Page 111 of Love Wells Kept

Jackson’s stretched out on the grass, drenched in sunlight, trying his best to keep Rhett’s flailing limbs from knocking him in the face. And Rhett—who’s somehow ditched every article of clothing except his underwear in the hour we’ve been outside—is talking his ear off about the shapes of clouds overhead, and why Spider-Man is his favorite superhero, and his intricate plan to acquire his own superpowers.

Odessa zips by on her pedal bike, kicking up dust in the gravel driveway, and skids to a stop. She looks up to Colt’s girlfriend’s son, Jonas, like he’s her big brother, and these skid-stops are his new favorite trick, so naturally Odessa’s determined to learn.

She beams at me, and I give her a thumbs-up, smiling back over the rim of my coffee cup.

Placing his hands on Rhett’s torso, Jackson presses his body up into the air with a grunt, holding Rhett above him like he’s flying through the air. The silver of his wedding band glints in the sun.

“If Spider-Man’s a superhero, why doesn’t he fly?”

Rhett scoffs. “Because he’s Spider-Man. He swings.” He gives a wrist flick like he’s expecting webbing to shoot out of his skin.

Jackson squints up at him. “Swinging sounds like a lot of work. I’d rather fly.”

“Then you can be Superman because he’s boring like you. When I grow up, I’m gonna be Spider-Man.”

“Bold of you to call me boring when I could just”—he rapidly bends his elbows, making Rhett drop suddenly—“drop you.” The two of them laugh as Jackson slowly lowers Rhett onto his chest.

My heart squeezes at the sight.

Something shifted with Jackson after Odessa’s birthday, then shifted again the morning she ran away. Seeing him interact with the kids now, I don’t know why I was so shocked by his kitchen table confession. He might’ve been present before, but now he’s engaged. He’s in love with his kids.

Odessa whips around the corner again, this time catching a particularly large rock on her attempted skid. The front tire wobbles, leading to a high-pitched shriek as the metal frame flops over, and she tumbles into the grass.

Jackson’s head shoots up to look at her. I can’t even tell where his craniotomy scar is hidden beneath the thick brown hair he’s grown back in the months since the accident. “You okay?”

Odessa sits up, picking a rock from her knee, and quickly replies, “No blood!”

“So…that’s a yes, you’re okay?” Jackson’s eyes bounce from our daughter over to me. “She’s going to be the death of me, isn’t she?”

I laugh. “Wait until you see her on a horse. You’ll grind your teeth down to nubs.”

I’m used to this—barely even flinched when she went over. Some days I long for when she was an immobile infant, because that was the last time I knew peace. The moment she learned to roll, we were in trouble.

“Speaking of which…” Jackson lifts Rhett off of him so he can prop himself up on his elbows and look over at Odessa. “I know it’s a few months late, but I think it’s time we get you that horse you were promised.”

Odessa jumps to her feet, dead grass falling from her rumpled jeans and T-shirt. A wide smile splits her face, and she flicks her tangled brown hair away from her eyes. “You’re serious?”

“So seri—” He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before Odessa’s tackling him, arms wrapped around him in a hug, her entire body slamming him back down to the ground.

Rhett sees the opportunity to dogpile and doesn’t hesitate. He flops his body on top of his sister’s with a silly giggle. Jackson groans under the added weight, reaching up to tickle Rhett’s side.

I sit there, smiling like a fool, reveling in all of this. The warmth of the sun, the laughter on the lawn, the total normalcy of this moment. And not the new normal I was worried about, where Jackson could barely bring himself to leave the bedroom and we all walked on eggshells. This is the old normal, but better.

Nothing screams total normalcy in this family like Odessa shrieking, “Ew, Rhett. You’re naked—get off me.”

“I’m not naked,” he protests. “I’ve got undies on.”

“Daddy, make him get off.”

I remember the way Jackson flinched when the kids called him Daddy in the weeks following his accident, so clearly uncomfortable in his new-to-him role. But today, he wraps his arms tight around both of them, his booming laugh filling the air and settling into the few remaining fractures in all of our hearts.

When he finally loosens up his bear hug, both kids roll onto the grass, and the three of them lie in silence, staring up at drifting clouds. I’m tempted to go join them, but I can feel the importance of this moment radiating from Jackson’s easy smile and easier laugh.

—

Hours later, when the kids are settled in with popcorn and a movie—Spider-Man, for the ten thousandth time—I find him in the kitchen and pin him to the counter’s edge, one palm flattened over the brand imprinted on him, the other toying with the elastic waistband of his sweatpants.

Lifting to the balls of my feet, I drop kisses on the corners of his mouth. Coast my lips down the rough velvet of his beard to press them over his protruding Adam’s apple. My fingers curl around the top of his pants, nudging them down slightly to expose the slight dip of an Adonis belt.