Hugo & Rose by Bridget Foley

branches and fallen trees that made up the nest. At the base of the mountain, she could make out Hugo rolling into a run and disappearing into the thick forest. The Natters pecked into the treetops after that, beating their wings and calling in frustration.
    When they reunited on the beach, Hugo looked no worse for his tumble down the mountain. They spent a purple twilight eating seashells in the rebuilt Pavilion, their bodies cradled in radiating sand. Rose was content. She ran her hands down the smooth muscles of her arms, the gentle slope of her belly, her hair a glossy tumble on the sand.
    â€œAre you happy, Rose?” Hugo asked, his eyes closed.
    â€œAlways.”
    *   *   *
    The rattle of the alarm pulled her into her bed.
    Five A.M.
    Five-God-damn- A.M.
    Fuck soccer, she thought.
    But still Rose dressed. Padded downstairs. Evidence of Josh’s evening lay around the house. An empty bag of chips on the coffee table. Crumbs on the countertop. An unrinsed plate by the sink.
    Rose sighed and took care of it. She took care of everything.
    That wasn’t really true, she knew … but still she let herself think it while she sliced the oranges for Isaac’s team’s snack. She let the thought marinate while she loaded the bottles of water and sports drinks into the cooler, pouring the ice around their necks. She let thoughts of her own put-upon-ness wash over her while she hefted the coolers into the back of the minivan and packed a bag of snacks and sunscreen, toys to distract Penny, and changes of clothes for all.
    Pen did not wake when Rose lifted her out of her crib. She cooed into her mother’s neck and stayed asleep while Rose snapped her into her car seat, wrapping a blanket over her against the cold of the morning.
    The boys she woke up. They stumbled sleepily down the stairs and out to the garage, climbing into their boosters and buckling themselves in. They were asleep again before Rose even started the car.
    Rose checked her reflection in the rearview. Smoothed the frizz of her hair. She should have taken the time to shower last night. Should have gotten up earlier.
    She exhaled.
    Too late now, she thought. Already behind, and only at the start of her day.
    *   *   *
    Adam woke with the sun in his eyes.
    The sunlight poured through the windshield, flaring on the streaky glass, bouncing around the car. He closed his eyes against it, and it left dark bluish trails on the backs of his eyelids.
    He squinted, putting his hand up. Zackie snored next to him, his mouth open, a line of drool shiny on his chin.
    Zackie’d probably make fun of him if he saw Adam drooling.
    Call him “drool baby” or something.
    In the front of the car, Mom was quiet. One of her hands was on the flap thingy that folded down from the ceiling. She was leaning toward it, trying to keep the sun out of her eyes.
    â€œMom?”
    Her hand jerked away from the wheel for a second and she gasped. Surprised.
    â€œSorry.”
    Mom shook her head. “No. Kiddo. I’m sorry. I … I thought you were asleep.”
    â€œI woke up.”
    Mom smiled back at him in her “kid watching” mirror, her face all bulbous and round on its surface.
    Adam rubbed his shoulder under his strap. Rocked a butt cheek to the side. He hated his booster.
    Once when he and Isaac had been out with Daddy, they had bought a new barbecue to surprise Mom, but when it was time to go home there wasn’t enough room for it in the back. Zackie and Addy had ended up waiting outside the van while Dad pulled out the seat with Zackie’s booster on it to make room for the box.
    And then Zackie got to ride home in the front seat, even though it was very bad and unsafe and all those other things they said. Adam had asked why he couldn’t be up front and Dad had said it was because Isaac was older, which was unfair because Isaac was only eighteen months older, which wasn’t much at