Page 38 of You Fall First

Yes, his mother is right there on the phone screen. Sure, she’s coming for him eventually. I understand this. Paige understands this. Relative to the sprawling vastness of time, these weeks will be a tiny blip on life’s radar. But for now, to Dutton, nothing feels like a blip. We’re in a major blop zone.

And it shows.

He collapses onto the couch, then slowly slides off the cushions onto the floor. And in a moment of epically bad timing, or maybe good timing, depending, Paige’s doctor enters the room to check her.

“I’m sorry.” She grimaces. “Gotta go.”

“No problem,” I rush to say. “You just get better, okay?”

She nods, the tears streaming freely down her face now.

“I’ll call when it’s a better time,” I tell her. “Promise.”

Another sad nod from Paige.

“And try not to worry too much.” My mouth slants. “Dutton is safe with me. He’s fed and watered, and I won’t let this scar him permanently. Probably.”

“I love you,” she chokes. “And Dutton. The most, most.”

“We love you more.”

Paige casts one more devastated glance at the screen, then ends the call. I grab Bugs off the armchair and drop onto the floor beside Dutton. My leg is right beside his, and Jo’s stuffed rabbit is in my lap. I sling an arm along the couch cushions just above Dutton’s head.

Our bodies aren’t touching, but I’m a presence. Just a subtle reminder that there are still some solid things in his world.

After a minute, I turn the volume up a notch. Then one more, because I always adjust the sound in even numbers. Dutton reaches for Bugs, buries his tear-streaked face between the rabbit’s ears. Then the two of us sit, with his head pressed against me, until sad Buzz Lightyear finally falls asleep.

Eventually, my arm falls asleep too.

Which wouldn’t be a problem, except at this point, one thing’s completely clear to me.

I don’t got this.

Slipping out from under Dutton, I gently slide multiple pillows under his cheek and pray he doesn’t wake up until I’ve figured out a plan. Fortunately, a kid who’s cried himself to sleep goes down hard and deep. At least this kid does, because there’s no stirring from him at all.

The poor guy probably just wants to hang out in dreamland until his mom gets here.

I know the feeling, little dude.

But while he’s out like a light, I need to figure out our next steps.

I can’t disappear from Havenwood for two full weeks. Or (worst-case scenario) even longer.

Bringing Dutton with me to work would be a stopgap measure. He’d probably be happy to play on an iPad in my office while I crossed a few emergencies off my to-do list. But that’s a temporary solution to a longer-term issue. I’ve got meetings and appointments and my own PT sessions to oversee. A memory care facility is no place for a four-year-old for any extended period of time.

Reality is, I need help during daylight hours.

Sure, there are caregiver apps I could resort to, but hiring a stranger to babysit for weeks doesn’t sit well with me. Dutton’s got enough upheaval in his life. Finding someone he’s already met would be the better option.

Dex would step up in a heartbeat, but he’s a teacher with his own classes to manage, not to mention his role as athletic director. Sayla’s a teacher too, and head of the performing arts department.

Loren and Bridger?

Teacher, teacher.

Plus they’ve got their charitable foundation to run.

There’s also the fact that all four of my friends’ collective experiences with kids involve teenagers, not preschoolers.