Free Dear Cupid by Julie Ortolon Page A

than he’d ever been in his life.
    ~ ~ ~
     
    “Mom?” Dylan said that night as he settled into bed. “Am I ever going to see Dad again?”
    Kate straightened from her task of picking up toys in the loft. “Of course you’ll see him again, sweetie. Why wouldn’t you?”
    Dylan’s narrow shoulders shrugged beneath his Winnie the Pooh pajamas. “Tomorrow’s Friday, right? The third Friday of the month?”
    “Oh, Dylan.” She came forward and sat on the bed facing him. She’d completely forgotten which weekend was coming up. In the two years since their divorce Edward had so rarely taken advantage of his visitation rights, she’d even stopped expecting him to call. A self-preservation measure, she supposed, to lessen the debilitating floods of anger. Reaching up, she brushed a black curl off Dylan’s forehead. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t take these things personally.”
    She nearly scoffed at her own words. How could a child not take it personally when a parent forgot they even existed?
    His mouth twisted to the side, and her heart twisted with it.
    “Dylan, I know I’ve told you before, but it really isn’t your fault Daddy would rather work than spend time with you. He just ... well, he just doesn’t know how to have fun. Not like you and me, eh?” She tried a smile, but felt it slip away. Somehow, the mention of fun made her think of Mike. She realized she’d enjoyed being with him today—and that she hadn’t enjoyed a man’s company in a long time.
    “I guess.” Dylan covered his mouth and coughed.
    She tipped her head to study his face. He’d looked tired and pale since she’d picked him up from school. “How’s your chest feel?”
    “Okay.” He coughed again, making her wince at the deep, gravelly sound.
    “You think you need the nebulizer tonight?”
    Rather than argue, as he usually did, he nodded. She tried not to show alarm at his easy acquiescence as she prepared the small machine that sat on the nightstand. Flipping the switch, she handed him the breathing tube and watched as he placed it in his mouth like an oversized straw.
    “Which book do you want tonight?” she asked. From the time he was little, long before he could understand the words, she’d read to him while he inhaled the medicated mist.
    “The Rabbit Book,” he said around the tube, referring to one of his favorite books,
Guess How Much I Love You
by Sam McBratney.
    She retrieved the worn volume from the jumble of books on the rickety shelf and settled against the headboard beside him. The Mickey Mouse lamp enclosed them in a small circle of light. With the quiet hum of the nebulizer playing in the background, the rest of the world faded away as she read the words she knew by heart. Dylan’s small, warm body leaned against hers as he lost himself in the story. He smelled of bruised grass and little-boy sweat and the soap he’d used in a halfhearted effort before climbing into bed.
    At last she heard him sigh and felt his body go slack. The tube slipped out of his mouth. She checked her wristwatch to mark the length of his treatment. Fifteen minutes. Perfect.
    Closing the book, she quoted the last line as she kissed the top of Dylan’s head: “ ‘I love you right up to the moon—and back.’ ”
    She turned the machine off and sat in silence, absorbing the stillness of the cabin. With her son’s comforting weight against her, she should have felt content and full of life, and yet, she felt ... a void.
    She knew this emptiness all too well. It had started as a small ache that had widened into a bottomless chasm during the years of her marriage. Toward the end, she and Edward had merely gone  through the motions of being married, living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed. They fell into a rhythm of him working sixty-plus hours a week and her frantically chasing an endless To Do list: managing the house, taking care of Dylan, and keeping up with her column. All things that Edward resented as