I grabbed the fucked up shirt from the laundry basket and threw it into the washer. The blue paint had faded for the most part. Not that it mattered. There were blotches of black from working at the garage. It was a junk shirt anyway.

I took hell from Mickey for a good hour after going to work with paint all over me. He asked me if I was late because I decided to do some fingerpainting at the daycare. We had two other guys that helped out part time at the shop. They were both there and they loved hearing Mickey rip into me a little.

I should have just thrown the shirt out right then. But I didn’t.

When I picked up Sadie from daycare that day, Emily was already gone. Miss Anderson apologized ten more times to me for the mishap, not that I gave a damn.

What I did give a damn about was that I actually washed the shirt. And dried the shirt.

I stood in the basement of the house, staring at a white basket of clothes. My clothes. I threw the shirt over my shoulder and opened the washer. Something else that was interesting in my life. Taking care of Sadie’s laundry. All the little girl clothing. The nightgown pajamas with her favorite characters on them. Stuff I never thought I’d have to touch, let alone, wash, dry, fold, and put away.

I started the dryer and threw the shirt with the blue paint stain back into the washer.

Why the fuck did I keep it? Why the fuck did I wash it?

Growling under my breath, I plucked the shirt back out of the washer. I balled it up and threw it into the trashcan next to the washer.

I walked to the fridge and opened it, grabbing a beer. I jammed the beer bottle into the laundry basket and walked up the steps. I put the beer on the counter and took my laundry basket to my room. To the guest room. I dropped the basket into the corner and laundry was done. That’s how I did shit. Dirty clothes go on the floor until the basket of clean clothes was empty. Then I’d fill it and wash it all. Two years later and I still wasn’t even fucking settled on how to do laundry the right way.

I put my hands to my face.

Shit like that wore me down.

I stood tall and wide, a fucking warrior ready for battle on the outside.

But inside…?

Christ, just the other night I had that extra beer that put me over the emotional edge and I caught myself outside on the deck thinking about Everly. Grabbing for the cushion to her favorite chair. The one that faced the sunrise. I always sat opposite her. I didn’t need a fucking sunrise in the morning when I had her face to look at.

I sat in the corner of the deck, holding the cushion, eyes shut, my anger boiling so hard I thought my veins were going to pop from the heat and stress. In a way I wanted everything to pop and explode.

But I could never let that happen.

Not with Sadie.

Without me, she had nobody. Losing her mother was bad enough. She didn’t need me to be gone as well.

I rubbed my jaw and took a deep breath.

The clock on the wall told me it was after nine already. (“Jake! Look at this clock. It’s so cool, right? The metal. The age of it. I know we don’t have a place… no, wait. The guest room! It would look really cool there. I’m going to get it. I have to get it. I’ll use my money. Why are you making that little smirk at me? Because I’m excited? You’re a jerk… but I love you.”)

I walked to the wall and reached for the clock. I pulled it off the wall and took it to the closet. There I gently hide it behind some boxes. Hiding the memory. It was sometimes easier to do that. Hide the memory.

Downstairs I picked up my beer and went out front. I needed to avoid her chair and her cushion. Not that I was drinking too much or anything. I just needed a clear head for a minute.

I stood on the porch and looked at the hooks at the top of the porch. I installed them to hang flowers there. I stopped hanging flowers two years ago.

I leaned against the porch and looked up and down the quiet street. A few random lights on here and there. Street lights were scarce and didn’t really start showing up unless you were a few blocks down as you got closer to the main roads.

Damn, it was so quiet.

Through the shadows of the night I saw the dining room table out at the sidewalk of Emily’s house. The damn table. The thing should have never ended up broken. Why the hell hadn’t she just asked for help? Called a friend? Waited… she could have bothered me. It wasn’t like we were complete strangers.

I gritted my teeth as an idea came to me.

I turned and went back inside.

Up in Sadie’s room, I grabbed the handheld unit of the baby monitor we used for her when she was an infant. I kept the monitor in there in case she was sleeping and I was in the garage or down in the basement. There were times when I just needed to get the hell away from everything. And, yes, that included Sadie. As much as I loved her. But she would never know that.

Sadie was tucked in her bed. The bed at one point was a crib. A crib where Sadie slept as a baby. This little peanut, swaddled up tight, sleeping. Damn, I’d stand at the edge of the crib and just watch her. Wonder about her. I’d stand there until Everly would come in and drag me to our bedroom. And for good reason too…

I reached down and touched Sadie’s cheek.

She stirred and let out a little noise.

She stayed asleep.

I left the bedroom and went out to the garage. I set up the monitor and got some tools together.

I set out and walked across the yard and stepped over the little white fence. I grabbed the damn dining room table, growling under my breath, and carried it into the garage.

An hour later, when I had the broken leg mostly fixed, secured, and ready to be stained so you’d never know it was broken, I stopped, wiped sweat off my forehead and shook my head.

What the fuck was I doing? What was I trying to prove?

I had no idea.

I really had no idea.

But I just wanted to do this. For Emily.

I didn’t want to go upstairs. I didn’t want to climb into that fucking guest bed and be alone. I didn’t want to stare at the now blank spot on the wall where I took that fucking clock down.

(“I’m just so excited to decorate the entire house together, Jake. You know? We’ll go room by room. Take our time. Just enjoy every little bit of it. But I promise, I won’t touch the garage, okay? That’ll be your baby. Not mine. I won’t even park my car in it. It’s all yours. I just want to go to flea markets and antique shops and find things we can buy, fix, clean up, things that really make the house ours. It’s THE house, Jake. We’re going to be here for the rest of our lives. It’s so exciting…”)

I shut my eyes tight.

I put my left hand out and felt the wooden bench. My hand touched something metal.

I saw the scene playing out some more.

(I touch her cheek, knowing she’s going to cry. Fuck, she’s so hormonal. I won’t bring attention to it. She’ll get mad at me. How can I tell her without pissing her off that her baby bump is showing and that it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. That my heart is twisted wondering if it’s a boy or a girl. You know? A boy and I get a mini-me. My little man. To work on the car with. Teach how to throw a baseball and shit. But if it’s a girl… I get that connection. I get to be the ultimate protector for the rest of my life.

“Ev, we can get anything you want,” I whisper to her. “Anytime you see something you let me know. I’ll walk around any flea market, any shop, anywhere you want to go. Don’t hesitate. The guest room and shit can stay empty until you’re ready. Even the baby’s room…”

“No. I want to get that done as soon as we can. I don’t know how to say this, Jake, but it’s a girl. I just know. It’s a girl. So can we do it? Decorate now?”

“All the pink and purple?”

“Yes.”

“What if…”

“Do you trust me?”

She moves my hand from her cheek to her stomach. I can feel that little hardness. I feel like I’m going to throw up but it’s with a fluttering feeling. The craziest feeling I’ve ever felt.

“I trust you, Ev,” I say.

“Then…”

“Pink and purple,” I say. “Let’s do it. Anything you want. For my queen and my soon-to-be princess.”

She smiles.

Man, that smile is…)

I turned and threw the wrench in my hand. It flipped through the air and hit a small window in the back of the garage. It shot through with ease, the glass exploding. I grabbed another wrench and lifted it up into the air. The room went blurry for a few seconds. I tried to take a breath but I had nothing. I felt my knees buckle a little. That’s when I turned, dropped the wrench, and put my head down to the bench.

I made a fist and started to pound it against the bench, making all my tools jump like they were under a jumping bean spell from one of Sadie’s damn little kid books.

When my head popped up, I saw the hammer. I reached for it.

My plan was simple.

Undo what I had done.

That dining room table?

Fuck that table.

I was going to smash that leg into a million fucking pieces and place every piece back in Emily’s yard.

I turned and froze.

My hand opened and I dropped the hammer.

I wasn’t alone in the garage.