I look back at Caitlyn. Her eyes are closed but she’s lightly smiling. I can’t tell if she’s asleep. As I walk across the floor, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s someone else in the room. Fighting the urge to look back, I step into the hallway and close her door.

14

The next morning, after another night of troubled sleep on the couch, Caitlyn and I are discussing her upcoming sleepover while I make waffles for breakfast. She’s excited, but something is gnawing at my chest. It finally hits me as the bus rumbles away with Caitlyn on board; tomorrow night will be the first night that Caitlyn and I have spent apart since Nicole’s death. Granted, she’s only going to be next door, but the idea of us not sleeping under the same roof casts a shadow over my afternoon. I spend another day, staring at the blank page, unable to write. I even stupidly get emotional over the idea that one day, Caitlyn will move out, and I’ll be alone. Yes, I’m perfectly aware that she’s eight. I’m attributing my heightened emotions to my lack of sleep.

So, throughout the course of the day, I decide that tonight, Caitlyn and I are going to have some fun.

*

I’m waiting to pounce when she comes in through the door after school.

“Do you have any homework?” I ask.

“A little,” she answers, apprehensively.

“Let’s do it. Let’s get it done, right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you and I are hitting the town.”

We rifle through her reading and math assignments. I try not to help her too much, but I want our evening underway and make my math hints entirely too obvious.

Once we finish, we head out to the car.

“What do you feel like for dinner? Anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Can we have waffles?” she asks. “I know we had them for breakfast, but I like waffles.”

“Excellent choice.”

We find an IHOP just outside of Kingsbrook and feast on Belgian waffles, swimming in syrup and piled high with whipped cream. After that, we go roller skating, which is painful on such a full stomach, but she holds my hand as we skate around the rink, so it’s worth it. I’m treating it like I won’t see her for months, rather than a simple twenty-four-hour period where she’ll be next door.

By the time we make it back to the house, I’m wiped out, but Caitlyn is wired.

“Okay. That is a wrap. Go get ready for bed,” I tell her.

“I’m still awake.”

“How? How is that possible? Because I’m beat.”

“That’s because you’re old,” she laughs.

“Hardy har har, Little Missy. Get ready for bed. You need a good night’s sleep for Mildred’s tomorrow.”

“Ugh …” She rolls her eyes and heads upstairs.