Unraveling by Rick R Reed

Author:Rick R Reed [Reed, Rick R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781951880163
Published: 2020-01-30T23:00:00+00:00

MRS. ROBERTS ANSWERS the door even before I knock. She must have heard my footfall on the stairs.

Her smile warms me. “He’s out like a light,” she says.

In direct contradiction, Henry sits up on the couch and rubs his eyes. “No, I ain’t!” he says cheerfully.

Mrs. Roberts turns to him, “No, I’m not,” she corrects.

Henry swings his legs off the couch, looking abashed. “Sorry, Ms. Roberts.”

She goes over to him and pulls the throw that was covering him off.

My little boy is revealed. Striped T-shirt, jeans with the cuffs rolled, bare feet. If he isn’t the cutest little boy in the world, I don’t know who is.

Henry hops down from the couch. Mrs. Roberts brings him his red Chuck Taylors and squats to put them on.

He shoos her away. “I can do it,” he says with my lack of patience.

“Of course you can, little guy.” She stands again and looks over her shoulder to grin at me.

“Where’s Mama?” Henry stands once he has his shoes on and tied (a new skill for him and one he’s proud of).

Mrs. Roberts eyes me, too, waiting for an answer. I often come down alone to pick up Henry when she babysits, but I think she, at least, can discern that something’s a little off tonight.

I’m not sure what to tell him, so I just say, “She’ll be home soon.” I pull out my wallet and take out a couple of bills to pay Mrs. Roberts. Her menagerie of dogs and cats have now come fully awake. A cat makes a figure eight against my calves, purring. One of the dogs rushes to the door.

I tug on Henry’s hand. “Come on, we need you to get back to slumberland. They’ll wonder where you’ve gotten to.”

We’ve always referred to Henry’s sleep as a special place, populated by all different sorts of people and creatures. He believes, and maybe he’s right, that there’s little difference between the real world and what we call the dream one. Wise kid, right?

We march up the stairs, quiet.

Inside the apartment, Henry dashes through the living room and dining room to the kitchen. He checks the bathroom and the room his mother now sleeps in, as though he didn’t believe me downstairs when I told him she’d be home soon.

“She’s not here, buddy. But I expect she’ll walk through that door just about any minute.”

I lead him to the bathroom and supervise the brushing of teeth and the drinking of water. In his room, I undress Henry and put on his blue pj’s with their penguin design. Finally, I tuck him into bed and lean down to kiss his forehead.

“No story?” he asks, a hopeful glint in his eye. He rolls on his side to stare pointedly at Where the Wild Things Are, which is on his nightstand. Violet or I have read him the book, gosh, at least a million times.

I shake my head and attempt a stern, fatherly look. I’m sure I fail. But I back it up with the simple pronouncement, “It’s late.

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