness, a blackout. He drank so much after he left her that half the time he woke on the floor, which was sometimes easier. Then he could crawl to the bathroom, but he would still have to stand to pee, or just to land in the shower. Summer knew this because Rafe told her.

Terry spilled how they found him, Rafe revealing how he'd been prior to it. Summer had to know, had to be aware, she had to have something to steady this wretched, disgusting act, her ex-husband, the father of her children, her lover for years and years having wrapped a necktie around his throat, then jumping from a chair in the living room. She needed all the information available to comprehend that.

"Hey John!" Autumn said. "Pizza's getting cold."

John Walters had been with Spring for six, maybe seven years, around the time Jody left Summer. Spring and John married right before Skye was born, Autumn the maid of honor because Summer was huge. In July, Summer had sat beside Jody, Nat on a chair next to his father, Erika on her dad's lap. She was five years old, Nat was seven, Summer was thirty-six, Jody was thirty-eight. They had waited to have kids, and Skye's unplanned arrival was some gift Summer always felt had been destined. Even before Jody died, Skylar had been a blessing.

Summer gave John a hug, nodded as if she was part of the conversation. Betsy yelled the rain delay was ending and that the kids were ready to go. Skye's sharp refrain of _Trick or Treat_ popped her mother's small bubble of the past. Within that enclosure Summer could function, but Jody still hurt. Yet as if hypnotized by the smooth, sleek hummingbirds, she could sit on her porch that wasn't really more than a concrete patio, listen to gentle pings and the whirs of wings, and maybe. Maybe Jody would come lumbering up the path, maybe wearing that loping smile, as if from all his drinking his face was too sloshed to hold his grin straight. He would amble up, looking contrite, caught-out, apologetic. He usually appeared that way.

He'd wave to whatever kid was playing in the front yard, catching Skye at a dead run, for she loved her daddy, loved him like there really was no tomorrow. He would kiss her face, gnaw on her cheek, tug at her pigtails, then set her down, hauling up Erika if she was close. He could still swing her around and she was eight years old.

Then Nat would emerge, always so happy to see his father, even if his dad was sort of loopy. Nat slapped a ball into his mitt, the baseball Jody had caught at that honeymoon Giants game never far from Summer's son. When Nathan was born, Jody had insisted she pack that ball in her bag. The nurses wouldn't let him keep it in Nathan's bassinette, but Jody did it anyway, earning how many scoldings from people they all knew, everybody knew everyone along two intersecting lanes bordered by overgrown English walnut, ancient almond, or spindly prune orchards. Houses were scattered, but one main hospital existed, where all three kids were born. From where Nathan Sims went home, a baseball in his car seat, waiting at his tiny feet.

Jody and Nat would play ten, maybe fifteen minutes of catch, then Summer would step out, Jody hitting the house around four o'clock. She would have just started dinner, giving him that grin, the one only he stirred. That shit-eating grin he called it, because she had swallowed so much of his crap for countless years, it was all she knew to give him. But it was also a smile that said: _Hey, come on in. I'm glad to see you, happy you're here. Really I am, because they're happy. The kids love it when Daddy comes... home._

Summer squinted at the path, dust raised from John's car now settled. She felt chilled, then noticed she was alone, her sisters and John Walters having gone inside. As Summer heard Nat ask who was taking them trick or treating, she wanted to scratch her arm; it ached as if welts had risen. Instead she turned, looking to the doorway.

Dan Bailey stood with a smile, his hand reaching out to her.

Summer did very little mothering that night. Autumn and Milt escorted the children around their more populated neighborhood. The late start to the game put everyone off as well as the ghostly haunt of the kids' absence.

All Summer did was sit practically on Dan's lap, sometimes in tears, other moments staring into space. No one tried to talk to her; they knew where she was, so far from them. Perhaps only Dan could retrieve her.

This had happened a few times since Jody's death, but had lessened after the summer trip to the ocean. In fact, no one could remember Summer being this zoned out, not since right before they left, three nights prior, causing small worry in John's mind; could Summer go through with it?

Her siblings knew she needed to leave, get away from their tiny town, in need of new scenery, or old scenery but with a new purpose. Once they returned, Summer had seemed eased, the children certainly setting some pain behind them, the older children. Skye was mostly safe from what her father had done.

The kids returned at eight-thirty, Nat and Erika making piles and trading candy in the kitchen. Skye was dressed for bed and Forest used a commercial break to offer an abbreviated installment of "The Rutabaga Queen". As soon as Skye was asleep, Dan set Summer near Spring, in the middle of the sofa. Then he stood, lifting Summer without a hint of protest. She was nearly catatonic and as Dan hefted her down the hallway, her sisters followed.

Spring had already cleared the bed, folding most of the children's clothes except socks and underwear. Dan lay Summer down and she curled into a fetal position. Autumn knelt beside her sister. "Honey, do you need a doctor?"

Shaking her head, Summer mumbled a distraught _no_.

"Summer, do you wanna just sleep this off?"

She nodded, but said nothing.

Dan led the women to the hallway. "Let me look after of her."

"Shall we all go?"

"No, I don't want Nat and Erika aware. Just tell them she fell asleep, they know I'm spending the night anyway."

Spring nodded as Autumn looked back. "I think I hear her."

"I'll take care of it." Dan stepped Summer's way. "Just make sure the kids brush their teeth before they go to bed and lock up before you leave. Any food to put away?"

"Don't worry. We'll get it. You just take care of her."

Spring had already returned to the living room, Autumn sending Dan to his charge.

"Summer, I'm gonna get you undressed and then we're going to bed, okay?"

"Dan, the kids."

"Spring and Autumn are on it. Don't worry about a thing."

She couldn't worry, because it was over. Jody was dead and she would never have to worry about him again. Terry's words hadn't abated, still dwelled inside, as if a beacon to Jody, keeping him so close, except that it was Dan removing her clothes, a man's shirt over a long sleeved t-shirt, then her bra, Summer's pink nightshirt slipped over her as if Dan was dressing Skye. He moved to Summer's lower extremities, tennis shoes untied, but he left her socks. Then to the waistband of her jeans and Dan pulled them from Summer's legs in slow increments. Then he slipped her underwear from her body.

Having placed her on the left side, he had to walk around the bed, taking the blankets away from the fitted sheet. Then back around he went, picking her up, laying her on the exposed linen. The blankets were laid back over her, then Dan undressed from top to bottom.

He got in on his side, finding her still flat body unchanged. Summer didn't move, barely breathed. Exactly how she was when taking Terry's call on a Thursday, Jody died on a Thursday. She had missed a few days' work; the immediate Friday afterwards, then the first three days of the following week. But seven days after Jody's death she was scanning anything from vitamin water to condoms, all done with a smile.

"Summer, what do you want?"

"I don't want to feel him anymore."

"Baby, oh Summer."

She accepted Dan's hands on her face, along her body, down to her pubic hair. Then it was his face, his tongue, his tears. Dan's tears settled along her inner thighs as he kissed her, reaching into her, alleviating her pain. He had set a blanket over her chest so, as before when Jody found them, she wasn't exposed. When Summer came, it was silent, but the pleasure was actual, therapeutic, and when Dan moved from her, she curled to her left, where he could hold her. Then she wept.

Chapter 10: Sunday Morning, November 1st, 2009

Summer woke at three-thirty, feeling a zombie. Whatever Dan did to put her to sleep had been like an elephant tranquilizer, but she vaguely recalled his methods, nothing awkward to his techniques. She got up to pee, washing her hands, then lay back down. Dan lay close and as she backed into him, suddenly they were making love, the action feeling so natural, Summer was unsure if he wore a condom. She only realized he was by hearing him remove it. Then he kissed her, letting her settle. Summer went back to sleep, as zonked as hours before.

She woke to small sunlight peeping through her blinds. Also a little girl giggling at the bedside, but Dan wasn't lying down. He was standing behind Skye, holding a cup of coffee. "Good morning Mommy," Skye whispered.

Through cracked eyelids, Summer offered a similar smile, not more than the crooks of her mouth curling. "Good morning Skye, morning Dan. What time is it?"

"After six," Dan said.

"Time to cook breakfast," Skye said. "Or can I just get in bed with you?"

Skye was in the process of doing that, Summer wondering if she was even clothed. Dan's nod told her it was all right. Had he undressed her last night; had he redressed her later in the very early morning hours? He had certainly addressed her complaints as Skye's warm body wiggled, then nestled. Then she offered a pleasant sigh. "Mommy, I love you. You're so soft."

Summer lost a few tears, using the sheet to remove them. The coffee Dan held went to the side table as a mother buried her worn face into soft brown hair, a little girl who last night was the Rutabaga Queen, what Summer heard in Skye's surprisingly subdued voice. Dan walked to the other side and Summer was cocooned between them, no space for Jody to interfere.

"She came in here at six, you didn't move. So she came over to my side. Fortunately I'd put on my briefs after..." But he didn't need to elaborate. Skye had just picked up the ball, kept on rolling. Jody was gone, but Dan remained.

Or he slept in a place where maybe when Skye was tiny she had found both her parents. Summer didn't think Skye made any nocturnal visits when Dan was Summer's boyfriend in 2007. Skye was still in her crib then. Instead she retained some recollection that the man next to her mother was all right to stir, to pester, and also just fine to lie next to Mommy if Skye was in the bed too.

"So I just woke up Dan. You were really asleep Mommy. How's your head?"

"Fine Skye. Just needed some sleep."

As Summer said that, Dan kissed the side of her exposed ear. Sleep and her clock cleaned, but Summer let that be. "Dan and I might go see a movie this afternoon."

"Can I go?" Skye asked.

"No, it's a grown-up movie. Maybe next time."

Then Dan kissed Summer's neck, setting his hands to her underwear-clad hip. He offered no other motion, insinuating nothing further. But Summer had accepted his invitation. If nothing else, they could make as much noise as they wanted.

By eight, Summer was showered, feeling human. Feeling as if Jody was an aberration, some fantasy. He hadn't existed; instead it was this family, Dan and Nat, Erika, Skye, and Summer. She was Summer Caravella, never Summer Sims. She lived with her children, who all carried the Sims surname, but the man Summer dwelled with was Dan Bailey. Their monikers were small details; they were Summer and Dan, Nat, Erika, and Skye. Nathan, Erika and Skylar, and that first morning of November, they were a family.

They ate breakfast as a cohesive unit, then others arrived, Forest and Betsy, the wheelchair in its usual place. As Nat finished, Betsy squeezed beside the girls, and Dan and Forest joked about chess, exchanging snippets of gossip. Summer laughed when a good nugget was shared.

Forest had seen Hannah Lingley dumping cat litter on Shasta Turnbull's front yard just that morning, Hannah's not so furtive revenge waking Shasta's yippy terrier. As Forest and Betsy drove away, Hannah's cheating boyfriend ran out in his boxers, rubbing his arms with his hands, then shaking his fists at Hannah, who stumbled back into her truck.

Erika and Skye seemed unimpressed, for which Summer was relieved, but she would hear all about it tomorrow, Hannah showing up at the store mid-morning when people were starting to gather. "At least I have a heads-up."

"Yeah, and you'll know what part's BS when she tells her version. Can I have the syrup please?"

"Here Uncle Forest." Erika handed the amber bottle his way. "Can I be done?" she asked her mother.

Summer nodded, then Erika shimmied under the table. "Hey!" Summer called.

With so many adults, Erika found herself trapped. "Lemme out!"

Dan and Forest laughed as Betsy held Skye from attempting the same. "Gonna cost you," Summer teased.

"What?"

"A Mounds bar. And an Almond Joy."

"Yeah, okay."

Summer scooted away, her daughter slipping out. Then Erika was detained. "You ask next time," Summer said.

"I will." Erika looked at them. "I'm sorry."

As her apology was accepted she ran to her room, then appeared with two small candy bars. She set them in front of her mother, then kissed Summer's cheek.

"Rule them with an iron fist," Forest laughed. "That's the old school way."

"Is that how you're gonna do it Uncle Forest?" Skye asked.

"Oh Skye, you and Nat and Erika are as close as I'm getting to fatherhood."

Summer knew this, but noted a small deflated look on Betsy's face.

"Why?" Skye asked.

_Why_ was one of her favorite words, a universal perquisite for all three-year-olds to master before they reached the age of four. Not that Skye really cared if Forest and Betsy would give her a cousin, only rote. _Why_ this and _why_ that and Forest grimaced. "Uh because I can't Skye. I can't have kids."

"Because of the chair?"

Forest nodded. "Yup. But I've got you, that's pretty darn good."

"And the rutabaga queen too."

"You bet. The rutabaga queen too."

Skye leaned Forest's way and Betsy helped her into Forest's lap. He wrapped strong arms around her, then told her to hang on. Then he wheeled them into the living room, where the unfolding saga of the rutabaga queen continued.

Dan squeezed Summer's hand; did he know, she wondered. Most probably assumed, or just thought that Forest didn't want children. "So Betsy, what're you guys doing this afternoon?" Summer asked.

"Nothing, just waiting for baseball."

Summer smiled as Dan again gripped her hand. "Wanna hang out here, watch the kids for a couple of hours?"

Forest's voice lowered, Summer noted. "Well, sure. Whatdya have planned?"

"I'm taking her to a movie," Dan said.

"Uncle Forest, what'd you say?" Skye asked.

"Sure. What time?" Betsy said.

"I need to check, but just early afternoon. I'm cooking dinner so..."

"You're cooking?" Summer asked Dan. They hadn't discussed it and he'd already handled breakfast.

"My turn, unless Terry volunteers."

"He won't," Betsy laughed. "Not even if he has a hint you've offered."

"Uncle Forest, what happens next?" Skye demanded.

"What're you cooking?" Summer asked.

"Thought I'd barbecue. Supposed to be nice again today. We'll be back by four, game starts a little after five, should be fine."

With Dan's tender palm set right against hers, Summer noted Forest's mumbles and Skye again asking her uncle to talk louder.

Terry arrived a few minutes later, pleased that he would get breakfast and dinner. He offered to bring something on Monday while Dan cooked more pancakes and French toast, Autumn and Milt joining the festivities. As the second wave ate, Dan motioned for Summer in the living room.

In front of Forest, still held captive by Skye and now Erika, Dan announced his plan; to go home and shower, then shop for dinner. Then he would come back, take Summer to a movie, and they would return around four, at which time Dan would start the barbecue. All Summer had to do was sort the breakfast dishes, finish the laundry, and wait for her date.

Erika smiled. "That sounds like so much fun. Can't we come?"

"Nope, just for your mom. You went trick or treating last night." Dan's tone was that of a parent, or a good facsimile.

Summer stared at Forest's wide grin. He wasn't mocking, didn't ask what they would see, instead corralling his nieces' attention. Dan kissed Summer on her mouth, a quick peck, but nothing was hidden as to his intentions.

Summer saw Dan to the door, then watched him walk to his truck. In his hand was a small bag, which she assumed were some of the condoms he had bought yesterday, or maybe just something others didn't need to see. She stood as hummingbirds swooped and dive-bombed. One returned, poking his long beak into a spout as Dan drove away.

She lingered a moment, watching dust settle, the bird flying away, peeing as he departed. She looked forward to the coming rains, if only to wash away the hummingbird piddle, but that day was sunny, warm enough for Dan and the men to stand on the patio, talk and grill, leaving the house for the women. Summer would need that, requiring some quiet time, of that she was sure.

As she passed Forest, his arm reached for her. She stopped, then looked at his face, so kindhearted, as gentle as Dan's palm against hers. He mouthed _I love you_. Then he let her go.

Summer found no peanuts while tidying the kitchen as Forest and Betsy departed. They would return at noon, leaving Autumn to assist with loading the dishwasher, Milt catching a ride with Terry. Nat and his sisters watched TV, so Summer and her sister weren't at complete liberty, but a few things slipped as the stove was cleared of bacon grease, the table washed. Then the older set of sisters sat with their coffee, Summer checking the bottom of both cups before filling them.

"So, a movie. What're you gonna see?"

Summer smiled. "Not sure. I'm leaving that up to Dan."

"Spring said things are, well, moving along."

Summer nodded. "I feel better this morning."

Autumn gripped Summer's hands. "You scared me last night."

"I'm sorry. It just..."

Autumn shook her head. "You don't have to apologize. Does he make you happy?"

"Happy and better but," Summer paused, her children dead quiet. As the TV roared, so did they, and she spoke through their laughter. "He's still here. I feel him all over."

Summer stared into her cup of coffee, mostly gone. Swirling the remnants, as if scanning for any goobers, she lifted the mug to her lips. The coffee wasn't hot, barely luke-warm, but she drank it, some odd medicine that if given enough time would work, easing a man from Summer. Something had to get rid of Jody.

"He's nice, Dan I mean. Seems to get along well with the kids."

Summer laughed. "Yeah, he's pretty good."

"Spring says he's..." Autumn giggled.

"What does Spring say?"

"You want more coffee?"

"Sure." Summer let it pass, the cup taken, refilled, as if another dose. Dose after dose of soothing; sex, java, hummingbirds, baseball, gossip. Whatever it took, Summer would do. All those and time, but time was not within her hands to mete. She couldn't plop a large dose of days or months into her cup and swig it back, choke it down, it might kill her. Or just make her cough so hard something else would come loose. Jody was either going to kill Summer outright, or suffocate her to death.

But if she and Dan made a baby... Maybe that speck would eventually force Jody to the side, if not from Summer altogether. It wasn't responsible at all, the last thing she needed. Who would take care of a baby if Summer flipped out again?

Dan would. He had treated Summer with the utmost tenderness last night. She recalled his tongue, then shivered. What might he do to her after twelve noon? How loudly might she wail within the walls of his house?

"Listen, all I ask, not that it's any of my business, but you guys are using something, right?"

Summer reached for her sister's face. "It's okay honey. It'll be all right."

Autumn smiled, then her face dropped, an ashen hue spreading from her cheeks to her neck. "Oh god Summer, don't! Don't let that happen..."

Like Forest, Autumn was childless, but unlike their brother, it was her choice. Autumn and Milt had made the decision not to reproduce, not to marry either. Summer sometimes thought it was for the best, but moments arose when Summer considered what might have been lost. Autumn cared for Nat and Erika every weekday morning until she walked them to school, or Milt did if Autumn was on shift. Then Summer realized that element of her day care situation was going on vacation for two weeks in January. Then on permanent leave in April.

Autumn was correct; the last thing Summer needed was a baby. She couldn't even recognize the end to their arrangement with the kids! "Hey, I just realized when you're gone..."

"I wasn't going to say anything, figured you got it, or if not, eventually the shoe would drop."

It fell on Summer like an angry boot, not on her head, only up her backside. "Shit. What am I gonna do?"

"We've got time, maybe one of my neighbors could walk them down, or Spring. Terry lives close you know."

It was the continuity, the habit. The kids needed it, Summer needed it. "Are you sure you have to go?" she pleaded.

"Honey, it's okay. We've got two months."

The familiar itch began, dispersing all over, some furious rash as if a million hummingbirds were pecking and poking, sucking her dry. Summer stood, rubbing her upper arms, wondering what in the hell was going on?

A baby, she could make a baby with Dan, but then what? Who would care for the kids Summer already had? She had three children, really didn't need a fourth, not even with a kind, honorable gentleman like Dan Bailey. She had to rearrange early morning childcare, or maybe just change her own schedule. She had worked seven to three for the last ten years, so engrained. The kids thrived on the routine. In summer, they were looked after by Jess Stanton, Abby's mother, sometimes by a relative. Spring taught at the elementary school, so she often took a few weeks, but Summer didn't rely on her, wouldn't impose. Autumn's nursing schedule was four days on, four days off, but Milt picked up the slack, running an eBay business out of their home. He sold whatever he got his hands on, nearly all of it legitimate, a few scattered items Summer thought a bit hot. But he'd never been busted, had a great feedback rating, and made enough that their house was paid off; would he sell it before they left?

His job could easily transfer locations, just selling Floridian stuff instead of Californian booty. But who would walk Summer's kids to school, who would sit across from her and drink endless cups of coffee on the weekends, or whenever sisters' schedules meshed. Too many changes had already occurred, too many were...

"Summer, listen, I'll check around, see what I can find. Lots of families live on our street, it'll be no problem to have someone watch the kids in the mornings. It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal? Not a big deal?" Summer's tone was hushed, but the words slipped in a fury. "Jody fucking killed himself and you sit there and tell me it's not a big deal?"

A long, flat silence emerged, but all three children were ignorant in laughter, something on TV offering respite, forgetfulness, a break. But Summer never got one, never found rest. She found a dead lover on her skin, she found peanuts in her coffee, hummingbirds peeing on her concrete or yapping at each other, never sharing. Jody hadn't shared the most important part of himself; he never laid himself completely bare. She knew his body, every inch and spot of flesh, the moles along his lower back, the scar on his right shoulder from when he was young, his wasted asshole father setting the end of a lit cigarette to his only child's skin. How many times had Summer kissed that shoulder, as if she could extinguish an injury that never faded.

His alcoholism was genetic, his habit the culmination of years of abuse, of wishing to escape, but music had never offered what booze did, instant forgetfulness. All his memories were erased when he drank, then it was a part of him, like it had been with his dad, maybe his mother. Both of Jody's parents died young in alcohol-related incidents. Summer would discourage her children from drinking but that Nat and Erika knew it probably contributed to their father's death might be the biggest deterrent of all.

Maybe they would never pick up a can of beer or glass of wine, even though on occasion Summer did, when she needed something untouched by regular remedies. Like a man making love to her with nothing between them except their skin.

Dan, not Jody. Jody was dead. Dan was alive, attentive, all but the condom he wished to eschew. Summer did too, fuck schedules, screw routine. If she had to quit her job, stay at home with a baby and Skye, Summer would figure out a way. Small royalty checks landed in her mailbox, Jody leaving his ex all his assets, which hadn't amounted to much on hand. But two months ago she had cashed a check for a few hundred dollars, one of his old songs used, one piece of him floating, settling in her mailbox, her bank account, her bloodstream. Their children, their babies, but what would Dan's baby provide?

"Summer honey, listen, now don't go off half-cocked..."

"Why the fuck not? He did! He went off all cocked, went right off the fucking edge of the world. He left them Autumn, LEFT THEM." Summer didn't shout, didn't scream, but her children squealed in peals of giggles. "He left them, that drunk sonovabitch. Just fucking ignored all we ever were to him. We never mattered to him Autumn, never. If I want to matter to someone, well pardon me. Excuse me for wanting some small piece of my life back. Ex-cuse the fuck out of me!"

She sat completely still, her tone soft, undetected by those children left behind.

"Where'd Aunt Autumn go?" Erika asked. "She didn't say goodbye."

"She didn't? Well, she's gonna owe you some candy now won't she?"

Summer wasn't surprised the kids missed their aunt's quiet adieu. Autumn had shaken her head, then gathered her bag, fishing for her keys as she stepped from the kitchen. And no, Summer had noted, she hadn't said _boo_ to her nieces and one nephew.

If Spring and John had kids, it might be nephews. But if they just had daughters, Nat would be the only male cousin. Summer was glad Forest and Betsy were watching the kids. Autumn probably would refuse to return if it had been her to do it.

Would Summer do it, sleep with Dan, leaving the birth control to the fates, to the winds? She felt at that moment if he happened to walk in her house, she'd just do it there in the kitchen, right in front of her daughter. But Erika walked away, sensing her mother wasn't playing with a full deck.

Erika had said something to which Summer's odd mumble had been enough, barely. Summer was starting to feel as she had before the beach trip, just holding on by the skin of her teeth. Her jaws hurt, too long gnashing, attempting to remain sane. She wouldn't kid herself. This with Jody was grinding her soul to the nub.

Why? Why had that asshole killed himself? She had run this through her head so many times, never with any proper closure. She wouldn't find any, so the eternal query remained; why? As if she was Skye, three years old, _why_ this and _why_ that; why did Daddy go away Mommy? Why did Daddy go away?

But Skye hadn't asked that. Instead she wanted to know why Forest couldn't have kids, why the rutabaga queen didn't like Brussels sprouts. Summer knew the answers to those questions. Forest hated Brussels sprouts, so of course the rutabaga queen would find no redeeming quality in them. As for children...

Summer couldn't explain a man's damaged reproductive system to Skye as she couldn't conjure any decent reason for Jody's death. At least with Forest she could blame a drunk driver, another alcoholic. But Jake Steward had lost his life, Forest just the use of his legs.

He had some feeling, but not much, according to Autumn, who knew because Forest had confided in her when it happened. They were two and a half years apart, that half-year important when at seventeen Forest woke to find he couldn't move more than his arms. Nothing beyond his waist had sensation, and only in the ensuing years had some feeling reemerged. He could bend at the waist, but any penile stimulation was all involuntarily, and as for sperm to father a child... If Betsy ever did get knocked up, it would be a miracle.

He'd never had sex. He had come close a few times, but Forest hadn't been a high school stud. That he was alive was good enough for his family and for him too. In the long run, Forest had accepted his disability with grace, if not a modicum of resignation that seemed to grow crusty as he aged.

Not bitter, he wouldn't be seen as an irate cripple. Jody wasn't a nasty alcoholic and Forest wasn't an angry paraplegic. Sometimes Jody was a sloppy drunk and sometimes Forest was a cranky gimp. An impotent, cranky gimp, he had laughed when the kids were very small, his words going right over Nat and Erika's heads.

Now his voice had seeped into Skye, the rutabaga queen and the marshmallow princess at odds. Was that indicative of Summer and Autumn's future? And if so, which was Summer? The rutabaga queen if only by seniority, but sometimes Autumn seemed more equipped to be the eldest. Forest had told her about his issues and Summer was the last to know that Autumn was leaving. Why was that, why had Autumn told Summer last when Summer had child care issues to sort? Why had Forest told Autumn about his physical limitations, and what did Spring know that Summer didn't? Maybe Summer needed to cast her lot with someone new. Maybe she needed to let Dan have her however he wished. And if she did get pregnant, all the better. A line drawn, a new stage begun. She would start over, have Dan's baby, setting Jody into the grave with a new infant's placenta thrown over him.

She smiled. Summer had never considered doing anything with her children's afterbirth, but if she did have one more shot at motherhood, she would put that placenta in Jody's crypt, what that dead bastard deserved. Jody had hated Dan, and wouldn't this serve his lousy dead alcoholic ass right!

Chapter 11: Sunday Afternoon, November 1st, 2009

"Okay, so there's plenty of hamburger, two packages of hot dogs and..."

"And?" Skye's voice nearly to burst.

Dan pulled the vegetable from the bottom of the paper bag. "A rutabaga!"

"That's a rutabaga?"

"That, Skye, is a rutabaga."

She stared at the round, squat, unattractive root that Dan held as if a diamond. "Are you sure that's a rutabaga?"

"Uncle Forest will be here anytime. I'm sure he'll know a rutabaga when he sees it." Summer said, her legs wobbly. The sooner Forest and Betsy arrived, the sooner she and Dan could leave.

When Dan had arrived, grocery bags in tow, Nat went to help. Erika forgot about her aunt and Skye was held captive by the surprise Dan touted. Now she seemed confused, but Summer wasn't surprised. Rutabagas were much more fun to say than view. What shocked her was the demeanor of the older children, how taken with Dan they were, as if Dan was their father, as if Jody was no more than a figment of Forest's tale. Jody was gone when Dan was around.

Not _home_ , Summer wouldn't allow that. Or at least not until after that afternoon.

"All right, well Skye, if you don't like it, maybe I'll get a radish next time. Like a baby rutabaga, but it's red. Well, pink. More pink than red, like a dark pink..."

"Radish," Skye trilled. "Radish radish radish. I'll ask Uncle Forest if he likes radishes."

He didn't, but Summer stayed mum. He probably liked radishes more than Brussels sprouts. "All right, that sounds fair. But you can thank Dan for bringing you a rutabaga."

"Thank you Dan. For the rutabaga."

"You're very welcome Skye."

She ran out, calling for her sister, then her brother, asking if they liked radishes, then if they knew if Uncle Forest did. Summer didn't hear their responses. They had helped with the groceries to confirm that Dan had really brought meat to barbecue, or were his words only a ruse? Only what men said, men who slept with their mother, like their father. Like Jody.

Jody hadn't been one of those drunks to constantly disappoint his kids, only enough times that the feeling lingered in their heads, silent, subliminal, as so many children of alcoholics lived. Enough doubt had been planted that Dan's barbecue wasn't a given until he produced the goods. That he had also picked up drumsticks and some nice T-bone steaks went over their heads.

"How much was all this?" Summer asked as Dan folded paper bags.

"You save these?"

She nodded, pointing to cupboards over the refrigerator. "This's a lot of food."

"You seem to know a lot of people."

Not as many as you might think, but she didn't say it. Maybe Autumn and Milt would skip out and Rafe hadn't been seen since Thursday. Three days later the dynamics were changing, then Summer giggled. In a few hours, who knew what in the hell might be going on?

"Well, it's just that Autumn and Milt might not be coming, and god only knows about Rafe..."

She had stood next to Dan, not wishing to alert the kids to their aunt's mood. Dan looked puzzled, then smiled, kissing her. "I saw Rafe at the store, asked him myself. We met up in the meat section and he saw the steaks, seemed okay as I put T-bones in the cart. What's up with your sister?"

"I'll tell you later. During the intermission." Which made both laugh.

Skye rushed between them, hugging her mother's legs, then Dan's as if from the neck down there was no difference between Dan Bailey and Jody Sims. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing pumpkin. Where's that uncle of yours?"

"Here I am," came a voice from the front door. "Keep your pants on Summer."

"I can't. The rutabaga queen's yanking them down."

"Not anyone else? Hey Dan, I hear we've got steak for dinner."

Forest's smile was wide as Dan grinned. "You see Rafe on your way here?"

"Nope," Forest chuckled, taking Skye onto his lap. "Terry texted me. I guess Rafe thought he better pass along the news."

"Or just make sure Terry was coming so he'd have some interference." Summer gave Forest a kiss, then looked to the door. "Where's Bets?"

"She'll be here in a bit. I think I can handle these ruffians for an hour at least. Skye, you agree?"

She pointed to the lone vegetable on the table. "Uncle Forest, is that really a rutabaga?"

He stared, then nodded. "Well, it is, why?"

"Dan bought it. For me," she said, looking to Dan. "Thank you Dan."

As if he'd brought her a dustpan when she asked for a doll, but Dan smiled. "Skye, you are so very welcome."

Their smiles weren't detected by a disgruntled little girl. "Uncle Forest, is that really a rutabaga?"

"Well, let me tell you Skye. It is, but, and bless Dan's heart, it's a far cry from what the rutabaga queen looks like. No offense Dan."

"None taken Forest."

"So," Skye's voice more that of her older sister. "It _is_ a rutabaga, but not like the queen of the rutabagas?"

"Skye, give me five minutes with your mother. Then I will explain, in full, how that one rather lowly vegetable turned into the stunning rutabaga queen."

"All right." She hopped from his lap, looking at her mother with raised eyebrows.

"I didn't buy the damn thing," Summer huffed.

"No, Mr. Perfect did," Forest smiled. "Thanks Dan."

"Gives you something to work with while we're at the movies. And speaking of which, we're gonna be late."

"Yeah, right. What you gonna see, _Where The Wild Things Are_?" Forest asked.

"No, _Caligula_ ," Summer smiled, as Dan took her hand.

"God good, well better get to it. We gonna see you both later?"

"You certainly will." Summer kissed him, then found her purse. She said goodbye to her children, who seemed more in need of Dan's assurances that he would be back. Their mother, all three knew, always returned.

In Dan's truck, Summer explained her sister's departure. Dan's only comment was that it left more steak for the rest of them. Summer smiled, feeling his hand in hers, not caring if Autumn returned that night or not.

Maybe Milt would, he appreciated a good barbecue, had been speaking of it that morning over breakfast. That if Dan was as handy with a grill as he was with French toast, he should quit Caltrans, open a diner. Summer didn't care about how well Dan cooked, not at that moment.

He lived on the other side of Highway 99, the dividing line. Summer lived on the west side, Dan and the rest of her family on the east. It meant little to people within the town, only if you had to direct someone to your house, someone new, because everyone knew where everyone else lived once you were able to drive. The boundaries were so small; as if part of the driving test included knowing where Summer Caravella lived was as important as successfully negotiating a four-way stop.

She imagined even Jordan Hower knew her location, which was fair as she knew he liked vitamin water and using condoms. Condoms, and she smiled. "Dan, I don't wanna use any rubbers today."

It came out of the blue. They had been talking about Terry and Rafe and Autumn, but maybe it wasn't so odd, because Autumn definitely _did_ want Summer to use them. As if Autumn was the older sister, wagging her finger, but Summer felt young, full of herself, not wishing to follow an edict proffered as if she was no more than Forest when he'd lost his legs. He still had them, but really, they were useless.

Summer had possessed Jody for a long time, but he hadn't been much good to her, except for their kids. She had to give him props for Nat, Erika, and Skye, and Skye came about because of unprotected screwing around. In Summer's opinion, Dan was a much better man. What joy might his illegitimate baby provide?

Not just the exceptional bliss an infant offered, but a far deeper purpose, not the best one for making a baby, but sometimes people did that. Parents of ill children got pregnant to match a blood or bone marrow type to save an older sibling. Summer was trying to save her life. Wasn't that even more reason?

And Dan was willing; he was in perfect agreement that a baby wasn't the end of the world. See Autumn, Summer wanted to shout. It's not so fucking bad at all!

Much better than what Jody had done, that stupid asshole. "He was such an asshole," she said, again out of the blue.

Dan sighed and Summer wondered if he'd spoken between her two fragmented statements, words she should have answered, instead of again dredging Jody Sims from the grave. "Hey, I'm sorry. Did you say something?"
"No, I didn't. Let's talk about this inside."

"Okay." She looked through the windshield, his house right in front of her.

Summer gripped his hand, broad daylight not hindering their attachment. No, they weren't going to the movies but to Dan's house to basically fuck each other's brains to whatever wall was closest. Or just nail one another so hard to his bed, Summer wouldn't be able to move. Dan would probably have to pour what was left of her into a jar, screw on the lid, then transport her back home as if she'd been cremated but not left dry. She was expecting to be fluid, filled with fluids, and she giggled. "I'm really sorry. Did I already mess things up?"

Jody accused her of screwing them over plenty of times, never in connection with the kids, only them, the two of them. Really, the three, his drinking the other woman. On and off Jody did cheat on Summer, but never with more than one lover at a time. The same lover over and over; he never did drugs, didn't smoke or gamble. He just drank can after bottle after glass of beer.

If she drank, it was wine, usually red. If she did have a beer, it was in a can, and not Coors. Coors cans were yellow, too close. She preferred Fosters, the blue striking, looking not at all like beer. Then she noted Dan's voice, that time he had been speaking, but she'd not been listening, again caught up in Jody. Fucking Jody Sims! She wanted to kill him herself, at least savor the satisfaction.

All she suffered was the desolation, day after day after day. Even this day, this afternoon, that sonovabitch was intruding. "Listen, I'm sorry. I know you said something but I didn't catch it." She kissed him, then set her arms around him. "Let's just do it, okay? Just make love to me."

Fuck me, screw my head off, then back on, leaving within me all you are so maybe it will turn into something, into someone that will heal me, cure me, fix me. Fix me Dan, she said, in tears. "Fix me."

"Oh Summer, my god!" He gripped her, but it wasn't enough, not all she wanted, needed, required to take away the itch, which was more than some abrasion of her skin. It went further, into her veins, where that man lay, where he'd been for longer than half her life, so entwined in her head and arteries, organs and bones, that just the contemplation of his absence made her hurt so badly, she was willing to do something dangerous, risky, stupid. "Shit!" Summer cried, wrapped tight against Dan's large chest.

"What baby?"

"Autumn! I fucking hate it when she's right!"

He said nothing, but seemed to nod his head. Maybe he too was having second thoughts. "Dan, what're we gonna do?"

"Whatever you want."

"Whatever I want." She sighed, then pulled herself from him, wiping her eyes. "Whatever I want. You wanna know what I want, what I really want?"

He nodded.

"What I really want is to know why. What in the fuck possessed him to do that, to, to..." It was hard to speak, but maybe if she just said it, maybe that would ease the incredible crush of her heart, her soul. As if she carried the weight of her children's grief, Summer inhaled, wishing to exhume it all in one powerful breath. "To goddamn hang himself. Why in the fuck did he do that?"

She spat the words as loudly as they would come, hurling as much of Jody as she could manage. It still wasn't much, for as she inhaled, he remained. She could feel him crawling back into the pit of her stomach, into the farthest crevices of her being. He gripped her fast, making it impossible to breathe, but she was crying so hard, maybe that was the real problem.

It took an hour for Summer to quiet, but she had been sick, vomiting the remnants of breakfast and the coffee shared with Autumn. After Summer puked, Dan carried her to his bed, which smelled of clean sheets. She smiled, noting that as soon as she could speak.

"Yeah," his voice pleased that she noticed, also guilty.

"Don't feel guilty. It was nice, nice for you to do that." She wanted to add _for me_ , but left it, yet couldn't refuse getting in one more dig. "Jody wouldn't have done it."

Jody killed himself, not giving a shit about anyone else. Yes she knew he hurt, yes she knew he'd suffered. He'd had a crappy childhood, but so did lots of other people, and not everyone with bad parents threw themselves in front of a bus. "Did you know the tie he used, it was from our wedding?"

"No, I didn't know that."

Maybe it would sabotage the whole afternoon, but Summer kept speaking. "Yup, the very one he wore. Rafe told me, sometimes Rafe's a real bastard. He told me all sorts of things after Jody died, about the tie and how drunk he was, that he was shitting himself in the shower. Rafe had to tell me that too."

Terry had only told her Jody was dead, which was the ultimate in shit, but it was one sentence, spoken as quickly as Terry could deliver the words. Rafe's declarations went on and on, spilling all those details, things Summer had asked, but had she really wanted to know? Now that she thought about it, maybe not. Maybe a little ignorance was better than the entire flood of Jody's problems drowning her.

"Rafe's in love with you," Dan said.

"What?"

"Rafe's always been in love with you Summer. Even Jody knew that."

"Get outta here!" she giggled, feeling a small ease for the absurdity of it.

"Jody told me. I saw him, that last night. I saw Jody outside of Jack's. I saw him Summer. I saw him."

That last night, Jody hadn't stayed until four, but sometimes Summer forgot that. He had left at one, saying he needed to go early because he had work the next day. Real work, he'd joked, meeting with Terry and Rafe for practice at noon. "Dan, what are you talking about?"

"It was late, I was heading to work, got called in for a half shift, someone was sick. I stopped at Jack's to grab a couple of Red Bulls, and Jody was leaving. He had a twelve-pack in each arm, gave me a smile. Said hello to me, he never said shit to me, not since he found us together. But he was in a mood, something was in his head. Said _Hello Dan_ , as if I was his best friend. I was so shocked, I probably only said _Hello_ , and he laughed, told me to drive safe, that he was gonna go home, but he had to get there first. Then he nodded and I just stepped into Jack's, god, I was so stunned."

"You never told me this."

"The next day, when I found out, I stopped Terry, told him what'd happened. He nodded as if he knew something, and I just chalked it up to he must know why. That whatever I said just confirmed whatever he knew, or what I thought he knew. Summer, I had no idea none of you knew what brought this on, not until the last few days. I had no idea no one knew why he did that."

She hadn't been pleased for Jody's hasty departure, but then a few hours later he was really departed. Those few hours seemed like a small brush-off as she fell asleep, but then were obliterated by Terry's broken voice, that not only had Jody left her early, he'd actually left them all. At the time three hours felt like the entire night; now three hours were a drop in the eternal bucket. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

"I thought it wouldn't matter, I thought it'd never matter. Oh god Summer..."

"When did Jody tell you about Rafe?"

"It was the last thing he said, that I was gonna have a fight on my hands, acting pissy but also resigned. Like I wasn't gonna have you all to myself. He said Rafe would put up a fight, then he had this weird laugh, which after I heard what happened, I thought it was like he was saying may the best man win."

Summer had never felt anything more than friendship for Rafe, exactly how she felt for Terry, but not what she felt for Dan Bailey. "That motherfucker!" she shouted.

"Who?" Dan whispered.

But Summer wasn't entirely sure.

The sex that followed was the softest Summer had ever known. Not even at his most contrite had Jody ever loved her as Dan did, condom included.

Dan touched her with fingers so deft, aware, conscious of every bruise and contusion, inside and out. The condom was nearly avoided, but ultimately Dan did wear it, but it made no difference. Summer was convinced that with or without it mattered not; she screamed and wailed and begged and cried, as vociferous as Skye's daily outbursts, as if Jody might stir from the dead. Then Summer lay still, listening to Dan.

He had never been so tender, but it led to him exorcising some demons, some part of his soul. As he came, she wished for a few seconds he hadn't worn a rubber. Any baby made from such acts would be blessed.

Summer could breathe and did so with great ease. She took gulping inhalations as if having been held under water, her body reacting with the force of oxygenated air. She felt twitchy, but not in a bad way, only as if previously in a coma, and now she was dying to move.

The sex had been just as fantastic, but the ability to voice her emotions was the ingredient missing, an essential element that seemed to breach the condom Dan wore; maybe she could get pregnant. That would piss off Autumn to no end, Summer smiled, telling her sister that yeah, we used a rubber for all the good it did.

Not that Summer felt its presence. All she felt was released. She felt good, exquisite, all that Dan did to her as if by some award-winning scriptwriter, every single move in accordance with some graced screenplay entitled _How To Make Summer Smile_. How to make her forget, move on, or just how to screw her to the end of her life while wearing a prophylactic. If Dan had gone without, would it have made any difference, could it have been any better, she wondered.

No, because the specter of doubt would have hung, the baby issue some small cloud. Best it happened as it did, Summer allowed, at least for now.

They could work up to some mind-numbing excursion, some crescendo that would kill them both. That was all she thought was left. Not that he did anything unusual or new-fangled, only that with Dan, Summer was liberated. She was allowed to be herself, whoever that was, and maybe that was the biggest part of it, discovering who she was post-Jody Sims.

She was... A woman who could be set under by soft hands, even kinder words, by digits seeking only her joy, nothing for himself until she was absolutely unable to do more than breathe. Good thing it was involuntary or she might be dead too, her three children orphaned. Then Summer's tears fell, small and cool along her face, until Dan's hands, those perfect blessed appendages, caught them, stopping the liquid from landing in her ears.

"It's okay baby. I've got you."

"Does either Terry or Rafe know you saw Jody?"

"Terry does. I didn't think Rafe would be willing to hear me out."

"Did you tell Terry everything? When did you talk to him?"

"The next day and, well..."

"Dan?"

"I told him that Jody seemed to think it wasn't just me in love with you." Dan sighed, but Summer nodded. He had uttered those words as he came: _I love you Summer_. She hadn't answered him, nor had she before when he had said the same in 2007 and 2003.

"And what'd Terry say?"

"He didn't say much more than _Okay_ , _yeah I know_ , something like that. What has Terry said to you?"

"Only that Jody was dead." It was a lot, but maybe Terry knew more. "Why'd you wear a condom?"

It was a day for random conversation and major discoveries. For the first time since Jody died, Summer felt a small window emerge, or a crack in one that she had never noticed, the crack that had swallowed Jody whole.

"I just felt maybe we didn't need it, or that we did. Maybe it doesn't make any difference."

"Didn't to me," she smiled.

He smiled too. "Maybe we just needed to be able to say, or talk or..."

"Make a lot of noise. You think we disturbed your neighbors?"

Dan's house was smaller than Summer's and he had others on each side. "I made a point of noting that none of the usual cars were around. And if they did hear, so what? By tonight everyone in town that cares will know."

He was right. People would have seen them in his truck, or having spotted his truck in front of her house. Or watched him walk her into his house, or walked by his house hearing holy hell being raised. But really, it was more of the dead being buried. Only a few issues had been brought to light. Summer let those roll in her brain; Dan had seen Jody around one in the morning. Jody had a case of beer in his possession. And Rafe Marlowe was in love with her.

Summer didn't dwell on that last detail. Instead she told Dan that according to Rafe, half a case of beer had been consumed, a few others attempted. Three opened cans had sat on Jody's table, as if he'd tried to suck them back, but hadn't been successful. His blood alcohol level had been a staggering .30, the measure of which should have seen him dead on the floor, not hanging from the ceiling. He should have fallen unconscious, then died on his own vomit. Instead he'd managed to secure the necktie, climb atop a chair, then think to step from it. A lot of precision for a drunk to coordinate and Summer only rejoiced that whatever pain had occurred in the snapping of his neck, he was probably too wasted to feel it.

But not quite so inebriated that all those actions had been precluded by just landing as he usually did, in a sodden heap either in bed or on the floor. No, he'd had the wherewithal to actually kill himself, and not just by too many beers. But that shouldn't surprise. Maybe all his life had been a slow suicide. Finally Jody had to accept that no amount of liquor would do it alone. He would have to affect the course from which there was no return.

The most deliberate action of his life was that of his death. Some part of Summer allowed respite from that realization, but it was so beyond her children it would be years before they knew, understood. She would have to write it down, stick that paper somewhere safe, or just type it in a Word document so that when Nat, Erika, and Skye were old enough, Summer could tell them this, offer one small corner of their father's soul, some insight to the unanswerable _why_. But something was amiss. Rafe's unrequited affections weren't enough to push Jody into such critical straits.

Summer didn't say any of that to Dan. Instead she affixed a condom, then climbed on his body, offering some means of... Not a thank you, not reparation, but what a woman knew offered a man great pleasure, intense stimulation, Summer capturing a good deal of her own joy from sitting on him, allowing him to fondle her breasts while he did little else. Summer did all the work, which wasn't really work at all. And when Dan came, Summer lay on him, covering his body with hers, as if to keep out what Dan remembered as the last person to see Jody Sims alive.

They didn't speak of that, only of what Dan felt for Jody's children, Summer's kids. He loved them, which brought him to tears, especially recounting how Skye woke that morning, looking first to her mother for comfort, but then going right around to the other side of the bed, Dan's clear, open eyes all she needed.

Could Skye tell Dan was sober? His smile as soon as she said his name was undeniable. As soon as Skye said Dad, not Dan, she was his.

"She called you Dad?" Summer in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "She said it the first time, that was probably more just because Dan sounds so much like Dad. But the second time, when we were in the kitchen, I was making the coffee and she was talking about rutabagas and she said Daddy. Oh god Summer, I just about dropped the coffee pot. She said Daddy just as if I was, absolutely no guile, just, oh Jesus!"

Summer gripped him, Dan shaking. "I just said something to her and she kept on talking, then she did it again. But that time, the third time..."

"Dan what?" They hadn't spoken of the morning, too many people, and then all they had considered was their afternoon activities.

"Summer, she looked at me with the biggest grin on her face. Asked if I was going to stay, you know, she meant stick around. And I said I'd like to, that it was up to you. Then she got off the bench, she'd been sitting there, I'd given her a piece of toast, what she said she wanted. She ate, god, maybe two bites. But she left it there and ran to me. Just ran right at me, telling me she wanted me to be her daddy. That her daddy, did I know Jody? And I said I did and she said he was dead, but that was okay. It was okay if I'd be her daddy."

Summer took breaths, not deep, just small, easing breaths. "And what'd you say?"

Whatever it was hadn't been enough to shake Skye's small world, hadn't hurt her or overwhelmed. Only caused Skye to get right into bed with Summer, telling her she was soft, that she loved her because she was so soft. And that Dan's subsequent presence in that bed wasn't anything for Skye to fear.

"I told her I'd love to be her daddy, I'd love it. But it was up to her mommy and that's when we came to see you."

Skye hadn't asked Summer anything about Dan being her daddy, maybe it was enough that Dan had laid beside them, confirming to a small girl the rightness of her question, and his answer, Summer's answer too. Summer had given Skye an unwitting reply just by embracing her, allowing Dan to enfold them both. Dan's hands had first gone to Summer's hip, then to Skye's small head, rousing giggles as he tickled her neck. Only a daddy would do that, Summer knew. Jody never had, but Dan, or Dad, Dan 'The Daddy' Bailey did.

Chapter 12: Sunday Evening, November 1st, 2009

The smoky scent of lit charcoal filled Summer's front yard, bounded by the shouts of thrilled children, which included Abby Stanton, who had made up with Erika during the course of the afternoon. When Summer and Dan returned a few minutes after four, those girls met them as if no altercation had occurred.

An hour later Dan held court with Forest, Terry and John, but Terry said Rafe was coming later. Summer hadn't had a minute to talk to Terry alone, hearing how the rutabaga queen looked nothing like Dan's poor specimen. Skye lamented its fate, that of the garbage, but not as bad as what had happened to all the previous rutabaga princesses until the real queen arrived.

The small story now reached epic proportions, Erika and Nat also caught in Forest's tale, as if he was spinning a web the size of all seven Harry Potter novels. Summer smiled, catching the bits Skye remembered best, how the rutabagas were pulled from the dirt to satisfy the greedy vegans, a tribe that only ate what grew from the ground. Sometimes Skye was put off by meat, and Summer was pleased for Forest's small attempts to coax Skye into eating maybe more than a bite of a hot dog.

The vegans, Skye continued, always picked the vegetables before they were ripe, so the vegetables couldn't fight back. But one rutabaga was missed, remaining in the dirt all winter. In spring, once the snow melted, that single rutabaga had grown so large, the vegans were afraid. Instead of trying to pull it up, they left it, sure that by now it wasn't any good anyway.

They said it was a bad rutabaga, spoiled by the winter, ruined by the cold earth. As summer arrived, the rutabaga showed no signs of change, other than it was still big, with leaves a slightly gold color.

In autumn, the rutabaga began growing at a rate the vegans couldn't believe. They plucked all the nearby vegetables, but noticed they too were different. They were larger, all yellow. When they tried to bite into them, they tasted awful, were hard and bitter. Becoming hungry, the vegans left that land in search of something better to eat, probably a T-bone instead, Uncle Forest had said.

Then Skye smiled. "Mommy, do you know what happened next?"

"No Skye. What?"

"Well, the last big rutabaga popped out of the ground, all by itself! And she didn't look like the other vegetables, she was prettier, 'cause she'd spent all that time in the ground. And then she started to talk, telling everyone else, just the vegetables you know, 'cause the vegans were all run away, she told them how now it was their land, and no one was gonna come and eat them anymore! Isn't that great?"

Summer sat in her kitchen, Skye on her lap. A daughter's warm love permeated a mother feeling all at once relieved and curious, also entranced. One day, when Skye learned what vegans really were, she'd have a smile for her Uncle Forest. "Skye, that is the coolest story I have ever heard. But where did the marshmallow princess come from?"

"Oh she and the sugar invaders came from the land of Corn Syrup. That was way after the vegans left."

"I see." Summer hugged her, trying not to laugh. Skye smelled of candy, Forest and his niece sharing some of her Halloween booty.

"Mommy, what're we gonna do with Dan's rutabaga?"

Summer had been listening, but so far, Skye hadn't slipped. It was _Dan_ this and _Dan_ that and rutabagas all over the place. "It's your rutabaga. We could cook it."

Skye made a face. "I'm gonna have a hamburger for dinner."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. I don't wanna be a mean vegan."

"That's really good Skye." Summer set her on the floor. "Why don't you go ask Dan what time dinner's gonna be."

"Okay." Skye took two steps, then peeked around the wall. "Mommy, is Dan staying here again tonight?"

"I think so. Why?"

"Just wondering." Skye slipped out of view, but her voice carried. "DAN! DAN!"

Summer smiled, then considered her daughter's habits. Sometimes Summer was just that, Summer. Most times she was Mommy, but it was Skye's custom to interchange the words.

Maybe Dan was _Dad_. Maybe Summer wasn't losing her mind. Maybe Jody had meant to let her go. Summer had never thought about it that way before.

"Hey, you need some help?" Spring asked, Betsy behind her.

Summer stood. "Bets here did all the prep work. I think all we have to do is eat."

"Well, Forest had them all wrapped around his finger. I think Nat had heard of vegans before, but even he was listening. My god, good thing none of us _are_ vegetarians. Might be a war before baseball starts."

Baseball slipped into Summer's head, a sport with nine players in the field, three outs in an inning. Two teams to a game, nine innings to completion. Nine players and nine innings and three outs and three children who loved three parents. Summer thought that as she heard it, heard Skye call Dan _Daddy_.

As if Summer could hear the hummingbirds' wings from the middle of her kitchen, as if a feeder hung where an old strip of fly paper curled around itself in the corner of the room, Summer noted a small voice, not at all unsure, quite certain of herself. Summer heard Skye ask Dan if he was staying the night again. But not Dan; _Daddy_. The words were crisp, sharp, precise. Sometimes three-year-olds could be very specific, like determining the fate of a rutabaga or the location of a man now her father. Daddy, Skye asked, are you staying the night again tonight?

They all heard her, as Betsy and Spring stopped speaking, as the men on the patio seemed to cease breathing. As if Nat set down his book, closing his eyes, wishing to be that brave, or Erika looking away from Abby, her own heart wondering the very same thing. But only a three-year-old would say it, only Skye had the balls to just _ask_ Dan. But not Dan; Dad, _her_ daddy. Skye was asking if her daddy was staying.

There, with them, with Mommy, but thankfully Skye omitted that part of it. Not the exact location of where Daddy was sleeping, only if it was with them, in that house. Summer felt a little nauseous, then as Dan spoke, she blinked a few tears, imaging Erika's broad smile, Nat's return to the world of magic, and the one to broach the question really caring the least. Skye asked it like she asked everything else, to move on to the next subject. Which, after Dan answered that yes, he was staying the night, was what were they going to do with the rutabaga?

As if the rutabaga's fate rested on Dan's presence. But he didn't know; what did _Skye_ want to do with it?

Dan's nocturnal position was brushed to the side as Skye rambled; maybe they could plant it in the front yard, see if a rutabaga queen grew at their own house! But Summer didn't pay any more attention. She stepped to where she could see them, Skye in Dan's arms, pointing to a spot near Erika and Abby, who were not looking at Dan and Skye anymore. But Summer stared at her daughter, having chosen her own father, as if life really was a fairy tale.

That night's game seemed to follow the sense of moving on; in the first inning New York scored two runs, countered by one from Philadelphia. Initially Nat remained sequestered, then he popped in and out with Harry Potter under his arm as some shield, able to listen to the game cloaked by that story. Erika snuggled with Spring and John on the loveseat, but she had asked where Aunt Autumn and Milt were.

"Not sure Erika," Summer answered, "but they're sure missing a good game."

"And better steaks," Terry laughed. "Wonder where Rafe is?"

"More for us," Forest laughed.

Summer nodded, her plate with a bare t-bone in the center. Dan was to her right, the sofa feeling not as tight. Betsy sat on the left, Forest in his usual spot. Terry had his chair behind them, preferring to flank the food.

Letting Dan set her plate on the coffee table, Summer closed her eyes, his freed arms coming around her. He whispered that he and Skye would plant the rutabaga tomorrow afternoon, but he said nothing about what Skye had called him in front of everyone. _Daddy_ wasn't some slip of Dan, it was a marker, how a three-year-old set her world in order, some small bit of control. That Jody hadn't completely damaged his daughter made Summer cry and she squeezed Dan's hand, then stood, walking to her room.

She looked at the bed, where they had slept last night, where she been placed in Dan's arms, unable to do more than let him have her. But what he had done wasn't just putting her on a mattress, undressing her, then other things. He'd picked up a lowly rutabaga, left far too long in the ground. Summer had been buried since March, no one quite sure what to do with her. But Dan knew, how did he know? He wasn't a shrink, only a man handy with grilling tools and a breakfast spatula, also pretty competent with just his hands. He also had paternal propensities the most savvy could detect; Summer's kids had sensed he was right, Skye crowning him that afternoon. For the rest of the afternoon, until she ate dinner sitting on Uncle Forest's lap, Skye had been held in Dan Bailey's arms.

It had been her meat-loving uncle to coax her to eat half a hamburger, but Dan would help Skye plant the rutabaga, Dan asking what other vegetables they should grow. Ideas were being sown, one small seed at a time, and Summer wouldn't refute it, couldn't imagine Dan not sleeping with her that night. Couldn't imagine what might occur if he wasn't there, in her house, easing with small, gentle motions some immense pain that had set her under right before baseball season began.

Summer heard Erika and Forest, something was happening, something she couldn't discern. Was it good for the Yankees or the Phillies? Both were screaming, then Nat's door opened, but he didn't chastise. Summer heard how he stood at the edge of the hall. He was watching the game, but was he still toting Harry Potter?

She wouldn't look, though she was dying to know. He hadn't set a peanut anywhere in the house, was instead using a magical English boy whose parents had died, both of them. Nat had lost only his father; maybe he felt bad for Harry, even if Harry could cast spells.

"Hey Nat, excuse me," Dan's voice traveled down the hall. Summer strained, detecting one set of steps, heavy, adult. Nat hadn't moved, but Dan had found her.

"You okay?" he asked, setting hands along her shoulders.

"Was he holding the book?" she whispered.

"No. Just standing there, eyes bugging. Can't tell who he's rooting for, but one of them, and since both Forest and Erika were screaming, he had to go see."

Summer nodded, so wishing to ask Nat if this was all right? How did it feel to watch a World Series without his father? The fourth game, and Nat had been tempted, unable to remain in his room, even with a friend to understand. Although, by the second to last novel, Harry wasn't a child anymore, was a teenager. Maybe that had given Nat the strength. Harry had managed all those previous books without either parent. Maybe Nat would be all right.

Dan's hands moved to her sides, fingers running along her waist. She leaned back, Dan's body warm, hard, and she wanted him, then wondered if he had brought the condoms back here. "Do we have any rubbers?"

"Oh shit, I left them at my house!" His voice was hushed, disgusted. "Oh Christ, I totally forgot!"

She smiled. How much of one's decisions were subconscious, not deliberate but as if so; had Jody spent those three weeks with her, then decided two other men could fight over her? Was that reason enough to abandon his life, his kids? Rafe wasn't married, had no offspring, just like Dan. But unlike Dan, Rafe had never slept with Summer. If Jody had been playing some sick game, did he take that into account? Both men shared similar life habits, but Dan was more settled, paid a mortgage, Rafe in an apartment. Dan had already laid claim to Summer, but Rafe was set in the inner circle. Yet, he hadn't made it, not even for a T-bone steak.

Neither had Autumn, and Summer sighed. "Listen, you mind getting the kids to school in the morning?"

"Not at all. Why?"

"I think I'm not gonna bother my sister. If she's that opposed to you and me..."

"I don't think she was pissed because of us proper, only..."

"Mom! Aunt Autumn and Milt are here!" Erika shouted.

Summer shook her head. "Well, there she is."

"Milt probably goaded her into it. Any steaks left?" Dan chuckled.

"One, I think."

"Summer, you here?" Autumn called.

But Summer said nothing.

"You still want me to get the kids to school?" Dan asked as footsteps approached.

"Maybe," Summer said as her sister entered the room.

"Hey Dan, Summer."

"Hey Autumn. I think there's one steak left." Dan turned around, but Summer didn't face her sister.

"Well, Milt'll share if he knows what's good for him. Dan, can I uh, have a minute with Summer?"

"Sure." He set one kiss along the back of Summer's head as she still hadn't turned around.

Once he was down the hall, Autumn closed the door most of the way. "Listen, oh Summer, shit! At least look at me."

Summer still felt like a younger sister, but she turned around, noting remorse on Autumn's face. "I just asked Dan if he could watch the kids in the morning..."

"Oh Christ! Don't be a martyr. Shit. I came over to apologize."

"Not just for steak?"

"Milt wanted the steak. But he better leave me at least one bite."

"I think all that's left are hot dogs. Skye even ate half a burger."

"Really? How in the hell did that happen?"

"Forest fed her a load of crap about people who only ate vegetables. She's gonna hate vegans for the rest of her life."

"Suits them right." Both smiled. "Listen, I really did come to say I was sorry. I had no right to be so..."

"It's okay. We used them anyways."

"Oh," Autumn's voice in shock. "Well, I uh..."

"Did you know that Dan saw him, saw Jody that night?"

"Oh my god, no!"

"And did you know that Rafe was in love with me, that maybe he still is?"

To that, Autumn didn't look at all surprised.

"Am I the only one unaware of that?" Summer asked.

"I'm sure the kids don't know."

Summer laughed, a sharp edge to her voice. "Oh well, that's great. But Jody knew. Jody told Dan he knew. Maybe Jody didn't kill himself, maybe..."

"Oh come on Summer. Yeah, okay, Rafe's held a torch for you since the divorce. My god, didn't you ever see how he looked at you?"

"I sure as hell wasn't looking at him."

"No, you weren't. Either you were looking at the man out there, or at Jody. Jody wasn't the only one to hate Dan's guts."

From where was all this coming? Summer stared at her sister, not feeling at all the eldest. More like Spring, as if missing years due to youth's inability to note the whole picture.

But maybe that was better. Nat, Erika, and Skye didn't require the deeper truth, only that Jody was dead. Jody was dead, but Dan was around, and Summer smiled. "Skye called Dan _Daddy_ in front of everyone this afternoon. They're gonna plant the rutabaga in the front yard."

"What?"

"Dan bought Skye a rutabaga." Like an engagement ring or adoption memento, Summer smiled. "And they're going to plant it in the..."

"Fuck the goddamn rutabaga! Why'd she call him Daddy?"

"Because she likes him Autumn. Because she's three years old and wants a daddy and Dan seems pretty fine to her. We both like him and I sure as hell would never have asked Rafe to step in here, not for any reason at all!"

Her voice was quiet, but not the sentiment. Her feelings about that man were very strong, colored she would allow. And starting to stew in her gut. Had Jody talked to Rafe after leaving her house, was he on his way to Jody's, a little party planned? Why _two_ twelve-packs, why _three_ open cans? Had Rafe been more than Jody's friend, or maybe less? Maybe Rafe Marlowe wasn't Jody's buddy after all. Maybe...

"Summer, are you and Dan that serious?"

"Maybe," she muttered, then changed her tone. "Actually, yes. Yes we are. He's the best thing that's happened to me in..." Seven months, or maybe a lot longer than that. And maybe as Dan has been the best thing for me, perhaps Rafe was the worst thing for Jody. "In a long damn time. So, does he need to watch the kids in the morning or..."

"No, no! I watch your kids Summer. I will."

"For now. For the next few weeks, yeah, okay, just checking."

"Summer!" It was Skye. "Sum-mer! Rafe's here!"

Rafe had appeared, but too late for steak. Too late for that, and other things. "Okay Skye. We'll be out in a minute."

Summer had cracked the door as soon as she heard Skye's voice. As she heard the rest of Skye's message, she detected displeasure in Rafe's tone. Milt had the last steak, only hot dogs left. "You better get out there," Summer said. "Or Rafe will eat the bite Milt saved for you."

Autumn nodded. "He'd better have saved me more than a bite." She headed out, then returned. "You coming?"

"Yeah, just a minute."

"Okay. Hey, I mean it. Drop the kids off in the morning, all right?"

Summer nodded, nursing an anger that for the first time since March wasn't due to Jody alone. "Okay. I'll do that."

She greeted Rafe with her usual good humor, and he seemed the same, but with some small edge, which before she would have chalked up to Dan's presence. And she still did, except it was twisted, her feelings and Rafe's face.

Summer sat down next to her... Her kids' father, she allowed, but more. She didn't discourage Dan from setting his arm around her, aware Rafe was right behind them, eating a hot dog. Not even a drumstick remained, Nat pouncing on those, he must have eaten four. Summer had teased that Uncle Forest hid all the Halloween candy, was making the kids wait for the barbecue, but Nat didn't blink, gnawing his chicken to the bone.

Now he flitted in and out, not carrying his book, but not his mitt either. Last year, and all the previous years, no matter who played, he watched every game with his mitt and that honeymoon souvenir, a baseball worn, scuffed, loved. Adored, Nat never far from that ball when a playoff game aired. That season it had remained hidden, along with his mitt, somewhere in his small disaster of a closet. Maybe Dan could help him find it, once this was all over.

In the fourth inning, the Phillies had scored again, tying the game. In the top of the fifth, New York managed two runs, causing Erika to tease her uncle; the Yankees were going to win. Summer couldn't see behind her, wouldn't turn around, but felt Rafe's eyes along her shoulders, where Dan's arm sat. Instead she watched baseball, a quiet sixth inning, finding her middle child and younger brother in a battle of wills, neither wishing to concede.

But deadly force wasn't employed, only good-natured banter, Forest shooting Erika wicked grins, every ball a groaner, each strike cheered. In the top of the seventh, the Phillies replaced their pitcher; reliever Chan Ho Park held New York scoreless. Then the Phillies came within one run, Chase Utley slamming a solo homer. Yankees' pitcher CC Sabathia left the game, Erika's long sigh to Forest's wild roar.

A yodel, Terry laughed, but a cell phone interrupted Forest's celebration. "What? Yeah, okay. No, no, no problem. When? Ten? Yeah, okay. I'll be there." Now Dan sighed. "Gotta work tonight, damnit."

"Oh no!" Summer's heart sank as Dan set the phone back in his shirt pocket.

"Yeah. Somebody called in sick."

"What time?" Summer asked as his arm returned to her shoulder. He had moved it to answer the phone, but as soon as that was done, he set it around her again.

"Need to be there by ten. Probably need to go home before then, well, I know I do."

"When?"

"Soon. I need a shower, make something to eat. Pick up some Red Bulls."

Summer shivered from all those words. He had considered showering before they returned; instead he made love to her again. She knew he had plenty of sandwich fixings, how this got restarted in the first place. He bought a few items at a time, lunch meat and cheese one day, mayo and mustard the next. And the Red Bulls?

That she couldn't ponder. Then she looked behind her, at Terry, whose face was impassive. But on her way she didn't miss Rafe's wide eyes. They were anything but emotionless.

The kids were brutally disappointed, more so than anyone expected, all but Summer and Dan. Skye cried, begged Dan not to leave. Erika didn't wipe her wet eyes, blinking away tears. Nat asked Dan if he had time for a game of chess, but as it was nearly eight o'clock, Dan needed to go, a drive from his house to where the construction was taking place, further north on I-5.

Nat was the most easily calmed, but Skye was desolate. "But you said," she wailed, "you promised!"

Her small heart was taking a beating, all she couldn't remember of her father relived there with Dan, who was her Daddy, who wasn't staying the night with Mommy! "Dan, please, please!"

Summer fought with Skye, who wiggled to reach Dan as he headed to the door. "Skye, stop this!"

"Give her to me," Forest said. Summer did, with some difficulty. In her uncle's strong arms, Skye squirmed, then collapsed. As the eighth inning began, Forest wheeled his niece from the room.

"I'm sorry," Summer said, walking Dan to his truck.

"No, it's my fault."

"It's no one's fault. Well, we could blame Jody. Or your work, or the Yankees. Take your pick."

It was sad, in that Skye had attached herself so quickly, and that she was inconsolable, too young to comprehend. People were called to their jobs, people killed themselves. "Summer, listen, what time do you leave here with them?"

"Six-thirty."

He sighed. "I won't be back till at least seven. All right, maybe I can drop by her day care, see her in the morning."

"Oh, she'd like that."

"Then I'll stop and see you." His hand reached for her face.

"Oh, I'd like that too."

"Guess we didn't need to worry about the condoms."

"Guess not." Summer moved close, giving him an intimate kiss. "Will that hold you?"

"It'll have to. I'll see you probably sometime before seven thirty. It won't be a problem, me stopping at her day care, right?"

"I'll let them know you're coming."

"Don't tell her. If for some godforsaken reason..."

"Dan, don't worry. I won't say anything and we'll both see you tomorrow morning."

He looked to the house, but the front door was closed. "I hope she'll be okay."

"She's suffered worse."

In the light from the porch, Summer noted Dan's eyes, large and sorrowful. "She shouldn't have to, none of you should."

"Life sucks. Then the Yankees win. Oh well."

Dan set his lips along her face. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Text when you get there, okay?"

He stepped into the truck, his smile a beacon. "That I will do."

As Summer returned, Skye's tears were drying, but she wouldn't sit with her mother, as if Summer had sent Dan away. Erika went to Summer's lap and to everyone's unspoken surprise, Nat joined them, sitting between his mother and Betsy. He gripped the Harry Potter book, but as the Phillies scored the tying run in the bottom of the eighth, he dropped it to the floor. Summer watched as Jody's eldest children rooted not for the Yankees themselves, but for their manager. It was Joe Girardi for whom Nat and Erika cheered.

Forest took the opportunity to pass Skye to Betsy. Summer used that break in the action to note how Nat had kicked the book under the sofa, Betsy crooning to Skye about beautiful rutabagas. Terry and Rafe spoke and Summer caught Terry's eyes, long enough to ask for a minute once the game had ended.

When Forest asked for Skye, she didn't want anything to do with him, all men in her young opinion not worth much. Instead she curled into Betsy, who then asked if Skye needed a bath. Summer said she did and Betsy took the clinging girl down the hall, offering if anyone needed to pee to use Summer's facilities.

"Oh I do," Rafe said. He hopped up, was behind Betsy, but said he wouldn't bother her. Summer cringed.

Would he leave the seat up or would he just set his naked butt on her toilet? "Here Erika, you and Nat keep my chair safe." Summer gave Autumn a warm smile, as if to say apologies accepted, we'll see you as usual. Autumn nodded, but Summer did one better, squeezing her sister's shoulder as she motioned for Terry to follow her.

They stepped outside, near the hummingbird feeder. The barbecue wasn't warm, the evening cool. As if that afternoon no longer existed, the meat consumed, Dan gone, but Summer had something to say. "Terry, I need the truth. Does Rafe, I mean..."

She stuttered, feeling juvenile, as if they were back in junior high, not much older than Nat.

"Summer, did Dan tell you about seeing Jody that night?"

"Yeah he did."

Jody's best friend nodded, then looked to the ground. Skye's afternoon words to Dan reverberated in Summer's head, as well as Skye's plaintive cries. Summer felt bereft by Dan's absence too.

"Summer, I know Rafe had nothing to do with it, in case that's whatcha wanna know. The look on his face when we found him, Jesus fucking Christ! No way was he involved, no way Summer. No way."

Had she wanted to ask that? Maybe. Terry's words, and more his tone, vehement and sickened, were proof enough. For that, Summer was relieved. "Terry, I just..."

"I know, I mean, Jody was so damned wasted, don't think I haven't thought about it."

Terry sighed, Summer feeling the same, worn beyond belief. With Dan gone, the itch was coming. Without Dan Bailey, Jody Sims was gaining on her.

Maybe they should have done it without the condoms. If Dan had stayed the night, they would have. Providence, she smiled, or just...

"...and Summer, I mean, I even mentioned it, Christ!"

"Mentioned what to who?"

"I asked Rafe. I asked him if he'd talked to Jody, you know, about, well..."

"About killing himself. What'd he say?"

He had to be done peeing by now, no way could Rafe still be in her bathroom. He was probably watching them, probably wondering. Summer fought the urge to look at the house, her blinds not closed, no one living across the street, only trees that at night blended into the darkness, as if nothing else existed.

The edge of the universe began with the barrier of her front gate. To step beyond it meant accepting a world waited outside her house. Dan's absence haunted her and she felt Jody edge away, not taking his usual place under her skin. Someone else was stirring that ache. With one quick glance, she saw Rafe staring at them. Then Summer took Terry's hand.

She squeezed hard, getting his attention. "He's watching us, isn't he?" Terry whispered.

"Yeah. Terry, can you stay here tonight?"

He laughed and she joined him. "Yeah. But I'm sleeping on your sofa, I don't care how much you beg."

Her smile came in jerks, as did the relief. Then she laughed, a trapped giggle turning to a howl. Then she flung herself around Terry Quarters, as if her only lifeline.

Stepping through the door, Forest's anguish was palpable, the Yankees with men on base in the top of the ninth. Erika and Nat were to the edge of the sofa, Milt and Autumn flanking them. The kids were surrounded by Phillies' fans, but it was Jody Sims' children to emerge the winners as Philadelphia's closer Brad Lidge let three runs score. Yankee Mariano Rivera earned another save, squashing the Phillies on eight pitches to end the game. Nat smacked his hand into his fist as if hurling his baseball into a mitt. He never looked for the Harry Potter book, shooting Forest gleeful looks, Forest taking them as if mortally wounded. Their usual routine, one Summer hadn't witnessed since last year.

Spring and John readied to leave, asking who was cooking tomorrow. "I am," Terry smiled. "But don't show up thinking you're getting any more than Taco Bell."

"Oh god, anything but that," John teased.

"We'll take Wednesday," Spring said. "Unless the Yankees take it tomorrow."

"Cliff Lee better take it tomorrow," Forest huffed. He wheeled to the end of the hall. "Hey rutabaga queen, you done yet?"

"Almost," Skye called, her tone recovered.

"Good." He smiled. "I mean, I could just leave her here, but..." Betsy's car was parked right behind Forest's van. "If I did, it'd be a cold bed tonight."

Erika and Nat kissed their uncle, saying goodbye to Spring and John. "We'll see you tomorrow Uncle Forest," Nat teased. "Be here if you dare."

"If I dare, did you hear him?" Forest sighed. "If I DARE? I sense I'm being mocked."

"I sense someone's coming back to the land of baseball. Okay, we're outta here. Terry, if I show up here tomorrow night and there's Taco Bell on the table..."

"Don't worry Autumn. I'll get lots of those little sauce packets. It'll be just like high school."

She flipped him off, then gave Summer a hug. "See you in the morning," Autumn's eyebrows raised.

"Yes ma'am. Tomorrow as usual."

Summer's sisters and their men left, but Forest lingered. "So..." He stared at Terry and Rafe.

"Listen, since someone was so pissy, I'm gonna stay here." Terry's voice was nonchalant, as if Skye's outbursts always required some calming male presence.

Forest nodded. "Okay, yeah, sounds good."

Summer noted their mannerisms, as if jawing about the weather or baseball or anything normal. But this was not as usual. And no one spoke to that at all.

"Well, I'll uh, I'll see you guys tomorrow," Rafe said. "Thanks for the dogs Summer."

"Don't thank me, thank Dan the next time you see him."

"Uh yeah, I'll do that." Rafe nodded to the men, then went to the door. He opened it, stepped through, then stared at Summer as he closed it.

She watched him walk down the path, go through the gate, then he was gone as if stepping into some abyss. She shivered, never before feeling so compromised.

"You okay?" Forest asked.

She was still looking, needing to see his headlights, making sure he was really gone. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Her brother didn't prod and Summer didn't disclose. She had no idea what Forest knew, but looking at Terry's face, his eyes shaded, that man held more than what they had spoken on her front patio.

Forest and Betsy left after Skye was tucked in, no installment of the rutabaga queen that evening. Skye was pleased Terry was sleeping over, not even asking where. But she didn't slip and call him _Daddy_. She didn't trip when she asked for Dan either. "Will Daddy be here tomorrow night?"

Summer shrugged. "Baby, Dan works nights a lot of the time. We won't know until tomorrow."

"Why does he work at night?"

Again Summer felt a chill, how she had explained Jody's absence to Erika after he left, again. Maybe it was when they split up, Erika only two. Maybe it was after Jody and Summer made Skye. Maybe it was at any point when Erika's parents went from being married to being something else, closer but never again wed, not together. Being together was different.

"Dan works at night when the traffic's light, so only a few cars have to wait."

"Oh," Skye said, satisfied. Again, not a _why_ seeking real meaning. Only a _why_ because she was three.

Summer kissed her, then stood, tucking the blanket around Skye's feet, as if that kept absent daddies from her daughter's head. "I love you Skye, you too Erika. Sleep tight!"

"Mommy," Skye asked as Summer reached the door.

"What Skye?"

"Is Daddy coming back?"

Again another question Erika had asked, but this was more recent, seven months ago. As if Erika wished hard enough, her father wasn't really dead.

Summer noted Erika's breath held, then released. "Dan'll be back here as soon as he's not working. But sometimes he has to be there at night."

"Jody used to work at night Skye." Erika's tone was matter of fact.

Summer nearly lost it, but took a deep breath for herself. She didn't hold it at all, didn't want to keep any more of that man within her.

"Well, Jody's dead Erika," Skye huffed. "He's never coming back."

"You girls go to sleep now. I'll see you in the morning." Summer made kissing sounds, then closed the door behind her, leaving a small crack. She could hear Nat's breathing, nearly asleep. All the excitement of the game and she was glad, hoping he hadn't heard any of that exchange. Then she saw Terry's streaked face. He had.

Skye was loud, whether in the middle of the day or what was for her late at night. It was after nine, the game running three and a half hours. Summer was exhausted, but she walked to where Terry stood. "You sure about staying?"

"My god Summer, how'n the hell do you do it?"

"How do they?" She still wasn't sure how her children coped. Maybe one day, the other shoe would drop, and Nat's short-lived obsession with goobers would seem like peanuts.

Maybe Erika would be a stripper, removing with each article of clothing some part of her father that had cut into her, scarring her childhood flesh. Maybe Skye would be a prostitute, assuming any man in her bed was enough to ease the pain. Plus, hookers worked at night, like both of her fathers. As for Nat...

"Summer, there's something I wanted to tell you, but I wanted to wait till everyone left."

She felt like saying _What now?_ but nodded, leading him to the kitchen. The kids' doors were closed and if Terry spoke softly enough, maybe Summer wouldn't even hear him.

"Summer, I know Rafe had nothing to do with Jody's death, and what I mean by that is Jody killed _himself_." Terry sighed. "He did that Summer, no one helped him."

"Didn't we, all these years?"

Terry looked thoughtful. "I never thought about it that way. Yeah, maybe we did."

She noted the time, nearly nine-thirty. Without Dan to distract, how would Summer sleep; better, worse, the same? "Terry, I'm beat, and lately, lately. Huh! Nothing lately about it. I was getting up with him at four every goddamned morning, as long as he could be here with us, with me. Then he needed a beer. Do you know I didn't get it, why he was leaving at four, not until he had to spell it out? I didn't know he was drinking again."

_Drinking again_ wasn't just a beer here or there. It meant the big bender, many beers. So many that he shat himself in the shower, what Rafe had told her. Fucking Rafe! Summer now hated him.

"Summer, honey, what I wanted to tell you was that I know what Jody did, he did on his own. Why, shit. We'll never exactly _why_ he did that, stupid bastard." Terry shed a few more tears. "My god, I loved him, but none of us could reach him, make him stop. I couldn't, you couldn't, not even those kids couldn't! Motherfucking asshole."

She smiled. "My thoughts exactly."

"Yeah," Terry chuckled. Then he looked to the table. "But he's not the only one."

She felt it then, some small ease of her soul. Was it only the sound of her cell phone, a text she was sure, Dan checking on her. "Just a minute."

He nodded as she checked her cell at the computer. Dan said he loved her, that he was just arriving, a little early; maybe someone might return the favor in eight hours' time. Summer hoped so too, but it would be better if Dan saw Skye at day care, or else she wouldn't want to go. The same for Summer. If Dan appeared here in the morning, Summer would call in sick, haul all three kids to Autumn's, then come back and make who knew what with Dan Bailey. Maybe a baby, because they sure didn't have any condoms to prevent it!

She answered him with a smiley face, then took her phone to the kitchen. "Just Dan. He's at work, hoping someone will let him off early tomorrow."

"He's good for you Summer. Probably, no, no probably about it. Better for all of you than Jody ever could've been."

She didn't nod her head, felt immobile. "Terry, you're a good man."

"Not good enough, well, who is? Anyways listen, I know you're tired. Why don't you get me some blankets and..."

"Terry, what were you gonna say?"

He sighed. Had he said too much? Summer felt inundated with information, but he'd made a point, or was about to, when Dan texted. "Terry?" she repeated.

"Summer, Jody did that, he did hang himself. But I think the idea came from someone else."

"Who?" she whispered, as if she had to ask.

Terry looked to the front; the blinds were open. Summer would close them, otherwise anyone passing could peep into her house. No one ever did, nothing to see but a family attempting to hold all heads above water, above the raging Sims River, so named from years ago. Jody had been the constant in Summer's life, but not often was he a calm channel.

Now he was dead, by his own hand. "Terry?" Summer asked again.

"You know who; Rafe. And if either of us asked him, I bet he wouldn't deny it."

"Have you, I mean..."

"Not out and out point-blank if he told Jody to do that. We talked about if Jody had ever mentioned it before, but no, I've never asked Rafe if he told Jody what to do, specifically. Maybe better not to know."

"Why are you telling me this, why now?"

"Because I... Shit! His truck's sitting right outside. I'll be right back."

He moved with more speed than she had ever noted, but Terry Quarters wasn't a large man, not like Dan Bailey. She heard the door open, noted his racing steps down the ramp. She also heard what sounded like the whir of a hummingbird, but she knew it couldn't be. Instead it was a truck's wheels, pulling away in the powdery dust. No rain had fallen in months, but it was coming, Summer felt, rain and truth ready to pour.

Chapter 13: Monday Morning, November 2nd, 2009

Summer had broken rest, fits and starts of waking, expecting Dan to be next to her. Instead it was Skye, who had landed beside her mother sometime after midnight. Summer had set her daughter into Dan's space, then fell back asleep.

When she woke at four thirty, Summer noted the small girl's warm torso right at her back, not offering as much coverage as if it was Dan, but better than nothing. Then Summer smiled; she had put Skye on Dan's side, what she'd thought when lugging Skye's body over her own in the middle of the night. Dan was gone, but it had become _his_ side of the bed.

Was she a whore, a slut? Sleeping with her ex-husband for three weeks, then seven months later Summer picked up with another former lover, and now it was Dan's side of the bed. Dan was Skye's father, Erika's dad, probably Nat's as well. First the girls, for a girl always wanted a daddy. Summer and her sisters had adored their father, but now Summer's parents lived far away and she had transferred her feelings to other men. Men; Summer slept with men.

That year alone she'd slept with two, which maybe wasn't all that awful, but she wasn't a virginal princess, wasn't... She wasn't a lot of things, wasn't sleeping alone that morning, not with Skye next to her and the raucous snores of Terry on the sofa. Summer thought Jody had been loud, but he had nothing on Terry.

With Terry in the living room, Summer didn't rise from bed. Otherwise she would have padded out, started some coffee, checked the computer. Instead she lay next to her baby. Skye was still her baby, hers and... Dan's and Jody's, Dan first because he was alive. Take that Jody Sims! Summer didn't smile, only lay in the darkness, listening to Skye's short breaths. She was small and her heart still beat faster than her mother's, faster than Jody's, the stupid bastard, whether or not Rafe planted any bugs in Jody's head. Jody still did that, a horrible, unspeakable act ripping himself from them all. Still, at the end, it was Jody's fault.

His doing, his drunk, dumb-assed selfishness, and Summer's anger rose. Was that due to Dan's absence, that Skye had cried so hard last night, but good things had happened; Nat crawled from his cave, Forest and Erika's banter, and Skye ate half a hamburger! She ate protein unadulterated all because Dan cooked it and Forest had convinced her vegetarians were the devil. If Skye gave up carrots, peas and corn, Summer would kick Forest's... She couldn't kick his ass, but she would rap him upside the head damn hard.

What she longed to do to Jody: _Well Jody's dead Erika. He's never coming back._ Skye's voice had been almost disdainful, could three-year-olds project contempt? She hadn't liked the rutabaga at first, pretty dismissive about that poor root vegetable. But to her father, her real flesh and blood even if he was only a pile of ash in a crypt father? How would Skye see men when she was older? Were they the species who left, except those unable to get far, like Uncle Forest? Men like Uncle Forest only seemed to like baseball, because Uncle Forest didn't have any kids. He couldn't.

Uncle Forest never would desert Skye, he wasn't a daddy. Daddies left their kids, they never came back. Did Skye think that about Dan, why she came to bed last night, because Dan was like Jody: _He's never coming back._ Summer turned with care, Skye unbothered. She was curled into a ball, she often slept that way, a little ball of Skye Jody used to say.

Then Summer blinked. Skye was gone. Jody laid there, his hair tousled, his face relaxed, his body naked. That burn on his shoulder glowed as if freshly made, but he was as untroubled as Skye. Summer wanted to ask him so many questions, but Jody's eyes fluttered, as if he didn't wish to be interrogated. Maybe now he had all the answers, too many to consider.

He wasn't there, Summer knew that, but he was all she could see. Like those three weeks in March, he was all she viewed night after night, making love to him as if she was eighteen or twenty-eight or in her early thirties, knowing him so well, loving him even more. She had loved him so much.

He smiled, then set his hand to her face. Was that Skye's hand, Summer wondered, just flung back, running into her mother's cheek? But it was so deliberate, precise, Jody not drunk, not any of those nights they shared. He had been... Sober wasn't fitting, in some equally odd space, where nothing was real yet the most actual thing in the world was them together. Summer knew those nights had offered Jody a rare moment to be alive, not wasted or out of his head. Only in her bed, Summer's bed, now where Dan called home.

Many slept in Summer's bed, a rotation like pitchers; every so many days someone else took the space. Now Skye, previously Dan. Previously Jody, but now again Jody; he smiled at her, his hand still cupping Summer's jaw as he had been wont. _Had been_ she swallowed; Jody _had been_.

He seemed aware, a slight tip of his head, small shading of his eyes similar to what Terry had done last night when speaking of Rafe. Rafe had _not_ been in Summer's bed, he never would. Had Rafe gotten to Jody, insinuating ideas that Jody had considered at various other points, for he had told her. Sometimes he felt suicide was the only way to stop drinking.

They had been young years ago, at some point, Summer allowed. Older than Nat, but younger than Spring and John. During their early days before they married, before they had the sort of sex that led Jody to ask Summer to marry him and have his kids, Summer and Jody had more tumultuous natures. His youthful drinking was wild, explosive, to blot out his parents' deaths, also their lives. He was in his twenties, crazy, also gifted. Talented, so much musical prowess balanced by plenty of booze and lots of sex with Summer, only Summer and Jody. But because they were cloistered, when he lost it, few others offered stability. And when Jody lost it before they married and had children, his footing was precarious indeed.

Later both blamed youth, his unruly upbringing, that Summer hadn't been as helpful as she could have been. She allowed him his ways, didn't bitch as she would in later years. She was flush with loving him, sharing the wanton nature of existing on the road, in vans and buses, thriving on crisis and disorder. Summer's home life was staid, downright boring, until Forest's accident. That crash forced some reality into Summer and Jody, bringing them back to earth.

That Forest lost his mobility was part of it, that the man who hit him was drunk was another. He was dead too, which seemed to ease their hearts, and Jody cleaned up after that. A few years later he and Summer married, setting behind them a raucous youth, much of their twenties spent with Jody's hands wrapped around either a guitar, his girlfriend, or a beer, sometimes all three at once. Summer had delighted in that connection until her brother was nearly killed.

Jody had quit cold turkey right after Forest's accident, Summer caring for him as well as her parents and sisters, Forest looked after by hospital staff at a rehabilitation center where he learned how to live without his legs. Jody learned to live somewhat sober at the same time, both men in therapy, but while Forest never got a chance to stand again, Jody backslid, attempts here and there to drink and live. His life was bound with alcohol, but it had always been that way so Summer wasn't bothered. That Forest no longer looked down at her had been different, now was all she recalled. One day, Summer would say the same about Jody.

One day, she was sure, she would look at that side of the bed, even if it was empty, and he wouldn't be there.

But that morning, a Monday morning, Jody lay next to her as if wishing to speak. Or was Summer only seeking answers, but not the usual ones. This time a different question rang in her head; had Rafe told Jody what to do?

She wanted to just say it, but if she spoke, Skye would hear. Summer didn't want her daughter to wake, pushed all the way to the edge of the mattress, Jody in between them. Skye was there, Summer noting a child's rapid breaths. Jody made no noise, he was dead. But he stared at his ex-wife, Summer feeling very much like Jody's former spouse. It had been seven months, after all. Seven months and Dan.

But for the first time, Dan Bailey caused Jody no outward discomfort, none that Summer could detect. Then she smiled. What was real? This wasn't, Jody here beside her not actual in any shape or form, even if she might feel him as such. His hand was still close, now to the crook of her neck, he'd always liked that part of her body. Summer shivered, but Jody didn't flinch.

He didn't breathe or make a sound. Then she did, but not aloud, mouthing words she was dying to ask: _Did Rafe tell you to do it? Was it his idea, or yours?_

Summer, don't ask me that.

In only her ears, his voice hung as gravelly as before, as if needing that beer in the afterlife as desperately as he had when living.

She stared at him, feeling out of her mind, wishing Skye snored, wishing Terry would wake, giving her an excuse to get up. Instead she lay still, as if a corpse: _Jody, how much of this is Rafe's fault?_

Not the tie. I chose that on my own.

That pierced her, what she had imagined, some last, petty act seeking an enduring revenge for her cheating.

_But to hang yourself..._ That phrase no more than a thought, but as if she forced it from her mouth, the words grinding along her throat, maybe how the necktie had choked him, broken his slender, beautiful neck: _Jody, did Rafe tell you to do that?_

Jody's body still enticed, slim narrow shoulders she had kissed and caressed, then his hairless, smooth chest, a little definition along his pecs. Then she set her eyes to where she'd loved to spend so much time, his groin a mass of brown hair, but he was flaccid, his penis as dead as the rest of him. It hadn't always been that hushed.

Three children had been built by them, together. Three offspring and how many nights, days, moments of passion and pleasure and even seven months ago she had felt it, known it, had him. He'd taken her, then his life, and all Summer wanted to know was _why_. Why had he done that to himself, to her, their children? Why Jody, she asked for the umpteenth time. "Why?"

That time she did speak and Skye mumbled she didn't know. Jody smirked, then laughed, not saying a word.

She got nothing more, then turned away in anger. Furious at Jody, at Rafe, at herself for conjuring a ghost. Not fair to Dan, she breathed, then got out of bed, heading to her bathroom. She closed the door as Skye was facing her, sound asleep, not at all disturbed. Summer shook from the cold, from his face, how miserable he looked when he asked her to not question, not to once again pick at the scab. She had, unable to do otherwise. And of course it hurt like a sonovabitch. Again Jody was under her skin.

Summer took a shower, the water not hot enough no matter how high she turned the nozzle. She stepped out shivering, having forgotten to start the heater. Her tiny bathroom was warm, but as soon as she moved outside it, cool air slammed into her, not much differently than Jody's absence again ripping the flesh from her frame. Then he lay all over her and Summer wept tired, livid tears. It didn't matter if Rafe had told Jody what to do, didn't matter if anyone had said anything to Jody Sims. He was still the perpetrator of that act; he had done this himself.

She dressed, then turned on the heater, then noted the time, nearly six! Had she lain there with Jody for over an hour? Summer started the coffee, roused the children, began the routine. Old practices, but also new, seven months not all that long for someone to be dead. People didn't get over such trauma in a few months, or in several. It took years, ages, a long time. Maybe Skye had accepted a new daddy, but for Erika, Nat, and Summer, Jody was going to be within them until, until...

Until he just wasn't anymore. Summer shuddered, then poured her coffee, quickly gazing at the bottom of her cup, then to Terry's, no peanuts in either. "Terry, you want any sugar?"

He remained on the sofa, but had sat up, sharing the end with Nat, who was putting on his shoes. "Just one, thanks."

"You sleep okay Terry?" Nat asked.

"Yeah. I think this couch's better than my bed."

"Dan's sleeping here tonight Terry," Skye said from the kitchen.

"We don't know that yet Skye," Summer said.

Skye didn't look up, eating her toast.

"What's for dinner tonight Terry?" Erika asked.

He laughed. "Taco Bell, but just for your aunt. Hell, I have no idea."

"Pizza again?" Nat's tone hopeful.

"Nah, I'm not actually that big on pizza. Summer, help me out here."

"Come by work this morning and we'll figure something out."

"That I will do." He stepped into the kitchen, taking his mug, sipping from the edge. "Okay, I'll take this with me, bring it back later."

"Keep it," Summer smiled.

"No, or that'll be how it goes. I'll start stealing your coffee cups, then you'll be knocking on my door. Okay kids, see you later. If any of you thinks of something good for dinner, text me."

The older kids whined, neither with phones. Terry left to their small complaints, Summer giving him hell.

She dropped Nat and Erika off as she did every weekday morning, but the drive was quiet, Skye not making a peep. Dan's absence had scared her and Summer watched her daughter in the rear-view mirror. Skye stared at her shoes. His surprise visit in another forty minutes would lift her spirits and Summer wondered if it would bother the staff's schedule. If it did, too bad.

She kissed her daughter, Skye moping toward her friends. Summer used that moment to pass along Dan's intended appearance. Because it was a small town, that Dan and Skye were buddies wasn't big news. That Skye had lost her father only months before was still a piece of gossip and the manager smiled at Summer. They would let Skye and Dan chat as long as Skye needed.

It wouldn't be long, five minutes maybe, Summer aware it was just the continuity, the _why_ answered. Dan's face would be enough, but Summer imagined what would happen. Skye would see him, run at full tilt, be hoisted into the air, then hugged with all Dan owned. She'd mutter a few nonsensical things, something about the rutabaga, then would twitch to get down, hopping round for a minute. Then something else would catch her fancy and she would race off, saying goodbye to Dan, that she'd see him later. Skye wouldn't doubt that because Dan had gone there to see her.

So little effort, children needed so little reassurance at Skye's age, for nothing really bad happened, nothing truly dismal. The miserable parts occurred at night, to which Summer would attest from her nocturnal visitor. Children's memories were fleeting, ephemeral, as ethereal as the dead having passed. Skye's transitory world was easy to calm as long as someone gave more than half a shit about her.

Which Dan did, and Jody? Summer arrived at work, still cold and unsure. Jody had loved them, all of them, but had he really cared? She let that float, walking into the store, quiet at that hour of the morning. Summer relished the peace, not wishing to think about Jody or her children, their children. Dan's children. Nathan, Erika and especially Skylar were now Dan's kids too. That fact was reiterated when an hour later, Dan Bailey appeared at her register, some fruit on the belt, apples and bananas. "For Skye," he smiled.

"How was she?"

"Well, that first minute or so I thought she was gonna wet her pants. Then she started wanting down, I'd picked her up," his smile beatific. "She ran right for me, but then as soon as she said she knew where she wanted to plant the rutabaga, she was done. I put her down, she twirled around a few times, like getting it out of her system. Then she took off, did wave goodbye, I'll give her that."

Summer smiled. "You made her day just by being there."

"I'm getting that feeling. How about with her mother?"

Summer's throaty laugh made Joe Stammers look her way. "You gotta work tonight?"

"Maybe," he sighed. "Won't know until later. So," his voice lowering to where only she could hear him. "What does it take with Skye's mother?"

"So little you won't believe it," her tone a heady whisper.

"Oh, I'd believe it. Okay. I'll go get some sleep. What time will you be home?"

She liked how he said it, as if he always stopped to see her first, checking her schedule. "A little after three. And you? What time will you be home?"

A teasing banter, but with no one else demanding her attention, Summer set the fruit into a paper bag, another mocking gesture.

"What time do Nat and Erika get out of school?"

"Two. They'll walk over to Autumn's. I pick them up there."

"I'll get them, it'll be their treat." He grinned. "And as for you..."

"Surprise me." She handed him the not so large paper bag. It didn't contain vitamin water, but she would leave the condoms, or the lack of them, in Dan's hands.

"All right. We'll see you when you and Skye get home."

She blinked tears, as if Dan wasn't just the father of her children. As if Jody had never existed, leaving Summer to wonder. Dan didn't attempt to touch her, only nodding his head, aware. Yet as he walked away, Summer sighed. Jody was dead, but he had been there that morning, even if only as a fragment of Summer's mind.

Chapter 14: Monday Afternoon, November 2nd, 2009

Right before Summer left work, she noted Elisa Gonzales's odd stance, as if waiting for someone. It had been a strange Monday, for what had happened, and what didn't occur. Hannah Lingley never did step foot into the store, but Cora Harper had bought cat food, offering Summer a small, off-hand apology, that those Yankees were probably going to be beaten that night, Cliff Lee nobody's fool. It wasn't so much the old woman's words providing Summer's extra smile, but the tone, Cora's mind sharp that morning, no pesky teens clouding her speech. That Joe Girardi was a good manager, but Lee was unbeatable. A win for us all, Cora said, her voice soft, apologetic, and Summer had nodded.

But Cora hadn't seen Elisa, wasn't any party to that young woman's nervous gait, arriving at two-thirty but looking as though wishing her shift was already over. Summer said nothing, still feeling chilled, anxious as well. They only smiled at each other as Summer took her leave.

She didn't bother picking up anything for dinner. Terry had popped in, buying a huge selection of sliced meats from the deli, cheeses too. He got a head of lettuce, three different loaves of bread, about six bags of chips, a variety of dips, three jars of pickles. Containers of salads had been the last items Summer set into bags as he ran back to the deli counter, then returned with potato, macaroni, and three bean. "I love three bean salad," he said. "Not too many people do though."

Summer knew someone else, but Jody wouldn't be eating with them. He might have lain in her bed that morning, maybe it only sprung from Terry's presence. Or maybe Jody would show up, but she doubted he'd partake of their meal. "Maybe Dan does," Summer said, unsure of much of that man's likes and dislikes outside her bed. He loved her kids, she knew that, and he seemed to like cooking. "Maybe Forest will talk Skye into trying it."

"I dunno. No barbecued hamburgers in three bean salad." Terry had winked, then headed to the door, his cart fuller than she had ever seen.

He was single, never bought that much food. He had teased he was going to set a Taco Bell bag on the table, see what Autumn did. He knew the manager, a guy they went to high school with, could ask for one sack. And a few packets of sauce, just to really piss off Autumn. But Summer wouldn't see Autumn until that evening. After she collected Skye from day care, hearing all about Dan's visit, she didn't drive to her sister's house. Instead Summer went straight home, where Dan and the older children were waiting.

Skye's words were rushed; she couldn't wait to plant the rutabaga! They were going to put it near the fence and maybe in spring they would add some corn, which Skye did like, and peas. She liked corn, peas, and carrots, but Summer couldn't imagine the circumstances Forest would need to employ to get Skye to try three bean salad. Not even Dan would be able to force that issue on Summer's youngest daughter.

Summer's youngest only implored her mother to drive faster so Skye could get home and see Dan. He was Dan all through the drive, until they reached the house. Dan's pick-up was parked out front and Skye starting screaming _Daddy_ at the top of her lungs as if it was Jody standing in their front yard.

Tears poured down Summer's face as she parked, seeing Dan playing chess on the small patio with Nat, Erika and Abby doing cartwheels on the lawn. Erika hadn't done any cartwheels since Jody's death and Summer had to wipe her eyes, Skye hollering to be let out of her car seat; she wanted to see her daddy!

Her daddy had lain beside her that morning, but Skye was no more aware of Jody Sims than Summer was to why Jody wasn't there. Instead Dan Bailey rescued Skye as Summer sat immobile, wracked with silent sobs. Dan gave Skye a hug, then sent her inside, reminding her to pee. Then Dan opened Summer's door, but didn't assist her from the seat. "You okay?"

"She was talking about you the entire drive," she blubbered. "Dan this and Dan that and as soon as she saw your truck, it was like screw Dan, that's my daddy! Daddy Daddy Daddy, oh Christ!"

"Summer, oh baby!"

"No Dan, it's good, oh god, I mean..." She stared at him, as if seeking confirmation, his permission. A little late, Summer sighed. This man had become Skye's father.

"Oh Summer, are you kidding? Of course it's good!" Dan looked to the house.

"Are you sure, I mean, she's pretty damn possessive." Yet not so possessive that her own father mattered, but Summer didn't say that.

Dan laughed. "Let me finish the game with Nat, get the rutabaga planted. Then we need to talk."

While Dan attended those chores, Summer took a shower, but didn't wash her hair. She clipped it back, letting the spray dampen her face, relieve the pressure on her eyes. Finally she felt warm, it had taken all day, and it wasn't even cold outside. Only Jody lingering, icing her over. No sex since Sunday afternoon might have something to do with it too, Summer smiled.

Had Dan brought the condoms? She looked in the bedside table drawer, didn't see them. That warmed her as well. She could hear Skye talking about planting the rutabaga, Nat offering advice. Then a loud SLAP! Summer sat on her bed. A ball into a mitt, she was sure of it.

She dressed, then slipped on shoes. She almost ran to the living room, but stopped short, peeking around the corner. She could see Erika and Abby, those cartwheels going full tilt. Dan and Skye stood along the fence, but Nat wasn't near them.

Summer walked into the kitchen, got a glass of water. No peanuts anywhere, not near the faucet or toaster or coffeemaker. None waiting near the dish soap. She drank her water, then walked to her computer. There, next to the front gate, Nat stood, the mitt on his hand, the ball in the other. He was tossing it back and forth, SLAP hitting his mother like a nut going down the wrong way.

But it wasn't incorrect, only unexpected. Nat played chess with Dan, had played catch with Jody. Nat wasn't playing catch with anyone now, only reminding himself what the mitt and ball used to do. Travel from one to another, but not to Dan. Not yet, Summer concluded.

Maybe soon? Maybe it was just enough that Nat had dug that mitt from the dregs of his room, the ball hidden in some concealed corner. She stepped down the hall, poking her nose in his doorway. The space wasn't rife with possessions, as if Nat had to tear down walls to find those items. Maybe he'd known all along where they lay, like Jody in the crypt. They all knew exactly where he remained.

But a solid man had been next to Summer that morning, not the one out in the yard with her kids, their kids. Jody's offspring too, but he'd not given enough of a shit about them to stick around. Her anger returned, fury at Jody, and at herself.

"Mommy! Mommy, come see!"

Summer heard Skye's voice all the way from the back of the house. She found her daughter standing in the open front doorway, Skye's hands on her hips. "Come see the rutabaga!"

"Didn't you bury it?" Summer smiled.

"Well yeah but..." Skye ignored the joke, was too young to even consider what else her mother might have meant. Summer's hand was pulled by a squirmy three-year-old who only cared to illustrate their efforts, the method to erase one rather unattractive vegetable. A root that Skye seemed sure would be transformed in the spring.

Summer noticed the patted earth, dry hard ground that had yet to know the healing properties of rainfall. They needed a good dousing, drench this yard, removing hummingbird piddle, settling the dust. And the ash; Jody's ashes needed a good clearing-out, or whatever he still was. Maybe just Summer's memories needed to be wiped. As Dan took her hand, giving it a squeeze, something else needed a refresher. He kissed her cheek, then laughed. "Well I'm not Mr. Green Jeans, but at least it's in the ground."

The cacophony of children's shouts didn't touch their mother, not in that moment. Dan's hand seeped into her, but not painfully, only as a salve. She felt flushed, hot, so alive, and she nodded, voices wrapping around her, small and inquisitive, but not aching, no sadness. Nat was talking about that night's game, that Cliff Lee wasn't all that great. Erika asked why was Uncle Forest so sure Cliff Lee was going to win. Skye spoke of how in the spring, she would wait for the rutabaga to pop from the ground, confirming all Uncle Forest had said.

"Listen, Nat, Erika, I want you guys to watch Skye for a bit. I need to talk to your mom, just the two of us, okay?"

The melee quieted, Nat's small cough sounding that of a young man. "Sure Dan. Come on Skye. I'll teach you how to play chess."

"I don't wanna play chess! Daddy, let's plant another... Mommy, what else can I plant?"

"Skye, you can't plant anything right now, it's almost winter!"

Erika sounded older too, as if fourteen, the bastion of wisdom. Summer smiled at their tones, also that it felt nothing like winter, still Indian summer, still baseball season. The Phillies still had hope with Cliff Lee on the mound, but she didn't speak of that, letting Dan assign the roles. Erika and Abby could watch as Nat taught Skye whatever part of chess Nat felt was appropriate. Dan used that word, a big word, one that Nat and Erika knew, but Skye didn't understand. "What's that mean?"

"Nat will explain," Dan said, a parental nod Nat's way.

It was taken as such, Nat grabbing Skye's hand, leading her to the board as if freed from some awful, helpless hole. With his mitt still attached, gripping the ball, he walked his little sister to where the game waited. Nat removed his glove, leaving the ball in the center, then put Skye in what had been Dan's chair. That seemed to appease, as if she was the one keeping Dan's place warm.

The girls returned to their gymnastics as Dan led Summer into the house. Once inside, Summer released a breath, one she'd been holding since that morning, since asking Jody _why_ and not getting anywhere. With that man she'd never gotten far. With Dan gripping her fingers, the possibilities were endless.

"What are we gonna talk about?" she whispered.

"Whatever you need to talk about," he said, stroking the side of her face.

She wasn't sure if her small breakdown remained visible. "Do you have to work tonight?"

"I need to be there at two. I brought some clothes; I'll just shower here, then head out around one."

She smiled. "You didn't bring the rubbers."

He chuckled. "You notice that already?"

"Yeah." She looked to the floor, then to the front door, Nat's calm voice countered by Skye's impatient _why_ this and _why_ that. Summer led Dan just into the hallway, then kissed him. It wasn't short or chaste. Then she reached for his face, setting her fingers along his temple. "Maybe we got all the noise out of our systems yesterday," she giggled.

"Maybe," he smiled. "But if you want, I'll go get them."

Thinking to how her morning began, Summer shook her head. "I don't want you going anywhere until you absolutely have to."

She cracked her bedroom window, but turned the blinds so they wouldn't be seen. Then they lay on her bed and made out for ten minutes; practice, Summer said. Not making a peep, they explored frames that while clothed felt naked, or maybe it was anticipating that night's activities. Then Summer moved from atop his body, curling next to him. If one of the kids came in, Dan would have to lie beside her, his bulge noticeable. The kids only chattered to themselves, Skye finally pulling Nat from the chess board. Summer heard the SLAP of the ball as Erika attempted to teach her little sister how to do a cartwheel.

Skye managed a somersault, Summer's brood and Abby Stanton's innocent voices as if life was no more than the lingering moments of childhood, kids just being kids. Nothing hurt, no one sported permanent bruises, the simplest of pleasures enjoyed. Then Summer giggled, what she and Dan had done not all that different. Only for those older, between people very close. "Dan, I think Rafe may have..."

"Summer, whether he did something or nothing, it doesn't make any difference now."

"Yeah, I know, but..." But Jody was here this morning Dan. Summer sighed. "Terry stayed the night last night."

"I know. I'm glad."

She smiled, as if she was everyone's girlfriend; Dan's, Terry's, Jody's, but not Rafe's. "Me too, because Rafe drove over here last night."

"He did what?"

"Terry saw his truck, went out there, but Rafe left. Who knows what he wanted?"

SLAP, and Summer smiled. That sound was beginning to drown out the girls, a steady, thumping beat, like Nat's heart being pulled back together. It had taken Harry Potter and Joe Girardi to afford Summer's son a little healing, but the biggest stitches were those planted by not a rutabaga, only chess pieces, a king and queen, pawns no longer Summer's kids, or at least not always. Her children weren't just random figures, no one concerned with their welfare or positions.

Dan sat up, then swung his legs from the mattress. "Shit. Summer, I don't want you here alone..."

"We just won't tell anyone that you have to leave." Then she sighed. If Dan wasn't there in the morning, what would the kids think? Was Mommy only taking in part-time borders, was Dan no more than Jody, slipping in and out of Summer's bed, of their lives?

"Maybe I can get out of it, maybe..."

"No. This with Rafe, whatever it is, that's his problem. My front door is solid. He ain't getting in this house."

She moved to where Dan's back curled over, his head low, but not to his hands. "What?" she asked.

"Summer, the condoms. I left them at my house because I wanted..."

Setting her hands on his shoulders, she felt great desire, attachment, expression. "Dan, I know. I know and I'm glad. We'll just be very, very quiet."

Her giggle was honest, but she wasn't sure how to keep from screaming, how she would manage to hold back. She would, somehow, or bite her lip off in the process.

"Summer, no, it's not that."

Her smile faded with his plaintive voice, small guilt edging his few words. The words were sparse, but as he tensed under her touch, she knew what he couldn't say, what before hadn't been the reason to eschew the rubbers. He had said he was dying to feel only her, it was driving him crazy. Now after just two days of being someone's Daddy, that notion was eager to be applied.

"Dan, it's okay, that's okay you know."

"Maybe not. I don't think you're really ready for something like that."

Those words hurt worse, the honesty and his knowledge of her. She could fuck this man day and night, could even make love to him. But make a baby? Yet, the sex was the same, the level of intensity she had shared with Jody, the degree of meaning. Sex fell into so many categories, but one sat so high on the list, maybe some never felt it. Forest hadn't, due to an accident. Autumn and Milt weren't aware, a couple not wishing to procreate. Spring and John were almost here, as if all John needed was one good swing, hitting the bell, winning the prize. The grand prize, and three of them stood in Summer's front yard, arguing about what Terry was bringing for dinner. Nat really hoped it was pizza, Erika actually wanted Taco Bell. Skye spoke of more barbecue; she wasn't going to eat another vegetable in her whole entire life!

Her life, that of a child, Summer's baby. Summer and Jody had loved each other to the point where children had been conceived, but that was only one example of fucking around. So many others remained, the love Forest and Betsy made which had no connotations of offspring being produced. The love Autumn and Milt shared, which could result in a baby, but wouldn't. The sex Spring and John were starting to leave behind, that of two, only two, two time and again, not thinking of more than themselves until suddenly they were. They were thinking about becoming three.

Three, like three outs, three strikes, three bases loaded. Summer had done that and as she ran her hands along Dan's chest, causing him to flinch, then lean back into her, a fourth. Dan wanted to make it a grand slam.

Why, she wondered, not that she wouldn't mind having his baby, but it hadn't been the driving force for sleeping with him, not ever. Not in the past, not this time. Only relief, respite. Then a small curiosity, that if it felt so damned fantastic with a rubber, what in the hell would it be like without it?

And just _if_ , tiny and not yet enacted, _if_ she did get pregnant, would that set Jody truly to rest?

But that was all. Summer could recognize her true feelings. A baby would only be a by-product of an experiment, not a bad reason, but not ideal. Not why a child should be conceived, not why Nathan and Erika were, and Skye? Summer smiled. "Dan, you know why Jody and I had Skye?"

She was still behind him, now sitting with her legs splayed around his lower body, not looking very dignified. If the kids found them, only Skye wouldn't be embarrassed.

Dan didn't answer and Summer clasped her hands around his middle. "When Jody and I made her, it was sort of like how we'd been together in March, just screwing around, not really sure of why we were doing it, but there we were, sleeping together again. Neither of us was doing what we should, he didn't buy any condoms and I didn't ask him too. And then there she was and of course we'd have her, that was never a question," Summer laughed.

"I'm glad you did, I mean..."

"I can't imagine my life without her, what a character! He felt the same, just some gift. We were gonna name her for my dad if she'd been a boy, but if she was a girl..." Summer giggled.

"What?"

"I wanted to name her Shiloh. Jody wasn't really all that keen, but since I was going through all the work, he agreed. But it didn't happen. Instead she's Skylar, our little ball of Skye."

Summer slipped those words, aware Dan wouldn't understand. But he turned to her. "Why'd you change your mind?"

"Oh because of stupid Brad and Angelina. They had their Shiloh first and as soon as that came to light, there was no fucking way I was gonna name _my_ baby Shiloh anymore."

Dan's laugh was so loud, the kids ran to their mother's window. "What?" Erika asked.

"Nothing," Summer giggled. "Good thing we were so quiet before."

"Were you really gonna name her Shiloh?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't have been any good though, nothing shy about Skye."

"No, that's true." Then he grew quiet.

"Dan, it's okay. I'm not bothered, I mean, about getting pregnant again." Somewhat of an _if_ , as Summer was nearly forty. Yet, Skye had been easy to conceive, a little too simple. Blessed, as Summer always considered her. All those kids were gifts.

"Summer, he's still here, in you."

Why she had wanted to get pregnant, but Dan felt differently. "He is, you're absolutely right. He was here, just this morning, right in this bed."

Dan began to move and Summer scooted back, into the middle of the mattress. Dan stood, staring at her. "What do you mean?"

"Oh just that sometimes I feel like I see him, god, right after he died it was like he was everywhere, maybe just in that through the kids he is, was, shit. I have no idea. Skye came to bed with me last night, probably looking to see if you'd come home." Summer used that word with no hesitation. "I just set her on your side and she never stirred. Then it was Jody there, looking as he had before." She didn't elaborate, would let Dan make his own assumptions as to the nature of Jody's return, or to what Summer conjured.

"What'd you talk about?"

Summer smiled. Of course Dan would consider that. Summer wouldn't have set Jody back in her view if she didn't have something to say. Or to ask. But not the usual question, not at first. At first it was Rafe, then it was the standard _why_. "I asked him if Rafe had told him to, you know..." Her voice was low, the children not far away. "He said he chose the necktie, I mean, Jody did."

Her voice cracked, that one detail some needle to break her back. Jody Sims was dead, hadn't really said anything to Summer that morning. For the rest of her life she would assume he used that tie out of spite, no other way to explain it.

Dan lay beside her, his body so warm, real, all over her. Then he was between her legs, as if by making pretend love to her, he could remove pretend Jody. An imaginary baby so fashioned would calm a woman's heart, set peace inside her. Then footsteps were noted, more than one set. Dan removed himself and when Skye burst in, two adults sat against the wall, Summer in Dan's arms.

Skye jumped on the bed, getting between them. "Mommy, Daddy, I can do a cartwheel!"

"Really?"

"Uh-huh."

"She can _almost_ do one." Erika sat on the corner of the bed, sighing as if forgetting her own missing cartwheels during the past months. "Abby told her it was but..." Erika's smile emerged as she began slipping closer toward her mother's pillows.

Nat stood at the door. "It was most of a cartwheel. Sort of a falling-over one."

"I wasn't falling over," Skye huffed.

"I'm sure it was beautiful." Summer kissed Skye's head.

"Can I lay down?" Erika sought permission.

"Uh-huh," Summer said, as Erika set her body along Summer's right side.

Then Nat stepped into the room, his mitt and ball like new outgrowths, as if Jody's death had severed them. Now reattached, Nat was becoming accustomed to their presence, similar to how all seemed accepting of Dan lying on their mother's bed. The past, only a different man, but not one undesirable. Changed, as if Jody had altered, now looking like Dan Bailey.

"Daddy, Mommy, will you come watch me?" Skye asked.

"You bet," Dan said.

"Right now?" her voice excited.

"Uh-huh. I just need to pee." Summer gripped her daughter, what she would have said no matter which man lay next to her. Skye was squishing her mother's bladder and Summer needed a moment. How many times had she allowed herself one small minute with that excuse, just long enough to inhale a few breaths, some quiet enclave to collect herself, then emerge with her mommy-face intact. A smile, maybe several of them. Summer had three children and as she got off the bed, those kids scrambling to the yard, Dan stood in the doorway.

"I'll be right there," she said to him.

He smiled. "You really need to pee?"

"Now I do, but not always."

"I don't have to have a baby with you, but I'd like to. But not until you're ready."

Summer heard Dan's request, also that of her daughter, calling for her. "SUM-MER! SUM-MER! Are you coming Summer?"

"Tell her I'll be right there." Summer stepped his way, reaching for the side of his face where she left a kiss, like a promise. Then she walked into her bathroom, closing the door.

Chapter 15: Monday Evening, November 2nd, 2009

At the conclusion of the third inning, Erika and Nat had stopped watching. The Phillies were ahead six to one, and Uncle Forest hadn't even gloated. It was all Cliff Lee as Forest had predicted, one man holding the game in his hand.

Instead Summer's kids, all three, sat in the kitchen, snacking on potato chips. She had insisted each have a sandwich first, then they could gorge on salty slices of spud and tortillas, Erika noting Skye was eating a vegetable, a potato. Skye then switched to tortilla chips, at which time Nat mentioned they were made from corn. Skye stuck her tongue out at her brother and kept right on nibbling.

Summer stepped from the living room to where her children sat, listening to various small conversations. Spring and Betsy were talking about babies, Autumn still bugging Terry about the Taco Bell bag that had been waiting when she and Milt arrived. Dan, Milt, Forest, and John were the only ones really watching the game. And Rafe wasn't there.

Terry didn't know where he was and hadn't heard from him all day. Only Terry, Dan, and Summer knew Rafe had stopped at Summer's house last night, but everyone knew Dan would be there until he had to leave for work. The exact time wasn't mentioned, but Skye had been informed Dan would see her tomorrow morning. He had to work in the middle of the night, but insisted he would stop at the day care before going home to sleep.

That had also been qualified; Dan would go to his own house for slumber. Summer would pick up all her kids tomorrow afternoon as usual. But what was usual and what was being slotted into that spot were differing notions. Not just her children's locations after school, but where Dan also wished to be.

Summer stood in the kitchen doorway, looking to the TV. In the top of the fourth, Lee threw pitch after pitch, stymieing the Yankees, but Joe Girardi didn't change his face, an impassive bearing Summer understood. It was six to one, it was Cliff Lee on the mound. The Phillies _had_ to win this game just to stay in the series. If they lost, New York took the championship. Staring at the Yankees' manager, Summer felt the will of that team in Girardi's wary eyes, chiseled cheekbones, the glare of a catcher trying to set into a pitcher the right signs, but this time Girardi was opposing Cliff Lee, not the man of his choosing. Summer gazed at her family and friends, the tightest of clans, the innermost members of her network. They were her team, children, siblings and partners, men whom she'd known for years. Two were missing; Rafe due to embarrassment. The other because of what Rafe might have said to him.

What had Rafe said, if anything? Pure speculation, and Summer blinked, another pitch thrown, another strike called, another inning completed by Cliff Lee. The commercial drove her back to the kitchen, the three children talking about what Halloween candy remained, Nat and Erika full of salty chips. Summer sat near Skye on the bench, then pulled her onto her lap. "So, no bath tonight, but we need to wash your hands." Skye's small nails harbored specks of earth and Summer stared at those long fingers, like Jody's. Maybe Skye would be the musical Sims.

Maybe she could learn piano, sing for her supper. Summer reveled in the little girl's warmth, cuddling with a child still small enough to fit on a mother's lap. Erika was heavy, but Skye was petite, and at that moment very pleased for where she was.

"Mommy, what can I plant next?"

"Nothing until spring Skye. It's nearly autumn."

In most places the beginning of November was fall, but in California that season seemed elusive, trees dusty, slightly yellowed. Only the prunes were losing their leaves, most of the English walnuts as bushy as in June or July. The almonds were a mix, some orchards holding firm, others with trees falling victim to the few cool nights. Summer had never lived anywhere else, but she'd seen real autumn with Jody while on tour. Years before these children were born, Summer had traveled America, their small corner an anomaly when it came to proper seasons.

"Mommy, there's got to be something I can plant!"

"Sorry Skye. If you do, it'll only die."

The girl stared at her mother. "What about the rutabaga?"

"Well..." Summer sighed. "Skye, you know it's not a real magical rutabaga."

Like telling Skye there was no Santa Claus or Easter Bunny or... Or when Summer had to drop the biggest bomb, that Jody was dead. Nat had cried silent tears. Erika shook her head, shouting _no no_ over and over. Skye had worn a quizzical face, that _why_ spoken in a tone so curious. Then: _What does that mean_?

What did it mean even seven months later? The rutabaga was dead, wasn't going to do more than evolve into fertilizer, and not for a long time. Jody was dead, but his ashes were held in a box, impervious to the elements. The rutabaga would fall apart or be eaten by worms. Summer hadn't fretted when Dan wanted to plant Skye's vegetable, but the appalled look on Skye's face made Summer wince.

"Mommy, is it like Daddy, not coming back?"

Steps approached, Dan popping his head around the corner. Summer looked up, her lips pursed. "Skye, the rutabaga you and Dan planted was sort of like playing, but no Skye, Jody's not coming back."

Who was Skye's Daddy, Summer wondered, and who was Jody? Skye let out a sniff, then buried her face into Summer's body. "Is Dan staying here?" Skye warbled.

Summer couldn't tell if Dan heard, and she maneuvered Skye toward him. "Skye, Dan's here for as long as he is. I don't know how long any of us are here honey, but..."

"But I love you Skye and I'm not planning on going anywhere but work." Dan picked up the trembling child, who wrapped herself around him.

Skye didn't speak, shaking her head back and forth.

On the sofa, in the fifth inning, Summer sat next to Dan who still gripped Skye. The Yankees drove in one run, but the Phillies's lead seemed insurmountable, six to two. Summer heard her daughter's small voice bouncing back and forth with Dan's warm tone, a man solid, present. They spoke of the rutabaga, an experiment Dan said. Skye asked what that was, and Dan explained it was like seeing what would happen. Maybe the rutabaga would grow, maybe not. They just wouldn't know until next year.

"Like maybe you'll stay or maybe you'll die," Skye sighed.

"Skye, I am going to stay. And someday, hopefully not for a long, long time, I'll die. We all do."

"Everyone?" she said, incredulous.

"Yeah Skye. Everyone dies."

"My daddy did, Jody you know."

"I know. And that was so sad. Other people do too, my mom and dad are dead."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. A few years ago."

Skye went quiet as in the bottom of the fifth, Philadelphia's Jayson Werth smacked a long fly ball to center. Yankees' fielder Brett Gardner hit the wall to make the out, Forest emitting a loud groan as the ball landed in Gardner's glove.

Summer watched the play, but her ears were tuned to Skye and Dan's words. Also to the hushed breaths of Erika and Nat, who had decided to watch the carnage, as if the screen showed their father's living room.

The older children had been told that Jody had taken his life, Summer framing the news with appropriate language. Nat had asked how and Summer was honest, all but the necktie mentioned. Nat hadn't inquired further, Erika blubbering in Forest's arms, encased on his lap, the chair an added buffer.

But they sat watching the game as if Jody's house was in the television, as if the stark look on Joe Girardi was again their father in the throes of whatever Jody felt those last moments. What might he have considered, and how, for he was so damned drunk. In that room, Summer's hearing seemed improved, enlightened, Nat and Erika hoping to god this game could go the Yankees' way. As if Joe Girardi's life depended on it, but so far in a hole, how could he dig himself free?

Did they dream of saving their dad, dream of liberating him? They never spoke of it, not as Skye was to Dan, Summer learning more of Skye's ideas about death as the commercials ticked past, as the game returned. In the top of the sixth, Cliff Lee took the mound, long, lean arms clad in the mostly white uniform the Phillies wore at home. They were home, hoping to take one game, staving the Yankees' attempt to end the series. The last home game for Philadelphia, Cliff Lee their savior.

He was only a man, a talented man, one arm in particular. Tendons and muscles so versed for one sport, one aptitude, Jody cutting a similar figure, but it was both of his hands to lie along strings, supporting a guitar. Lee curved his body as pitches were hurled, fastballs, some curveballs, a slider or two. Many different pitches fooling batters into swinging or just looking, being caught by a ball that landed in the strike zone. It was masterful and Summer remembered watching Jody play, a similar hypnotizing endeavor that looked effortless, but she couldn't strum a note to save her life. She had tried throwing Nat's baseball, a real Major League ball, lamely tossing it to Jody a few times. So small, sitting in Nat's glove in his lap, some piece of Jody Nat still possessed.

Like the Yankees, or more rightly their skipper. Jody looked nothing like Joe Girardi, all those New Yorkers clean-shaven. Jody always sported some stubble, too lazy or drunk to shave. Jody would have clashed with that decree, but the way he applied himself was similar to Cliff Lee or Joe Girardi or any of the men standing on the field or sitting in the dugouts, loving one task so much, all their being was possessed by it, taken over. But for Jody, it wasn't only the music.

Nat and Erika knew how Jody died, but not his great need to perform, to practice, probably a lot like a ball player. Summer saw the parallels, grown men in children's uniforms, Jody no different in jeans and t-shirts as if he was always ten years old. Obsessed with notes and chords, when he wasn't drinking heavily he was hard to pry from his guitar. Summer had ways to loosen him from that instrument, but he'd never been able to wriggle from alcohol's grip, a need for booze swirling through the man she had loved, a man so adored by his kids. Jody's kids had thought the sun and moon revolved around their father. Now Skye worshiped Dan Bailey.

Skye clung to Dan as Nat and Erika waited for another shot of Joe Girardi. All they got was Cliff Lee, then commercials, then another scoreless half inning. Skye's voice stilled, then slumbering breaths emerged from Summer's youngest. Skye had fallen asleep in Dan's arms.

It wasn't even seven o'clock and Summer took her daughter, stirring Skye, who complained until she was held again by her... Summer swallowed. Was Dan really Skye's daddy? Skye said he was and Dan offered no argument. But like ball players flitting from team to team, what was real? Cliff Lee had been a Cleveland Indian, now was a Philadelphia Philly. Might he stay there, or would he find another home, play for how many clubs? Few were the ballplayers who remained with one city, Derek Jeter coming to Summer's mind, a man synonymous with the Yankees as if an old-school veteran bound by ancient laws. Summer and Jody had followed teams, not individual men; pitchers and catchers and fielders and batters were interchangeable cogs in the system, going from here to there, no permanence. Summer's children were better to idolize a manager. They tended to last longer than any individual player.

Dan bobbled Skye, keeping her conscious. Summer listened to the gentle banter between Forest and Nat, Erika too. Nat's baseball mind had been stirred, returning to life as Skye was, Erika as well. All three had hibernated over the last seven months while the injury of March attempted to heal. Down time necessary, the ocean's balm one part of recovery, this week of games another step in the right direction. Summer looked at Dan, couldn't dismiss what he had done for these kids in a few evenings shared, some chess games administered. Was it only Dan or baseball, cartwheels or a magical rutabaga taking the brunt of reality and softening the edges, removing some of the sting?

Erika got up from the floor, then wedged herself between Summer and Dan. Skye raised small protest, but Erika cuddled into her mother, leaving Dan for Skye. Erika whispered her thoughts, doubting the Yankees could come back, but that they were still up three games to two even if the Phillies won that night. Summer agreed, finding herself wishing for New York to succeed, for Joe Girardi to guide her children to victory.

The Yankees pressured in the top of the eighth, hounding Cliff Lee from the mound. A double by Alex Rodriguez drove in two runs, then Rodriguez scored on a sacrifice fly by Robinson Cano. But it wasn't enough; as Philly closer Ryan Madson earned a save, the series would return to New York City on Wednesday. Spring and John volunteered dinner for that evening, Summer asking her sister what they might expect. "I've got two days to think about it," Spring laughed. "It'll be a surprise."

Erika said goodnight, then headed for a shower, Nat talking to Forest about the Phillies' prospects. They had only won with Cliff Lee on the mound, but he wouldn't pitch on two days' rest. Forest teased that Philadelphia might just push the series to a seventh game, but Nat seemed confident New York wouldn't brook such nonsense. Similar exchanges Jody and Forest had shared over the years Summer recalled, as she said goodbye to Terry, Autumn and Milt.

Soon it was only Forest and Betsy, Summer, Dan and the kids, Skye in Dan's lap, having missed the last half-inning. She was limp in his warm grip and Summer shivered. Dan's arms were the type to set peace into a body and Skye seemed to need it as much as her mother did.

"I'll put her down." Dan stood, setting Skye over his shoulder.

"She needs a pull-up," Summer smiled.

"Oh. Well, uh..."

"Here, let me take her."

Dan shook his head. "I'll carry her to bed, you can do the rest."

Summer followed Dan as Nat walked Forest and Betsy outside. Summer dressed her youngest in a nightgown, adding the pull-up. Since Dan's presence, Skye had been dry every night, and Summer would get her a balloon tomorrow before she left work. Half a dozen pull-ups remained in the package; maybe that was the last Summer would have to buy.

Looking up, she found Dan's face. He had slipped away as Summer dressed Skye for bed, but now as Skye curled into her mattress, he returned. "She need to pee again?" he asked.

"She went in the seventh, didn't drink anything since she stopped eating chips. Maybe this will be another experiment." If Skye stayed dry, maybe Summer's youngest was done with toilet training.

Summer kissed her daughter, setting blankets over her. Erika would dress in the bathroom, Skye sleeping through her older sister tumbling into bed. Summer joined Dan in the doorway, his arm coming around her, both staring at the sleeping child.

Nat stepped their way. "Uncle Forest says he'll see us on Wednesday," he whispered.

"Thanks honey. You going to bed?"

Nat nodded, then looked to Dan. "Are you gonna be here tomorrow night?"

It would only be the five of them, if Dan stayed. No baseball on Tuesday, a quiet evening that would become the norm if New York happened to take the series in six games. Summer hadn't spoken with Dan about future days, but Nat was curious.

"I plan on it. We can play chess," Dan said, his tone pleased.

Nat smiled, then squeezed his mother's hand. "Okay. See you tomorrow Dan."

"Sleep well Nat," Dan said.

Summer watched her son step into his room, the door mostly closed. He would use the bathroom when Erika was done and Summer would remind both to brush their teeth. She had brushed Skye's during the seventh inning stretch, just in case that girl fell asleep. Soon all of Summer's kids would be unconscious, allowing two adults some privacy. Summer would do all she could to remain silent, but she giggled as Dan pressed himself into her. He was hard, they had no condoms. Just how quiet of a house was this going to be?

"Shall we go to bed as soon as they're asleep?" Dan asked, his voice heady.

"Yeah. Dan..." Summer wanted to ask if her children's forward manners weren't a hindrance, but Dan's look of anticipation wasn't only to lovemaking. Far more complicated were his emotions, something tapped, maybe for the first time. Fatherhood had reached into him, Summer recognizing the long-term implications in Dan's eyes. Jody had held a similar gaze when all three kids were born. Yet, he hadn't been able to stay.

"Summer, whatever you want. We don't have to, I can pull out."

"I don't think I want you to," her voice soft, also sure. Maybe she was still mentally tender, but as she set her arms around him, Summer's heart raced, beat as it had when Nat, Erika, and Skye were considered. The first two had been verbally arranged, but with Skye, words hadn't been necessary. It was the way Jody held her hands, then the rest of her, mannerisms and methods so intrinsic within them. Things between men and women not requiring language, only bodies for expression.

Summer kissed Dan as if to offer proof of her statement, a long lingering testament to what he wanted, even if it was fraught with complications. But did life need to be so problematic? Baseball was an easy game on first glance; hit the ball, advance the runner, land on home plate, score the run. But deeper layers existed to which scholars of the sport would attest. Parenthood was the same; how many books were published as to the best techniques and styles, yet it was as plain as getting a little girl to pee and brush her teeth before she hit the hay. A man to reassure his place, nothing tricky about that. Seven months ago it had been Jody Sims. That night, it was Dan Bailey.

Interchangeable players as if a team, but it took the right man, the correct placement. Alex Rodriguez drove in batters, but couldn't hurl strikes. Cliff Lee kept his team alive, but was done for the series, all hope resting on Pedro Martínez, the Phillies' probable pitcher for game six. Jody Sims had been sent out, Dan Bailey the reliever. His hands ran up and down Summer's body, reprieve evident in her halted breaths.

The bathroom door opened, one child leaving, another stepping in. That door closed, but Erika left hers cracked, and Summer went to say goodnight. Erika was giggly, exuding some inner joy, even with the Yankees' loss, eight to six. Summer shared that thrill and she kissed her daughter, leaving the door slightly ajar.

When Nat emerged, Summer let him get into bed, then offered the same routine, noting the mitt and ball on the floor by Nat's bedside table. The usual placement of those items at this time of year and Summer brushed her son's hair from his face. "Wednesday night might be it," her voice low.

"Mom, I think I like the Yankees."

"Girardi's a solid manager."

"Yeah. And Derek Jeter's good too."

"He is. Goodnight Nat."

The boy turned to the wall. "Goodnight Mom. Tell Dan goodnight for me."

"I will," Summer smiled.

Summer watched as Dan locked the house, neither of them checking to see if Rafe might attempt another late-night appearance. Then they sat on the sofa, making out, waiting to hear Nat's small drones. Once those were detected, the couple went to Summer's room.

They undressed not in haste, it wasn't that late, nearly ten. Dan had set the alarm on his phone for twelve thirty, enough time to shower, make sandwiches from the plethora of leftovers. Terry had bought enough food so Summer wouldn't cook tomorrow night, only the three-bean salad gone. Terry had eaten most of it, Dan with a small serving, conning Skye into one bite. She had made a face; not even for Dan Bailey would she attempt a second forkful of oddly colored beans. That it wasn't vegetables had brooked her wary cooperation, but a nibble was all they got from her.

In bed, Dan was getting much more from Summer, their naked bodies entangled, lying on their sides, and Summer wanted him, wanted to make love to him no matter what it meant. If she fell pregnant, it would be a baby conceived in great passion, even love. He loved her, told her so, whispering her name in a guttural choke. Summer agreed, letting that slip, unsure how much was the moment or the man. Either way, she said she loved him, then flipped onto her back, widening her hips. All Dan had to do was move astride her, press his body where Summer felt he belonged.

The light in her bathroom offered just enough to see each other's faces. Dan's was flushed, nodding his head as he hoisted his frame over her. But he hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Please," a slip of agony buffered by desire.

She didn't have to repeat her request and both sucked in their breaths as the sensation hit their brains. Bodies met, translated by nerve endings into the cerebellum, then back to organs and flesh. As those seconds melted into the past, all Summer considered was how quiet it was. Dan said nothing, neither did she.

What was there to say? It felt like heaven, some blissful hint of what the afterlife would provide. Dan fit into her like Jody, that wasn't any different, a man within a woman as common as a ballplayer taking the field. But as footsteps owned separate cadences, leaving their own mark, Dan placed into Summer unfamiliar notions, even though he'd been there before. She'd had Dan Bailey without condoms plenty of times, but never as the father of her children, never with Jody dead. Never hoping to make a baby with Dan and Summer smiled. She had never wanted a baby with Dan in the past. That night, it was all she desired.

They never went to sleep. Summer walked Dan to the front door. She had made him two sandwiches as he showered, one with roast beef and Swiss, the other ham and cheddar. Then she put some chips in a bag, all of it set into a plastic grocery sack from her store. As Dan kissed her again, Summer ached, his departure and their actions affecting her equally.

"You gonna be okay today?" he asked, unlocking the front door.

"A little tired. Maybe an early bedtime for everyone tonight."

"I'll find out my shifts for the rest of the week." He looked out. "Smells like rain."

"About time." The cool air made her shiver, or was it sensing him on her, a stickiness not previously noted in this stretch with Dan Bailey. She had no mind to using condoms again. They had moved past those barriers and whatever happened, Summer was ready.

Ready for rain, maybe a baby. She smiled. "I'll see you later."

He was procrastinating, then chuckled. "I could just call in sick."

"Get to work Bailey. I'm sore anyways."

"You're a liar," he said, kissing her cheek.

"Yeah well, if you did stay I wouldn't get up for work."

"I'd take the kids to school," Dan teased.

She stared at him, a man for the long haul. How did she know that, or was she only wishing? Was it wishful thinking as so many times with Jody; even in March, Summer had hoped maybe. Maybe he would get his act together, maybe he would decide she was worth it, she, their kids, this family. Maybe his family might one day be worth giving up the booze. Yet, as Jody told her why he had to leave at four, Summer had felt a knife slice the wispy, connecting thread. Again Jody needed something beyond his ex-wife and their children. But Dan didn't wish to go, wanted to stay all night. All night, where Jody had not.

"I love you," her voice a whisper. "I'll see you later."

How she loved him wasn't important, not the exact measures. That she said those words outside of her room mattered and Dan nodded. He kissed her again and left for work.

Chapter 16: Wednesday Morning, November 4th, 2009

At five fifty-five, Summer woke feeling drugged. What Dan had left behind seeped from her lower body all through, and she stepped from bed with heavy feet but a light heart. Jody hadn't intruded, maybe Skye hadn't peed. Summer did that first, then put on her robe, stirring her youngest. The pull-up was dry and Skye crowed, asking if she'd get another balloon.

"We'll see," Summer mumbled as Skye washed her hands. "Maybe if you stay dry until Dan's off work, then maybe."

"When does Daddy come home?" Skye asked, standing in the bathroom.

The pull-up had been discarded, Skye itching to put on underwear. Summer watched as Skye twirled and wiggled, so early in the morning. When Summer picked her up from day care yesterday with a round Mylar balloon hitting the roof of the car, Skye was ecstatic, had nearly wet her pants right then. Dan had to work the rest of the week, night shifts through Friday, but on Saturday evening, Dan Bailey wouldn't go anywhere.

"This weekend Dan'll be with us." Summer picked up the disposable and threw it in the garbage as the other two made noises. Nat entered the bathroom as they left and in the girls' room, Summer watched as Skye threw off her nightgown, rummaging in her low dresser for panties. She slipped them on as Erika complained about the light, but Skye's triumph brooked no delay. She had been dry all night for over a week, the balloon tied to the corner of her pink plastic bed.

Skye had been dry most nights until Jody died, then she fell from her big girl pedestal, back in pull-ups, occasionally slipping at day care. Summer allowed it, too much stress to expect a toddler not to have an accident. After the trip to Santa Cruz, Skye had eliminated the daytime mistakes, but nights were harder to cure. Was it Dan, a combination of time and a daddy? Summer didn't care. She would use the remainder of the package, but after that, Skye could wear undies at night. A plastic cover encased Skye's mattress, but perhaps a corner had been turned.

The children seemed pleased for a return to routine, in that last night bath and bedtimes had occurred as usual, no baseball, no crowds. Dan had joined them, but he seemed to have assimilated, chess games in lieu of the television. Erika did homework while Dan and Nat checkmated, then it was Erika's turn for a few lessons, Nat in the shower, Skye hearing stories. That evening could go late, perhaps the end of the World Series if New York managed the win at home in Yankee Stadium, which Nat had noted last night and again that morning. He was full of baseball talk, making up for the entire summer and early autumn when that sport hadn't crossed his lips. It had lingered in his head, so many details and stats emerging as if scattered peanuts had compensated for all Nat wouldn't speak.

Last night Dan had tucked the children into bed, and when he stepped from Nat's room, the smile on his face told of a father's joy. That Nat had felt able to talk of what he loved, and that Dan had been so willing to listen, wrung tears from Summer, which turned to silent sobs later in her bed. What Dan Bailey did to Summer was part of it, but equally how he had unlocked her children from grief. All who lived in that house were being liberated.

That Wednesday morning Summer owned no distress, no lasting pain. A niggling backache made her take two Tylenol, but she found no peanuts waiting behind the bottle or concealed in a cup. As she dropped Nat and Erika at Autumn's, the car seemed hushed, Nat's non-stop chatter about Yankees' pitcher Andy Pettitte following him out the door. Pettitte would take the mound on only three days' rest, the third straight game Girardi had asked that feat from his pitchers. It hadn't worked well for A. J. Burnett on Monday night, but then Nat had sighed, right before stepping from the car, no one could beat Cliff Lee.

Nat's din had only been punctured by Erika's small comments, but Skye had been silent. Reaching the day care, she remained that way, but she wasn't sad, a large smile on her face. "So Skye, what're you thinking about?" Summer asked, walking toward the building.

"Dan's coming to see me today."

"I know. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Yeah. Mommy, I love Dan."

"He loves you too Skye."

"Mommy, do you love him?"

"Yeah, I do."

Summer's voice said more than those three words. Skye looked up, her eyes aglow in the throes of her first crush. "Mommy, will Dan stay with us?"

The words were simple, but how to answer? Did Skye mean that night, all weekend, the rest of their lives? If Summer fell pregnant, she imagined Dan would move into her house, which was fine, at least for her. He might have trouble sleeping during the day, but Summer's back still bothered her. A low, teasing throb she had known for many years, one that usually signaled two things; either she had strained a muscle, or was getting her period.

If Summer wasn't pregnant, Dan would hang around at least through the weekend. Then complications arose, which was ironic; wouldn't it be more troublesome if she _did_ get knocked up? As she signed Skye in for the day, Summer considered the implications of their few condom-free nights. The sex had been... Fantastic, a weak way to describe it, but Summer couldn't think of another word. Her back ached and Skye's wide eyes stared. "What Skye?"

"You didn't answer me. Oh, am I getting another balloon today?"

"Not today." Summer squatted, bringing Skye close. "If you stay dry until Sunday morning, then you'll get another balloon."

"Okay," Skye whispered. Then she looked around. "But Mommy, is Dan going to _stay_ with us?"

In that awkward position, Summer felt a tight squeeze around her middle. She wasn't due to start for another week, but since March, her cycles had been irregular, like Skye's toilet training. Summer had mentally prepared herself for another baby; perhaps it had only been ensuring none found her, her or Dan. "Dan's going to stay with us as long as we're all happy together."

It was all she could offer due to her heart, and the rest of her wavering physique. Summer stood, finding Skye's head in a nod. "Okay. See you later Mommy!"

The girl ran off, another _why_ having been addressed. Summer watched her daughter, feeling her body's natural rhythm assert itself. Summer wasn't pregnant, she was certain of it.

By ten that morning, she had ingested three more Tylenol, her feet dragging. A heavy cycle, a deluge as if to test; would Dan stay? Was this only a fleeting reunion, some manner allowing her children to step onto dry land, finding their feet? Summer scanned groceries, Hannah Lingley's silent demeanor odd considering her weekend adventures. She hadn't even pressed for help with her purchases, only offering Summer a perfunctory glance. Otherwise both women were deep in their own worlds, not wishing to speak.

Dan had left Summer's house at three that morning and she wasn't sure if he would come by the store. He had promised Skye a quick visit, but as the couple hadn't managed much sleep before his departure, Summer wouldn't be surprised if he just went home, to his house. Dan's house, and Summer shivered. A baby would have tied them irrevocably, but now she wasn't pregnant, no need for him to stay.
What she thought, as every single _single_ mother hit her aisle that morning, all the ones not at work. Men didn't stick around, Summer noted, she wasn't the only solo parent in town. Face after face passed, Summer noting those histories in her head, divorced women, a few widows, but most hadn't wed the fathers of their children, couples just procreating, then separating. But Dan and Summer possessed no mutual offspring, not technically. Not legally, and really, were her children that tied to Dan Bailey? All Nat had talked about that morning was baseball, Erika the same. Skye hadn't said anything until reaching day care, but her question had been pointed, the essence unmistakable. Summer blanched at the thought of explaining to Skye that no, Dan had only been a World Series fixture. He wasn't any more lasting than Jody had been.

No baby to bind him and if the Yankees won that night, the series was over. Summer had enjoyed the almost nightly gatherings, not cooking dinner every evening, company that banished the silence Jody's death had laid over her home. Not since last Christmas had she hosted so many on a consistent basis, but her house had once again entertained her most loved, all but one man. Dan had taken Jody's place, at least for the last week. Now Summer wished to crawl into a hole, not wanting to know what came next.

Was that why she had slept with him, forgoing birth control? Had she wanted to reel in someone to fill the gap? She swallowed her thoughts, finding Jordan Hower and his ubiquitous vitamin water, but no rubbers. She scanned the bottles, set them in a plastic, see-through bag. He said nothing, then went on his way.

Then she looked to Dan Bailey's tired eyes. "Oh hey, good morning," she struggled.

"Hey. You okay?"

Nothing waited for her to scan, only his weary face, needing sleep. "Uh, no," but she wouldn't say more, Joe Stammers a few feet away.

If it had been a woman checker, maybe Summer would tell Dan they hadn't been successful, that he didn't need to stick around. If he wanted to, great, but that morning Summer had seen too many deserted women to expect Dan's presence past the Fall Classic's conclusion.

"Summer, what?" Dan's voice searching.

She motioned for him to come closer. "I started my period this morning."

"Oh. Oh! Uh, were you expecting it, I mean, now?"

She shook her head. "Next week," she whispered. "But it's been erratic since..."

Since Jody killed himself. Since Jody hung his stupid self with the goddamned necktie I picked out for our wedding, Summer wanted to scream.

Instead she sighed as Dan nodded. "How was Skye?" she asked, looking past Dan, into the air.

"Fine. Asked if I'd buy her a balloon."

Summer smiled, but kept her eyes from Dan. "I told her if she stayed dry until Sunday. She's quick, that girl."

"Listen, I'll get a powernap, you just go home when you're done. I can pick up the kids and..."

He couldn't collect Skye; only Summer or her siblings were permitted. Summer hadn't presumed to add Dan's name to that list. "I'll do it, I have to get Skye anyways."

Her voice was flat, equal to her mood. Staring to the back of store, she thought about what Spring might bring for dinner that night, how Andy Pettitte was feeling after only three days' rest. Was he as exhausted as Summer felt, hoping to god the Phillies' pitcher Pedro Martínez would just crumble at Yankee Stadium? So much on Pettitte's head, like the weight of the world, the outcome of the entire season. Summer wished for a manager, not the one there at work, but her own private skipper, somebody to step to her cash register, give words of advice, encouragement, a pat on the shoulder. Her parents lived in Oregon, her siblings had their own lives. Jody was dead, not that he would have done her any good. A real manager would have advised her never to have slept with Jody Sims in the first place.

Then she found Dan's eyes. A Girardi-type skipper probably wouldn't have steered her this man's way either. As her legs buckled, Summer gripped the edge of the counter, then gave Dan her best work smile, the kind she saved just for days like this, when she felt like utter crap, so many of those moments in the last seven months that her grin emerged on rote, a mask. Summer donned the post-Jody recovery disguise, that man's presence seeping back under her skin.

It made her itch, tingling like a hot pepper dragged along an open wound. It wasn't cold, only achy, stinging, carried into her bloodstream, infecting her all through. Not enough drugs in the world eased it, nothing seemed to stem the unending tide of mayhem Jody had enacted in Summer, in their children. She was back to where she stood a week ago, game one pitting CC Sabathia and Cliff Lee. Summer knew the outcome of that match-up, her children's beloved Yankees walloped six to one.

Her older children were turning into Yankee fans, how had that happened? It was the manager they gravitated too, the daddy-figure, Joe Girardi a figurehead. But he was only a man, another human with his own demons. Everyone suffered, men and women, no one perfect, no one flawless. Nobody really stuck around; they all left, going from one team to another, one place to the next. No one was permanent, what Summer accepted. Then she felt her hand being gripped.

"Summer, I'll call Autumn, or Forest. One of them can get Skye. Honey, you need to go home."

Following the voice, Summer stared. Dan stood in front of her, not looking as tired as before. Scared, terrified; had he wanted a baby that much, had her news rocked him that deeply?

"Summer, why don't you go on break?" That was Joe Stammers, who had stepped their way. The store seemed deserted, where were all the customers? She glanced around, but only two men stood close. "Or maybe Dan's right. Maybe you should just go home."

"But, but..." She was fine! How many years had she worked through much worse than the first day of her period? She had worked when nearly hacking up a lung, had hardly missed any work even when Jody died, taking as few days as possible in case the kids needed her. In case her children broke down, but that morning Summer wobbled, and she nodded to Joe, then Dan, as Joe used the phone at her check stand to call for a manager. As if being pulled from the game, Summer Caravella was leaving work early, the first time in ages, the first time since Jody's death.

Dan lay next to her, Summer clad in her pink night shirt and underwear. Dan wore his t-shirt from yesterday, his briefs against hers, the shirt all he had clean. He hadn't gone to his house, but followed her car. Hand in hand they entered her front door.

Dan had called Autumn, arranging for her to collect Skye as well as drive all three kids home. As far as everyone else knew, Summer was just fine.

She wasn't, but hadn't needed to say as much to Dan, or her sister. She only had to strip to her nighttime attire, then crawl into bed, her lower abdomen aching, feeling twisted. Dan's frame along hers helped, keeping Jody at bay. This pain was different, not just Jody, but more. But Summer didn't want to talk about it.

Instead Dan spoke. "Skye asked if I was going to stay, uh, here. With all of you."

"What'd you tell her?"

"I said yeah, yeah I was." Then Dan sighed. "Summer, what do you want?"

"She asked me the same when I dropped her off. I knew, I mean, I could tell I was getting it. By the time I got to work, there it was."

She didn't need to qualify _it_ ; it was her period, her usual monthly, or as of late, every few weeks' cycle. Not since Jody's death had she wished for its absence, not even this with Dan reaching into her until just the last few nights. Again Summer had allowed her heart to rule, conning her brain into not observing the conscious, realistic path, a road ignored while more restless parts of her were charmed by ideas warm and easy to consider. A baby, what was a baby? Not much trouble, not nearly the pain in the ass Jody had turned out to be.

A cramp hit with his name and Summer curled into herself. "Dan, can you get me three Advil?"

If she alternated the drugs, she wouldn't feel a thing. Then she laughed, exactly what Jody had done. Fucking her, then drinking himself into oblivion. Then unconsciousness had slipped over him, starting it all again. Time with the kids, with her, then only Summer and Jody. Then he had absconded, taking himself from all of them, taking himself out. As Dan set three small brown pills in her hand, she stared at them, only ibuprofen, nothing deadly. Summer would swallow them, her pain dulled. Not gone, not obliterated, only muted.

She leaned up, setting them into her mouth. Not as a gun, only pain relief. Dan handed her some water and she took a sip, tipping back her head. Then one more, to wash them all the way into her system, seeking respite, what she had wanted from Dan in the first place. That was all Summer had desired.

He took the cup, placing it on her table. Then his hand caressed her chin. "Summer, I'm sorry."

"About what?"

What was there to be sorry for? She wasn't dead, just achy. Wiped out, to be truthful, but Casey Miller, Summer's manager, hadn't batted an eye, stepping into Summer's space. Maybe she should have taken a few more days in what was by then April. In early April, Summer had ignored the advice of her siblings, of Terry, of Joe Stammers and Casey Miller. Instead Summer went right back to work as if Jody did this all the time. As if her world continually stopped, but in some ways it had, every early morning at four a.m. when Jody left. Maybe she hadn't realized it at the time, but Summer had watched him depart as if the sun itself was fleeing, morning only a term. It was dark when he left in March, some eternal night lasting well into autumn, maybe for the rest of her life.

"Summer," Dan whispered, kissing her face. "I'm sorry he hurt you so badly."

"Who?" her voice absent.

Dan's lips lay along her cheek, warm and soft. They wouldn't have sex for days, maybe as many as five. Or maybe if this was a short cycle, maybe by Saturday they'd be fucking each other again, or maybe Dan would just watch that night's game, then maybe another tomorrow, if Philadelphia won. Then he'd be on his way, like Jody. Summer closed her eyes, Dan's breath near her face, falling along her jaw, down her neck. The words he said were incomprehensible.

She didn't hear him, couldn't fathom what he might say; who hurt her? Everyone knew, everybody knew every single iota of information about everyone in this town, of course it was Jody! Jody hurt Summer time and again, but many of those moments were cloaked by her willingness to forgive, by the children they had made, by the great love she carried within for him. So many years, how many? Too many she allowed, since she was sixteen, since she was able to recognize the difference between a girlhood crush and the inner workings of a woman's heart. For twenty-three years Summer Caravella had loved one man, reinstating her own name after the divorce as if that might erase Jody Sims from her life. What a crock! Somehow, someway he would never leave, wouldn't get himself far enough away. Not even death seemed to do the trick.

Had she been fooling herself, thinking she could just let Dan back in her life, move him as if a piece of furniture, hiding a worn spot in the carpet, an enormous hole left by a complete asshole. Summer had to face the truth, which wasn't Dan's warm touch along her face, or his gentle tone trying to overcome what the kids seemed to have survived. The kids were okay and for that Summer was grateful. Maybe she would let Dan stay, if he really wanted, just to thank him for helping her children no longer hurt.

"Baby, I love you. I know this's, oh hell. Summer, honey, can you look at me?"

If she opened her eyes, who would she see? How many times had Jody said the same lines, attempting to weasel his way back into her heart? Then, just as she had let him back in, he'd done the unthinkable! What Rafe may or may not have said mattered little; it had been Jody to haul himself onto a chair. Maybe he'd fallen due to his drunkenness. Maybe he hadn't even consciously stepped off, maybe it was part intent, part a loaded wastrel falling a very short distance to his death. Hadn't Jody been falling all his life, hadn't he wanted to take her along? Had he wished she was next to him, holding his hand, leaping right alongside?

Summer peeped through eyelids heavy and suspicious. Dan's face waited and she blinked, as if to confirm. Yes, it was Dan Bailey. She smiled. Jody had hated Dan's guts, but Dan was the last man Jody saw. Or probably saw. Maybe he spoke to Rafe afterwards, but in all probability, Dan Bailey was the last person Jody Sims had encountered.

Now Summer viewed Dan; who was this man? "What? What do you want?"

What did he want from her, from this whole situation? "Summer, I want to stay here, with you and the kids. I'm sorry it didn't work out this month. Maybe that's for the best."

Maybe? Probably, she smiled. She wasn't really all that well, not mentally. What was she, not Jody's widow, not Dan's woman, only some partial being. Parts of her were being expelled, she was draining away, and she giggled. "You're right. I am pretty fucked up right now."

"All the more reason for me to stick around. If," he sighed. "If that's what you want."

It was what her children, all three of them, wanted. They wanted Dan, or Dad, or whatever this man was, a placebo, a replacement. But that cut into her, some tiny part of her wishing for clarity. Wishing instead that Jody had only left town, or even a note. Some explanation of why, why he felt that particular course of action had been so necessary.

"Dan, do you know what I want?"

He nodded.

"Really?" she laughed.

"Yeah. You wanna know why Jody killed himself. You wanna know that and you wanna know if this with us is the right thing, and you want your kids to not hurt anymore. And..." He sat on the bed, leaning over her, his mouth near her ear. "And you want to just not feel him anymore. Baby, I know that, and Summer, I don't blame you."

Spoken in the quietest whisper, that truth sailed into her brain, words nearly as good as that unanswerable _why_. Summer gulped, unsure how this man seemed to possess copious answers. He couldn't provide the most desired, but for so many others, Dan Bailey continued his winning streak.

They fell asleep, but Dan's phone buzzed at eleven, then again at eleven thirty. Summer rose, then disabled the tone. Then she dressed, closed her door, leaving Dan to rest.

She made a cup of coffee. Her guts ached and she took more Tylenol, remembering the last pills were Advil. She sat down, the coffee easing her pain, but her head still rang with Dan's last words, that he didn't blame her. She knew what he meant, not that she had pushed Jody from the chair or even fastened the tie around his neck. Her pain, that lasting, rising tide of sorrow, nothing she could do but ride it out, hoping someday the current would cease, a flat, glassy sea instead. Instead of constantly being tripped up by Jody Sims, maybe one day Summer wouldn't think of him, wouldn't ponder any more than how her son looked like a man Summer had once known.

Had once loved; yet, she loved Dan too, she did. She loved his constancy, his kindness. Loved his body close, loved what he did to her. Wished she could love him on a more permanent level, a nine-month course, but not that month. That month Summer wasn't having anyone's baby.

From where she sat, she could see the feeder, hummingbirds flitting to and fro, clouds hovering. It was going to rain, she was sure, what Dan had noted in the air early on Tuesday only now bearing down, waiting for some magical moment to fall from the heavens. But if it rained that night, baseball in New York would still commence, California a long way from Yankee Stadium. Summer stared at the birds sipping nectar, four parts water to one part sugar, storing up in case they didn't want to get wet.

Summer stood, taking her coffee to the window near her computer. Gray skies seemed a cover, as if she could hide under them, not have to think about the man in her bed, or the one dead. She wanted nothing more than for Dan to stay, not leave, but was that feasible, realistic? Was it fair to sleep with him when something inside her ached more than any period, something so ingrown, like a tumor? Summer laughed. Jody wasn't any more than an awful disease, some dreadful condition. Her kids seemed to have recovered from his sporadic presence, then abject absence. Their mother was having a much harder time.

She drank her coffee, could hear Dan's snores. Maybe she would ask Autumn to keep the kids there, let Dan sleep. Summer picked up her cell that rested near the computer, and in a few minutes it was arranged. They would return around four; by then Dan would have accumulated some rest, enough to last the evening. Summer set the phone back where it belonged, then returned to the birds, circling the feeder, neither allowing the other to perch and sip. Stupid idiots, she thought. Then she smiled.

No different than how she and Jody had gone rounds, and she was still doing it seven months after his death! As if they were those creatures, battling over some odd ground, but she was weary and he was dead. Neither was going to win that skirmish, what she thought as one bird returned, grasping the thin red perch, wings stilled as nourishment was accepted.

"Summer?" Dan called.

"Yeah?" Was he really awake, or was she dreaming again, conjuring some image as she had when Jody appeared in her bed.

His footsteps down the hall seemed real and Summer turned, seeing him wavering. Then he leaned against the wall. "Baby, come back to bed."

Had he heard her on the phone, sensing they had time alone? She nodded, wanting only a moment, a collection of minutes when she didn't have to fight to keep her head above water. Those birds had to eat constantly or die. Summer felt no differently and rested against Dan as he led her down the hallway.

What they missed was Rafe Marlowe's truck stop outside the house, only the hummingbirds noting his presence. As rain began to fall, Rafe drove away, fine dry dust disturbed in his wake, then settling into the pattern of drops, erasing tire tracks from view.

Chapter 17: Wednesday Afternoon, November 4th, 2009

Summer watched her children run toward the house, the rain pounding. It had started as a gentle _tap tap_ , now sounded like the SLAP of Nat's ball into his mitt. Skye seemed to dance instead of run and she was the wettest, Summer keeping her on the tile as Dan brought a towel.

"I didn't melt," Skye shouted. "Milt said I was gonna melt, but I didn't!"

Summer smiled. "You seem fine to me."

"Only my shirt and pants are wet," Skye said, then leaned into her mother, smiling at Dan. "But my underwear are dry."

Summer giggled, feeling the effects of three more Advil. Dan had brought those to her and only after she swallowed them did she remember taking the Tylenol around noon. She made Dan promise to not give her anymore pills until bedtime.

"You okay?" Autumn asked as Summer stood. Skye raced down the hall, the kids still in their rooms.

"Just started my period," Summer said, her voice slow.

"Oh. Oh!" Autumn stared at Dan.

He said nothing, then was rescued by Nat, asking if they could play a quick game of chess before baseball, scheduled to start at five.

Dan walked away and Autumn pulled her sister close. "Oh god Summer, I'm, shit. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. Better actually. I'm pretty fucked up right now." Summer's giggle continued. "Autumn, you were right. Better for no babies until I pull my head out."

Summer stepped away, but Autumn returned, setting her hand along Summer's teary face. "You wanted this, didn't you?"

"I want a lot of things. If nothing else, right now I don't hurt."

She didn't, feeling spacey, as if she could float away. As if she could be carried downstream, puddles forming along the road, the dry, hard ground unable to absorb the torrential downpour crashing from the heavens. As if Jody was making some return, attempting to set Summer right into the earth alongside him.

Except he wasn't in the ground and Summer giggled again. "Autumn, it's okay. Thanks, you know, for getting them. I need to put Dan's name on the list at day care."

"Yeah?"

Summer nodded. "He's moving in, this weekend. We talked about it, maybe something else we should've waited to do when I'm not so out of it. But yeah, he's off all weekend, gonna bring some of his stuff over here. It's okay Autumn. I don't know what in the hell's gonna happen next, but I do know I want him here. And he wants that too."

Voices were heard from the back of the house, three kids fighting over one adult, Skye's trill of _Daddy_ drowning out the older two. But Dan wasn't swayed, telling Skye he'd play with her after this game of chess.

"Christ, he sounds like a dad," Autumn said.

"He is," Summer answered, not just to her sister. "Dan is their father for as long as he lasts."

Phone calls kept Summer busy after Autumn agreed she and Milt would brave the weather. Spring was bringing two crock pots of chili, one hot, one for the kids. Terry noted he'd seen Rafe that afternoon, Rafe giving his word he would be there. Rafe seemed chastened, in Terry's soft tone. If nothing else, Summer was glad for his return to the fold. She wouldn't say a thing to him, not in her condition, nor in how the weather would keep all inside. It wasn't cold; maybe she would open her front door if rain wasn't blowing their way.

Forest and Betsy arrived first, but not in a congenial mood. Forest headed to Nat's room as Summer and Betsy sat in the kitchen. Summer noted her reason for leaving work early; it had already gotten around that she was escorted home in the middle of her shift by Dan. The rumor mill would swirl, but only to her nearest did Summer reveal one of the reasons, besides Jody. Betsy smiled; she was on her period too.

"God, a bunch of us!" Summer sipped her coffee, then looked into the cup. No peanuts, but the caffeine would make her jittery later. Maybe she needed the boost, having gotten so little sleep the last few nights. No sex to get in the way that evening and she chugged the rest. "So Bets, is that all that's wrong?"

Betsy sat on the bench, but looked at the wall as if she could see through it, find Forest hiding in Nat's room. "I want to adopt a child, but he just won't listen to me."

This subject had been bandied in the past, usually Betsy pulled from her wishes by Forest's intense demeanor. He wasn't only passionate about sports and Betsy's light nature was easily swayed. Summer clasped Betsy's shaking hand. "He can be a pig-headed bastard, that's for sure."

Her tongue was loosened by the drugs, Betsy's too. "God I love him, but sometimes he's just the biggest asshole. Like only _he_ matters, like because of that stupid chair only _his_ concerns are what goes."

Summer smiled, as if Betsy was speaking of Jody. "Fucking men," she whispered.

"Yeah, the buttheads!" Betsy wiped her eyes. "Summer, I do love him and I knew going into it with him, we wouldn't have any of our own. I knew that and it was fine, you know, when you're twenty-three, twenty-four. You're not thinking about it, or at least I wasn't. Just enough to love him, help him get through it, I mean. Shit Summer, you know exactly what in the hell I'm talking about."

"You want me to say something to him?"

"No," Betsy sighed. "No, it's just that I get my stupid period, and it's like a slap in my face. Guess what we can't do, again! But I can't talk to him about it because he doesn't wanna hear it. He wants to hear the Phillies win in seven, well, screw baseball!"

Both women laughed as that very game was being discussed in equally heated tones, Forest and Nat going rounds. Then Betsy gripped Summer's hands. "God, you must be so happy to hear Nat talking about it again."

"Yeah I am. But honey, Forest needs a kick up the ass. If this's something you want..."

"I do, but I can't do it alone. And he's adamant. Says he doesn't want to go through all the red tape. Shit Summer, it's like he sees it as some big headache, like getting his Social Security dealt with. It's a child for god's sake, not a disbursement of funds."

Summer laughed, reaching for tissues on the counter. "Listen, let Dan do the talking."

"Oh god no, that'd only make it worse!"

Both women blew their noses, then Summer smiled. "No, I mean, Dan won't have to say a thing, not to Forest directly. Betsy, Dan's moving in with me. With me and the kids."

"No way!"

"Yeah, this weekend. I love him, I mean, don't get me wrong, Jody's still around." Summer looked past her brother's girlfriend to the front yard where rain seemed never ending. "He's probably gonna be a pain in my backside for a long time. But the kids, like you said, Nat's talking baseball. Skye's not peeing her pants anymore. Erika's laughing again, doing cartwheels in the front yard. They're healing Betsy and Dan's a part of that. One fucking week with him here and it's like Jody never existed. Which isn't to say all's gonna be hunky-dory, but right now, at this moment, just listen."

Nat and Forest spoke as if on cue, that Andy Pettitte was gonna bring it home that night, that Pedro Martínez would pitch a perfect game. Or at least a no-hitter, Forest so assured. He was pretty sure of himself when it came to predicting baseball, but Summer also heard Dan's gentle tones explain to Erika some of the finer points of chess, Skye's small chanting of the rutabaga not aimed at her uncle, but to the man who planted it in the ground. Dan had done that, simple interactions that placed him as permanently as that vegetable in Summer's front yard.

The rutabaga wasn't going anywhere. It wouldn't pop up in spring, only become a part of the landscape, Dan the same. He was sinking tendrils into this family and maybe, maybe once she was stronger, didn't feel so overwhelmed, maybe then they would have a child.

"Betsy, let Forest get a clue about what a father really is. Jody wasn't any sort of role model, but that man in there? Dan wants to be my kids' dad, lock stock and barrel. Let that be what Forest sees for a while and let me tell you, it's what he's gonna see, because you know my kids. Skye's not gonna let Dan take two steps without asking where he's going, why he's going there. She did the same to Jody, never got a straight answer out of him, but Dan tells her the truth. Let Forest hear that for a while and if he's still acting like an asshole then..."

"Knock knock!" Spring called. "Got dinner if anyone's hungry!"

Nat was the first to meet his aunt and uncle, Summer standing with slow, pained movements. "Bets, you let Spring plant a bug in her brother's head. Maybe me too." Summer smiled. "But Spring for sure. Then, who knows? Maybe you'll find your own magic rutabaga."

Summer kissed Betsy's head as family entered the kitchen, the scent of chili filling the air.

Three kids held court, Skye and Forest speaking about the rutabaga, Nat and Erika full of tales, mostly about baseball. Summer took the opportunity to sit on the sofa, watching talking heads wax about past World Series moments, the sound turned low. Various conversations swirled and she closed her eyes, considering this time last year, the last game split over two days due to rain in Philadelphia. Instead it was pouring in California, which wouldn't impede any runs being scored that night. But a year ago, in the top of the sixth inning, the game was called, Summer remembering Jody's diatribe, that unless lightning was striking players dead to just finish the damn game!

That night she had been sitting on the loveseat next to him, Nat in between. Skye was small, just two years old, curled into Betsy's lap, and Erika snuggled with Autumn and Milt on the sofa. Spring and John sat in chairs behind them, Rafe and Terry near the kitchen, where the food was. But on the loveseat Summer had watched rain wreck havoc, the first time a World Series game had been called due to precipitation. Jody had bitched about that too, that because of the wild card element added to the playoffs, now the game was being pushed into fucking winter, making Nat laugh, Terry and Rafe in agreement.

Forest had countered that it meant more games, a longer season to enjoy. But Jody hadn't listened, only complained. He'd been drinking and sometimes he owned an edge. Usually he was a pleasant drunk, happy once the alcohol hit his system. That night he was pissy, his mood reaching a level where in years past, Summer would have told him to leave. But it was the World Series and as the game ended early, she didn't have to kick him out. He had arrived with Rafe, who'd been sober, and she didn't have to worry how Jody might get home. She wouldn't see him until the game was completed, a day for which he was clear-headed, in a cheery frame of mind. She had come home from work, finding Jody and Nat playing catch in the front yard, Erika and Abby doing cartwheels on the other side of the grass. Summer had toted Skye, but once they were inside the gate, Skye had squealed to be let down. She ran to Jody, who had picked her up, ruffling her hair. Then Summer reached them and he had stared at her, his smile loopy, but not inebriated. Endearing, some drifting persona who happened to show up on special days, reminding his kids who he was, reminding Summer what had been.

Five months later he was dead, having once again set himself into their lives, three straight weeks of Jody at home, in the evenings, a pretense of family. A pretend lover to Summer, as if he could project a ghost, some phantom that still hovered. She could feel him, even under the influence herself. Her cramps were ethereal from how much Advil mixed with Tylenol, but they existed, and looking at her son, standing next to Dan Bailey, Jody still lived too.

Their eyes; it was the shared color and the way Nat blinked. Jody had done the same, blinking three or four straight times, then wide open, even when he was wasted. Their smiles, wide and teasing, but Nat would need braces. That came from Nat's mother, his father's teeth perfect. Maybe the only thing about Jody that was uncomplicated and Summer giggled.

But Nat stood with Dan differently than he had with Jody, some odd ease, as if Nat sensed Dan Bailey was for real. The real thing, an actual father; what element had Jody been lacking, some part that even his own son realized was missing? Had Nat been old enough to note the absence of sobriety, could a nine-year-old, nine and a half, Summer laughed, could a kid that young tell when his father was drunk? Or even tipsy; Nat knew more than he expressed. After Jody's death, Nat had admitted his dad was an alcoholic, small, soft words said in tears. Summer started to cry there, on that day, as rain fell not in Philadelphia or New York but in California. Dan didn't drink, not around the kids, but Jody had.

A year ago, Jody had arrived loose and limber, then had two or three beers with dinner, another couple during the game. Summer had forgotten that tidbit, but as she stared to the loveseat from her usual place on the long couch, she saw herself, Nat, Jody. Often they had the small sofa during the 2008 series, Jody usually gripping a bottle. Now she recalled the circumstances, Jody arriving, a few having been downed, then three consumed with dinner, which had been provided by Rafe. Rafe brought pizza that night and Terry complained, but ate it anyway. Jody had two slices and three beers, then another two nursed through the five full innings that were played. More than a six-pack sat in Jody Sims that evening, but he wasn't driving, so Summer hadn't cared.

Their kids had seen him worse off, not too many times, but sometimes. Sometimes Jody showed up plastered, but Skye had been too young, Erika as well. Did Nat remember those occasions, his father loaded off his ass? Summer looked at Nat, talking to Dan in a serious tone. Not many of those conversations had a father and son shared, not this father, but Nat's biological dad. Jody was Nathan Sims' natural father, but Dan Bailey was the real thing.

Caught between the past on the loveseat and the present on the sofa, Summer noted how Nat had changed; he looked older. Quite a year having aged him, and ten and a half sounded far beyond nine years old. Nat had reached double digits not long before Jody's death. He was ten when his dad killed himself and Nat would live with that for the rest of his life.

He might also live with Dan Bailey as some parental, paternal figure, Dan falling into place as Nat reached that half-year, but later on, it would all be swept into one number, ten years old when Nat traded fathers. He got a new one to replace the old one, a solid, dependable man in place of a wavering drunk; how would that color Nathan? Summer considered him as Nathan, as if Nat had been Jody's son, but Nathan was Dan's. She might be the only one to make that distinction, but as Skye had moved from babyhood to being a big girl no longer needing pull-ups, Nat evolved into Nathan. Only Erika seemed unchanged.

Summer heard her laughing with Betsy, Spring, and Autumn. Maybe she was altered, eight and a half sitting with the hens, crowing about this and that. Spring didn't speak of babies, neither did Betsy. Autumn waxed about Florida, how Erika could come visit, maybe fly on her own. Erika seemed hesitant at first, but Betsy coaxed that a flight attendant would keep an eye on her, and how much fun would Autumn have with Erika, only the two of them! Going to the beach, maybe to Disney World. Skye then piped up, wanting to see the Disney princesses. But Autumn said Skye was too young; only big girls like Erika could fly alone.

"But I _am_ a big girl! Mommy said that if I don't pee at night anymore, I'll get another balloon."

"That's great Skye, it really is. But you'll get your turn when you're as old as Erika."

As Skye huffed and puffed, Summer smiled, hearing her head to the sofa. Skye was teary upon reaching her mother's lap, mumbling how it wasn't fair.

Summer didn't have much in her to refute what was true, that Skye was too young, but also that Erika needed some special treat to anticipate. Nat and Erika possessed the most memories of Jody, those two in need of the biggest healing. Skye might later lament she hadn't known her father, her natural father, but that loss was muted by the man who joined them on the couch, Dan letting Nat pester Forest again. "Hey, what's wrong?" Dan asked Skye.

"Aunt Autumn won't let me go with Erika!"

"You stay here and we'll have our own fun."

Skye stared at Dan. "Like what?"

"Like we'll plant a garden and flowers along the fence. And we'll go to the park and get ice cream and..."

"And swimming? Can we go swimming?"

"Sure. I love to swim."

Summer listened as concessions were offered, a few confessions too. Dan liked to swim, she didn't know that. He also loved these kids, of that she was certain. His words to Skye again confirmed that sentiment and Skye wiggled from her mother's lap to that of man who had come in on a moment's notice, a reliever not expecting to see more than a few batters. But as Skye cuddled with Dan, Summer knew. This man would go extra innings, would stay for the long haul.

Now that Nat didn't need to avoid the game, dinner would be served as soon as Terry and Rafe arrived. Leftover chips from Monday night sat in bowls, pretzels, peanuts, and dips gracing the counters. The spicy chili waited in a large crock pot, the milder version in one smaller. Spring hadn't planned dinner according to the weather, but it was perfect comfort food on an evening where there seemed no pause to the rain. Terry and Rafe might run from their trucks, but would still be drenched and Summer said they could towel off under the awning, the rain falling from the north, hammering the back side of the house.

She stood, watching hummingbirds swooping, but the rain eased their temperaments, two birds sharing on opposite sides. Dan stood behind her, setting his hands lightly around her middle. "You okay?" his voice as slight as the creatures dipping long, thin beaks into the spouts.

"Thanks, you know, for being here."

"No other place I wanna be."

"Especially not now." Summer giggled. Then she started to laugh. Physically she felt like crap. Maybe Jody was being bled too, but that would take longer than five days. Months, Summer had to allow, or even longer. Yet, against Dan she felt protected, as the awning offered shelter to the birds.

"Summer, rain or shine, I wanna be here with you and the kids. Those stupid birds."

She smiled. They were hypnotic, then suddenly they were gone, but she didn't know where. "It's not easy, I mean, what you wanna tackle."

He chuckled. "Yeah, you're not exactly the most simple woman in the world."

His voice teased and she bit, turning his way. His smile was wide, like her son's, their son, she decided. Dan was Nat's father.

He was Nat's, also Erika's, and of course he was Skye's daddy. She had laid claim to him first, paving the way for her siblings to crawl from a deep, dank fissure. A brave girl was Skylar Sims, her unplanned arrival one most necessary.

"I love you, the kids, whatever else comes." His fingers went to her face as if they were alone in her room. Dan didn't seem to care who observed their relationship. Summer didn't either.

She kissed him not as a woman unavailable, but as one claimed, and not by the dead. Jody remained, he probably would for a long time. Maybe she would never stop loving him, but maybe she could stop hating him, what she realized as Dan's lips left hers. She still hated Jody for what he'd done, but maybe one day that too would end. If the hummingbirds had learned to share, Summer decided maybe one day Jody's name, and his memory, wouldn't be the bane of her existence. If nothing else, Dan was giving her food for thought. Maybe if they kept at it long enough, maybe he'd provide her with something else too.

"There's Terry," Dan said, pointing at the window.

"Looks like a drowned rat," Summer smiled.

She opened the front door, standing with her arms crossed. Terry ran up the path, then stood a few feet from her, shaking off the rain. "Rafe here yet?"

"No, I thought he was coming with you."

"No." Terry looked to the showers, Summer's front lawn a soggy mess. "Said he'd be here around four."

"I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since..." Summer sighed. "Maybe this's just too much."

Terry looked back at her, his eyes unsteady. "Summer, he promised, said he'd be here."

"Well, call him. See where'n the hell he is."

Terry pulled his phone from the inside pocket of his wet jacket. Summer listened as the dial tone rang and rang. Terry left a message, then put the cell away.

They said nothing after his few words, a small wind blowing some rain their way.

"Should get inside," he said, his voice flat.

"What?"

Thunder crashed, making Summer jump. All afternoon it had been only rain, buckets hurled to the ground. She was glad for an evening indoors, and except for Rafe, everyone was present. They would sit together, eat dinner, watch baseball. Dan had to work that night, but not until after midnight, by which time maybe the storms would have passed. If not, at least the traffic would be light, and she would wait for his text, then fall back asleep. Summer would go to work tomorrow, and if it rained again, so be it. Always something, she considered, watching water pool in the small gaps in the grass, pockmarks turning to puddles in the middle of the lawn.

"Summer, something's up with him. He sounded like shit, but he promised me he'd be here. He knew I was getting off late, but he said he'd be here before the start of the game."

"Terry..."

"Listen, I'm gonna go by his house. Won't take more than ten minutes. I'll call you from there."

Terry pulled his jacket closed, then zipped it to his neck. He had no hat, no umbrella, and Summer took his arm. "Let me get you something or you'll catch your death out there."

It was only a saying, but as the words left her mouth, Summer inhaled as if to take them back. She stared at Terry, who seemed in agreement, but not just for an umbrella.

"I'm coming with you," her voice urgent. "Let me get my coat."

He nodded as she tore up the ramp.

Dan followed them outside, holding a large black umbrella over Summer. "You sure you don't want company?"

"Stay here with the kids." She looked to the warm house, lights ablaze, the scent of chili still in her nostrils. A haven and she didn't want her children disturbed.

"Call if you find anything," Dan said.

"We will," Terry yelled from his side of the truck.

Summer felt a chill stepping into the cab, but it could be from the weather, or having to leave her family. Maybe it was her body, pills waning. She would take no more until bedtime but her middle wrenched. It hurt, but only honest, physical agony.

Dan leaned through the open window, the umbrella covering them both. He kissed her, then stared at Terry. "I mean it. If anything's going on, call me."

Summer nodded. "We will. Just take care of the kids."

"Good luck," Dan said, looking to the sky. "Terry, drive carefully."

Moving back, Dan waved as Summer's window went up. She stared at him as Terry turned around, then noted all three of her children standing in the open front door.

Chapter 18: Wednesday Evening, November 4th, 2009

Few cars graced the streets, Terry delayed only by the left turn from Summer's road onto Highway 99. Once they crossed that boundary, it was a few minutes to reach Rafe's place, but his truck wasn't there.

"Where else would he be?" Summer said, not seeking an answer from Terry. He was already pulling away and she knew the direction, a local bar. They would hit all his frequent haunts. If Rafe Marlowe wasn't spotted at any of those locations, Summer had no idea.

The bar was a washout just as the evening was progressing, darkness hampering visibility along with the driving rain that seemed unceasing. Summer peered through her window, flecks of water making headlights and streetlamps cast speckled glows, but Rafe seemed invisible.

"Summer, I'm gonna try..." Terry's voice dropped.

"Where?"

"Jody's. I'm gonna try there."

Summer swallowed, wishing for some painkiller.

Jody's apartment complex was on the far side of town, but even with rain and night falling, it took minutes, less than three, everyone else smart enough not to be driving around. Maybe they weren't all watching baseball, but at least they had the sense to be indoors, safe, dry. Summer's phone rang, Dan calling. "Yeah?" she answered.

"You find him yet?"

"No."

"Yankees are up two nothing."

"Okay. How are the kids?"

"Girls are fine. Nat's..."

"What? Nat's what?"

"Worried about you."

"Tell him we'll be home as soon as we find Rafe."

"Okay. Be safe all right?"

"We will. We're the only idiots out tonight."

Dan's laugh reached through the receiver, offering a hint of warmth. "Well, just come home when you know something."

She told him goodbye, then felt the truck stop. Terry cleared his throat. "I'll go and..."

Summer stared, the rain not impeding her close-up vision. Rafe's truck was right next to her. "Shit!"

Terry was already getting out. "Stay here, all right?"

She nodded, watching as he slammed the door, then ran into the night.

Summer waited five minutes, timing it on her cell phone. When Terry hadn't returned, she called him, but there was no answer.

She hadn't been at this building since Jody died, since removing his things with her sisters' help. That had occurred a few weeks after his death, those days necessary for Summer to get to grips with what had happened, but she shook her head. It was an ongoing process and not only for her. For Rafe too, for all of them. Maybe only Skye was immune, but the rest, each person carried some piece of Jody within them. Summer considered how embedded he was, how little he thought of himself, how untrue were his assumptions. Then she wondered why Terry hadn't returned.

Had Rafe come here to kill himself, had Terry found him? But if that was the case, wouldn't Terry be back by now? Her phone rang, making her jump. "What's up?" Dan asked.

"We're uh, we're at Jody's. At Jody's apartment. Dan, Terry's been gone for five minutes."

"Shit! All right, listen, don't get out of that truck. Stay there. I'll be right over."

"Okay. Dan, I love you. Drive safe."

"I will. I love you too. Summer, don't move, okay?"

She nodded, not wishing to leave the truck for anything.

As Dan arrived, Terry still hadn't returned. Dan ran to where Summer had cracked the window, rain blowing through the small opening. "You hear anything yet?" he asked.

"I tried to call him again. Dan, I don't wanna stay here alone." Whatever was happening in that apartment, Summer needed to see it. Needed to know firsthand, not hear from Terry or Dan or even Rafe. Maybe he was dead, maybe he was only screwing with them. She hadn't been able to view Jody, but this was different.

"Summer..."

"Dan, please?"

He gave a hesitant nod. Stepping from the warm cab, Summer noted the wind, sharp and painful. Rain whipped her legs and she pulled the hood of her coat over her head as Dan took her hand.

They went up the initial steps, then turned right, walking down a long corridor. Jody's apartment was still vacant. No one had wanted it and the adjoining neighbors had left a few months later, nobody renting that space either. Both were tainted, sullied, would remain that way until someone new moved to town with no idea of what had occurred.

No lights shined from any windows, making Summer shiver. That, the blasting rain and a driving wind, but Dan gripped her hand, leading the way. She stared at the wet concrete, a little slippery. She hadn't come here even when Jody was alive. If he wanted to see her or the kids, Jody always went to Summer's house.

"Terry!" Dan called, but his voice was obscured by the wind, now approaching a howl. Maybe power lines were down, why it was so dark. Dan's flashlight was the only way he could see where he was going, but Summer just looked to her feet, clad in tennis shoes, her toes soaked.

"Get outta here!" hit Summer like a gust and she clung to Dan's arm or else she would have landed on the ground. Rafe's voice emerged like a scream and Summer began to cry.

"Rafe? Listen, whatever's going on, I've got Summer here. All we want is to talk to you. Is Terry there?"

"He's here, now get the fuck out!"

"Terry!" Summer shouted. "Terry, answer me!"

"He's not gonna say shit to no one anymore," Rafe hollered.

Dan turned to Summer, setting fingers over his lips. She nodded and let go of him.

"Rafe listen, the cops are on their way. Whatever happened with Jody, it's over man. Is Terry all right?"

To Summer's knowledge, Dan hadn't called the police, nor did she hear anyone but their footsteps, their breaths. She wanted to run inside the apartment, but the image of her children, waiting in the door, held her still. They had lost one parent and Summer couldn't bear to harm them further.

"Terry's gone man, just gone. Me too. Me, Terry, Jody, all three of us man, so just get the fuck outta here!"

"Terry!" Summer screamed. "Terry!"

"Summer, go back to the truck. Call 911, then just stay there, you understand?"

She shook her head, but pulled out her phone. "I'm not gonna leave you."

"The kids Summer, Christ!"

"Dan?" a weak voice cried. "Get her outta here!"

"Terry? Oh Jesus Christ, TERRY!"

On the end of Summer's line a voice asked what was the problem, but Summer couldn't speak, numb from the cold, the rain, the place where she stood. Then the shot exploded, piercing the black night and blasting rain. Summer dropped her phone, clinging to Dan, who leaned them against the wall of the complex. All the while that voice asked what was wrong.

Jordan Hower and Elisa Gonzales stood with Summer in the corridor as paramedics and cops swarmed the end of the building. Elisa held Summer's hand as Jordon kept sneaking looks through the closest window. But really, it was enough to hear what was happening, a different play by play than what Summer's children knew.

By the bottom of the fourth inning, the Yankees were up four to one, at which time Terry had tired of talking to Rafe through the closed door of what had been Jody's apartment. Terry had threatened to bust down the door, but Rafe had opened it, letting Terry inside. How Rafe had a key Terry hadn't asked, only for Rafe to take the rope from his neck. A chair stood in the middle of the room, near the light fixture where Jody had attached the end of the necktie. The fixture had been replaced, was still usable, but Rafe hadn't gone as far as Jody had.

When Pedro Martínez was replaced at the bottom of the fifth, Terry had been beaten over the side of his head. Then Rafe's gun went to its owner's temple. By then Dan had arrived, parking on the other side of Jordan Hower's car. Jordan lived here, but wasn't alone that night, his occasional girlfriend Elisa Gonzales leaving work early to watch the game with a guy who had no intentions of knocking anyone up, not Elisa or the other girls with whom he sometimes slept. But lately it had only been Elisa, even if it meant she skipped a morning class, even if it meant he was buying condoms from where Elisa worked. Better than getting them from Ann Simpson at CVS, who lived a few doors down from another of Jordan's girlfriends.

That night Elisa stood with her co-worker as Summer waited to hear something good. After the shot, Dan had rushed into the apartment, his voice relaying details Summer then witnessed for herself. She took slow, furtive steps, but had to see, had to know. The Yankees were pounding the Phillies, two relievers costing Philadelphia three more runs. It was seven to two New York as Summer stepped into the apartment, no one hanging from the ceiling. Terry's battered and bleeding body lay in Dan's arms, Rafe's gun pointed to the side of his own head.

Summer stared at Dan, who applied pressure to Terry's upper body, what looked to be his right shoulder. Dan's voice was low, telling Terry it would be all right, to stay with him. With them, but Summer wasn't sure Terry heard Dan. She noted the rain outside, a thick wind finding her there, in Jody's last dwelling, but the door was wide open. Anyone could walk right in, what Summer had done. Rafe had told her they'd needed a pass key to reach Jody. Jody had locked them all away.

Summer didn't approach Dan and Terry, instead stepping Rafe's way. "What are you doing?" she asked him.

"Ending it, ending it all."

"Why?"

She was curious, like her daughter, what Skye would say if she was there. Summer expected to hear it later that night or maybe in the morning, depending on when this ended. It was going to end one way or another. Then she heard the sirens. Someone had spoken to the police.

She hadn't, her phone still out on the landing, as in the top of the sixth inning the Phillies scored again, hounding Andy Pettitte from the mound. All that time Summer stared at Rafe, asking him over and over _why_. Why had he told Jody the best method to kill himself, why had Rafe shot Terry, why was he threatening to shoot himself? "Maybe you should shoot me too," she said. "My guts hurt like a sonovabitch."

That got Rafe's attention and he threw the gun to the floor. "Christ, don't say that!"

"No really. I got my period today, feel like shit." She looked at Dan and Terry, Dan's face streaked with tears. "All I've done today is make Dan lose sleep, now he's crying. Rafe, just take us all out. Then it'll really be over."

She wasn't sure why she said that; she didn't wish to die, but some creeping pain had found her, was it this place, the night, the rain? The scent of blood, Terry's and her own, and in some wispy manner, Jody's too. He hadn't spilled a drop but had ended his life here, found a manner in which to cease his existence. "Rafe, did you tell him, tell Jody what to do?"

Rafe had bent over, was on his knees, the rope trailing after him. "I only told him if he really wanted it to be over that I would take care of you, I'd look after you. He was so worried about that, about you and the kids, but I told him it would be okay."

Footsteps approached, lights and sound, and Summer knelt by Rafe, the gun close enough that if he wished he could pick it up, kill them both. As Summer reached him, she didn't touch him, only seeking an answer. "Rafe, did he tell you why, why he wanted to do this?"

"Oh Christ, you know why! He couldn't stop, couldn't stop loving you or drinking, either one. All he wanted was for it to stop hurting, it was driving him insane. That's what he said, what he said to me over and over. Every night after he left you Summer, he came back here, then called me. God, why'd he do that? He knew how I felt about you, maybe he wanted to rub it in my face. But he was so damned drunk and I talked to him until he passed out. All he said was how much he loved you, but not enough. Not you or the kids, never enough to stop. He never thought he'd be able to quit and it hurt him Summer, because you and the kids, you were everything to him, more than the music, more than anything."

"Not more than the booze."

Then Rafe looked up, Summer finding her pain reflected in Rafe's cold eyes. "No, not more than that. He needed that more. That's why he did it Summer. You and the kids would never come first, never. He knew it that night, said he'd seen someone who would love you better than he did." Rafe stared to Dan, still applying pressure to Terry's shoulder. "Oh god, Jody knew we both loved her, loved you Summer. I guess he knew there was someone better to take his place."

In the bottom of the sixth, New York didn't score, holding a four-run advantage over Philadelphia, seven to three. As Summer stared at Dan and Terry, she missed Rafe reaching for the gun. What she heard was an officer's order, Ted Phillips shouting at Rafe to drop the weapon. Summer had gone to school with Ted as she had all these men, as she had Jody Sims. Ted had been a cop since graduating from high school, two decades spent on the job. He had never employed deadly force, not that Summer knew, and as they all knew everything about each other, she watched as Ted aimed his gun at Rafe.

"Summer, get down!"

She did, unsure who said it, maybe Ted, maybe Dan. Maybe it was Jordan Hower, who she glimpsed through the window. All Summer knew as she fell to her belly was a gun being fired. Rafe fell over and Ted moved her way. Another officer, Jack Hardy, stepped inside, Summer seeing him as she sat up, scrambling to the far wall. Jack was older, in his early fifties, and he knelt by Dan and Terry as Ted Phillips attended to Rafe.

Jordan had put his head through the doorway and Summer stared at him, only a kid. He didn't look twenty, maybe fourteen, fifteen years old. She stood, stepping his way, leading him out of the apartment, where they were met by Elisa, who had collected Summer's phone. The back was loose, the front screen cracked, but even if it had been working, Summer was too shaken to use it.

She still stood there as gurneys were wheeled into the apartment, the loud sounds of EMT's and more cops flooding the scene. It was dark, but some power had been restored, Jordan's apartment well-lit, offering comfort. Elisa motioned Summer that direction, but she resisted. She had to see if Terry was all right, needed Dan. Dan was still inside, but she heard his voice, heard him telling Terry he would be okay.

"Summer?" Dan called. She nodded, but couldn't speak.

"She's here, with us," Jordan croaked.

Dan stepped outside and Summer ran to him. "Is he alive?"

"They both are. Let's get out of the way. They're bringing Terry out."

Dan pulled Summer to the side as a team of paramedics rushed a body down the corridor. She noted it was Terry, even as his face was covered by an oxygen mask. "Where's Rafe?" she asked.

He followed, surrounded by officers, only one EMT. Their steps were also hurried and Summer gripped Dan. She had seen it all except Terry getting hit, but no one would need to tell her how it occurred, for she had heard the gunshot taking Terry down. Rafe had pistol whipped Terry, subduing him as Dan and Summer approached, what Dan told Jack Hardy as they stood in Jordan Hower's kitchen. Dan would make a full account at the station, but Jack wanted Summer to just go home. Jordan would provide a statement, Elisa too.

"I'll take her home, then meet you at the station, okay Jack?" Dan gripped Summer, but she didn't want to be far from him. Rafe's words played in her head, the way he spoke, as if the bottom of his world had fallen, but not from what he'd done that night.

"Yeah, it won't take long, but Summer, I don't think we'll need anything from you tonight."

She nodded, then stared at Jordan and Elisa. Then Summer noted her phone in her hand, but it was useless. "Okay Jack, whatever you want."

Dan took the cell from her fingers, setting it in his pocket. Then he led Summer to his truck.

By the time they arrived at Summer's, Milt had heard from someone he knew who lived across the street, that something had happened at Jody's old complex. Dan's clothes were soaked, so were Summer's, but he had nothing there to change into, and would stop at his place, then make his statement. She nodded, kissed him, then watched as he walked to the gate, the kids quiet at her side.

He hadn't picked them up, but had kissed each of them, saying he'd be back after while. Skye had complained, but Dan promised he would see her tomorrow at day care. With that assurance, she gripped her mother's hand, watching Dan drive away. Then she skipped back to her place on Betsy's lap, no worse for Dan's absence.

Summer closed the door, then knelt by Nat and Erika. "Let me take a quick shower. You watch the end of the game, then I'll tell you what happened."

"Is Terry okay?"

"What about Rafe?"

"They're both in the hospital. Just let me get a shower."

As water poured over Summer, Autumn and Spring squeezed into the tiny bathroom, but Summer couldn't speak other than to tell them it looked like both men would live. Maybe Dan would learn something, bring home concrete news. When she turned off the water, her sisters left the room, and Summer toweled off, thinking about Jody. He had loved them, but the addiction ruled. It came first, always had, and she imagined it never would have released him. That may be as close to _why_ as she would ever get, but after that night, perhaps it would suffice.

When she stepped into the living room, the game was nearly over, Mariano Rivera in a non-save situation. He allowed one walk, but no one scored, and the Yankees began celebrating as Summer took her first bite of chili.

Forest released small groans as Nat and Erika cheered, Summer relieved their night hadn't been spoiled. She drank hot tea, ate her dinner, then was surrounded by her older children, who squeezed beside her on the bench. Erika had gone under the table, Nat on the outside, but Betsy and Skye stayed on the sofa, noting all Skye would do when Erika went to Florida next year.

"Mom, what happened?" Nat's voice soft.

"Rafe shot Terry, but the cops got there before Rafe could do anything more."

"Why?" Erika sounding like her sister.

Summer chewed what was in her mouth, then took a sip of tea. It was warm, easing so many images, even a little peace. If Jody hadn't killed himself in March, he would have done it eventually.

"Because Rafe isn't well, like your dad wasn't. But maybe now he'll get some help."

"Is he gonna go to jail?" Nat asked.

Summer nodded. "Probably, but it might not be actual jail. Maybe a psychiatric hospital. We'll just have to see what happens."

"Is Dan okay?"

"Yeah," Summer smiled. "He just has to make a statement. Then he'll be home."

The kids clung as Summer set the spoon in her bowl. Putting her arms around them, she wondered if Dan would have to work that night, maybe someone else could fill in. She wasn't going to work tomorrow, wasn't sure if she would send the kids to school. Maybe they would all stay home, an entire day just spent together.

Nat asked a few more questions, but Erika snuck from her spot, Summer not scolding. Then Nat walked away, leaving Summer with her sisters, John and Milt. As an installment of "The Rutabaga Queen" began, Summer whispered another story, the bits she could manage to repeat. She gripped her mug, warming her fingers, wishing Dan would return, wanting him to hold her, tell her it was over. It wasn't, a long ways from that, but some part had been laid to rest, maybe only Jody. But that was something, Summer considered.

It was the door she heard first, then three young voices in unison: _Dan's home!_ Summer had let Skye wait up, she wasn't going to send any of them to school in the morning. They would all sleep in, as late as Skye would let them, Summer feeling she had at least seven months of slumber to reclaim. She stood, walking on Autumn's arm, finding Skye in Dan's grasp, Nat on one side, Erika the other.

Dan's free arm opened and Summer went there, enveloped against his body. "Terry's in surgery," he whispered.

"And Rafe?"

"He'll be okay."

Summer nodded, then felt Skye removed. Then both of Dan's arms wrapped around her, his soft voice in her ear, that he loved her. Dan loved her, all for that moment Summer needed.

Chapter 19: Monday Morning, November 1st, 2010

Fall danced along the street as Summer left her house, Nat in the front, Erika and Skye in the back. Passing cars stirred the yellow and dry-green leaves, kicking them in swirling patterns. Summer was the only one to notice, all three children talking about baseball.

Erika was in love with Tim Lincecum. She adored his long, dark hair, loved his lean, slightly awkward frame. Grew winsome over his warm, earthy smile, noting he was pitching that night, game five of the World Series, San Francisco and Texas new teams in the Fall Classic.

Skye only cared about the Panda, but Summer doubted Pablo Sandoval would play. Skye wore her Panda hat that morning, _Panda_ this, _Panda_ that, and Summer hoped Skye wouldn't ask if he was in the lineup. Skye might say _Mommy is Panda in the lineup tonight?_ because Nat had taught her that phrase. As if an errant peanut, Nat had incorporated baseball terms into Skye's lexicon.

As for Nat, he was again worried about Cliff Lee. Lincecum had beaten Lee in game one, but could he do it again? Nat said the least, he with the biggest considerations. With the Yankees' loss to Texas in the American League championship series, Nat was firmly behind the Giants, his favorite player the bearded Brian Wilson, San Francisco's version of Mariano Rivera. Nat didn't think Wilson, with his obviously dyed black beard, was as good as Rivera, but he carried himself as if he was. In Nat's eleven, and a half, year-old opinion, that might be good enough.

Erika thought Wilson was weird, preferred Lincecum or catcher Buster Posey. Summer smiled, hearing her daughter speak of those players with a girlish crush. If Posey happened to show up at school that day and ask for nine-year-old Erika's hand, she would accept, only if Tim Lincecum wasn't close. During the season, while Nat remained true to the Yankees, Erika gravitated to the Giants, partially due to all the Giants games they watched on television, and that she no longer needed a father figure in New York's skipper. Joe Girardi had been replaced, but only within their house.

"All right, I'll see you guys after school. Remind Terry he's bringing dinner, okay?"

Nat got out first, but stepped back in the car, giving his mother's hand a squeeze. "Just tell him to stop at the store?"

Summer smiled, gripping her son's fingers. "Yeah, that's fine. Just make sure he remembers."

Erika waited at Terry's front gate as Nat slammed the car door, then waved. Summer wondered if like most days, the kids would wake Terry; he still wasn't used to their presence. He lived a block from the elementary school, closer than Autumn and Milt's former residence. Every morning since Summer's sister had moved to Florida, Terry managed to stumble from bed, let Nat and Erika in, then stagger along the broken sidewalk behind them. Not that Nat and Erika needed his company, but it had been beneficial for his recovery, a short morning trek facilitating his healing. Now it was more of routine, but Terry never complained, Summer expecting to see him later, wondering what he was going to provide for that night's meal.

"Skye, what do you think Terry should bring tonight?"

"Mommy, is Daddy gonna be home for the game?"

Summer sighed. "No, I don't think so."

"Oh. Is he gonna come see me today?"

"Not today baby. Skye, what should we have for dinner?"

Summer's daughter didn't ask _why_ , something a four-year-old had set aside, not entirely, but Skye had other things on her mind. Like the Panda, which Summer mentioned, Skye taking the bait. She fiddled with her hat as they approached day care, forgetting all about her daddy.

As Summer headed to work, leaves followed, kicked up by the small breeze. She stopped at a light, watching them spin, some horde of autumn's remnants twirling along the concrete, churned in air that felt like fall, like a new season was finally coming their way. It was the first of November, hopefully the last day of baseball. Summer hoped the Giants would win that night, end the series in Texas, be done with it. Another thing to check off her list.

She had many. Pulling into the parking lot, she wrapped a scarf around her neck, black and orange, the shades of Halloween, which the children seemed to have set aside with the more pressing idea of sport that night. Black and orange were the Giants' colors, seemed festive this time of year. That day she wore a baseball jersey, her manager Casey Miller a huge Giants fan. Baseball-related apparel had been allowed on game days, but if Summer could put this particular shirt away after that night, she would be pleased.

It didn't fit so well anymore, but she donned a black turtleneck underneath, setting off the cream of the jersey. Still, if tomorrow she was back in her regular uniform, that would be fine.

As she reached the front door, another blast of wind hit her, leaves whipping around her legs only to tease, as if ushering her inside. The air wasn't frigid, not like a year ago, and she smiled, hoping Terry would have some idea of what that night's meal would be.

"So I told him that was just it," Hannah Lingley's tone huffy and petulant. Some things, Summer sighed, never changed.

Joe Stammers' calm voice buffeted Hanna's grating tone and Summer rang up groceries, setting them in paper bags. Hannah still liked paper bags, but there was no cat litter that day, only sundries. Summer had three bags filled, hoping Hannah would at least be quick enough to set them in her cart. It would take more time if Summer had to lug them around the end of the counter and three people stood behind Hannah, all looking as exasperated as Summer felt.

"Anyway..." Hannah's voice faded as she gazed around. Summer smiled, no other baggers close. "Anyway, well you know, men! I don't know what I'm gonna do with him."

Hannah paused, then finally took one of the bags, hoisting it into her cart. As Summer totaled the bill, Hannah lifted the others, using slow, tired motions, yet it was only nine-thirty. Then Hannah sighed, pulling out her credit card, a task she could have accomplished while bitching at Summer. Instead Hannah took her sweet time, Summer showing that weather and sport-proof grin.

It was a Jody Sims catch-all smile, as if nothing in the world was wrong, as if Hannah was the only customer Summer would see all day. That Jordan Hower, Ann Simpson, and Cora Harper waited bothered Hannah Lingley not one bit.

Summer needed a break, wishing for only a few minutes. But there wasn't a free soul to relieve her, or take Hannah Lingley's groceries. Hannah signed the receipt, then set her hands on the cart. With a short smile to Summer, Hannah walked away, still scouting for assistance.

Jordan said nothing about Hannah, but did give Summer a warm grin. "How are you today?"

"Fine." She rang through several items; milk, bread, lunchmeat, and cereal. Then at the end, tampons.

Summer didn't blink, neither did Jordan. She bagged everything in paper, then wondered how Elisa might look, coming in later. She might be tired, but only due to her period, what Summer assumed, as Jordan hadn't bought condoms, Tampax instead.

"Hope the Giants kill them tonight," he said, looking Summer right in the eye.

"Me too. Tell you the truth, I'm running out of sport shirts."

He laughed, as did Ann behind him. "That one's looking a little tight on you," Ann said.

Jordan laughed. "Yeah, I think you need something else to wear."

"My daughter insisted," Summer said. It was true; Erika wouldn't let her mother out of the house unless she was dressed in Giants' attire.

"Well, hopefully they'll kick some Texas ass and it'll be done. See you later Summer."

"See you Jordan." She omitted a greeting to his live-in girlfriend. Summer would see Elisa soon enough.

Ann said little as Summer rang her through, only that yes, it would be nice for San Francisco to wrap it up that evening, even if it meant they wouldn't win at home. Better to end the torture, and Summer laughed. The entire season had almost gone to a tie-break, the Giants beating San Diego on the last day of the regular season to take the division. Now in the Fall Classic, they were up three games to one; if they took it that evening, Summer would be grateful.

Cora shuffled into Summer's view and Summer glanced for assistance. Hannah Lingley could put her own groceries in the back of her truck, but Cora looked tired, how Summer felt. She turned off the light over her aisle, then called for a bagger. After Cora, Summer was taking a break. "How are you today?" Summer asked.

"Oh all right. Hip's been bothering me. But you, how are you doing?"

Summer set a hand on her protruding belly, black fabric not disguising her six-month bulge. She had fastened the buttons at the top of the jersey, but left the rest undone. At least GIANTS in the middle of her chest was legible, but a gap showed over her bust, nothing Summer cared enough to conceal.

She couldn't hide the baby, hadn't wished to do so. Everyone knew it was Dan's and he hadn't wanted to keep it a secret either, not once they knew everything was all right. After the heartbeat was detected, an amniocentesis confirmed no abnormalities. The only thing Summer and Dan had wanted mysterious was the gender. Summer hadn't learned with her other children, wanted to be surprised with this baby too.

"We're fine," Summer smiled, looking at her baby, Dan's child. Then she stared at Cora. "Sometimes I can't believe I'm gonna do this all again."

"At least you have plenty of help."

"Yeah, the kids are pretty excited." They had been distracted by the World Series, but once it was over, Erika would set Tim Lincecum and Buster Posey away for winter, get back to obsessing about her unborn sibling.

"You finish that addition to the house?" Cora asked as a young man stepped their way. Sal Zepeda began bagging Cora's groceries, but the old woman looked through him as she did Elisa and all those who provided that service.

Summer sighed. "Nearly. Just waiting for the inspector to give us the final okay."

When not busy with work, Dan and Terry had been occupied with construction. Another bedroom had been needed, fashioned along the back, next to the girls' room. If the baby was a boy, Erika and Skye would continue to share. If it was a girl, Erika would get her own room.

"Well, hopefully they'll not jerk you around. Better to get it all done before the rain starts to fall."

"Yeah, supposed to come this week. As soon as they do, I'll feel like I have my house back."

Cora smiled, then gripped her cane, Sal removing it from the cart. The young man stood to the side, waiting to see if Cora wanted to push it herself, or just walk on her own.

"Cora, you want Sal to drive the buggy?"

The old woman looked at Summer, then finally to the young man. "Oh well, yes. That'd be fine. Thank you Summer."

"My pleasure." Summer nodded to Sal, who shrugged as Cora led the way.

As Summer set her feet in a chair, the break room door opened. Elisa stepped in, looking weary. Summer said nothing, giving a warm nod. Then Elisa sighed. "Terry's looking for you."

Summer rolled her eyes. "Well, that's about par for the course."

Elisa smiled. "You want me to get him?"

Neither woman felt well, but Summer would let Elisa fetch him. "Yeah, sure. Thanks."

"Hey, I'll be better in a few days. You've got months to go."

Summer nodded, aware it was true. Soon Terry stepped into the room and Summer started to move her feet, giving him the chair. He shook his head, taking another that rested against the wall. "Don't you dare. All I gotta know is what to buy."

He was still thin to her and it had been a year. Only she and Dan noted the scars along his face from where the butt of Rafe's gun had nearly cracked Terry's skull. No one saw the larger mark, under Terry's shirt, where the bullet had hit him.

Terry's shirt that day was a Giants jersey over a long-sleeved thermal. "I'm just gonna take everything to your house. Supposedly the inspector is coming over today. She better or I am gonna find her supervisor. Shit, she acts like she doesn't have one, but lemme tell you, everybody's got a boss."

Summer giggled; the biggest headache with the remodeling was just getting the inspector to sign all the work was done to code. "Man, if we can just get the dust cleared, I'd be happy."

"Well, it'll be done here soon enough. Gotta get it finished before Junior arrives." Terry chuckled, reaching for the baby with his able left hand. "How you feeling?"

"Like maternity leave won't come soon enough. Just age, I never felt this way with Skye even."

"You're not a spring chicken anymore."

She giggled. "None of us are Terry. None of us are."

At forty, Summer felt the pregnancy more than she had imagined. Yet, the baby was healthy, no complications, no problems. She would quit work after Thanksgiving, maybe not return. It would depend on how she felt afterwards, but Summer didn't really want to leave another infant in day care. Only with Skye had Summer needed full time child care, Jody not well enough to offer Summer an alternative. Dan was leaving it up to her, but she knew what he preferred. Dan would love it if Summer stayed home.

She had never been a full-time mother, in that she was a full-time checker. Motherhood had been on the side, but still feeling like a forty-hour a week position. The hours were those at night, on weekends, and spread out further, as if her day carried more than just twenty-four hours, maybe forty-eight. A week was fourteen days, a year over one hundred weeks, time feeling longer than it should. Since last fall, the last World Series, time had changed, and Summer had too. She stared at Terry's slender right arm, his face sporting scars. Rehabilitation for his mangled right shoulder was still a work in progress. He had recovered, but looked older. No one escaped the markings of days past.

Summer glanced at the clock; she had five minutes left. "Listen, get what you did last year, a bunch of sandwich stuff. That worked out fine and if the Giants win tonight, you can come for leftovers tomorrow."

"And if they lose?"

"Come anyway. Won't be another game until Wednesday."

They laughed as if life was only a cycle of baseball games, dinners shared, of waiting for the inspector. "All right, that's fine. But I'll tell you, that broad better show up. I am sick and tired of waiting on her."

Summer nodded as Terry looked at the clock. "You gotta go back to work?"

"Yeah."

He stood, then offered his left hand. "Well, okay then. I'll see you in a bit. Anything else you need?"

"Don't think so." Then she smiled. "You gonna get some three bean salad?"

"Hell yes! Shit, I'd have forgotten it. You think Skye'll want any?"

Summer giggled, thinking back to the garden Dan had planted in the front yard near the magic rutabaga; peas and corn, carrots and more rutabagas. Nothing to do with three bean salad and Skye had only clucked at the rutabagas Dan harvested. The one they had planted last year remained in the dirt, Skye rarely asking about it. Only the occasional _why_ was voiced, usually to do with baseball or chess. But Summer was sure her daughter wouldn't touch Terry's salad, would only eat her sandwich if potato chips were promised for later. "Just get enough salad for you and Dan," Summer said.

"No rutabagas?" Terry asked.

"Oh, get one," Summer grinned. "We'll give it to Forest. Skye'll like that."

Chapter 20: Monday Afternoon, November 1st, 2010

Summer collected Skye from day care, hearing all about Halloween treats, the Panda, and that Daddy had visited. Summer smiled at Skye's enthusiasm; it took Dan extra time to stop by the day care on his way to work. Most days he did it, whether he worked nights, or even a late day shift, as he was that week. He would miss most of the game, not due home until after eight p.m.

"Mommy, what're we having for dinner?"

"Sandwiches." Summer wouldn't mention the chips until it was necessary.

"What about chips? Is Terry getting chips?"

"Yeah, he is." At four, Skye didn't miss too many tricks. "But you have to eat a sandwich first."

"I know. I remember from last year."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. But I don't want any bean salad."

Summer smiled, looking at her daughter in the rear view mirror. "No, you don't have to eat any salad. It's good though. Dan likes it."

"Dan can have mine." Skye still used her parents' names interchangeably with Mommy and Daddy. "Is Terry bringing anyone with him?"

Maybe only the inspector, Summer thought, perhaps by the scruff of her neck if she hadn't signed off the extra room. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Oh, just wondering."

Summer neared their house, noting only Terry's truck waiting out front. Usually Nat and Erika walked to his house after school, but that day they had ridden home with Abby Stanton, as Terry had to wait for the inspector. Summer hoped perhaps she would have already been there, maybe just minutes before, and Terry was waiting on Summer. As she parked, seeing Nat at the chessboard, Erika and Abby doing cartwheels, Summer sighed. Terry sat across from Summer's son, those two embroiled in a match.

Skye could unstrap herself, only needed her mother's hand if she felt like jumping from the car. Summer hadn't lifted Skye in months, not since they learned Summer was pregnant. Now she walked slowly, all of Skye's words not to her mother, but to Terry. From the exasperated look on his face, no inspector had showed.

"Well?" Summer asked.

"Nope," Terry replied. "Been here since noon, just like they said."

"How much longer?"

"I'll give her till five. Then I'm watching baseball."

Summer waved to Erika, who could do cartwheels all day. Summer reminded Skye to pee, then stared at the board. "Who's winning?"

"I am," Nat's voice distracted.

"He is," Terry smiled. "Kicks my butt every time."

Summer ruffled Nat's hair, then went in the house.

It didn't look that different from what she was used to, Dan's presence having been well-timed with how the World Series ended last year. It ended with Rafe's breakdown, what they called it, whether the children were close or not. He remained incarcerated in Vacaville, and would remain there until well enough to serve out the rest of his sentence. Attempted murder had been the sole charge, but more pressing was Rafe's mental condition. Terry rarely mentioned it, but as if losing Jody hadn't been bad enough, Rafe's collapse had added to Terry's grief. His physical woes lessened every day, but what he carried within made Summer keep an eye on him.

It had been most difficult in March, Jody's year anniversary, but they were all eased six weeks later when Summer and Dan got pregnant. Terry had spent most of baseball season working on the addition, Dan assisting when not at work. When Milt and Autumn had visited in September, Milt was put to good use, but now it was a matter of a few signatures on a card stating that yes, everything from the smoke detector to light fixtures to the ninety-degree angles of the corners were up to snuff. Then Summer could relax and Terry could too.

She undressed, getting into a pair of Dan's sweats, taking off the Giants jersey. She left the black turtleneck, but put a long-sleeved buttoned shirt over it, clothes she wore now and before, only to be comfortable. She thought the baby was a boy, recalling how different her pregnancy with Nat had been from the girls. Dan wasn't getting much from her, Summer's libido hardly registering. She had told him why and he had laughed, seemed pleased the baby might be a son. Still, it could be a girl, who knew? They would learn in late January, when Summer would be nearly forty-one.

At forty, she was pregnant, but with her luck, she would celebrate her birthday first, then have Dan's child. At least he was a little older and she smiled, hearing Terry's grousing, Skye's badgering. She wanted to play chess, wanted her daddy home. Then she wandered into the house, looking sullen. "When's everyone getting here?"

"In an hour or so. Go play with Erika."

"I'm sick of cartwheels. When's Daddy coming home?"

Summer took Skye's hand and they sat on the loveseat. Summer had reclaimed that piece of furniture during the playoffs, she, Dan and Skye usually, sometimes Erika. That left Betsy, John and Spring on the big couch, Nat usually sitting beside Forest, near Terry. A smaller crowd without Autumn and Milt, then Summer smiled. This time next year, babies would rule.

"Dan'll be home about when the game's over. If you keep griping, I'll make you go to bed early."

Skye pouted. Then she snuggled into her mother. "How's the baby today?"

"Good. Tired of baseball."

"Really?"

Summer laughed. "Maybe. I know I am. Of that and waiting for the stupid inspector. One of these days I'd like to paint the baby's room."

"I hope it's a boy. I like sharing my room with Erika."

Summer giggled, fairly certain Skye would get her wish. Erika would be the one complaining if that was the case. "Well, we'll just have to see."

"Why don't you find out what it is?"

"I like surprises."

"Hmmph! Well, I wanna know."

"I know you do. After Christmas, we all will."

Summer ran her hands through Skye's hair, which was now to the middle of her back. Pigtails were gone, this girl taking her own baths, not always asking _why_ , but sometimes she did. She never asked for Jody; if Skye said Daddy, she meant Dan.

Her siblings were the same, Erika saying Dad for Dan half the time. Occasionally Summer caught Nat doing it, if he was tired. But it was only a name. A year and a half after Jody's death, he was barely mentioned by his children.

Since falling pregnant, Summer rarely felt him, only around Terry, or if they spoke of Rafe. Setting her hands along her growing belly, she conceded the baby had taken her mind from Jody, but it wasn't only the baby. The father of Summer's child had been the largest diversion, turning from sidetracking them all to supplanting Jody Sims. As if placing the rutabaga into the ground, Dan had filled hearts, not just a small spot of Summer's front yard. A rutabaga and chess pieces and the San Francisco Giants, a team Jody had loved. Nat knew that, but didn't speak of it much. He still carried a torch for the New York Yankees.

For Joe Girardi, Summer smiled, as Skye's small hands caressed the baby. "Is he moving?"

Summer noted the preferred pronoun. "Yeah, you feel it?"

"Uh-huh. I think it's a boy."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And I'll get to stay in my room, and the baby will have its own room." Then Skye stared at her mother. "Will you have another after this?"

"How about you let me have this one?"

"Well, okay. But then what?"

_But then what_ had become the question of choice. _Why_ no longer mattered, more to the future. Summer felt a bubble of joy, or maybe it was heartburn. For so long after Jody, the future seemed bleak, barely worth considering. Now the possibilities were ripe, or maybe it was just her general mood. Or that after Summer had Dan's baby, Spring was due with John's. Or that Forest had started paying attention. Betsy had mentioned he'd asked if she still wanted to adopt. Summer wouldn't inquire, not until Forest mentioned it. As with Terry, some subjects were left to percolate, but she felt Forest's concerns would turn into something, certainly more than a rutabaga still resting in the ground near the fence.

"But then what, but then what. Skye, sometimes we just have to wait and see. You let me and Dan have this baby. Maybe if it's good like you were, maybe we'll think about another."

"Was I a good baby?"

"Oh yeah, just a little ball of Skye."

Giggles followed as a soon to-be big sister nestled into what lap Summer could afford to share. The baby seemed amenable to Skye's slight weight and Summer closed her eyes, thinking of Jody's blissful and somewhat drunken voice when he coined that phrase, their little ball of Skye.

"Hey Mama, wake up." Forest's tone was soft, stirring Summer from a dream. Of Jody, and she smiled, seeing her brother at eye level. "What were you thinking about?"

"Hey, what time is it?"

"Four thirty. What time did you sit down?"

Summer licked her lips, they felt dry. She wasn't sure, maybe she had napped for half an hour? "Where's Skye?"

They had been sitting together when Summer called her daughter by those words Jody had inaugurated, then Summer had fallen asleep. Voices were heard, around the corner, Terry and a stranger, a woman. Maybe the inspector, but Summer wouldn't bet on it. "What's going on?"

"Inspector's here," Forest whispered.

"And?"

Forest looked around the corner, the new bedroom a foot away. The extra room had been set right along the back of the house in a small open space that no longer looked odd from the back. Now a wall separated the kitchen from the nursery, if the inspector agreed everything was done to code. Summer hadn't thought of the room as the nursery yet, not willing to go that far.

Yet, it was, and she'd fallen asleep because she was pregnant. Forest's face was turned to listen, but Summer didn't care. It would either pass or they would fix whatever nit-picking part wasn't right. Last time it had been the smoke detector not being close enough to the wall, just asinine details, something to keep this woman employed. Last time she had trekked into the house in muddy work shoes, Summer having to ask her to remove her boots. Thankfully plastic sheeting was still tacked over the hall carpet, Summer leaving it until this woman was done.

"Sounds like maybe you have a new room." Forest smiled. "So, what were you dreaming?"

"When Jody told me we had a little ball of Skye." Those words didn't hurt and Summer smiled. "She was so little, maybe three, four months old."

"You think she'll remember anything about him?"

Summer stared to the front yard, the door open, voices floating. Hummingbirds swooped, then perched, the feeder running low. "Remind me to fill the feeder later, okay?"

"Yeah." Forest leaned back, turning the chair a small ways to the left. Then he smiled. "You're done."

"You sure?"

He nodded as Terry emerged, the card in hand. The inspector gave Summer a wide smile. "Well, I guess you'll be able to breathe easier now that that's all finished."

"You bet," Summer said. "Thanks."

The woman said nothing, but Summer noticed her stocking feet. Holding back a giggle, Summer watched as boots were tied, then the woman stepped down the ramp, clomping her way to the gate.

"What an oaf," Forest said, his voice still low. "But at least that's over."

"Yeah, as soon as I sweep up all the dirt she left behind." Summer stood, then stretched. "Let's go see."

She pushed her brother, the wheels slow on the plastic sheeting. The door was wide, easy for Forest to maneuver once the plastic was removed. Summer stared at blank white walls, a small closet, a large double-paned window. Dan had replaced all the others over the summer and the house would be snug in winter.

She imagined the furniture in place: crib, changing table, dresser, maybe a rocker could be squeezed in. Better if it was a boy, a small room if Skye was added. But if Dan wanted another baby, they'd manage. One way or another, things would work out.

"Summer," Forest using his uncle tone, "do you think Skye will remember Jody?"

She looked out the window, the backyard empty. Dan had plans for a garden there next year, wanted to plant sunflowers near the kids' windows. Summer liked that idea, thought it would look like a jungle when they opened their blinds. "Forest, what do you remember about Jody?"

"Oh Jesus."

"Yeah?"

He smiled. "Summer, I knew him forever. I'm talking about the kids."

"You're talking about Skye, who was two and a half years old when he died. Now she's four and all she remembers is Halloween yesterday. All she'll remember is Dan."

"That's pretty harsh."

"It's the truth. What she'll remember about Jody is what we tell her, what we shove into her head. You ask who her daddy is, she'll tell you, Dan Bailey. He's her daddy, this baby's daddy too. It's all she knows Forest. Dan is all she knows."

If Forest pressed, Summer wouldn't beat around the bush. He was pressing, she could see in his face the same thing Skye asked earlier: _But then what?_

Yet, Forest wouldn't say it. He looked up, tried to wheel away. He was stuck, the plastic over the floor staying until the painting was done. Summer wanted light green walls, granny smith apple green. Yellow baseboards would be laid after the walls were painted, then medium blue carpet, a colorful room for at least one baby. If Dan wanted another, Summer would do her best to comply.

"Give me a hand?" Forest asked.

"Sure." She turned his way, then grasped the handles. A small shove propelled him, and he eased around the corner.

"I like this wide door," he said.

"All the better for Uncle Forest to tell rutabaga tales with my dear."

"That was clever of you."

"Sometimes little brother. Sometimes." Summer giggled as they reached the living room. Betsy waited in her space on the sofa and once free from the plastic, Forest took control, only one rotation to reach his spot. The carpet sported grooves where Forest sat, but Summer didn't say anything, watching as Betsy stood, asking her boyfriend if he wanted anything.

"No, I mean, maybe." Forest sighed, then glanced back.

Summer's smile was unobtrusive. She nodded his way, then headed outside.

She filled the feeder, but Nat's SLAP of a ball into a mitt kept the birds away. The weather was cooler than the previous days, but still pleasant enough that Summer could stand outside without a jacket. Erika and Skye did cartwheels, Abby having gone home for dinner.

Across the road, the prunes looked scraggly, as if ages old, but those trees were less than fifteen years, Summer remembering when they were planted. She and Jody had traveled down this lane, looking for a quiet place to neck when in high school, then years later they continued along this small stretch, wishing to get away from friends, from people. Wishing for some return to childhood, easy, simple, unfettered. When this house went up for sale, Jody bought it for Summer, two years before they were married, not long after Forest's accident. When Jody, Terry, and Rafe remodeled it, the ramp was one of the first additions.

Now an extra room too and Summer stared at her children, hearing the soft mumbles of Betsy and Forest inside, noting Terry had left. He might be back, could have just needed a few minutes before spending the rest of the evening with this family. That day's significance wasn't lost to her, not the exact day Terry had been shot, but the last game, or what they all wished, of the World Series. Summer wanted it to end that night, the Giants taking the championship. If Terry called and begged off, Summer wouldn't be surprised.

"Aunt Spring's here!" Erika ran to the edge of the yard as a car pulled up, taking the space Terry had vacated. John parked and Spring got out, her smaller belly now evident. She was due in February, around Valentine's Day. The babies would be only weeks apart, cousins growing up together.

"What's for dinner?" Spring asked as Erika walked along the inside of the fence, holding her aunt's hand.

"Sandwiches, Terry's done the cooking."

"Where is he?" John asked.

"He might be back later," Summer said.

Spring and John nodded, then looked to the kids. The girls stood waiting to show their cartwheel tricks, Nat slamming the ball into his mitt.

"Hey Nat, a quick game?" John asked, pointing to the chess board.

Nat's instant smile was the answer and Summer and Spring walked inside as soon as Erika and Skye had performed.

Betsy and Forest weren't seen, but Summer heard their voices, probably in the nursery. Spring sat at the table. "When's Dan getting home?"

"Not till after eight."

"He'll miss most of the game!"

"I know, but he was off all weekend. Just the breaks."

"I guess. How's Terry?"

"Well, the inspector said my house won't fall to the ground. Otherwise," and she shrugged. "He's okay."

"Is he coming back?"

"I doubt it." Summer looked in the fridge, the three bean salad waiting. "If he does, salad's here for him."

"Any word on Rafe?"

"No change." Summer sent him a letter now and again, but unless she thought about it, Rafe Marlowe was as removed as Jody Sims. Yet, Rafe would probably return. One day he'd serve out his sentence, then come back here. Where else would he go?

Forest's chair could be detected, squeaking along the plastic. "When are you gonna get rid of this shit?" he asked, Betsy behind him.

"As soon as someone paints my nursery."

"Well, don't look at me," Forest smiled. "I'm only good for this high." His outstretched arm reached a few feet over his head.

"Yeah, no kidding. Maybe Spring will want two colors with a middle border. You can do the bottom half of her baby's room."

"Good idea," Spring giggled.

"Shit," Forest said.

"So when do we eat?" Betsy smiled, her hands along Forest's shoulders.

Summer wouldn't ask what that couple had been discussing, but she was sure it wasn't the game or interior design.

"Anytime. Just need to get out the food. I'll call Terry, see if he's coming. I'll tell you this, once I sit down, I'm just getting up to pee." Summer wanted to watch the game, a pitcher's duel that hadn't occurred last Wednesday when Tim Lincecum and Cliff Lee met. Maybe that night they would perform as to what had been expected, predicted. But as Summer watched her family gather in the kitchen, John with Skye's hand in his, sometimes the unforeseen worked out better than anyone imagined.

Chapter 21: Monday Evening, November 1st, 2010

At seven thirty Summer texted Dan; the Giants had won. It was the pitcher's duel that hadn't happened in the beginning, but four games later, it was Lincecum and Lee, men slender, determined, six years apart in age. Lee was older, but Lincecum more lasting that evening, going eight innings to Lee's six. Erika felt San Francisco's skipper Bruce Bochy should have let Lincecum finish, but Giants' closer Brian Wilson ended the game, the first five pitches taking out Josh Hamilton and Vladimir Guerrero. Nelson Cruz worked Wilson to a full count, but Cruz struck out swinging, and Summer's living room erupted in shouts. As the Stantons next door made the same noise, Summer wondered if she lived closer to town would it be the same. Ending a half-century drought, the Giants had won the 2010 World Series.

She stepped outside to text Dan, only because she needed to move. He wasn't due to leave for another half hour, by which time those in her house might have caught their breath. A short, speedy game, what happened when pitchers ruled. Both Nat and Forest had been loud in their cheers, also their groans, but this year it was directed at the same teams, fists pumped for every strike Tim Lincecum threw, hanging heads for every batter Cliff Lee banished to the dugout.

Terry hadn't returned, but said he'd be by tomorrow to help eat the bean salad. Summer had spoken to him before the start of the game, then after it began while cuddled into the loveseat with her daughters at her sides. Erika kept calling the baby _she_ and _her_ and _little sister_ , making Skye flounce and huff. As Forest lamented the end of the season might be near, once the Giants had held the Rangers scoreless in the bottom of the eighth, Skye had started in: _But then what, but then what?_ What would happen when baseball season was over?

She didn't remember the end of last year, which had started on a somber note, also a joyous one. Rafe went to the California Medical Facility in Vacaville, but Dan came home. Terry did too, after eight days in the hospital, and Summer accepted, Rafe eventually would amble his way down this lane, unless he was too ashamed. Yet, he'd given Summer peace of mind amid fear and panic. That rainy, blustery night Terry had been beaten, then shot, Summer had been liberated, learning Jody's death was his only possible course. She hadn't spoken of it with her children, not even Nat. She had shared it with her siblings and it seemed to make some sense, Jody unable to live with his addiction's effect on his family. Summer, Nat, Erika, and Skye had been Jody's family, but his drinking came first. Someday, when the children were old enough to understand, Summer would tell them.

But when she did, their father would accompany, Dan sitting next to her, maybe standing alongside. Maybe he would rest in the middle of the sofa, his daughters on either end, Erika and Skye calling Dan _Daddy_ or _Dad_. Dan's son Nat and the one Summer assumed was a boy, those two might sit with their mother. And as for any additional children, Summer would leave that for now. One baby at a time, one baby at a time.

"Mom, they're interviewing people, come see!"

Summer turned, Nat already back to the TV. "Be there in a minute." Maybe this would turn his head from the Yankees to a more local team. Dan had already said he wanted to take the kids to some games next year, too busy building the new room to attend any in 2010. In 2011 an infant would join them, but Summer was willing and maybe Forest and Betsy might come along. Maybe Spring and John, make another Bay Area vacation out of it. Summer wanted that, wished to see the beach with Dan's hand in hers, their child in his arms. She smiled, then noted headlights approach. Dan was home!

She walked to the gate, her smile wide. His was too and he ran to her, not many steps, but with the extra cars, Dan's truck had been pushed to the end of the fence. "Hey, I got your text just as I was getting off the freeway!"

His arms encircled her, then one hand landing on the baby. "You got off early," she mumbled, tears making it hard to speak.

Why was she crying, but Summer didn't think about it, hormones to blame. That and this night a year ago and their baby and... "Yeah, surprise. Jeff got there early, he's a Rangers fan."

"Guess he didn't want to watch it fall apart," she sniffed.

"No, better for me to watch you crumble. You okay? Terry here?"

"I'm okay. Terry went home after the inspector finally showed up."

"She leave any mud this time?" Dan teased.

"No, stupid broad." Summer kissed him, then smiled. "Kids are so caught up in the excitement, they don't even know you're home."

"All the more time for this." Dan's hands ran along her body, again stopping at the baby. "How are you?"

They had talked of this day, this game one he wanted to watch in person, all the games, for after the first four, any of them could be the last. The last game, nothing Skye spoke of, but what still remained in Summer, recalling this night in 2009, and in 2008. Summer didn't carry memories beyond the last two years when it came to the World Series, not this strong or meaningful. But this year the Giants had won and Dan stood close. "Let's go in, Nat was just telling me to come in when I saw your truck pull up."

As they stepped inside, Giants' manager Bruce Bochy was being interviewed. Skye jumped on her father until Dan picked her up, the room quiet as the series Most Valuable Player was announced, Edgar Renteria looking dazed, wiping tears, his hat on backwards. It was a theme as first baseman Aubrey Huff stepped up next, his cap also on the wrong way, what Skye noted. Summer watched as Huff's huge pupils seemed disbelieving, but it was true. A rag-tag bunch of players, many of whom started with other teams at the beginning of the season, had indeed won the championship, four games to one.

Dan put Skye next to Betsy, then gripped Summer. Closer Brian Wilson spoke next, his demeanor stunned but not completely surprised. When Tim Lincecum joined him, Erika screamed, the pitcher in another backwards hat and short sleeves, his arms defined, his manner humble. They were all knocked back, an incredible run from a team only sealing their division on the last day of the season. Now they had claimed baseball's highest honor; champagne flew in the locker room, bottle after bottle poured over Renteria's head as _MVP_ was chanted by his teammates.

"Well, they're gonna be useless tomorrow," Forest laughed. "Hey Dan! Surprised to see you!"

"I snuck away."

"A Texas fan didn't wanna see the end," Summer joked.

"Don't blame him, got their asses kicked."

"Uncle Forest!" Erika exclaimed.

"I'm telling," Skye hooted. "Aunt Betsy, Uncle Forest..."

"I know. Don't worry Skye. I'll spank him later."

The adults laughed, but Skye looked confused. "Are you sure?"

"Someone will spank somebody. All right," Summer giggled. "Skye, time for a bath."

The little girl whined until Betsy offered to run the tub. "Bubbles please," Skye said.

"Bubbles thank you," Betsy answered, then disappeared down the hall.

Nat and Erika looked spent, flung on the loveseat. "Man, I'm glad that's over," Nat sighed.

"Yeah?" Dan asked.

"Yeah. Too much torture." It had been the Giants' theme for their fans. "But next year, it'll be better."

"Why?" John asked.

"Because I'll have two teams to watch. One in the National League, one in the American."

"What happens if they meet next October?" Dan asked.

Nat was quiet. Then he stood, arms stretched over his head. "Well that way I can't lose."

Summer smiled. She gazed at Forest, who looked as incredulous as the Giants themselves.

"SUM-MER! SUM-MER!" Skye called.

"What?"

"Can you wash my hair?"

Betsy smiled, moving from behind Forest. "I'll do it."

"Thanks Bets." Summer had her spot on the loveseat, Dan beside her. Spring and John had gone home, Erika and Nat on the couch, going from sports channel to sports channel, catching all the post-game interviews.

"Well, I still can't believe they won. Man, gonna be hard getting tickets next year," Forest said.

"We'll go in summer, once the big crowds have died back. See a day game or something. You and Betsy wanna go?" Dan asked.

Forest looked to the kids, then wheeled to the edge of the hall where the plastic started. "Yeah sure, what the hell? You get the tickets, I'll buy the popcorn."

"And the cotton candy and matching t-shirts and..."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Forest smiled to his sister. "What else you wanna do while we're there?"

"Go to the beach," Erika said.

Dan smiled. "Yeah, maybe Santa Cruz?"

Erika looked up, her face still thrilled. "Yeah, oh yeah Dad! Can we really?"

"Baby'll be small still," Forest hedged.

"Not that tiny, five, six months old by the time we go. Just old enough to make a fuss on the drive."

"Bets and I will take the van," Forest laughed.

"Can I go with Uncle Forest?" Nat asked.

Summer smiled. They would have to shuffle the kids as her car wouldn't carry them all. Dan had said something about getting a minivan, but with the cost of the renovations, that would be put off another year. "Someone'll have to go with Uncle Forest or else ride on the roof."

She leaned back, feeling Dan's arms around her, his hands set on the baby, which was kicking Summer in the side. Small taps didn't cause her grief, but these days were waning, and she smiled, closing her eyes. She didn't realize she was sleeping until Dan's voice hit her ears. "Summer, honey, let's get you to bed."

"What?"

"You fell asleep again," Forest laughed. Then he grew quiet. "Dream anything new this time?"

She smiled, couldn't recall anything except the image of Skye strapped to the top of her car. Usually she wanted to ride in Dan's truck, which carried three passengers. For a while the two vehicles would suffice, but eventually they would need something bigger.

Dan got up from the loveseat, then pulled Summer from it. "I'll put her to bed," he told the kids and Forest. "Then we'll have a quick game of chess."

"With whom?" Forest chuckled.

"Not with you," Dan smiled. "Nat, you wanna set up the board?"

"Sure Dad. Goodnight Mom."

"Goodnight Nat, Erika. See you later Forest."

"Oh yeah," his voice stunned by Nat's name for Dan. "See you in a day or two."

Summer was nearly asleep when she heard the odd sound of something approaching her door. It wasn't steps, but her brother's chair, Forest making his slow way along the plastic. It covered the entire hallway, but not the rooms themselves. Once he pushed open her door, he moved with ease, and Summer looked up, finding his face again at her level. "Hey, what is it?" she asked.

"Were you sleeping?"

"Maybe," she smiled. She sat up, setting her hands on the baby. "Getting harder and harder as he gets bigger."

Forest grinned. "A boy huh?"

"I think so. I'm feeling just like when I had Nat."

Forest let out a laugh. "So Dan's not getting much then huh?"

"You can say that." Details of that first pregnancy had been shared with all Summer's siblings, Jody not silent as to the lack of passion during those days.

"I remember how much he bitched, Jody, you know. Then when you were pregnant with Erika, god, like you two were rabbits or something."

"Something," Summer smiled. "You and Betsy heading out?"

"Oh yeah, in a few. She's almost done with Skye. Man that girl likes to gab."

"She does. Gonna talk this baby's ears off in a few months, all about rutabaga queens."

"Better than Mississippi queens," he smiled.

"Indeed." Summer stared at him, Forest never bothering her like this. "What is it?"

"Summer, Nat called Dan _Dad_ tonight."

"I know. He does it every once in a while. Maybe he felt more comfortable around just you and Bets."

"Maybe. Does he, I mean, who is, I mean..."

"Jody's still his dad, but Dan's here Forest. Dan's the one Nat sees every day."

"Betsy told you, didn't she?"

"Yeah."

"You think we should, don't you?"

"Yeah. I do."

He sighed. "Summer, it's just that..."

"Don't talk to me Forest. Talk to Dan."

In the faint light from Dan's bedside lamp, Summer watched her brother ponder a previously unconsidered notion; did nature or nurture make a father? "Forest, you tell me why the Giants won tonight."

He smiled. "Because Lincecum was better than Lee."

"Maybe. I mean, yeah, that's one reason. Forest, how many of those guys were teammates at the start of this year? Not all of them. Sometimes families aren't who you're born to, but the ones you love. Jody loved us, fathered those three kids out there. But he loved something else more. What about our mom and dad? They never come down here, never see their grandkids. You notice how Erika and Nat would rather go see baseball games and the beach than drive up to Oregon and visit grandparents they hardly know?"

"Summer..."

"It's the truth. I'm not gonna drag four kids to someplace where they're only gonna be underfoot for a week. I love Mom and Dad, don't get me wrong, but they gave us these crackpot names then left, upped sticks just like Jody. He left us Forest, he did that. But guess what? Dan moved in. Dan stayed. Dan knocked me up and not on accident, not because we couldn't be bothered to use something. That's how I got Skye and I'm not dismissing her, god no! If not for her, how would Erika and Nat be today? How would I be, where would I be? If not for my little ball of Skye, where would Dan be?"

"I remember when he said that to you," Forest sighed.

"I wondered if you did."

"He wasn't drunk Summer, just tired. Tired, god, if Betsy and I adopt a kid..."

"If I can have a baby at forty, more likely forty-one, you and Betsy can adopt a child Forest. It's really not that hard."

A small weary part of Summer felt a twinge. How hard would it have been for Jody to only be tired, only worn like most people? Summer allowed Forest his memory of Jody calling for his little ball of Skye, but she knew better; Jody had been drunk. He always had booze in his system, never without it. He might be somewhat coherent, able to carry a conversation, diaper a baby, drive even, but he was never without some amount of alcohol in his bloodstream. If he'd only been exhausted that day, any of the days. Instead he'd been wasted, what he had done to his life, to them. For a time, Summer and her three children had been shattered.

Then Dan stepped into her store and she invited him to watch baseball. "Forest, do you wanna be a dad?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Well listen, when this baby's born, you can have all the practice you need. My baby, Spring's baby; we'll all go to San Francisco and you can see what it's like with kids on vacation, Nat in your van, Erika too if you really wanna be tested. It's not easy, but shit Forest, it's not brain surgery either."

Summer leaned forward, then set her brother's hands on a kicking fetus. "Feel that. Somebody's in there, someone you're gonna adore in three months' time, filling the poor kid's head with all sorts of crap about evil vegans and god knows what else. But you're here Forest. Maybe you think you're not as all _here_ as the rest of us, but compared to most, you're more here than not. And that's what matters at the end of the day. That you're here, you talk about rutabagas, vegans, baseball. That's all it's about Forest. Being here, really here, not out in space somewhere."

"Mommy! What are you doing awake?" Skye marched in, then with hands on her hips, she glared at her uncle. "Are you keeping the baby awake?"

Summer laughed as Forest took his niece onto his lap. "See? How can you argue with that?"

"With what?" Skye asked.

"With the rutabaga queen," Forest answered. "Skye, can you give me a push?"

"Yeah. To where?"

"Out of here. We gotta let your mommy sleep while she still can."

Skye jumped to the floor, then Forest turned the chair around. Skye's hands reached the handles, but it was Forest to move the chair to the edge of the plastic sheeting. "Goodnight Summer."

"Goodnight Forest. Call me in a day or two."

"We'll watch the parade together if you can get off work."

"Ha!" she laughed as Skye gave feeble pushes, Forest moving at a crawl along the covered hallway.

In the middle of the night, Summer stirred, got out of bed, then peed. Dan's snores rivaled Nat's and she put on her robe, not ready to lie next to a freight train.

The living room was a light show as photos from her computer flashed, a few seconds lingering on each, then another appeared, most of her children, some from her youth, the few photos she had scanned. Every once in a while a shot of Jody offered a glimpse of the past, Rafe too. But Rafe would return, Summer was sure. Jody was gone forever.

She sat at the screen, minimizing all the windows. The same beach waited, a lot of gray and beige, small bits of blue swirled through off-white clouds in the upper right corner of the monitor. Summer's eyes moved all around the photograph, it made her feel cold. Or maybe it was the night, maybe only her memory.

The baby inside her didn't stir, was asleep. She loved this child as she had the others, no difference to the depth of emotion Summer owned when she was pregnant, no matter the father. She had loved both men, still did. Somewhere within Summer, she still loved Jody.

He didn't hurt anymore, not her, not the kids, not himself. He wasn't a painful ghost, only gone. Was he missing, did she miss him? Not really, maybe not at all. She loved him, but didn't miss him.

She missed her sister, Autumn's absence glaring over the past weeks as baseball continued without Autumn and Milt's company. Did Summer miss her parents? She spoke to her mother every few weeks, sent photos by email as neither of her folks had Facebook accounts. Facebook made Autumn's departure easier, manageable. Jody never had a Facebook, one less bit of him Summer had to forget.

Again she stared to the monitor; would she take Dan to Capitola? Maybe just to the Santa Cruz Boardwalk. Forest couldn't get down to that Capitola section of the ocean, maybe they would skip that part. Trekking about with a baby would be hard enough and Summer smiled. Maybe she had bitten off more than she could chew, agreeing to a vacation with an infant in tow. Then she felt silly; parenthood wasn't brain surgery, not that hard. Jody had managed for years and he was drunk all through it.

He had been drunk almost all the time. Varying stages of inebriation, but still, only a few moments had he been completely sober. After Forest's accident, but they'd not had the kids yet. A few weeks after Nat was born, maybe a few more before they conceived Erika. Otherwise Jody was under some influence, heavy or light, but ever-present. He was always drinking, that never ended.

Not until he did; he killed himself because of his addiction. He had killed himself because he couldn't handle sobriety, but couldn't live as an alcoholic. A catch-22, Summer, Nat, Erika, and a little ball of Skye caught in the middle. But on the other end, Dan had been standing. Jody had seen him outside the liquor store that last night of his life, and maybe for longer. Dan had landed in Summer's bed, Jody finding them together. Maybe that image never left Jody Sims, maybe he drank to get away from the fact that another man was waiting for Summer, waiting for Jody's wife. Waiting for Jody to...

Die. And Jody had, he had died and now Summer was waiting for Dan Bailey to stop snoring so damn loud! She could still hear him, what probably put the baby to sleep. Nobody wanted to listen to that droning hum, but Summer was wide awake. Awake and feeling... amorous.

She giggled, turning away from the computer. If she teased Dan during his sleep, he might wake, maybe even with an erection. Would serve him right for snoring! She left the computer, forgetting about the beach, Jody too. Only Dan Bailey rested in Summer's head.

Getting into bed, he was turned away from her, and she set her body, really her belly, along his back. Placing her cool feet to his, he breathed, then made a few snorts. Then she set her hands along his side and shoulders, soft stroking motions with one intent. As Dan stirred, Summer's digits seemed to have done the trick.

"Dan, Dan?" Her voice was as gentle as her motions. "Dan?"

"What? What is it?"

She scooted down in the bed, finding he was hard. That seemed to alert him and he moved to his back. "Oh Summer, yeah, yeah."

She smiled, laying her head on his stomach. Not washboard abs, but no beer belly. Jody didn't even come to her mind, only that Dan was mostly lean, very willing. "You were snoring," she crooned.

"Yeah, yeah I was. I was dreaming about it."

"About this?" she asked, setting her face along the waistband of his boxers.

"Oh yeah. Summer, you uh, in the mood?"

She giggled; he had grown used to asking, not expecting. Lately her answer had always been _no_. "Yeah I am. You?"

He laughed. "Oh no, not me. I'm having a son, remember?" His hand stroked the side of her face. "Hey Summer, oh honey, don't cry."

Was it his voice, stirring within her a memory, Jody saying something similar when she was pregnant with Nat? Maybe it was only Dan's tenderness, his very being. Maybe that he was with her, in that bed, anticipating their baby as much as she was. Maybe it was just those intrinsic notions. Not brain surgery, not even close. Not even definable, except in how men loved women, women needed men. People needing each other and Summer needed Dan. She moved her face to his groin, inhaling a man delicious. Familiar and warm, sleepy and sexy and she brushed her face along the cotton of his boxer shorts. She was crying, couldn't help it. She cried when in love, also when pregnant. Also when she was happy, what she told him, all those things.

"Oh baby, c'mere. Lemme hold you."

"Dan, let me do something first."

"Okay Summer. Okay."

All she did was stay right where she was, curling her belly, their baby, into his legs. They would make love, more than once that night. But first Summer embraced Dan, sharing with him their child, celebrating how free she felt, unencumbered. Maybe for the first time in her adult life, Summer considered, lying with a man sober, untroubled, as liberated as herself. Once she allowed that in her head, she smiled, then ran her hands along his lower torso. If they got to San Francisco next year, she would be pleased. If they went to the Santa Cruz Boardwalk, the kids would be thrilled. And if Summer Caravella never went back to Capitola in her whole life, it would be all right. She had the orchards and falling leaves, hummingbirds and cartwheels. She had chess and baseball, rutabagas and this man. As Dan turned to her, Summer wiped her face with the sheet, Dan's frame encompassing a woman, a baby, their life. Little room for sorrow remained.

_______________

### Liner Notes

This novel was conceived in the spring of 2010, but the idea foundered until nearly the end of baseball season, as the San Francisco Giants beat the San Diego Padres to claim their division. Suddenly this plot gained momentum, and by the beginning of the 2010 World Series between the Giants and Texas Rangers, all I had to do was wait for the outcome.

I wrote this novel during NaNoWriMo just after the Giants bested the Rangers four games to one, indulging in my love of sport, my adoration for hummingbirds, a small tickle of my Star Trek fancy, but mostly curiosity, trying to fathom what might propel a father to sever one of the strongest links. In Jody Sims I used addiction as the blade, balancing that very concrete act against the inexplicable _why_ his exuberant daughter Skye constantly inquires.

I need to thank my young niece Bea for being wonderfully three years old. Also props to Brian for another fantastic cover. Jenn Sandoval gets a wave for sharing Taken By Trees' most wonderfully twee version of Guns N' Roses' "Sweet Child O' Mine". Ta loves to my daughters Jay and Ashley for _truck truck not a truck_ , and to Julie K. Rose for her supreme editorial talents.

And kudos to The Usual Suspects. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

### About the author

Anna Scott Graham was born in 1966 in Northern California. A mother to several, she lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and numerous hummingbirds.

Other ebooks by  Anna Scott Graham are available on Smashwords.
