A/N: Yes, I'm alive!

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TWENTY-ONE

Summer Children

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The boy followed behind his mother like a little duckling, arms up, cheeks rosy red, eyes on the brink of tears, mumbling nonsense that only he understood. He was like feathers to glue, following her all over the house. His steps were shaky and uncoordinated, still unsure of themselves but determination drove them forward. Once or twice he stumbled and toppled to the side but got right back up, using his dimpled hands to push himself up, unrelenting.

Lana's hands were full with notes and files from a current story she was working on. A man had been found dead in his home and foul play was at hand. Wendy had advised her not to dwell too much into such dangers and Lana promised she'd keep a safe distance. "It's not like I'm going to walk into the belly of the beast." She had said.

"Muh-muh!" Johnny called after Lana, arms still up, "Me! Me!"

She leaned over and with one hand, collected the almost two-year-old boy and sat him on her hip, continuing to read the papers she had balanced in her free hand. Work never seemed to stop for Lana, not that she wanted it to. However, she had become very good at multitasking since the boy came home.

Johnny settled once in her embrace, he looked from Lana to Wendy who was sitting in the living room grading book reports from her class. He pointed at her and mumbled, "Muh-muh." Whilst looking back at Lana.

Wendy was busy in thought, marking things here and there while she read, correcting grammar and spelling, muttering small nothings to herself. Lana used to love to see Wendy so into her work, not it tended to remind her that Wendy would always choose her career before her. She had done so before. And even though the thought was one filled with much resentment, Lana felt guilty and shoved it out of her mind. She had forgiven, but forgetting was still difficult.

Both women were far entranced in their own workloads but still managed to keep the little one preoccupied between them both. Life with the boy had been a pleasure but a tremendous change both women had to adapt to. Especially now that he was mobile and climbing all over the place. His little legs were covered in tiny bruises and small scratches from bumping into things and tripping over his wobbly steps. Just the day before he had fallen backwards and bumped his head on a chair. He cried for a few minutes and then went about his adventures without a care while his mothers bickered about taking him to the doctor or not.

"Children are resilient, he's fine." Lana tried to calm Wendy down, "It's just a bump."

"What if he has a concussion?" Wendy asked, coddling the boy to her chest, swaying him back and forth.

"Wendy, he's fine." Lana repeated, "He's going to fall and have accidents. Stop worrying yourself."

Their conversation went on like that for another thirty minutes or so. They always seemed to drag and it was clear both women had grown different ideas on how to raise the boy. They often clashed.

At one point, Lana set the child down and turned on the television for him. Wendy glanced over and leaned back on the sofa, "Lana, we promised we wouldn't do that."

"Yes, well, five minutes won't hurt." She stopped the tv on a channel where a man with a guitar was playing on a stage.

Johnny's eyes glossed over and a large smile spread across his face. He began to squat up and down in front of the screen as if dancing.

Lana went over to the sofa and plunked down next to Wendy, leaning her head back. "I am so exhausted."

Wendy patted Lana's thigh, "Hang in there, Mommy. You'll live."

"You think so?"

"You've been through worse."

Lana half smiled, "Thanks for reminding me."

Wendy laughed and looked back to her papers, "It can only get better from here."

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In the afternoons during their free time, the couple found themselves at the park. The boy ran circles in the grass, squealing and giggling up a storm. Lana and Wendy sat on a blanket under a tree, watching him. The playground near by was filled with children and their parents.

Wendy noticed a man with his wife and wondered if she and Lana would ever be able to show the world their real selves.

"He's growing so much." Wendy mentioned, watching Johnny pluck a dandelion from the ground with his entire hand, squishing it in the process.

Lana glanced over at the boy in the overalls and agreed. "He is changing."

"When do you think we'll have to explain our situation to him?" Wendy asked. She always wondered.

Lana lulled her head to the side, "It's too soon to think about that." Lana wondered too but she tried not to think about it too often. It would give her headaches, or so she said.

"That's what I thought when we first brought him home. Look at him now, walking and talking. He'll be two by fall."

Lana met Wendy's gaze, "You like to worry, don't you?"

Wendy smiled sheepishly, "I'm only thinking ahead."

Lana placed her hand on Wendy's and instantly felt her tense up. Lana didn't let her reaction get to her but she knew Wendy was still resistant about showing affection to one another in public. It annoyed Lana so she pulled her hand away and gave her attention to Johnny who handed her the shredded dandelion.

"Oh, wow, thank you, Johnny. It's so beautiful." She humored him.

Johnny giggled, pleased that Lana liked his gift.

Wendy reached into the basket and handed Johnny a slice of apple. He plopped down between his mothers and munched on it while he watched the other children play, unaware of how different his life would be from theirs.

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Summer came and went with the blink of an eye. The little family barely survived the hot Boston days with fans, ice cold drinks and open windows. They spent the warm mornings tangled amongst each other in their shared bed; the little boy cuddled to one mother while resting his legs on the other, cheeks rosy red and ready to be kissed awake.

Lana was the first one up that morning in mid September. She had a rough night, tossing and turning from nightmares of cold white tiles and leather restraints. When Lana woke during the night, she saw the little boy still fast asleep between she and Wendy. His little tummy went up and down with every little breath. His presence alone was enough to make her doze back to sleep.

Lana stood on the side of the bed, glancing down at Johnny who slept with his little arms raised above him. He was so sweet when he slept; it was hard to believe he was hers. She placed her hand gently upon his belly and softly roused him awake.

"Good morning." She spoke gently to him.

Johnny brought his little hands down and rubbed his sleepy eyes in protest, not quite ready to start his day.

"It's about that time, little love."

Johnny opened his cobalt blues, blinking a few times before landing his vision on his mother. His chocolate brown hair was in waves and curls, crazy from sleep.

"Hi, Muh-muh." He mumbled in that almost two-year-old voice.

"Hi, Johnny."

He raised his arms up and she swiftly picked him up, settling him on her hip while he rubbed his eyes again. His hair was one cowlick after another. He wasn't a morning person and usually didn't crack a smile until breakfast touched his lips. Johnny looked over at his other mother who lay still fast asleep.

"Up?" He asked Lana, pointing at Wendy.

"No, let her sleep a little bit longer, c'mon." Lana took the boy out of the room and into the kitchen where she plopped him down in the high chair Wendy purchased at an antique store. She had been so smitten when they first brought him home. They hadn't even been prepared. Now the house looked as if the boy was destined to belong from the beginning.

"Alright, what do you want to eat?" Lana asked the little boy while she looked through the fridge.

Johnny just babbled gibberish and played with the bead bracelet Wendy had put on his wrist the night before while they were playing before bath time.

"Oatmeal? You want oatmeal?"

"No!"

"Of course you do." Lana brought out the essentials and prepared some oatmeal. When it came to Johnny, what she said went. She wasn't the parent that let the boy do and eat what he pleased. That parent was Wendy. She just couldn't say no.

By the time Wendy joined them at the table, Lana had already finished making breakfast. Wendy kissed the top of Johnny's head and sat down. She made a joke about the sloppy oatmeal but was actually surprised at how good it tasted. Lana must have been getting better. They spent their breakfast at the table talking about bills that needed to be paid and chores that needed to be done while the baby stuck his hand in his oatmeal and made a mess. Smearing the oatmeal across the tray as if it were a Monet creation. He excelled at making messes and never failed to do so.

"Well, I should head off to work." Lana stood from the table, taking her bowl with her. She had barely touched her food and instead opted for her every day cup of coffee.

Wendy glanced over to Johnny who was now slapping his hands upon the tray. She sighed internally, "Guess I'm clean up then."

"You're a doll." Lana kissed her lips and then tussled Johnny's hair, "Love you both. Behave for Mama." She told him as she strolled out of the kitchen and out the front door.

"Bye-bye!" Johnny waved at Lana, watching her go.

"There goes Mommy." Wendy sighed and stood to her feet, taking Johnny out of his high chair, "Let's get you cleaned and dressed, shall we?"

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

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That evening Wendy sat out on the front porch of the house, waiting for Lana to come home. Johnny played upon the lawn, picking up and dropping toys. He'd often stop and glance up to the much older neighborhood children that played on the street. The air was warm but had a certain freshness to it that only emerged when the sun was at a low point. It was the only relief from the summer heat that scorched without mercy during the day. It had Wendy wishing for winter, no doubt.

Evangeline Davis from next door came over and took a seat next to Wendy. She had a packet of cigarettes in her hand and tapped the bottom of the box, letting one single little death stick slip out.

"Care for one, Ms. Peyser?" She asked a little teasingly.

Wendy laughed lightly, "No, thanks."

"Hmm," Evangeline placed the cigarette between her lips and lit it, "You're really turning tables, aren't you?"

Evangeline's son had been in Wendy's class the year before Lana went off to Briarcliff. She was just about the only neighbor they really interacted with besides the Denning family who lived across the street. She was a few years older than Wendy and Lana with a bold mind that matched an equally bold mouth. However, she meant well and had been a good friend and neighbor. There never were any complaints from her.

"I suppose you can say that." Wendy kept her eyes on the boy to make sure he didn't run off into the street.

Evangeline blew smoke to the side, "You're a good friend, Wendy. Quittin' smoking for a friend's kid. That's dedication if I didn't say so myself."

Wendy kept her eyes at bay. She knew to others she was merely the boy's mother's roommate. An aunt at best, not a second mother. However, Wendy faked a smile and said, "Well, what can I say? The little tyke grew on me."

Evangeline nodded. "Looks a lot like Winters. Those eyes, though. A gift from Daddy?"

Wendy tensed up. She hated being reminded of Oliver Thredson. She had never met him in person but saw his photo in the paper after he was killed. He was a very handsome man; the kind of man that exuded intelligence and trust just by his mere looks. The perfect disguise.

"Wouldn't know." She said curtly.

"Hmm. Never did quite get a good look at that man even though his face was all over the papers." Evangeline took another puff and let it out slowly into the summer air. "Lana's lucky to still have her skin."

Wendy glanced over at her with a disapproving look, "Eva, don't be so…honest." She gave out a sigh knowing she was right.

Johnny trotted over to them and handed Wendy his little red ball, "Hew Muh-muh."

"Mama?" Evangeline raised a brow with a chuckle; "Don't confuse the boy, now." Of course she said it with no ill intension but just like all the rest, Evangeline didn't know the boy was also Wendy's son.

Wendy faked a laugh, handing the ball back to him. "Wouldn't ever dream of it."