When Toby asked where Florence was, Sylvester stammered, spitting out random syllables before finally managing "visiting Tilly." It was a lie, but Toby wouldn't have any reason to believe it was. And it sounded a lot better than "laying on the couch with a blanket covering every inch of her saying she doesn't want to talk and to just go to work without me."

Toby raised an eyebrow at his response, but didn't question it. He was sitting on a stool in front of the bird cage, holding up a screwdriver.

"If you're planning on letting him out," Sylvester said, "might I suggest – and I really don't want to – just opening the door?"

"I'm trying to teach Super Fun Guy to bring Happy her tools." Toby said. "Which require teaching her about said tools. I've almost got him saying 'air impact wrench' which is pretty cool given how bird speech mimics – "

"A four – pound bird cannot carry a six pound Air Impact Wrench," Sylvester said. "You've seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail, but you shouldn't have had to to know that."

"I don't mean her big ass wrench," Toby said. "I mean like if she drops something, he can get it for her, or he can tell her where it went."

"That's big ambitions for something that's just squawking random crap most of the time it opens its beak."

"Are you going to stand for this verbal abuse?" Toby asked. The bird shifted its weight. "Sylvester loves you," Toby told it.

"I swear, you keep saying that and it's going to start repeating it."

"Oh no, you've figured out my plan." Toby spun on the stool. "Sly, is everything okay at home? I can tell by your hesitation that it's not. I can help, you know. This is kinda my area of expertise."

"We're coping. It's hard, yeah, but she – we – just need time."

"And it's okay to need more than just time."

"She isn't comfortable talking to someone who already knows us so well. I know that helps some people, but…she doesn't want to do that."

"Understandable. Some people are more comfortable talking to people not involved in their lives." Toby cocked his head. "She isn't doing that either, is she?"

"You know how she is. Counseling, therapy…it's not for her. She has to want to open up to someone."

"That is tied into wanting to get better, a lot of the time."

"She's just not there yet. Where are Walter and Paige?"

"Okay. I'm not going to push." Toby crossed his ankles. "Cabe was going to watch Amber, but he had to go to a meeting today in regards to our whole crashing incident. So they went to the aquarium with her. She's apparently in a 'colors' phase. Wants to know what color everything is. She's getting at the age where color names will start sticking with her, and she actually seems to be good at remembering that, which I'm sure is a relief to Walter since he's got her under such a microscope. That's something I'm sure you can relate to."

Sylvester could. Tilly was under a microscope too, a medical one, and not by choice. Everything she did and didn't do was measured up to everyone else her age, both other preemies as well as full term two month old children. Everything was percentiles, averages and above and below averages. His and Florence's daughter almost didn't feel like a living human, but some sort of experiment concocted in a lab. Sylvester was almost glad that Florence wasn't visiting the hospital much. He wasn't sure how she would take that. He wasn't even sure how he was taking it.


Walter remembered the first time he went to an aquarium with Megan. She'd lifted him up on her shoulders so he could see above the crowds of other kids. Standing in another aquarium, thirty four years and five thousands miles away from that memory, he felt some sort of nostalgic connection with his sister as he stood with his daughter on his shoulders, listening to her giggle and feeling her pull his hair as she watched the jellyfish. Paige stood beside him, her hands tucked into her back pockets, half watching the jellies and half taking in Amber's delight.

She wanted to walk by the time they left the aquarium, so Walter let her down and he and Paige each took one of her hands. When they approached a crack in the sidewalk, they lifted her up, as if she was soaring over it. It was something they'd started doing when she was first walking steadily on her own, without even discussing it. They'd just both had the same idea, and executed it flawlessly.

"Oh, look," Paige said, gesturing to a shop up ahead. "Does that say what I think it says?"

"Unless you have a parasite in your brain that impacts your ability to read, I'm sure you know it says 'ice cream shoppe.' Oh," he said when Paige gave him a look. "You were being, never mind, I got it."

Amber didn't notice the tense moment between her parents. Her eyes were lit up. "Ice cream?"

"I think we should have some, yeah, Dad?" Paige asked.

"I think so, Mama," Walter said. "What do you think, Amber?"

"Ice cream!" Amber jumped in place.

"I think we have an answer." Paige held the door as they walked inside.

"Hello!" The boy behind the counter had a very young face, but when he spoke, his voice was startlingly deep. "How are you folks today?"

"We're good, thanks," Paige said. "We just came from the aquarium."

"Oh, fun!"

"Which ice cream you want, Ambie?" Walter asked, gesturing to the photos of the flavors.

She pointed. "This one."

"How about this one over here?" He said. "That is pistachio. You wouldn't like that."

"Yes I would."

"No," Paige said. "You wouldn't, you don't like anything nutty. Try this one here, the vanilla, or the chocolate, or the mint. How about the mint? It's green like the pistachio."

"Green ice cream," Amber said, tapping her hand against the glass. She flattened her palm, dragging it across the display.

"Amber, no," Paige said, pulling her hand away. "I am so sorry," she said to the employee. "I used to be a waitress and I hated when kids smeared glass. I'll clean it up."

"No need," said the boy. "I've got it." He was smiling, but it was the Customer Service Smile. Paige knew that smile.

"Kid sized of the mint, please," Walter said. "Look at that, Ambie, that's all yours. Thank you," he said to the boy upon receiving the plastic cup. "Here, sweetheart."

"Green ice cream," Amber said, sticking her finger into it rather than using the spoon. "What is it?"

"It's ice cream, Amber," Paige said, handing money to the boy at the counter. "You eat it."

"No," Amber said. "Green, what is it?"

"Oh," Walter said. "It's mint. It's like that gum mommy chews, or that shaved candy that Toby had on his birthday cake."

"No!" Amber was suddenly upset, her face going red and her lower lip pouting out. "What is it?"

"What is what, my sweet?" Paige asked. Amber started to cry. Walter scooped her up and began walking rapidly away from the ice cream counter. "Walter!" She power walked after them, catching the door as they scooted out into the street. "Where are you going?"

"She's making a scene," Walter said. "I'm removing her from the situation."

Paige could tell Amber was about to drop the ice cream, so she lunged forward, just barely catching it as it fell from the girl's tiny hands. "Amber," she said. "What do you want to know about? The ice cream?"

"No!" She said, tears freely flowing down her face as a wailing noise came from her mouth. "No!"

"Amber!" Walter set her down and held her at arm's length. "What is your problem?"

"Walter! Don't snap at her."

"We have to figure out what the hell's wrong with her, don't we?"

"What the hell is wrong with her?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"It sounded like you did. You seem to be misunderstanding me a lot lately."

"You seem to be confusing a lot lately. Maybe we should talk to Toby – "

"We don't need to talk to Toby," he snapped. "We can manage our own family without Toby."

"You're right, we're doing a hell of a job. Exhibit A, this."

She scooped up Amber, walking authoritatively away from him.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," Paige snapped. "I think we've had enough fun for the day."

"We have to figure out what she meant," Walter said, running to catch up and then dropping into a power walk next to them. "We can't fix it if we don't know what got her upset."

"Well, jot that question down for when she learns to communicate better," Paige said. "Ask her what her problem is with Dora the Explorer too, while you're at it."

"You think you're some kind of expert at raising a kid because you raised Ralph by yourself and I didn't, don't you?"

"I'm not an expert," Paige said, "but I have done this before. By myself."

"So I've never parented a toddler before." He grabbed her elbow, and she stopped, turning to face him while rubbing Amber's back. "But you've never done it with someone, so we both have a lot to learn here. You don't get to overrule me with every decision just because you've done this before. In case you hadn't noticed, Ralph and Amber are incredibly different."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Why are you taking offense to that?"

"I already know you think she's stupid. Do you wish that she was some child prodigy like Ralph? She's not, Walt, and the sooner you get it through that battered skull of yours, the better off we'll all be."

"I love her. Her IQ is of no concern to me."

"I don't believe you."

He opened his mouth to snap back at her, but realized he had no clue what words to say. So he folded his arms, letting the silence linger. "You don't have to believe me," he finally said. "I know how I feel. You somehow still doubting me after all these years isn't a me issue."

"You're right. It's a we issue. Because last time I checked, we were married. But we haven't been acting like it. We've been acting like bitter exes."

"Amber deserves more than that."

"That we can agree on." Paige's eyes were tired. "Can we just go home?"

Walter knew there was more. There were things they hadn't said. His head was spinning, his thoughts growing scrambled. There were things he wanted to say, but he couldn't articulate them. And he knew something was bothering her. She'd been looking at him differently the past few days, after he'd had a bad dream about something he couldn't place and had gotten sick on the floor of their bedroom. She wouldn't tell him what it was. He wondered what his bad dream was about.

He remembered the last time a dream had almost destroyed them.