Cheryl Tardif - Submerged

“Well, I’ll have Colton’s visit to look forward to this summer,” Wesley said.

She was starting to have second thoughts about that.

Grasping the door handle to close it, she eyed him. “We have to go.”

“Have fun in Cadomin.” He didn’t sound too sincere.

She aimed a tight smile at him. “I will.”

As she pulled the car away from the curb, Rebecca peered into the rearview mirror. Wesley stood on the sidewalk, watching her drive away.

“Did you say yes, Mom?” Colton asked.

“Yes.”

In the back seat, her son did a seated jig and jabbed Ella in the side.

“Mommy, Colton’s poking me.”

“Don’t worry, Ella,” Colton said, “I’ll be outta your hair for a whole week.”

Rebecca peered into the mirror. “How did you know it was for a week?”

“Dad told me last weekend he was gonna ask you.”

Her lips curled. “You should’ve said something to me.”

“Nah, Dad said he’d ask you himself. And I didn’t wanna jinx things.”

Colton stuffed two ear buds into his ears, then sat back with a grin. She watched for a minute as he bobbed his head to whatever tune he was listening to on the iPod his father had bought him for his birthday last year.

It was going to kill her to be away from her son for an entire week.

You’ll still have Ella.

As if on cue, her beautiful daughter giggled in the backseat.

Come July, Rebecca would keep busy with Ella and enjoy some real mommy-daughter time. But that wouldn’t stop her from missing Colton. A week was a long time.

Too long.

Depressed, Rebecca pulled onto Whitemud Drive and headed for home, all the time wondering if she should cancel the summer plans with Wesley.

“You can do this,” she whispered. “It’s only a week.”

It would be the longest week of her life. After it was over, she’d convince Wesley to go back to their original summer plan. Alternating weekends during the summer holidays. There was no way on earth she was ever going to be separated from either of her children for longer than that.

Colton and Ella are my life and soul.

“Can we get pizza to celebrate?” Colton asked.

“Sure. Pepperoni and mushroom?”

“Yeah.”

“With double cheese?” Ella piped up.

“With double cheese.”

Somehow, pizza made the world seem right again, and Rebecca smiled. She was in the proverbial driver’s seat, in control of her life again.

She should have realized that life is never predictable.

The afternoon had crawled past at worm speed. Using the Kindle application on his iPhone, Marcus downloaded an eBook on sleep disorders and spent the time between calls reading about somniphobia―the fear of sleeping—something Leo was adamant Marcus had.

He yawned and stretched his legs beneath the cramped desk. Three calls had come in during the first three hours of his shift, and neither had warranted emergency vehicles.

“Pussy Willow’s back home,” Mrs. Mortimer said when she called in the second time. “One of my neighbors was kind enough to coax her down from the maple tree. They bribed her with—”

“Thanks for calling back,” Marcus cut in, “but 911 is for emergencies, Mrs. Mortimer.”

“This is an emergency. I didn’t want you to trouble yourself by sending out a fire truck.”

Marcus gritted his teeth. “Thank you, Mrs. Mortimer.”

“You’re welcome, dear. You have a nice day now.”

He couldn’t help but grin.

The third call had been a false alarm. Some kid had pulled the fire alarm at the elementary school. School staff had conducted a thorough check of the school and found nothing. No smoke, no fire. That was one of the good calls.

“Supper time,” Leo said behind him.

“You read my mind.”

Leo and Marcus preferred to take the five-o’clock slot, while the casuals―Carol and Rudy―took the six-o’clock supper break. That way there were always two people on the phones. They alternated the two fifteen-minute breaks the same way. Of course, if there was a major emergency during that time, Leo and Marcus would rush back to the phones.

Marcus followed Leo into the cramped break room with its bare walls and mismatched chairs. He grabbed a plastic container from the bar fridge, popped the lid and placed it in the microwave.

“Got anything good today?” Leo asked, eyeing him hungrily.

“Leftover lasagna.”

“That’s three days in a row, Marcus.”

“I thought Italians were supposed to love pasta.”

Leo scowled. “Not three-day-old lasagna. Besides, I was hoping you made one of your fancy dinners.”

It was no secret that Marcus enjoyed cooking. He spent hours flipping through the cable channels on the prowl for the next great recipe. He watched Gordon Ramsey, Jamie Oliver and a few others, then concocted his own recipes using fresh herbs and lots of vegetables. He’d cook, day or night, depending on his shift. There was something almost magical about cooking up something delicious in the early hours of the morning, when the sun hadn’t even made an appearance yet and his neighbors were all sleeping soundly in their beds.

With the container of hot lasagna in hand, he sat down at the single table in the break room, a warped slab of melamine with deformed metal legs, one of them propped up by a bent piece of cardboard. As Leo sat down in the chair across from him, Marcus rocked his chair back and forth, waiting for the legs to settle into the grooves in the old linoleum.

He took a bite of lasagna. “What about you, Leo? What’s on the menu?”

“KFC.” Leo held up a crispy drumstick.

Marcus laughed. “Again? Haven’t you had that the past three days?”

“It’s KFC.”

Fried chicken was Leo’s weakness. Marcus was concerned that one day all the grease would catch up to Leo and his arteries. The man was already overweight. And exercise wasn’t in Leo’s vocabulary, unless it was picking up the phone to order take-out on the way home.

But Leo did love Marcus’s cooking.

At least someone does, Marcus thought.

“You and Val should come over for dinner Monday. Before work.”

“Maybe. We might be busy that night.”

“What, you got a hot date planned?”

“Naw, man.”

“Why’s your face so red? What’s going on?”

“Val wants to try again.”

“Try what?”

Leo leaned close. “She wants a kid.”

“Ah, and Monday is D-Night.”

“Yeah. De night for love.”

Marcus chuckled. “Then how come you don’t look too happy about it?”

“It’s so… I don’t know… planned. You know. Feels like the damn doctor is standing over us, telling us where to put what and for how long.”

“You mean you haven’t figured that out yet?”

Leo took an angry bite of a drumstick. “Hey, stop laughing. This ain’t funny. Trying to have a kid puts a lot of pressure on a guy.”

“At least you’re getting laid.”

A rumble of laugher came from deep within Leo’s burly chest. “Yeah, there’s that.”

Marcus scraped the last bite of lasagna from the container. “You’re a lucky man, Leo.”

“And don’t I know it.”

Marcus studied his friend. Leo would make a great dad. The kind that would always be there, always be cheering his kid on.

And God forbid anyone dumb enough to bully his kid.

“Why you staring at me like that?”

“I’m trying to imagine you with a teenage son.”

Leo beamed. “A son? That what you think I’ll have?”

“Yeah, a big, burly kid who looks just like you. Talks like you too. We’ll call him Smartass Junior. What do you think?”