Page 104 of The Woman in the Warehouse

Inside was every single one of her favorite gummy candies.

And, postpartum and emotional, Saylor burst into tears again, handing me the baby, then throwing her arms around Keith.

“What? Nothing for me?” I teased as he awkwardly patted Saylor’s back.

To that, Keith’s gaze went to Saylor, then the baby.

“You’ve already got everything,” he said.

And, fuck, truer words had never been spoken.

Saylor - 11 years

“Breathe,” I demanded as Anthony looked about ready to pass out as we led our eldest son into the shooting range. “I was seven when my grandfather first showed me how to shoot,” I reminded him, thinking of those summers where my mom would pack us up and take us upstate to visit my paternal grandfather’s farm.

We’d spend endless days getting fresh air, milking cows, collecting eggs from the chickens and ducks, playing in the creek, and, yes, shooting in my grandfather’s makeshift range on one of his back acres.

“Yes,” Anthony said, watching our son’s dark head move confidently in front of us. “But you forget it’s not just your genes he’s got,” he added, voice too low for our son to hear.

“We’re going to be right there with him,” I reminded him. “It would be virtually impossible for him to get himself hurt.”

“Virtually leaves room for error,” Anthony insisted.

Even though our eldest showed no signs of inheriting Anthony’s clumsiness. That unfortunate gene passed down to our youngest, a little girl who was forever falling over her own feet, slamming into corners of cabinets, falling off of her bed, dropping and spilling things.

I was still hoping it was something she might grow out of. Because I really didn’t need to worry about someone else so accident prone in my immediate family.

“I’m just saying, this could have waited another couple of years.”

“Sure,” I agreed. “But, quite frankly, I’m sick of listening to him complain that his cousins all get to go practice and he doesn’t. So… here we are,” I said as we crowded into our lane.

As I suspected, Anthony had nothing to worry about.

Our eldest boy was calm, confident, and determined to do things right. So while he was far from a marksman, he definitely wasn’t accidentally shooting anyone or himself.

We were walking as a trio down the subway steps when Anthony… I don’t know, lost his footing, and started to topple.

I shit you not, both me and our son reached for him in unison, yanking back on his jacket until he righted himself.

“Really, Dad?” our son asked, shaking his head at his father’s clumsiness.

“Thought it would be a couple of years before I started to be an embarrassment to him,” Ant said, draping an arm over my shoulders.

“Well, let’s make it worse,” I said as we waited for the subway car to pull up. Reaching up, I grabbed Ant’s lapels, and pulled him down for a big, long, passionate kiss, getting whistles and chuckles from those around us as our son went an almost concerning shade of crimson.

“Mommm,” he grumbled, even his ears going scarlet.

“Hey, it’s only natural. You see, when a man and a woman love each other, and they want to show that love—“ I started, watching as he shoved his fingers in his ears and hummed. “It’s going to be so fun when they’re teenagers,” I declared to Anthony as we got in the subway, and made our way to Keith’s place.

Well, Keith and Katie’s place now.

Sometime after learning what sunlight was and growing out his silly alpaca haircut, Keith happened upon a lady lawyer. And, as they say, opposites had attracted.

He now lived in a fancy apartment, had a bed with a headboard, and his very own office/gaming room.

I knew as we let ourselves in that I would find him in there with our daughter as our other son lounged on the couch watching TV.

Much to Keith’s dismay, neither of our boys liked video games. They were more action-type kids. They wanted to go out and do, not play at doing.

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