Today's Reading

I switched my phone to silent, then burrowed back under the covers and scooted over to Sean's side of the bed. I told myself not to worry about their visit. I would deal with them when they showed up.

"They're not going to call again, are they?" Sean shifted to face me and ran his hands up my arms.

"They . . . uh . . . they might."

"Hmm?" He was nuzzling my ear again.

"They might call back. Mom said Dad wanted to talk to you." I nipped at his neck. Pressed closer.

"Me? Why?"

"I don't know." I pulled his face toward mine and kissed him. "They'll be here tomorrow, though; he'll probably tell you then. Sounds like he's going to be the next secretary of defense."

Sean kissed me back. "Sorry. What?"

I traced the tattoo that ran around his bicep. "Secretary of defense. Scott Edwards is going to resign. The president's going to nominate my father to take his place."

"Mommy?" Sam's plaintive cry filtered through the door.

We froze and then sprang apart as if we were teenagers about to be caught by our parents.

* * *

By the time Sam emerged from the cozy burrow of his bed, Sean was already at the front door, sliding his feet into his old hiking boots.

Sam ran over to him. Somewhere between his room and the front hall, one of his socks had come off. His honey-colored hair stuck up in back where it had been pressed against the pillow. "Where are you going? Can I go?"

Sean held something up, then shoved it into his pocket. "Have to fix the sink." He glanced up as I approached. "Isn't that what comes next?"

I'd put it on the list to jog his memory. He'd told me back when we first moved in that he would fix it. I was trying my best not to nag.

"If I'm going to do it, I need to find the right parts."

Sam was hopping up and down. "Can I go?"

"Not today. Too cold out. Stay with Mom and keep warm."

Sam gave me the side-eye. The look said, in no uncertain terms, that staying home with Mom was not a very good consolation prize.

I cleared my throat. "Um . . ."

Sean turned toward me as he zipped up his coat.

"Can we circle back to the things on the list that we didn't quite get to finish?" I felt so sneaky, talking in code.

The corner of his mouth quirked. "We could just push them back to next weekend. Make a new list."

"No. We can't."

He wanted to laugh. I could tell. But he laid a hand on Sam's head. "Let's play Legos when I get back, Super Sam." He sent me a glance. "And maybe we can check a few more things off your mom's list too."

He leaned over Sam to kiss me and then walked out the door.

* * *

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