| |
Nate’s alarm jerked her out of a deep panda-free sleep. She opened one eye to peer at the clock. Seven o’clock. The latest she’d slept in ages.
Nate pounded the snooze button, rolled over, and pulled the covers over his head.
Without the blaring alarm, the house was far too quiet. Why couldn’t she hear Sammy? Trying not to panic, she tried to leap out of bed to check on him, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Her muscles had turned to hard, unyielding sticks of lumber, and when her feet hit the floor, they screamed in protest. As she stood up straight, her lower back let out a crack that sounded like a nearby clap of thunder. It felt glorious. Encouraged by that odd feeling of release, she dragged her bare feet toward Sammy’s room.
His crib was empty. Her heart started to thump. Had Mike White stolen her baby?! Sorry, God. It was stupid to think I was some sort of sleuth. I’ll stop, I promise. Just help me find Sammy. When she stepped back out into the hallway, she heard the television. That was weird. Joanna must be up.
But it wasn’t Joanna. As the couch came into view, she saw the back of Peter’s head.
“Peter!” she cried and then winced at the panic in her voice. “Do you know where Sammy is?”
Oblivious to her panic, he mumbled, “Yeah, he’s right here.”
She came around the corner of the couch to see Sammy perched in Peter’s lap, chewing on his thumb, and staring at the Minecraft video playing on YouTube. Air rushed out of Sandra’s lungs as she collapsed onto the couch beside them. Instinct told her to yank her youngest from Peter’s arms, but she stopped herself. This was unusual behavior on Peter’s part, but she wanted to encourage it. “Why do you have him?”
At first, Peter ignored her. He was so engrossed in whatever was happening on the screen.
She gently elbowed him.
“What? Oh. He was crying, and I figured you needed your sleep after your big game.” He smirked at her, and she didn’t know if he was making fun of her.
“Well, thank you. I did need some sleep, and I didn’t get much last night. You got him for another minute? I need coffee.”
“Sure. Until he cries or poops, we’re good.”
She laughed and tousled Peter’s hair, her heart swelling with pride and affection. He was such a great young man, and she would think that even if he wasn’t her kid.
Her brain told her body to stand up, and nothing happened. Oh no. She was stuck on the couch. She leaned back. There were worse things. Maybe she could just stay home today and recuperate. But first, she needed coffee, and she didn’t trust Peter to make it correctly. She tried again, pushing back into the couch cushions this time to try to gain some rebound power.
She almost made it, but then fell back into the worn leather.
Maybe it was time to quit coffee. Or maybe she should hail an angel and have him supernaturally heave her off the sofa.
Peter looked at her. “Are you okay?”
She laughed. “I’m not sure. I think I’m too old for soccer.” An image of Frank appeared in her head, and she realized the absurdity of what she’d just said. Not too old. Just too out of shape.
She needed a different plan. She allowed herself to topple over sideways so that the top half of her was horizontal. This position felt lovely, so she lingered there for a bit. Then she twisted her upper half so her hands were under her, and did a push-up as she dragged her feet under her.
Oh good. This was working. Almost there. With a grunt, she pushed herself to her feet and then slowly straightened up. Disappointingly, her back did not crack this time.
“That was graceful.”
Sammy made a gurgling sound that sounded like agreement.
“Zip it, both of you.” Feeling accomplished, she headed for the coffee pot. When she reached the counter, she heard her husband stirring and was glad she’d made it off the couch before he too had witnessed the struggle.