“Thank God. You’re a lifesaver,” Rachel breathed heavily. “I’m ten minutes away. I owe you big time.”
When Rachel dropped him off twenty minutes later, she didn’t even turn off the engine of her heavily packed sedan. She practically jogged up my front walkway, thrust his faded Spider-Man backpack into my arms, and bent down to quickly kiss the top of his head.
“Be good for Aunt Jess,” she commanded, not waiting for him to reply. She looked up at me, her eyes darting nervously around my porch. “He already ate dinner. Bed by nine. Don’t let him stay up watching movies all night.”
“Rachel, are you okay?” I asked, noticing the dark circles under her eyes and the strange, rigid way she was holding her shoulders. “You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine, Jess. Just work stress. I really have to go,” she said abruptly.
She turned on her heel and jogged back to her car. She didn’t look back as she pulled out of my driveway, accelerating a little too fast down the suburban street.
I pushed the unease aside and smiled down at Logan, who was standing on my welcome mat, clutching his favorite stuffed shark, “Finn.”
“Well, Mr. Logan,” I said cheerfully, closing the front door. “Looks like it’s just you and me. How about some grilled cheese and cartoon time?”
His face lit up with a small, genuine smile. “Can we watch the new Spider-Man?”
“You bet we can.”
Logan and I had a perfect, boring, wonderful Friday night. We ate gooey grilled cheese sandwiches on the couch, watched an animated movie, and I read his favorite chapter book to him twice. He was a little quieter than usual, occasionally staring off into space, but I chalked it up to him missing his mom or just being tired from the school week.
At exactly 9:15 p.m., I tucked him into the guest bed. I pulled the superhero comforter up to his chin. He squeezed Finn the shark tightly against his chest and closed his eyes.
“Goodnight, Aunt Jess,” he mumbled sleepily.
“Goodnight, buddy. I love you.”
I stepped out into the hallway, leaving the door cracked open so the hall light could spill in. I pulled out my phone, snapped a quick, blurry photo of him sleeping peacefully through the crack in the door, and texted it to Rachel:
All good here. He’s out cold. Good luck with the presentation! Get some sleep when you can.
I watched the screen for a minute. Delivered. But no ‘Read’ receipt appeared. No response came.
I didn’t think much of it. I assumed she was already buried in spreadsheets at her office, her phone on silent. I plugged my phone into the charger in the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and went to bed, completely unaware that the life I knew was rapidly ticking down to its final seconds.
