Vice-President Miller, his wife and daughter are joining us on our vacation get-away; Isaac is not. This is the week each year he spends with Toby's parents in New York. CJ plans to split her time between New York and Connecticut.
To make things easier, we fly into Boston on Saturday morning. CJ and Isaac hop a commuter jet for New York while the Millers and my family take a motorcade to the house. Abbey Bartlet, my co-conspirator, is also joining us this week.
I will admit to not being very fond of Gregory Miller, his wife Angela or their daughter Jessica. Something about them simply rubs me the wrong way; I don't trust them. Jonah is infatuated with Jessica, however. She, for some odd reason, seems to revel in his attentions.
Jacob stills thinks girls are icky and joins me in frequently teasing Jonah about his crush.
Years ago, before we even had the house finished, we built a small barn and paddock. They were originally for Donna's goats. We never did get the goats, but the barn has been maintained with the house and grounds. It sits behind the house, but the paddock is visible from the driveway.
Jacob finished his book the night after his party and has been bouncing off the walls all week. Tucked in the last page, he found a gift certificate from me to a tack and horse supply store here in Connecticut.
The horse is actually from his Grandma Abbey, who is standing by the gate waiting for us.
"Papa?" He's kneeling on the seat of the limo, peering out the window.
"Jacob?"
"When did you get a horse?"
"I didn't get a horse. But if you go talk to your Grandma Abbey, she might explain why it's here." I tell him as the car stops.
He opens the door and flies up the driveway before I can blink.
"GRANDMA!" He yells, throwing himself into her arms.
"I think he's a little excited," Jonah looks up at me.
I wrap my arm around his slender shoulders as we walk up to the paddock. "You're okay with this? I mean I know you don't want a horse, but…"
"Papa, it's cool. I understand."
"Who are you and what have you done with my son Jonah?" I tease him to cover the surge of mixed emotions I'm experiencing. I've never felt such pride in him and yet, it is not without regret. He may only be eleven, but he is a man in almost every sense of the word. I feel like I haven't been for him like I am for Jacob. I feel like I neglected him somehow when he was younger.
Jonah has never been as affectionate with me as Jacob is. Jonah is his mother's child. Donna decided to be a stay-at-home mom after Jonah's birth, doing a bit of volunteer work here and there to keep active in the community. I accepted the role of disciplinarian, which frequently found me dishing out punishments from the moment I walked in the door at night. Our little boy would then run to his mother for consolation.
The one thing I made sure to do every night was tuck him in and read him a story. It was the only real time he and I had alone together when Donna was alive. Once she was gone and Jacob became a part of our lives, our dynamic shifted. His behavior improved, but he withdrew in many ways, mostly emotional. In some ways, I doubt I'll ever truly know what he's thinking or who he is.
Jacob has climbed to the top of the gate and is patting the horse on the nose. Abbey assured me it is a gentle creature, well-trained and good with kids.
"Can I ride him, Papa?" Jacob asks eagerly.
"Not until you get a helmet. And don't even ask, we'll go shopping after lunch."
Shopping involves not just a helmet, but a saddle, a blanket, a bridle, a halter, along with an amazing assortment of buckets, brushes, ointments and various other equine-related pieces of equipment.
I decide it's all worth it based on the look of sheer rapture on Jacob's face when he sits on his horse for the first time. Abbey leads him around the paddock a few times, letting him get used to the way the horse moves. I simply watch from my spot at the wooden gate. Jonah is with me, sitting on the top rail.
Our solitude is interrupted by the arrival of Jessica Miller and her mother.
"What's the big deal? It's just a horse. Boys aren't even supposed to like horses." Jessica is smacking on a piece of gum and going out of her way to be unpleasant.
I pulled a couple of strings to get her into the same private school my boys go to, but I've been regretting it ever since. It took one academic quarter for me to understand why nobody would accept her.
She's dumb as a post.
I should take that back. I doubt she's stupid, she just doesn't exert any effort in school. She is very into boys and clothes and music. In and of itself, that isn't a big deal. Jonah and Isaac are both very into girls and sports and music. They, however, know they are expected to perform in the classroom or their extracurricular activities will be the first things to go.
Her comment about it just being a horse achieves something I thought impossible: a look of disdain from my oldest.
"Why don't you leave my brother alone?" Jonah tosses back in a tone of voice I know he learned from me. I typically use it on uncooperative congressmen.
"It doesn't take a rocket scientist to ride a horse around a corral is all I'm saying," she bristles, ducking between the rails of the fence and approaching the animal.
What happened next happened so fast, none of us could stop it. Jessica came up on the horse from behind and smacked it on the hindquarters. The horse reared, ditching Jacob off and kicking the girl in the head before jumping the fence and taking off into the woods.
I reach them first with Jonah at my heels and Abbey Bartlet right behind us. Jacob is sitting up, trying to catch his breath. Jonah kneels next to him, instructing him to calm down and take slow, shallow breaths.
Satisfied my son is relatively unharmed, I turn my attention to the girl. She isn't moving and Abbey has yet to turn her over. Mrs. Miller is still standing outside the fence, staring at the scene in shock. The sound of a slamming door and the crunch of gravel alerts me to Greg's approach.
He comes to a halt just a foot away from where Abbey and I are crouched over his daughter. Abbey is mumbling to herself, checking for a pulse and broken bones. Jessica is deathly pale and unresponsive to Abbey's touch, but there is no blood.
"What happened?" Greg demands.
When nobody replies, he repeats his question. "What the hell happened?"
Glancing up, I catch the eye of an agent who witnessed the incident. He nods at me and pulls Greg to the side, explaining.
"What do you think?" I ask softly.
"Closed head wound," she shrugs, unable to do much. "I don't want to move her without a backboard."
"Is she going to be okay?"
"I don't know, Josh. Maybe, but a CT scan will tell us more."
The air ambulance, kept on 24/7 standby when I'm in town, arrives just as Abbey finishes her cursory examination.
She quietly consults with Agent Williamson and I. We agree getting the girl quick medical attention is the priority. Moments later, the military helicopter containing Jessica, her parents and Abbey, is on the way to Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. Not only is it the closest hospital capable of dealing with a trauma like this, Abbey is still on staff there.
Once they are off, I am able to turn my full attention to Jacob. The detail agents have learned Jonah is far better at consoling Jacob when he's injured then they can ever be. Their standard operating procedure for his bumps and bruises is to simply let Jonah handle it. If he can't, my presence is required.
The two boys are sitting on the front porch of the house. Jacob is cradling his arm, tears streaming down his face.
"He says the whole thing hurts," Jonah tells me when I sit down on Jacob's other side.
Running my hands over it, I can feel where the first break is by the swelling midway down his bicep muscle.
"Did you land on it?" I ask him, continuing to run my hand down his arm.
Jacob nods his head, whimpering louder when I find the second break in his forearm.
"Does your shoulder hurt?"
From the way his arm is hanging, I figure it is probably dislocated as well.
"Sir? We're ready." Agent Williamson gestures to the black Suburban.
Rather than bother with an ambulance, he decided to just get a police escort for one of the unmarked cars. Jonah and I help Jacob climb into back seat.
I brief Carol quickly before getting in, instructing her to keep the press as at bay and uninformed as possible and to call CJ. We share a look regarding the cause of this fiasco. Both of us know the horse will likely have to be destroyed because of it.
The pediatric emergency team is ready for us when we arrive. They take Jacob from my arms and settle him onto a gurney, hustling off to Radiology. The noise and commotion, along with the anxiety of being separated from my son, is surreal. I begin to feel as if I'm watching this scene from above. We are ushered to the side and asked to wait for a doctor to come talk to us.
The slamming of a cart into metal-plated doors triggers the first uncontrollable flashback I've had since that horrible Christmas 18 years ago.
"Josh? Josh, can you hear me?"
"He's unresponsive. It's been almost thirty minutes."
"We're looking at a lot of blood loss here."
"Josh? Pupils are dilated and unresponsive."
"Blood pressure is 80 over 30. Pulse is weak."
"Josh, hang on pal. We're gonna help you, but you have to stay with us."
"Blood pressure is dropping! I lost his pulse completely."
"Papa? Papa, what's wrong?" Jonah's frightened voice penetrates the ringing in my ears.
Blinking my eyes, I realize I'm in a curtained off treatment room with Jonah and my lead agent.
"Mr. President?" Agent Williamson looks extremely concerned.
"I, yeah. It's okay. I just, I have a thing about emergency rooms." The excuse sounds lame to my own ears.
"Do I need to get someone, sir?" The Secret Service has a plan they practice in case I have a PTSD episode, but if I'm lucid it requires my approval. The question Derrick is posing is a coded one. My response determines his. It's one of the many things we discussed when I took office.
"No, Derrick. I just, I'm okay." I take a deep breath. "I just need to see Jacob. I'm sure he's in more dire straits than I am."
"I'll find out where he is. Wait here, sir."
Jonah has backed away from me, fear still bright in his eyes. Dropping into the room's only chair, I motion him over to join me. Staring down at his feet, arms rigid at his sides, he stands between my knees. The sobs come when I wrap my arms around him.
In the past three months, I have found myself fulfilling the role of comforter-in-chief far more often than I would like. "It's okay, Jonah. I promise, everything is going to be okay."
"What happened to you?" His hands clutch at my jacket. "Mr. Williamson was talking to you and you just stopped."
"Shh," I hold him tighter, rubbing his back and letting his tears soak my shoulder. In his entire life, I have never seen him like this. Jonah doesn't show much emotion and he has never let me see him cry.
"Papa, I'm scared. Jacob is hurt and what if Jessica isn't okay? If I hadn't…"
"Jonah, stop. None of this is your fault. You stuck up for your brother. Something I've always told you to do. Later, you and I will sit down and talk about what happened to me a few minutes ago. Okay?"
"Okay." He sounds very unsure of his response, but he has managed to get his crying under control.
It isn't long before Derrick sticks his head back in. "There's a doctor here to see you, sir. And Dr. Bartlet said she'd find you when she's got news. They're doing a CT scan now."
"Thank you, Derrick. Give us a minute." I wipe Jonah's tears, letting him compose himself before I pull back the curtain and motion for the doctor to join us.
"Mr. President, I'm Dr. Nicholas Friedman, chief of pediatric medicine," the doctor offers his hand. I shake it and give him a once over. Short, overweight, glasses, gray hair, probably about 55 or so – he looks like a doctor, not an administrator and that comforts me.
"Josh Lyman." It's a habit I can't seem to break. "My son, Jonah."
Dr. Friedman surprises me by offering his hand to Jonah. Most people I deal with barely acknowledge the existence of my boys when introduced to them or treat them with juvenile contempt.
With one simple act, this man earns my complete trust.
"I'm sorry we separated the three of you. I'm sure you can understand, many parents flip out a bit when we're examining their children. It can be uncomfortable for everyone. Furthermore, you being, well, the leader of the free world and all, it would have been even more intimidating. I do need to have you sign a couple of forms. The injuries are going to require surgery. Your son's arm is broken in three places and the shoulder is dislocated. Also his collarbone snapped, which is not an uncommon injury in boys his age." He is direct and to the point.
Jonah holds his own arm and winces in sympathy.
"How bad are the breaks?" Visions of compound fractures dance through my overactive imagination.
"The collarbone and upper arm are simple fractures. We can't do much about the collarbone except immobilize his arm, which we'll be doing anyway. The humerus, the upper arm bone, is snapped midway between the shoulder and the elbow. It's a nice clean break and just needs to be set and cast. The radius, the lower bone on this side," he holds his arm out palm up and points to the outside, "is broken in two places. That's what needs surgery. Trust me when I say you don't want the details right now. We'll pop his shoulder back into place at the same time. He's going to need to stay at least a couple of days."
I sign the surgical release and confirm he has no allergies or other conditions.
"When can we see him?" I ask, handing back the clipboard with the forms on it.
"Now, if you want, sir. I can take you up."
"Please."
Jacob's Service detail is hovering around the hallway like a pack of lions. One of them grabs the door and opens it for me. It breaks my heart to look at him lying there with the offending arm stabilized and an IV snaking out from the other.
Tony Franklin thoughtfully brought Jacob's book bag along and is reading to him, trying to keep him occupied.
The agent stands up when we enter the room. "I'll go ahead and wait outside."
"It's okay, Tony. Thank you for staying with him."
"Papa?" Jacob reacts to the sound of my voice. They've given him some pretty good painkillers. His voice is slurred and his eyes are half-shut.
"Hey, Sport." I sit on the edge of the bed and brush the hair off his forehead.
"I'm sleepy," he mumbles.
"Yeah. The doctors are going to put you to sleep and fix your arm." I tell him.
"It hurts."
"Well, you broke it, you dork." Jonah snorts from the other side of the bed, teasing him.
"Don't make fun of me."
"It's okay, Jacob. I'm just jealous you get all the attention." His attempt to appease his brother is met with a soft snore, the drugs finally overcoming his feeble resistance.
It isn't long before they come to get him for surgery. I decline the offer to watch, figuring I can use this time to talk to Jonah and not really wanting to see what they are going to do to my baby boy. Dr. Friedman promised to explain everything after the fact and assured me he would do the surgery himself. I was not surprised to learn he is a highly respected, pediatric orthopedic surgeon.
Ignoring the astounded looks of the nurse and orderly who are waiting, I gently kiss Jacob's forehead before allowing them to take him. Their response makes me wonder when people stopped considering me a man and a father.
The window in Jacob's room looks over a small park and I fold myself into the ledge, remembering how I'd so desperately wanted to look outside while I was confined to the cardiac care unit at GW so many years ago.
"Papa," Jonah begins hesitantly. His face telling me things he can't begin to vocalize.
"Come up here with me," I interrupt him. Jonah frowns for a second but with a bit of effort, he molds himself to me, his back to my chest, his head tucked under my chin.
"I need you to understand something, son. The things I'm going to tell you about happened a long time ago. Before you were born and even before your mother and I were dating. Do you understand?"
"Like history class," He sounds lost and frightened. I tighten my hold on him, almost clutching him to my battered chest, trying to reassure us both.
Jonah knows small portions of this, but not much and he knows none of the details. All three of the boys have seen the scars on my chest. I've never hidden them, but I've never made an issue of them either. None of the of the kids know how I got them.
Jonah knows I don't like hospitals, but I've always allowed him to believe my dislike stems from his mother's death, which did nothing for my feelings. He alone knows there are incidents in my past referred to in his presence as 'that May' and 'that Christmas.'
He does not know what those incidents are.
I nod, even though he can't see me. "Right. Like history class. You know Charlie and I worked for your Grandpa Jed a long time ago, right? Back when he was President?"
"Uh huh. Grandpa said you were a shitty staffer."
"Okay, you know better than to use that word and I was not."
"Sure, Papa. I believe you." He finally relaxes a bit in my arms and his sarcasm has made a return. Both good signs.
"Grandpa was President when Zoey and Charlie first started dating. A lot of people weren't happy about them seeing each other."
"Why not? They're really happy."
How do I explain bigotry to a child? Although, he'll be exposed to it sooner rather than later. A surprising number of semi-literate apes object to an observant Jew holding my job and would have no qualms with eliminating my offspring to prove their point, whatever the hell their point is.
"Because they thought Charlie shouldn't date a white woman." I start simple.
"Why not?"
"There are some people out there who believe you shouldn't love someone who isn't your race or religion."
"I don't get it."
"I don't get it either, Jonah."
"What do Charlie and Zoey have to do with earlier?"
"Your Grandpa was speaking in Rosslyn one night and we were all with him: Charlie and Zoey and CJ and I and Isaac's dad, Toby. When we were leaving, some of those people who thought Charlie and Zoey shouldn't be together tried to kill Charlie with guns."
"Like in the movies?" He sounds a little excited, like it's a video game. I think I need to curtail his exposure to violence.
"Sort of, except they were really trying to kill him."
"What happened?"
"They missed Charlie," I state firmly.
"Who did they shoot?"
"They shot a woman named Stephanie Abbott in the leg and a man named Ron Butterfield in the hand. They also shot your Grandpa in the side," I pause to take a deep breath.
Jonah jumps on my hesitation, but his voice quivers a bit. "Who else did they shoot?"
"Me." I affirm what I sense he figured out for himself. "I came out of the building behind everyone else and they shot me in the chest."
"What did you do?"
"I don't remember. I know Toby found me after a while. I almost bled to death before he did."
"But Isaac's dad found you." Jonah pleads, a drop of wetness lands on my arm, alerting me to his tears.
"And a very talented surgeon spent 14 hours fixing the damage. I was in the hospital for three months and once I got home, your mother didn't let me leave my apartment for another three months. That's when I realized I was in love with her. It took a long time for me to better, though."
I stop talking, not sure how to get from here to the PTSD. Not sure how to explain the terrors and the flashbacks. We sit in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts.
"I'm sorry you got hurt, Papa. But I'm glad you got better and married Mama."
His nearly cheerful comment provides me the opening I need. "It wasn't quite that easy, Champ. After I went back to work, I still wasn't okay. I would jump at loud noises and I was mad all the time. I couldn't control my temper. I said horrible things to people. Music sounded like sirens and reminded me of the ambulances. I'd be in my office, hear the music and all of a sudden in my mind, I'd be back in the night of the shooting. Your mom made me get help and get well. That's what happened earlier. When the cart banged against the doors, the sound made me think I was back in the hospital right after I got shot. I was remembering that night."
"Oh."
I can tell he has questions he wants to ask, but is afraid to. I understand, I'm afraid to answer them.
"Did it hurt?"
"Getting shot?" I want to make sure I'm giving him the answer he wants.
"Yeah."
"Not right away. It knocked me off my feet. Then it took me a few minutes to realize what happened. It hurt after that, I couldn't breath and I panicked. It hurt for a long time afterwards, too. They had to cut into my chest to get the bullet out; it stopped near my heart. Those wounds took a long time to heal and they hurt sometimes even afterwards."
We sit quietly for a bit longer, each lost in our own thoughts. Mine revolve around reassuring him that this doesn't happen very often.
"Jonah, I need you to know something," I decide straightforward is the best approach to take. "What happened earlier hasn't happened in a very long time. Since before your mother and I got married. And it probably won't happen again, but I can't promise you that. I can promise you I will always be here for you. I can promise you I will always love you."
"Josh?"
I turn my head at the interruption and see Abbey in the doorway.
"How bad?" I ask, bluntly.
"She's in surgery. The CT scan showed an epidural haematoma," she shakes her head at my blank stare. "Bleeding between the brain and the skull, Josh. Along with a skull fracture. If they got in there soon enough, she has a pretty good chance."
I nod my head in understanding, thinking about how much worse things could be.
"Are you okay?" She's scrutinizing me with her doctor-look.
"I've had better days." I admit. Acknowledging, indirectly, I am bothered by the idea of a PTSD flare-up.
"Jonah, how are you?" Abbey turns her attention to the young man still sitting on my lap.
He just shrugs and leans deeper into the safety of my embrace. I'm not sure what is unnerving him more, the accident or my episode.
"Have you called CJ yet?" Her eyes return to mine, conveying it is not an idle question.
"No, I haven't had a chance."
"An hour drive up here and you didn't have a chance?" CJ's voice storms into the room a millisecond before the rest of her does.
"Why don't you and I go get something to drink?" Abbey offers her hand to Jonah, content to leave me to the wrath of my best friend. Jonah reluctantly climbs down and leaves with her.
"What the hell happened, Josh?" CJ demands once they've left the room.
"An accident happened. CJ, I was standing right there. So were Abbey and Angela Miller."
"The Vice-President's daughter got kicked in the head by the horse you gave your six-year-old son for his birthday. That's what the press is going to think happened."
I turn my head away from her and stare out the window. Anger wells up inside me, anger at myself and for the first time in a long time I find myself angry with God. Has my family not suffered enough? When I find myself angry with CJ for playing the role of Chief of Staff when I need her to be my confidante, I decide it's time to go for a walk.
Prying myself from my perch, I leave without speaking a word, afraid of what I'll say. I stalk the hallways of Mass General with a single Secret Service agent shadow. Derrick has the rest of them spread throughout the pediatric wing at strategic intervals.
My stride slows when I find what I've been unconsciously looking for: the chapel. The young agent goes in with me, but quickly leaves when she determines there is no threat.
A pew near the back corner beckons me. I sit, slightly uncomfortable with the obvious Christian overtones of this nondenominational sanctuary. Boston is a very Catholic city. I learned at Harvard that nondenominational frequently means 'not Catholic.'
Twenty years ago I threw a rabbi out of my hospital room when he came to visit me. My return to the synagogue was a slow and painful one, primarily facilitated by Toby's influence in my life. As our problems sought to overwhelm us during the MS scandal, he began inviting me to join him at temple on Saturday mornings. I would occasionally accept his offer and go.
I was raised within a Reform temple and found Toby's Conservative one too conservative for my beliefs. Rather than stop going entirely, I set out on a quest to find what I was looking for. I sampled temples from Manassas, Virginia to Annapolis, Maryland before finding a small, family-oriented synagogue in downtown D.C. about the same time I proposed to Donna.
Our wedding was there, in a Jewish ceremony her parents refused to attend or accept. It was only after Donna's diagnosis that her mother spoke to me with civility. She still chafes at my raising Jonah and Jacob in the Jewish faith.
After I married Donna, I found myself attending temple weekly, looking for guidance on how to be a better husband to my wife, a better father to my son. When Jonah was about two and capable of sitting through the service, I began taking him with me.
During Donna's illness, I turned to God for strength. I accepted his trials and asked him to help me through them. My rabbi was a source of wisdom and advice when I had few other places to turn; he found a Christian colleague to bury my wife in the rites of her beliefs while considering mine; he sat shiva with me when so many of my acquaintances shied away.
In the years since my faith has never wavered in the way it did when I was younger, when I found myself at a crossroads of embarrassment and pride at being Jewish. Now I am a man who regularly attends temple, without qualm, a man who finds pride in nothing other than his children and their accomplishments.
Resting my elbows on my knees, I drop my face into my hands, suddenly ashamed of my anger. I don't know how much time passes before I feel an arm wrap around my hunched shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Josh." From the tone of CJ's voice, I know Abbey told her. "Nobody said anything."
I lift my face up, resting my chin on my palms. "I had just finished explaining it to Jonah."
"How did it go?"
"As well as I could expect. He doesn't really understand."
"You're going to have to explain it to Isaac, before Jonah…"
"The only thing those two boys should be worrying about is whether I'm going to be coaching Little League this summer," I interrupt harshly.
"You're not, you know. Tom's supposed to talk to you about it next week." CJ changes tack to my coaching prospects.
"The hell I'm not. I've been coaching those boys since they were five and playing tee ball. I managed to do it around campaigning last summer, I'm pretty sure we can figure out a way to get it done this year."
"It looks bad, Josh. All of this does."
"It looks bad for me to continue coaching my sons' Little League baseball team?" I swear I have no idea what this conversation is about, but I'm tired of being told I can't do things with or for the boys because it will look bad.
"Look, I'm going to leave and come back in. We'll start this over again."
I reach over and put my hand on CJ's knee, preventing her from going. "Stay."
"I'm not fighting with you today, Josh. You aren't close to rational: Jacob is in surgery, you had an episode for the first time in how many years and it happened in front of Jonah. It should be pretty damn obvious to you at this point, you cannot protect them forever." CJ's words are harsh, but delivered with gentleness.
"We made a promise, CJ. We promised all three of them things wouldn't change this much." I'm not sure who I'm pleading for: our children or myself.
"If you promise them they'll never grow up, will it happen?"
I contemplate her words for a long time before I decide I really do want to be alone.
"Don't wallow in it." My friend finally gives me an understanding smile when I ask her to go.
"I just want to finish my conversation." I reply, tilting my head towards the front of the chapel.
"You don't actually think God talks back to you, do you?"
My discussions with God have been a source of endless mirth for CJ, especially since I present such an agnostic face to the public. Her favorite joke is once God starts answering me, she's having me committed.
"No, but it makes me feel better."
"I'll talk to Tom again about the coaching," she concedes as she leaves me to my prayers.
Jonah is alone when I return to Jacob's room. Sitting on the bed, he is engrossed in the pages of a book.
"What are you reading?" I ask, sitting next to him and placing my hand on his back.
He holds the book up so I can see the title, Where the Red Fern Grows. With little effort, I remember the story from my own childhood. I didn't even realize the book was still in print.
"Where'd you find that one?" I know it isn't one of his school reading assignments. The next book on that particular list is The Diary of Anne Frank, a book which will be cause for considerable conversation between Isaac, Jonah and myself.
"Grandma got it for me out of the library. I got this one, too." He hands me Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing for my approval. "They're okay, aren't they?"
"Sure, Jonah. They're fine." I didn't realize the hospital even had a library.
We sit in silence for a bit. Jonah, working his way through the beginning of the book with me gently rubbing his back and reading over his shoulder.
"Papa?" He looks up at me, full of uncertainty.
"Hmm?"
"Will you read to me?"
I haven't read to Jonah since CJ and Isaac moved in with us, five years ago. He didn't want to seem immature in front of his friend, so he asked me to stop.
"Of course I will."
We settle back on the bed, Jonah again accepting the comfort of my arms.
"From the beginning?" he asks, shyly, handing over the book.
"From the beginning," I agree, opening the classic tale of Billy Colman and his coonhounds: Old Dan and Little Ann.
Jonah falls asleep before Billy ever goes to town to get his pups. Dog-earing the page, I set the book down and pull my son closer to me.
A double-knock precedes Abbey's entrance into the room.
"Where the Red Fern Grows, Abbey? You're killing me, you know that?" I raise my eyebrows at her while softening my words with a smile.
She sits on the bed next to us and brushes a stray curl from Jonah's forehead. "It was that or Are You There God, It's Me Margaret and I figured you didn't want to explain the principles of female sexuality to your eleven year old son."
I have to chuckle, if only because both Jonah and Isaac are due for the Advanced Birds and Bees discussion. "How's Jessica?"
"It looks good, Josh. It really does. They did a craniotomy to elevate the pressure and the second CT scan has some positive indicators."
I breathe a sigh of relief.
"And they're almost finished putting Jacob's arm back together. I'll come get you when he's in recovery." She squeezed my shoulder and left the room, leaving me to cry silent tears of thanks.