Page 28 of M.M. Scrooge
“Why not?”
I explain, then change the subject. “Let’s talk about you. How’s life? How ya been?”
She heaves a dramatic sigh, a very Libby-like way of accepting a new topic when she’d prefer to continue badgering me over the former one. “Well, you know it all already. Nothing’s changed.”
“So”—I hold up my hand and use a finger to count off each point—“still exhausted, missing out on adult company that isn’t John, wanting a purpose outside of motherhood, needing some time to yourself.” That’s four fingers. Surely, I can think of something for all five. “Oh, I got it. And not getting railed through the mattress as often as you’d like.”
“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!”
We really know each other well. “What do I get?”
“Another version of the same conversation we have every time we get together?”
“My favorite!” We giggle. There are far worse problems in the world than having an empty love life or being an overworked mother. We know we’re lucky. But chatting over life’s struggles, both big and small, with someone who cares is comforting in itself.
An idea occurs to me. Maybe I could help in a more tangible way than only being a listening ear. “You know, I’m off work for Christmas break until January tenth. I could keep the kids for a few nights while you and John go somewhere, just the two of you. Everyone’s old enough now. No one’s breastfeeding anymore. And I’m happy to do it, Libs, honest.”
“Uncle Daniel to the rescue.” Her smile broadens. “Are you sure, though? I mean, that sounds amazing, but they’re a handful.”
“I’m sure.” Libby has three kids. The oldest, Charlie, is in first grade. Cait just turned four in November, and Annika will be three in January. Definitely a handful, but I’m confident I can manage for a few days, especially if it’ll do my sister a solid. “Hell, worst-case scenario, I can always beg Mom to help if it turns out I’m in over my head.”
“That would be amazing. Over the top. Uncle of the Year award for sure, even if you do need Mom’s help.”
I chuckle. “Tell me that after you get back and no one’s learned any colorful new phrases, gotten high off candy and soda, or otherwise been scarred for life.”
She leans in for a proper hug. “Love you, Danny.”
Only Libby gets away with that nickname. I squeeze her around the middle. “Love you too, Libs.”
12
Max
I’m floatingin some sort of supernatural limbo, weightless, and yet I feel heavy. My limbs drift and bob like I’m in a lazy river. White noise drowns out any other potential sound, and the faint scent of cedar tickles my nostrils. Dark tendrils of smoke weave fluidly around my wrists and ankles. I can’t see anything beyond the gray haze that surrounds me.
The bogeyman’s voice whispers in my ear, startling me. “Two lessons learned and one still to go. How are you feeling, Max?”
I’m so overwhelmed it’s hard to pick just one emotion. “I’m anxious. Worried what will happen next.”
“And…” he prompts.
If he wants a confession, he can have it. It’s true after all. “I’m ashamed of myself. Ashamed of the way I treated Caleb and Tristan. I’m angry this isn’t over yet. Ready to be done. I want to be better.”
Bogey gives a solemn nod, and moths fly from his hood as the fabric shifts. I shudder. Is this real? Am I trapped in a nightmare?
Everything that’s happened feels real, but doubt clouds my mind. What if it’s all in my head? Am I going crazy? How would I know? This feels crazy.
Bogey draws near, his stale smell accompanying him. “You’ll be done when I say you’re done, Max. Focus and learn your last lesson well or risk being stuck with me forever.”
A shiver rocks my chest and works its way through my entire body. I don’t like the thought of that one bit. But I don’t want another lesson. I don’t know if I can handle more of this. How much can one person take?
And who else have I wronged?
I flinch as a whirling gust of tornadic wind rushes in and sweeps me into its vortex. My soul screams no, but I can do nothing to resist. Bogey’s cackling laughter echoes loudly in my ears. My muscles clench. I draw myself into a ball. The howling goes on and on. Fear prickles in my gut. Panic rises.
Will this never end?
As suddenly as the storm raced in, it dissipates, dropping me on my ass. At least I’m wearing clothes this time. Jeans and a T-shirt have never felt so good.
