“I was hoping you’d be here tonight,” Greg said with a tired smile. He waved away the unneeded menu the waitress only half-heartedly offered.

“I’m always here, you know that.” She cleared away the extra table setting she knew he wouldn’t need. “The usual then?”

“With a whiskey and Coke,” he agreed.

With a smile she was off, hair swinging behind her to get back to the half full bar. He watched her go, reminding himself again that he shouldn’t ask her out. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

The drink arrived quickly, as he knew it would. “I needed this,” he said in thanks, taking a long pull of the drink.

“Long day?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder but apparently deciding she had time to stay and chat.

“You’ve seen it out there. 95 degrees in the shade and if there was a gust of wind it made sure to not come near me.”

“Sounds like you should be hydrating with, you know, water,” she gently scolded him, rolling her eyes when he waved her off.

“So what are you building today?”

“Same parking garage we’ve been at for weeks. Finally starting to come together, though.” When she didn’t rush away, he explained some of the more interesting bits, grinning at her impressed exclamations and offering simple answers to any of her questions.

And when she had to leave in the middle of a sentence he turned back to his drink, making sure to not watch her walk away this time.

A man could get awfully lonely at times, especially with his long hours and back breaking work. Looking at his fingers clamped around the glass, he grimaced at the callouses bulging around the edges of his fingers and the small bits of black and brown dirt that never came out no matter how he scrubbed. He liked his job, he really did. But the fact of the matter was that his life was not very appealing to the opposite sex.

Lynn didn’t seem to mind his dirty clothes or windswept hair when he came in to eat. She’d been kind to him from her first day, and after she served his dinner for the third night in a row they’d gotten to chatting when she had the time. But he shook the thought away, physically and mentally.

The poor girl was just here to serve him dinner, and he didn’t have the right to take any piece of kindness she gave him and turn it into something more.

Lynn soon slid his standard dinner - an open-face meatloaf sandwich served over potatoes with a side of green beans - in front of him.

“You need anything else with that, Greg? Another drink?”

“Nah this is fine, thanks.”

“Do you have a second?” She asked after a moment, with her typical glance over her shoulder. And was he glad that it was a slow night.

“Anything for my favorite waitress,” he said easily, running his suddenly sweaty palms off on his jeans.

Her smile demanded one in return. And luckily he was able to keep that smile in place when she started asking him if he knew anything about roofs and gutters. A leak had sprung up in her attic and she didn’t know whether the gutters were backed up or if she had to actually call professionals to fix the place.

And her assumption was right - of course he knew what she meant and who to contact.

On the one hand it irked - her assuming that he knew about a roof problem because he worked in construction, that that was all he was good for.

On the other hand, maybe this was the fair trade off. He got to see a friendly face every night and she got some pieces of advice that might make her life just a little easier.

Yes, that was fair. Not fun or fancy, but a fair trade for a simple man.

You say there’s just never enough time. Somehow there is always something more urgent to do - work, bills, errands.

But somehow when the urgent business is done and you find yourself with a few seconds, minutes, hours to yourself - something easier comes along. But you deserve that time you tell yourself. The time to unwind with a glass of wine and a movie. The time to relax with a book, instead of try to create one. You’re a busy woman, after all, you deserve to participate in something that demands absolutely nothing of you for a change.

And then. Then. Then you’re ready. It’s January and you’re ready to be a writer, to put in the time. Or it’s a Tuesday and you decide that you just can’t take the itching of the words trying to get out of your fingers. Or it’s a holiday and you can’t wait to use the wild antics from your family gatherings to inspire a story that will make someone laugh.

No matter the who’s and what’s and where’s of it you find yourself curled on the couch with a journal in hand. Or sat straight-backed in front of a computer. Or even standing in line at the store with your phone in your hands.

And...nothing. Nothing comes out. Every words seems force. Every circumstance trivial. Every conflict a joke.

It’s okay it’s okay. You’ll just think of some authors you like, use them for inspiration.

And boy doesn’t that backfire.

Because what’s the point of even trying to write when there are geniuses of the past and present who have mastered this craft so well you know you could never compare? How do you get into the mind of a character like the Brontes do? How do you weave an intricate tale with extraordinary details like Faulkner? Or how do you even do something as simple as evoke emotions. The romance you bought last week at the dollar store had you crying just last night. What hope in hell do you have of inspiring anguish, joy, anger, fear in anyone through writing.

It’s all been done before.

There are real writers out there, better suited to the task.

Your talent was made for a classroom, not a bookstore.

Psht...what talent?

But well, you have to do something. You’ve already psyched yourself up. Already told yourself you’re going to do it right this time. Put in the time, put in the effort, get your writing on paper. Or a screen.

So you take a deep breath. You take a minute to think. And you come up with an idea. It’s not a solution to every problem with your process. But it is something.

You go and look for a prompt.

Because while it may not be the next great American novel...it will get you writing. And that’s the first step.

Jani reached back to grab her sister’s hand, “Be careful where you step, Reke. Magic has seeped into much of this land.”

Magic. What an awful thing. It was debatable which of the two women hated the word more. Reke had her husband snatched from her, a hidden spell that killed him in an instant, years ago. But Jani...Jani had her daughter taken from her.

Both women sighed in relief when the black silhouette of the tower came into view. It was nearing dusk, and these two magic-less women had no desire to be caught in the misty land after dark. Seeing one of the drifting land masses near them, Jani briefly considered trying to ride on it to hasten their journey. But as she opened her mouth to speak a dull thud resounded in the land and looking up, she saw two larger, floating land masses collide just beyond the tower. Dirt and leaves and grass flew out from the impact before hurtling toward the ground. The two land masses separated, each smaller than before, and drifted on with the fickle wind.

Better just keep walking, then.

Reke squeezed her hand, sensing her unease. Reke may not want to be on this journey, but she could never have let her sister go alone. Not when Jani was here to fight magic. Not when Jani was here to find Aster. To find her daughter.

For magic had not taken her daughter through death. No. Her daughter possessed magic. Since birth, she had been but one of two in her generation to claim its unholy powers. Jani had fought it - she had fought it so hard. She had showed her daughter how to suppress it. How to carry a basket of bread instead of levitate it. How to knit a sweater stitch by stitch, not transform one out of yarn.

But it did not take. Years went by before Jani realized that Aster had been practicing her magic in secret. And when her daughter ran away a week after that fight, Jani knew she had to follow her here. To this place of magic and trickery that her daughter had been creating all these years.

“Jani...Jani we are here. Now what must we do?” She was shaken out of her memory by the call of her sister’s voice. And she saw that they had arrived at the doors of the tower. It may have been made of wood, but the wood had been painted...or more likely magicked... tar black.

Not knowing any more than her sister, she hesitated. But no - this was her journey. This was her fight. So she reached up to the black knocker that looked suspiciously like a larger, black version of the silver door knocker from their home. And she let it fall against the door.

Not a moment passed before the doors swung wide, and a breeze seemed to rush past the two women and into the open expanse of the tower.

“Mother!” Jani heard before a figure crashed into her, holding her like nothing had changed. And for a moment, Jani was happy. Happy that her daughter was relieved to see her, which must mean she was ready to come home and shed this distasteful magic.

“Oh, you brought Aunt Reke. Well no matter. I suppose I’ll just have to teach the two of you.” And Aster danced away, a toothy smile on her face, and the women unconsciously drifted toward the girl. And just as they didn’t notice the subtle pulling drawing them deeper into the tower, neither did they notice the doors whisper shut behind them.

“Teach us?” Was all the baffled Reke could get out, surprised as she was by the excitable reception.

“Yes. Teach you magic. I couldn’t be like you, but I can teach you to be like me.” The 16-year-old twirled on the spot, hands raised to the air, too happy to let her body stay still.

“Be like you...sweetie no!” Her mother scolded her. Scolded her like a mother chides a child, but Aster had stopped being a child long ago. “That’s just not possible.”

The smile fell from Aster’s face as she looked at her mother. “I stopped asking what was possible long ago, Mother. And besides - you spent years trying to teach me to be like you. But now... now it’s my turn.” And a wicked gleam Jani had never seen in her daughter’s eyes before gleamed at her.

“I swear to god, Henry, if you don’t get me a Kit-Kat bar soon you’ll be on the couch for a week!”

“Like you aren’t begging me to get in that bed every night nowadays,” he smirked. But seeing the fire flash in his wife’s eyes he quickly backtracked. “Not that I mind, sweetie.”

“You’re lucky my feet hurt too much to come over there and beat you up,” she grumbled, leaning her head back on the couch and cradling her swelling stomach with one hand.

“Well?” She said, cracking open one eye to stare at the man who was very clearly not getting ready to go to the store, “Get going. Chocolate, and some of that spicy jerky wouldn’t be a bad call either.”

“We talked about this, Alicia. We have to make sure to take care of you and watch your diet. We want you and the little Nugget to be as healthy as possible.” He used his gentlest tones, but she also heard the steel beneath his words and that made her cringe.

“Well WE right now is me and the Nugget. And WE want chocolate. WE don’t care about being healthy at the moment.” She gave him her best glare and kept her voice low. Hopefully she could intimidate him into getting her the treats, nevermind the fact that she felt so big and clumsy at this point she couldn’t make good on any threats, big or small.

“How can you say that! Your health has to be a priority sweetheart. We talked about all of this before you got pregnant so this wouldn’t happen, remember?” She saw how much he cared, and it almost made her feel sorry for playing such a low card. But desperate times.

Closing her eyes and leaning back, Alicia squeezed her eyes shut and let a few of the tears that were so close to the surface lately leak out. It was especially easy since fighting with Henry always made her upset, let alone when she had the pregnancy hormones to contend with as well.

Henry thought for a brief moment that he had won this battle. That she would listen to him and have one of the many healthy snacks he had all ready for her. But when she picked her head up off the back of the couch, he saw her tears. And when she softly asked him, “Please, Henry?” he knew that he was the one who’d lost this battle.

And with a defeated sigh, he retrieved his coat and gave his pregnant wife a kiss. Time for another run to the store. And maybe this time she wouldn’t notice if he got the sugar free chocolate instead.

My ex always told me I think too much. That I over analyze everything. That I sucked out all the joy since I can’t “be present.” And thanks to those oh-so-thoughtful parting remarks, my ass was now parked on the damp ground listening to clicks and snaps as every other person in the group takes endless pictures. These people had to document everything - from the stem of a flower to the birds so high in the trees they could barely see them.

I swear they never sat down, but I don’t have that kind of energy. Heck I could barely make it through a hike back home.

Maybe a 3-day tour of the rainforest was a mistake. Yet even here, with only these strangers for company and a bountiful amount of nature seemingly pressing in from every angle, I couldn’t turn my mind off to just enjoy it.

Was that a bug crawling on my skin? Or was it just the soft grass moving in the breeze?

Were my lungs struggling to get oxygen? Or was I just getting used to the hot, humid air pressing in against my mouth and skin?

That noise - did an animal make that? Or was it just the movement of so many plants and trees pushed in close together?

For that matter, what even lived in all this brush? You could barely see the ground, aside from on the trail, so hundreds of tiny critters or rodents or....or bugs could be coming right at me.

Unable to take the racing thoughts anymore I stand up quickly, wandering down the trail to where the group lead was waiting. It was odd walking around here - I didn’t get to hear typical, satisfying snaps as I step on a branch or crush a dried leaf. Everything here was so damp and... and alive that it almost seemed to just move with me.

The grass underfoot was tamped down to form the trail, and every blade of grass seemed to be woven together to create a living floor mat. Even the vegetation that crowded in and leaned over the trail couldn’t be ruined, it just swayed and moved to its own rhythm. The low hanging branches danced with the wind or caught on a passing arm or backpack before gently releasing its captive and moving back.

Stopping in the middle of the trail, I decide to try again. To try to stop and just enjoy. After releasing a deep breath, the first thing I notice is the smell of the flowers. The scent is concentrated thanks to the humidity, and looking around I see a clump of flowers just off the path that must be the cause. Squatting by them, I reach out and feel the silky smooth petals, admiring the vivid purple color of each petal. And the middle bit, I think where the pollen is made, is such a deep red and it almost seems to reflect off the unblemished petals. The flowers aren’t exactly uniform, but they are perfectly dissimilar to create a whole bouquet of flower that almost begged to be picked.

But as I reach for a stem, my hand hesitates. And without analyzing the impulse, I stand up and leave the flower pulsing with life. And turning, I find another plant to admire. And I notice myself taking in not just the rich hues of the flowers and even of some butterflies, but also taking in the overwhelming feeling of life. The feeling of every piece of vegetation of every creature thriving to the beat of a single heartbeat.

And I make sure that as I go, I leave the flowers rooted in the damp soil and let the bugs fly dizzying circle in the air without swatting at them. I came here to be present and enjoy the beauty in nature. So I was going to let that nature remain present and wonderfully pulsing with life.

They say that when you marry a woman, you marry her whole family. Now, I had nothing against joining myself to the entire McDougal clan when I married Cynthia. But I should have taken them more seriously when her father took me aside after the ceremony to say, “You’re family now. And when family calls, you answer.” I guess I should have taken the iron grip of his handshake and the piercing eye contact as a clue that he was not talking about screening phone calls.

Anyway that’s how I ended up in this cliche bar, lying to Cynthia that I was out bowling with her brothers. After skulking down a nondescript alley, George had ushered me through the hidden door into this dim, smoke filled room. And I swear, the scene could be pulled out of a movie. Every bloke in the place is stocky and hunched over their drink. Most of the figures also come complete with a bowler hat and a sneer if you dare look their way. I can’t believe the Mafia hasn’t figured out how to upgrade from this very 60’s motif.

“So here’s the plan - ” George’s voice brings my attention back to the table. George and Allen, Cynthia’s brothers, are here as well as Eddie, some cousin or another. Apparently I was being brought in on a plan to break into a man’s house, rough him up, take some cash, and then get away. “And Richie here is going to be driving the car. It’s his first time riding with us, boys, so be on your best behavior.” They all snicker in my direction and simultaneously gulp at their beers.

Clearing my throat I decided to finally say something after what feels like hours of shocked silence. “And why are we doing this again?”

“What, us telling you isn’t enough?” Comes the immediate, defensive remark from Eddie - I’d be afraid of the attitude if he didn’t look like he just started shaving this morning.

“Calm down there Eddie,” George placates. “Richie’s new to the family, we have to teach him the ropes.” Turning to me he continues, “The short answer for you is that Dad says so, and what he says goes. Period. Since we have the time, I suppose we can fill you in on the long story as well.”

And by the time George finishes his Homer-length tale about one of the women in the family who married some (apparent) scumbag in years past, and that said scumbag had cheating on her, I was sorry I asked. Don’t get me wrong, dude sounds like a total asshole - only an asshole would cheat on his wife, and on top of that parade the mistress around in their social circles. But George was awfully long winded and I had to start fighting back yawns by the end of his story. I figured it’d be in bad taste to start yawning when in the middle of my first deal with the Mafia.

I listen in silence as the three other men get the last of the details for the night set in stone. Being a silent participant seems like the best course of action for not becoming the man who gets beaten up and robbed by the family Mafia. And the silent debate in my head was still being waged - do I go along with this? It seemed like I had no choice, but could I really participate in something so clearly immoral? Especially given the idea that this seemed like just a warm up for the newbie, and I’d only have bigger fish to fry down the road.

I swear, I still hadn’t decided which way to go when they led me outside. But when I saw the silver Ferrari 250 GTO and George handed me the keys, I only had one question left.

“So what’s the address?”

“Hey Brownie, get over here a sec. I think we may have to pull IF 274 from his assignment.” Gege, an IFS (imaginary friend specialist) on duty called to the supervisor.

Brownie came over to inspect the 25 screens on Gege’s desk - each screen showed one IF (imaginary friend) and the child in their charge. “Alright, what seems to be the problem?”

“Well, to start with, this child whose name is,” Gege quickly reference some of the paperwork strewn on the desk, “Jennifer is very young and after 4 months still has not chosen a form for her IF. You know how annoying that was. But Jennifer is worse than most - she rarely repeats the same idea, and this IF has been switching forms every few days for months now.”

Brownie nodded in understanding - children usually filtered between a handful of ideas for how they wanted their IF to look and act before settling on one idea. Not only was it exhausting for an IF to constantly be reforming themselves, but it also extremely hindered them from settling in as a true Friend and helping the child with their problems, as was their duty.

“Someone has to be paired with Jennifer,” Brownie reminded the IFS, “so why can’t we let this IF stick it out?”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Gege began slowly, “That’s the other thing, sir.” He stopped to clear his throat. “IF 274 has a... uhh...has an anger core.”

Brownie jerked as if struck and then swore under his breath. “Does it look like he’s going to lash out?”

“I...I think so, sir.” Gege was nervous. Not because of his boss, but because IFs with an anger core were rare. He had personally never had to watch one before, but their reputations were often whispered about. He was nervous for Jennifer, however annoying she may be, because it was not pleasant when an IF with an anger core lashed out.

“Alright who do we have in reserve to sub in? Given Jennifer’s apparently short attention span do we have any IFs with a sedate core?”

Again shuffling through the papers on his desk Gege came up with the reserves list. “Yes, we have two IFs with a sedate core that can be dispatched. But sir, if I may...?”

“Yes, yes, what?”

“We have a whimsy core IF on reserve. After watching Jennifer for a bit now, I don’t think she’s unhappy and unable to make a Friend she will like. I think she just has an extraordinary imagination that whimsy would complement nicely.”

Brownie pursed his lips and remained silent for a minute. Gege returned his attention to his screens during the silence, making sure the other IFs he was watching were all doing well.

“Good idea, Gege,” the supervisor finally said. “Can you get them dispatched now? If IF 274 is close to breaking, we need to get him out of there before nightfall.”

“Of course, I’ll do it right away.”

Brownie nodded and walked away to keep an eye on the other IFSs on his floor. All of the specialists, and himself, had started out as an ordinary IF for children. Given his own strict core, he’d risen in the ranks to supervisor over the years. And as a supervisor, he’d been given extra information about IF patterns, tendencies, and issues to keep an eye out for. And he’d been told about those rare IFs with an anger core.

Apparently, when an anger core lashed out, the children had a new name for their IFs. Instead of being an Imaginary Friend, they became a Monster of various forms. A Monster Under the Bed, Monster in the Closet, or Monster in the Bathroom were the most common types.

Brownie shuddered just thinking about the obscene, terrifying forms an IF could take. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, let alone a child. Hopefully they got to Jennifer and IF 274 in time.

The silence filling the car was even more concerning than the whines I had expected.

“Don’t worry baby we’ll be there soon,” I reassure, reaching over to put a hand on the carrier. Car rides were never Solembum’s strong suit, and he usually filled the journey with his many cries of protest. Not being able to hold him or even pet him when they had to travel was so incredibly frustrating - for both of them.

Flipping on my turning signal to pull into the parking lot, I heave a sigh of relief. The lot looks fairly empty, so hopefully the vet won’t make them wait too long. Solembum only makes a single half-hearted mewl of protest when I lift his carrier from the car.

I rush straight into the building and to the front desk, explaining the emergency and the need to see a vet, any vet that was on, please. After assuring me in a bored tone not to worry - thanks a lot lady, that worked - she directs me to a seat to wait. I exchange tight smiles with the other few pet owners in the room. Sticking my fingers through the door of the carrier, I try to comfort my little fur baby. I’d never had to rush him to the vet before, so this was a first for the both of them.

Luckily it’s not long before we are being ushered into a room to see the vet. All the pent up energy from the quiet 20 minute drive and the short, but tense, wait once here seems to come out of me at once.

“I think he ate some flowers and I know some flowers can be really bad for cats so I usually don’t keep them in the house at all but you see one of my students gave me this little bouquet yesterday for break and the flowers looked harmless and they weren’t lilies or anything that I know are like, well, deadly for cats. I swear I’m usually super careful with Solembum I swear we never had anything like this happen before but when I got home from the store he didn’t come out to say ‘hi,’ which he always does when I come home, and when I found him he was just curled up on the bed but he looked so lethargic and he didn’t wake up super quick and then I noticed that some of the flower petals were scattered on the table so I figured he must have - ”

I have to pause to gain a bit of breath and luckily the vet interrupts my tirade.

“Okay, okay, let’s calm down here. So this is Solembum? Let’s take a look at you, little guy.”

The man reaches over and takes him out of the carrier even as I try to warn, “careful! He doesn’t like strangers, he usually scratches the vet...”

But there was no need. Solembum did not seem to mind at all as the vet took him from his carrier, and he barely complained as he looked into his eyes and mouth and otherwise conducted a quick examine of the cat.

“What kind of flowers were they?” He asked, keeping Solembum on the table with just one gentle hand on his back.

“Umm, they were roses.” It was very distracting to see anyone handle her cat so well - this was not how vet visits usually went.

“Good, good. Well, ma’am, I don’t think you have anything to worry about with this guy. He may have eaten a few of the petals, which is probably why he was acting a bit oddly for you. But roses are pretty harmless. Just keep an eye on him for the next few days, and if he starts throwing up or having loose stool give us a call.”

My goodness, was Solembum actually purring right now? “Oh, oh okay good, I mean thank you! Sorry, it’s just that I’ve never met anyone like you before!”

“You should be grateful for that. People only get to meet me when their pets are sick, and we want this guy to stay nice and healthy.” And without a whine of complaint, the vet ushered the cat back into his carrier so he could go home.

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen my new place yet,” Tina said as she slides her key into the lock and gives it a twist.

“We’ve both been busy,” Kayla shrugs, following her friend inside. “Besides, you and John just had to move to as far from me as possible.”

“Yeah yeah, I get that enough from my mom. Nevermind the fact that I’m only 25 minutes away. Anyway, this is the place,” Tina spreads out her arms with a wide grin, “it’s a bit bigger than the dorm you and I got crammed in.” They chuckle at the thought of the tiny, smelly dorm that had been the beginning of their friendship.

In the middle of a brief tour Tina’s phone rings. “Ugh, it’s work. Sorry, make yourself at home, I’ll be a few minutes.” And she dashes up the stairs, answering the phone with faux cheer, “Hi you’ve reached Tina...”

Not one to stay still for long, Kayla decides to make them tea. The kettle was on the stove so she wouldn’t need to poke around too much. With the water on its way to boiling, she begins to wander.

The first this she notices is...chickens. Roosters? There are three rustic pictures on the walls of the kitchen, and each picture features a handdrawn, fat chicken. Knowing that Tina’s idea of art leaned toward obscure, abstract pictures, it seems like such a far cry from what she expected that she laughs out loud. That’s when she sees the red rooster spoon rest next to the stove. And as she moves closer she also sees that the drying mat has an odd collage of chickens displayed. Stumped as to why in the world there were so many chickens taking over the kitchen, she made her way into the living room.

With the intention of browsing the bookcase, Kayla is instead confused once more. Instead of the books she expected to find, the bookcase holds an astounding amount of board games. They are all neatly stacked and slotted together like books would be, and also like a stranger’s bookcase, Kayla only recognizes a handful of titles. Most of the games looked big and complicated - not a “Sorry!” or “Clue” in sight. The only games she recognizes were the few that Tina had made her play back in college. But there were dozens more.

The tea kettle whistling brings her out of her reverie even as she hears Tina head down the stairs. They met up in the kitchen and Tina showed her where the mugs were (Kayla was surprised to see over a dozen mismatched mugs) and they picked out tea. At least the fact that her friend liked tea hadn’t changed.

“So how did John get to make so many decisions about this place anyhow?” Kayla asks as they settle onto the couch.

“What do you mean?” Tina looks genuinely confused.

“C’mon Tina, this place looks nothing like our dorm did or like your last apartment for that matter. I mean, look,” and Kayla grabs a handful of the decorative throw blanket that featured the logo of some sports team or another.

“I like this stuff,” Tina shrugs, “John and I picked out all this stuff together.”

“You picked out...chickens?”

Tina choked on her tea as she guffaws. “Oh god the chickens,” she laughs, “Don’t get me wrong, the chickens took some getting used to...but I don’t know. This place doesn’t look just like my last one, but it’s not like John’s last apartment either. It’s very...ours I guess. Once you get to know John a bit more you’ll see it too.”

Looking around, Kayla tries to see what Tina did. And slowly she starts to see Tina’s personality shine through the style. She was right though, it wasn’t just Tina that she was seeing, it was her intertwined with a whole other personality.

She saw Tina’s movie collection featured by the TV, but placed in a cabinet with some video games. She saw Tina’s organization in how the board games were set up. The tapestry hanging in the dining room has colors that fit Tina, even if the design was more angular than she would have picked out.

“As long as I don’t have to play any of those board games to do it, I can’t wait to start seeing John some more. Maybe then I’ll understand the chickens.”

With a laugh Tina says “deal” and the women clink together their mismatched tea mugs.

I can feel the tears streaming from my eyes, over my temples, and into the hair that I had not managed to corral before leaving the house. The wind was blowing into my face as I strode across the parking lot, its whistling in my ears almost loud enough to drown out Will’s voice. Almost.

“C’mon will you slow down and talk to me!” He called at her over the noise of the wind and the traffic.

I whipped around, the car I’d been heading toward at my back.

“You don’t want me to talk to you right now, William.” I dash the tears off my face, careful not to meet his eyes or I knew the tears would come harder than ever.

“Cece, she had a little accident but she’s okay. She’s okay.” He was trying to be soothing, but I jerked out of his way when he reached out for me.

“Okay? Okay?! Our baby is in the HOSPITAL. I just talked to our daughter as she sat in that building behind you, and she was BROKEN!”

“Fractured - she fractured her wrist, Cece. You need to calm down, she’s fine. Please.” He reached toward me again, and I let him hold my hand for a moment, but that makes the tears rise again. Gently this time, I pull away from him, groping in my purse for the keys.

“She broke her wrist because you just had to get her that god forsaken hoverboard.” I murmur, half wanting him to hear my accusation.

I saw the hurt flair in his eyes before understanding set in. “Seriously? That’s why you’re so upset? Because it happened on the hoverboard? Shes 8, if it wasn’t this it would have been something else. She’s a kid, they fall and they hurt themselves all the time.”

“Not this kid.” I say vehemently, “This kid does not get hurt. This kid does not get so hurt I can hear her screams from inside the house. This kid does not get rushed to the hospital sobbing on my lap.”

By the end of my tirade the tears were back, and I let Will hold me this time. I let him pet my disheveled hair and I cried into his shirt until the fabric under my cheek was damp.

“I was just,” my voice hitches and I have to take a deep breath, “just so scared. I never heard her cry like that before.”

“I know sweetie. I didn’t exactly enjoy the experience myself. But listen to me.” He pull back and put a gentle hand on either side of my face, wiping away the tear tracks. “She is okay. She will be okay. It was just a fracture. She said it doesn’t even hurt right now.”

I nod within his grip, trying to convince myself to believe him.

“Now what were you rushing out here for? I know your mom is in with Katie but I thought you’d want to be there when the cast went on.”

“Oh, right,” I start searching for my keys in the purse again, “Katie wanted to show her Gram the new marbles she got for her birthday, and I think they are in the car somewhere.”

“Alright, let’s get them and then go back in. You might be the one freaking out out here, but I don’t think I could take being apart from Katie for very long right now.” I look away as I locate the keys, cheeks reddening with shame.

After locating the coveted marbles and relocking the car, I turn to Will and throw myself into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, letting some of the stress of the past few hours leak out, and trying to pour a bit of comfort into him as well. He was hurting too, and I had to remember that.

“I know,” he says, and leaning back I gently kiss him, letting the simple touch linger before pulling back and smiling at him. Thank god this man was able to put up with me when my emotions got the best of me.

“Let’s go see our girl.” And holding his hand, I lead him back to the hospital; no less worried than before, but more calm and grounded. It was just a fracture, I repeat to myself, squeezing Will’s hand to keep the harried panic at bay. Just a fracture.