Page 25 of For Fox Sake

I finish cleaning off her face and then assist in tugging the dirty shirt up over her head. “Pick something. I have to set out snacks. Your friends will be here any minute.” I take the shirt through the kitchen and into the laundry room, squirting it with stain remover and tossing it in the washer.

“Hey.” Bernie’s voice rings through the house. “I’m here and ready to help with whatever you need. And I brought more masks.”

I meet her in the kitchen. “You are a goddess.”

She bows while handing me the bag of superhero masks. “The goddess of children’s parties all over the land. Now what do you need?”

We spend the next twenty minutes setting up the games in the backyard and filling one of the picnic tables with drinks and snacks.

The doorbell rings, then it rings again and again and time becomes a blur of greeting guests, showing them where to put presents, handing out the superhero masks, and general mayhem. Some parents stay to hang out, others drop and run, and by the time it’s all said and done we’ve got a house full of ten hyper kids and almost the same number of parents.

It takes a little bit of maneuvering, but I eventually herd all the kids into the backyard around one of the picnic tables for the first game.

We’ve set up a row of paper cups filled with miniature superheroes frozen in ice. Next to the cups are brightly colored water guns, one per kid.

I clap my hands to get their attention. “The game is called Superhero Rescue. Frozen inside each of these cups are two superhero figurines. We’re going to cut the ice blocks out of the cups, and when I say go, you will use the water guns filled with warm water to melt the ice and rescue the heroes. If you run out of water, we’ve got a bucket where you can refill it over by the door. First team to free their figurine wins the prize. Are there any questions?”

Bruce, a dark-haired boy from Ari’s school, shoots his hand in the air.

“Yes, Bruce?”

“Can we have cake first?” A line of chocolate is smeared over his chin.

“Bruce, honey, did you already have some cake?” his mom asks.

His eyes widen. “No.”

I smother a laugh. “Just pick out your gun. We’ll have cake soon, okay?”

There’s a shuffling of squirt guns around the table and only a couple of slight disagreements over the purple one before all of the kids are ready.

“Ready, set, go!”

Laughter and anarchy ensue. Bruce screams like a banshee and squirts any and everything within his target range.

No more cake for Bruce.

“Try not to get your friends wet,” I call out, but no one listens. No one is getting upset, yet, so I let it slide. I keep an eye on their progress for a minute, and then Bernie’s laugh catches my attention.

She’s sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs over by the unlit firepit, talking with Jake.

My stomach flips.

When did he get here? Bernie must’ve answered the door for him.

He says something and she reaches over, patting his arm.

My stomach twists.

They work together. I’m sure that’s how they know each other and it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s fine. She can like him. She’s single, childless, and awesome. It has nothing to do with me.

I wrench my gaze back to the game and focus on refereeing some of the kids with poor aim who keep hitting their friends with the water instead of the frozen superheroes.

Once the game is done, I make the executive decision to have food and cake now, so the kids can burn off some of the sugar with the rest of the activities.

Bernie helps me with cutting and distributing the cake, and we keep it all outside to help with the eventual cleanup.

When we’ve handed out the last slice, she nudges me with her elbow and angles her head toward mine. “You didn’t tell me Donuts is your neighbor. You know he works at the hospital?”

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