residual
formula from the corners of Owen’s mouth and then leans the baby over his
shoulder, a clean rag at the ready.
When
Jenna sees them, she softens, takes on the countenance of a kindly aunt or a
distant but loving cousin. “He’s gorgeous,” she tells Tim.
Tim
radiates pride. “Why, thank you,” he says. “He’s my little buddy.” He pats the
baby on the back. “Aren’t you, buddy?”
Muffin
lumbers along and sniffs at Jenna’s coat, still uneasy over his new role and
the ever-present threat of punishment. I hate to see him like this, but he left
us no choice; we had to break him.
“I
forgot about you, ” Jenna coos at the dog. “You big oaf.” When Muffin was
a puppy, I took him to work. That’s where Jenna fell in love.
She
slips her coat off and passes it to me, but when I turn toward the hallway, she
says, “Hold on.” She reaches for the coat, roots around in search of the right
pocket and withdraws a number of quarter-folded sheets of paper. “The report
you wanted.”
“Uh…okay,”
I say, surprised she’s brought it here. “Great.”
In
the time I’m gone, Jenna meanders to Ally’s room, where I find the duo
pondering a glossy magazine advertisement featuring a picture-perfect ice cream
sundae.
“You
should use that,” I tell Ally with an approving nod. “It’s so you.” Her teacher
has assigned a project: vision boards. My daughter has been clipping and
pasting for a week.
“I
like this one,” Jenna says, pointing out the family tree that anchors Ally’s
poster, tiny apples representing Tim, Owen, Ally and me.
Ally
just grins.
I
slip in and plant a soft kiss on her head. “We’ll be back in a few hours,” I
say. “Help Jenna with Owen…and Muffin.”
Chapter 6
I
don’t know how Tim thought of this, and I prefer not to know.
“What
is this place?” I ask, as we roll into the lot of an industrial-looking
building on the outskirts of town, a small up-lit sign on the lawn largely
obscured by an overgrown bush.
“An
adventure,” says Tim.
I
was expecting champagne, raw oysters, and excitement of a sexier kind. “Okay…”
“It’ll
be fun,” he assures me. “We need this.” As persuasion, he unleashes the kind of
kiss I thought we’d long ago left in the dust.
“I’m
a believer,” I say when he pulls his lips from mine.
He
smiles. “Let’s go.”
He
grabs a duffel bag from the cargo area of the van and grips my hand, a move
that sends ticklish flutters racing through my belly. I squeeze back, wishing
he could read my mind and know that, now more than ever, he’s the answer to a
secret prayer. My spiritual home.
The
first hint of what we are in for is a cluster of pulleys and wires I glimpse
through a bare window. Tim holds the door. “After you.”
I
want to be mad at him, say, What were you thinking? Remind him that my
incision may not be fully healed. But the fact that he has enough confidence in
me to even consider a place like this gives me wings. And I’m going to need
them.
“So
what do you think?” he asks expectantly.
I
say, “I’ve never been rock climbing.”
This
building seems the size of a football stadium. Tim points at the far end, where
four giant bubbles float and spin on the surface of a pool. Human-sized bubbles
with people inside, running nowhere. Hamsters. “I thought you might like that,”
he says.
The
hamster balls remind me of a psychedelic tumbler at the end of a funhouse, the
kind that unceremoniously spits me onto a rickety metal deck every time. “I
don’t know…”
There
are so many unusual contraptions here (trapeze swings; bungee trampolines;
balance boards; a hulking rock wall) that my eyes can’t find a place to settle.
Tim
stalks up to the circular check-in desk, the hub of the wheel. “We’re going to
do the adventure warrior package,” he tells the athletic teenage girl in
charge.
The
girl’s expression morphs from surprise to bemusement. She pushes a laminated
sheet of hot-pink
formula from the corners of Owen’s mouth and then leans the baby over his
shoulder, a clean rag at the ready.
When
Jenna sees them, she softens, takes on the countenance of a kindly aunt or a
distant but loving cousin. “He’s gorgeous,” she tells Tim.
Tim
radiates pride. “Why, thank you,” he says. “He’s my little buddy.” He pats the
baby on the back. “Aren’t you, buddy?”
Muffin
lumbers along and sniffs at Jenna’s coat, still uneasy over his new role and
the ever-present threat of punishment. I hate to see him like this, but he left
us no choice; we had to break him.
“I
forgot about you, ” Jenna coos at the dog. “You big oaf.” When Muffin was
a puppy, I took him to work. That’s where Jenna fell in love.
She
slips her coat off and passes it to me, but when I turn toward the hallway, she
says, “Hold on.” She reaches for the coat, roots around in search of the right
pocket and withdraws a number of quarter-folded sheets of paper. “The report
you wanted.”
“Uh…okay,”
I say, surprised she’s brought it here. “Great.”
In
the time I’m gone, Jenna meanders to Ally’s room, where I find the duo
pondering a glossy magazine advertisement featuring a picture-perfect ice cream
sundae.
“You
should use that,” I tell Ally with an approving nod. “It’s so you.” Her teacher
has assigned a project: vision boards. My daughter has been clipping and
pasting for a week.
“I
like this one,” Jenna says, pointing out the family tree that anchors Ally’s
poster, tiny apples representing Tim, Owen, Ally and me.
Ally
just grins.
I
slip in and plant a soft kiss on her head. “We’ll be back in a few hours,” I
say. “Help Jenna with Owen…and Muffin.”
Chapter 6
I
don’t know how Tim thought of this, and I prefer not to know.
“What
is this place?” I ask, as we roll into the lot of an industrial-looking
building on the outskirts of town, a small up-lit sign on the lawn largely
obscured by an overgrown bush.
“An
adventure,” says Tim.
I
was expecting champagne, raw oysters, and excitement of a sexier kind. “Okay…”
“It’ll
be fun,” he assures me. “We need this.” As persuasion, he unleashes the kind of
kiss I thought we’d long ago left in the dust.
“I’m
a believer,” I say when he pulls his lips from mine.
He
smiles. “Let’s go.”
He
grabs a duffel bag from the cargo area of the van and grips my hand, a move
that sends ticklish flutters racing through my belly. I squeeze back, wishing
he could read my mind and know that, now more than ever, he’s the answer to a
secret prayer. My spiritual home.
The
first hint of what we are in for is a cluster of pulleys and wires I glimpse
through a bare window. Tim holds the door. “After you.”
I
want to be mad at him, say, What were you thinking? Remind him that my
incision may not be fully healed. But the fact that he has enough confidence in
me to even consider a place like this gives me wings. And I’m going to need
them.
“So
what do you think?” he asks expectantly.
I
say, “I’ve never been rock climbing.”
This
building seems the size of a football stadium. Tim points at the far end, where
four giant bubbles float and spin on the surface of a pool. Human-sized bubbles
with people inside, running nowhere. Hamsters. “I thought you might like that,”
he says.
The
hamster balls remind me of a psychedelic tumbler at the end of a funhouse, the
kind that unceremoniously spits me onto a rickety metal deck every time. “I
don’t know…”
There
are so many unusual contraptions here (trapeze swings; bungee trampolines;
balance boards; a hulking rock wall) that my eyes can’t find a place to settle.
Tim
stalks up to the circular check-in desk, the hub of the wheel. “We’re going to
do the adventure warrior package,” he tells the athletic teenage girl in
charge.
The
girl’s expression morphs from surprise to bemusement. She pushes a laminated
sheet of hot-pink
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