Page 34 of The Dating Charade

Jett put one hand gingerly on his bottom as he picked him up.

“Trina?” Jett stepped down the hall. “Trina?”

The door to his bedroom stood ajar. He knocked once, then pushed it fully open.

His gray comforter lay crumpled in a heap in the middle of the bed. The blinds were shut. Each of his dresser drawers was opened, looking the same as when he was late for work and had to quickly rifle through. His watch—hardly worth the fifty dollars he’d paid for it—was gone.

“Trina!” he bellowed. He threw open the door to the bathroom, giving in to one last blind hope she’d be in there. But instead, all he found was an open medicine cabinet, toiletries fallen into the sink.

“Uh, Jett.”

Jett heard Sunny’s footsteps down the hall, saw him stop behind him in the medicine-cabinet mirror.

“I think you’ve got a problem.” He handed Jett a piece of paper.

Jett read the words hastily scribbled across the Pack ’n Play’s manual:

I’m sorry. I can’t handle it anymore.

Jett stared at the words. Squeezed his eyes shut.

Gave himself one deep breath.

And threw the manual against the shower wall with a force that would break glass.

“Annnd let’s give Uncle Jett a minute.” Sunny took TJ from Jett’s shoulder. A definitive squish sound came from the area of TJ’s diaper now placed firmly on Sunny’s forearm. “Abort. Abort.” Sunny started to push the baby back toward Jett.

Jett turned his murderous gaze on him.

Sunny pulled back. “I mean, I totally got this. You just have your moment.” Sunny repositioned both hands beneath TJ’s armpits, holding the baby as far out as possible from his chest. TJ’s scrawny legs kicked as Sunny walked him down the hall. “Oh, little man. This is serious.”

Jett shut the door to the bathroom, raked a hand through his hair. All of a sudden the world was collapsing, thoughts and emotions whipping by so fast it was hard to specify any one thing. He forced himself to take a breath, tried hard to focus on one aspect at a time.

His sister had come back. That was good.

But then she was gone again. She’d left, and in leaving had left her three kids. Three kids. All left . . . to him. For today. The next day. The next. How long?

He took another breath, the bathroom suddenly confining.

Trina. What have you done?

He pulled out his phone and dialed the last number she’d had. The familiar recording, stating the number was not in service, played. He shut it off midsentence.

He turned on the sink.

He slapped icy water over his face.

This was good, though. Better than at least one very real alternative.

Because how many times had his heart stopped beating over the past year whenever Dakota and Drew crossed his mind? A hundred? A thousand? Late at night when he’d looked up at the ceiling, wondering what kind of ceiling they were under at that moment. At least she hadn’t left with them, making him worry all over again. At least right now he didn’t have to worry if they were fed, warm, remembered. Safe.

Three kids.

Jett looked at himself in the mirror.

His own niece and nephews. Carrying, Sarah had said, the same wavy hair as his own. He was their uncle, and they had nobody else in the world.

He was their uncle.