Page 151 of The Single Dad

Chapter 48

Cole

I pull the car up to the curb at Archie’s pre-K just as the kids come running out of the front doors. Most of them dart straight to their parents, talking animatedly about their days as they climb into the cars.

Archie is usually just as exuberant at the end of a long day, but for the past few weeks, he’s been noticeably downcast. Instead of running up to the car, he trudges over with his head down and his eyes glued to the pavement. I almost wish I didn’t know why.

Ever since Riley left, I’ve been juggling things like I was before I hired her. Trying to get back into the swing of it, doing everything myself. It’s been difficult, but every once in a while, I can almost convince myself it’s doable.

Almost. Until the next emergency strikes.

As Archie climbs into the backseat, I lean over to greet him. “Hey, bud. How was school?”

He shrugs. “Okay, I guess.”

His neon green cast lays across his chest, adorned with Sharpie scribbles from all of his classmates. Some of them wrote their names, while others drew funny faces or attempted doodles of dinosaurs. There are a few “get well soon” messages.

“We’re going to the doctor in just a few days,” I say encouragingly, doing my best to cheer him up even though I know the cast isn’t the cause of his sadness. “Then you’ll probably get that thing taken off, and be able to move your arm around more. Won’t that be nice?”

“Yeah.” Archie leans against the car door, staring out of the window. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk anymore.

It doesn’t seem like there’s anything I can do to cheer him up right now. I wonder if something happened during pre-K, or if he’s just in a bad mood in general.

I pull away from the curb to drive us home.

Typically, when Archie gets home from pre-K, he runs straight into the living room to start playing with his toys. Today, though, he slouches up the stairs and goes to his room. I have half a mind to follow him—to sit on the bed with him and ask what’s really going on—but I know it’s pointless.

There’s no way I can explain this to him. He’s too young, and even if he wasn’t, he would blame me.

Instead, I leave him alone. I walk into the living room, where my laptop is sitting on the coffee table, and pick it up. Time to get some work done—working from home again, now that I don’t have anyone to watch Archie.

It’s definitely cutting into my firm’s productivity. To compensate for that, I’ve been working longer hours, into the night, after Archie is asleep.

Before I head to my home office, I pause, looking at the wall opposite the couch. There’s a blank spot there where Riley’s painting was hanging.

When she left, I sent it over to her apartment with the rest of her things. It belongs with her, but I almost wish I had kept it, just as a reminder of her. A little bit of light in the house.

I’d gotten used to it, while it was here. At first, I didn’t see what Riley saw in it, but the more she explained it to me—the more I studied it, with a careful eye—the more beautiful it became, until I felt like it was the most special work of art in the world.

This house feels fucking empty now.

* * *

“This bad boy right here is called a cast spreader,” the doctor explains as the tech unpacks all of the tools they’ll need to remove Archie’s cast. “It’s going to help us split the cast off. Don’t worry,” she adds quickly, noticing the look on Archie’s face. “It won’t hurt at all.”

“You won’t even feel it,” the tech adds. He bends down and pulls a pair of shears off the cart; Archie flinches.

“It’s just for the cast,” the doctor says. “We’re gonna get this itchy thing off you once and for all, huh?”

The examination room we’re in now is in a different section of the hospital, but it looks exactly the same as the first one we went to when Archie broke his arm—beige walls lined with green stripes near the ceiling, powder-blue leather on the exam table.

Being in here reminds me of the fight I had that day with Riley. It was a blur to me, but my surroundings are jogging my memory, letting me recall everything I said to her, in detail.

That’s what I pay you to do.

I cringe at the memory, feeling even more like shit as each barbed comment comes back to me. Everything I said to her that day was out of line. I know it wasn’t her fault that Archie got hurt, and the things she said to me were true—accidents do happen.

Archie’s sitting right in front of me, healthy as could be, while the doctors crack the cast off of his arm. He smiles as he realizes that it won’t hurt, looking from me to the split bandage.

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