Lucas and Esther in their pajamas. Tenderly he lifts them from their beds. The shaking of his hands is steadied somewhat by the weight of the children; it is a good weight, like ballast.

Her fault, the woman’s fault, that his hands shake, for it is the woman’s fault that he can’t sleep, he must self-medicate, the pills leave him dazed and groggy, and the other pills spur his heart to palpitations, cause him to break into oozing, oily sweat. The woman has cast him from her life, she has made him an exile from his own household. Hadn’t he painted the interior of the little house, hadn’t he laid the linoleum tile, ash falling from a cigarette in his mouth. He’d stooped, strained his damned back. He’d done a damned good job. Kitchen floor, bathroom floor. He’d got the tiles at a discount and he’d laid them in and she’d said how beautiful they were, how she loved him for such care he’d taken with their home.

Tonight he lifts the children in his arms. Lucas first, then Esther. The little boy is three years old, the little girl is one year old. In that year, how much has happened! But he does not blame either of them, it is the mother he blames. Wrong for a mother to love her babies more than she loves their father.

Leaking milk through her clothes. Disgusted and excited him, the breast-milk smell that is like no other smell.

In his muscled arms he holds the children. He’s proud of his body, or was. Working out, lifting weights, no screwing around at the gym, guys he’d known from high school were impressed. And these kids he’d loved more than his own life.

Christ, he has come to hate his own life.

He’d hated the mother more than he’d loved the kids. He did not deny it. Jesus understood. You could not look fully into the face of Jesus for the powerful light in his face, but you knew that Jesus understood.

Driving the sleepy children. The little girl in the back, the little boy in the front seat. No child-seat shit. No time to take the child-seats from her car and into the pickup. Lucas could sit in the front seat like an adult. Esther was asleep anyway, let her lie down on the back seat. Lucas was saying Daddy where are we going?—worried and confused and not knowing if he liked it. Until Daddy put out his hand to thump the little shoulder to explain.

Anywhere you go with Daddy, you are meant to go.

Daddy will take care of you and your sister. Already Daddy is doing this.

Driving faster. The woman’s voice in his head, haranguing. Bitch nagging. Hail striking the windshield, pounding against his head.

Lucas is whimpering. Daddy! Daddy …