Sorry for the delay on this. Combination of being busy with work and then hitting a groove writing/editing one of my other stories and didn't want to interrupt the momentum. I totally lost track of how long it's been since I updated this story. I guess that's the danger of working on more than one story at a time.

This isn't the most upbeat chapter, but I think I think it needed to be written. The next chapter will have more smiles, I promise.

Thank you for your patience and feedback. (I know I'm WAY behind with replying to reviews, but I'm getting there, lol. ) :-)

Shawn leaned his elbows on the dryer and rested his head in his hands, the vibrations from the appliance almost enough to lull him to sleep. Angela offered him use of her washer and dryer so he didn't have to fly home with a bag full of dirty clothes, not that he hadn't done it multiple times before. But it would be nice to not have to worry about laundry the second he got home. Plus- and he felt terrible for thinking this- it gave him a little respite from the kids. They were noisy after dinner and their baths and seemed hell bent on making the other cry.

First Zora tried to take a toy Jude was playing with. That caused him to shove his sister and knock her to the floor. Then there was hair pulling, biting, and eye poking. He couldn't decide if they looked like mini, uncoordinated, UFC fighters or spot-on imitators of The Three Stooges. Regardless, he didn't know how to handle the tantrums and fighting. Angela seemed to sense that and shoved him in the direction of her laundry room instead, muttering something under her breath about not needing another child to look after. At least that's what he thought she said. For a few seconds he felt guilty for leaving her to referee the chaos alone, but rationalized it by telling himself she was used to it.

The dryer buzzed and startled Shawn from his dozing state. He quickly folded the clothes and repacked his bag. The house seemed quiet now. At the very least there was no screaming. He poked his head out and debated which way to go. If he went left it would take him down the hall to the guest room. Right would lead him through the kitchen and to the living room. The choice was made for him when he heard voices approaching the kitchen. He was just relieved they sounded happy.

"So what do we want for bedtime snack?"

"Na-na!"

"All right, banana for Zora." Angela strapped her daughter into a booster seat at the kitchen table. Her high chair would have to be taken out into the backyard and hosed off to remove the remnants of their spaghetti dinner. "You want a cracker, too?"

The girl patted her belly. "Mmm!"

She laughed. "That's a yes. Jude, what do you want?"

"Apple and cracker and peanut butter."

Angela got to work gathering the food. "And if Shawn is done hiding in the laundry room he can tell me if he wants a snack, too."

He crept out of the laundry room, a sheepish expression on his face. "I wasn't hiding."

"Please," she said, not bothering to hide that she rolled her eyes at the obvious lie. "Do you want anything," she asked after a few beats of silence.

"No, thanks, I'm fine. Can I help or get something?"

"Actually, can you get the dogs' leashes? They're hanging by the back door. My neighbor has been giving me a hand and taking Nala and Marshmallow on their nightly walk. He'll be here soon. He takes them out when he walks his dog."

"Gee, you'd better watch it," he quipped. "Maybe he's doing it with more than neighborly intentions." The second it left his mouth Shawn regretted it. It just popped into his head and out of his mouth. He couldn't help it. "Angela, I'm sorry. I-it was a joke…a bad joke." If looks could kill….

"Reggie is sixty-three years old and he and his wife are about to celebrate forty-two years of marriage. He was in the Air Force and his wife, Yvette, was a nurse in the army. They are among the finest people I have ever met. When I got that knock at my door about Grant they saw the uniforms walking up the driveway and showed up immediately to offer support. I trust them with my life, my kids' lives. So watch what you say before you make stupid jokes about people you don't know."

He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the tile floor. "I-I'm sorry." So much for not causing any more drama. He was approaching Cory levels of sticking his foot in his mouth.

"Just get the leashes."

"Say peas, mama."

"What," she asked, turning around to look at the table.

"You forget to tell Don, peas."

Jude picked the worst moments to remember manners sometimes. "You're right. See, even mama forgets."

"S'okay. You get forgiveness."

The best thing about her kids was how quickly they could make her smile. "Thank you, baby." Her smile was short-lived and she took a deep breath before facing her former boyfriend again. "Shawn, could you get the dogs' leashes for me and put them on the coffee table, please?"

He was unaware that please could sound so hostile. "Sure."

"Thank you." No need to hear that lecture from the two and a half year old.

"You're welcome."

/

"Zora, what story do you want?"

"Da-da boo!"

Shawn's head shot up at her response. After the incident with his bad joke and the neighbor he'd been tempted to stay in the guest room for the night, but then Jude asked him if he wanted one of his apple slices. He didn't really, but figured anything that encouraged sharing was good. From there they moved to the living room where the kids played quietly for a little while with a children's show on quietly in the background. It was later than what Angela said their bedtimes were, but he assumed the household routines were thrown off due to their unexpected guest…him.

"You want to hear one of daddy's stories?" In the weeks leading up to his departure, Grant made videos of himself reading books for the kids, especially Zora. The same had been done for Jude before a previous deployment and he wanted to be sure she had her own stories. He also made videos of himself singing and dancing along to their favorite songs, but Angela saved those for when they were in need of a laugh. As much as she loved her husband she was the first to admit he couldn't sing. He knew it, too, but that only inspired him to play up the theatrics.

Angela retrieved a tablet from a high shelf on the bookcase before she took a seat on the couch and lifted the baby into her lap. Once they were settled and cozy she handed the device to her daughter, still amazed at how deft she was with the technology at her young age. Then again, she did ask for a 'da-da boo' almost daily. Angela wasn't going to complain about that. It was the nights she didn't pick Grant's stories that concerned her and made her worry Zora was starting to forget her daddy. "Which story are you going to pick?" She chuckled quietly when the little finger smacked against an icon on the screen. "Peppa Pig…how shocking. You're too young to be this predictable, kiddo."

"Mama, sshh," she hissed and put her finger against her lips, mimicking an action she'd seen countless times before.

She worked hard not to laugh before whispering, "Sorry."

"Hi, Zora!"

"Da-da," she squealed, waving at the screen. "Hi-hi, da-da."

"Are you being a good girl for mama?"

"Zora goo."

"Good. You want to hear Peppa Goes Swimming? You sure love that pig."

It was bizarre hearing the voice of Angela's husband, but seeing Zora so animated and happily interacting with the screen overrode most of the awkwardness for Shawn and almost made him smile. Almost. At least until it hit him that Zora had no idea her father wasn't coming home. Death was a concept way beyond what her mere fourteen months could comprehend. Hell, he was pushing forty and still didn't understand it himself. He wondered how much Jude was able to grasp. Yes, he was older than Zora, but not by much. He wasn't even three yet. Did he understand the permanence of death?

Speaking of Jude, he noticed the boy was no longer sitting beside him on the floor. They had been racing his Hot Wheels down a ramp. Shawn was embarrassed that it took a few minutes and a look from Angela to remind him that he was the adult and to let the little child win, at least sometimes. He'd been so caught up in playing with a toy he'd never had he forgot for a moment. But Jude's cars were abandoned beside the ramp and he was now on the couch with his sister and mother, laughing at the story and interacting with the image on the screen.

What surprised him most was Angela. All day it seemed she was on the verge of tears, especially whenever her husband came up in conversation. Right now though, there were no tears. She was smiling. Sure, it wasn't an overwhelming, 'everything is great' kind of smile, but she was more at peace than he had seen her since the beach this morning. He got the sense that he didn't belong, that he was intruding on this deeply personal family moment. It wasn't a surprise when he was able to slip out of the room unnoticed.

/

/

"Here you go. Here's your bunny." Angela placed the pink, long-eared bunny into Zora's crib and smiled when she automatically threw an arm around the stuffed animal and closed her eyes. She ran her fingers through her daughter's curls and kissed her forehead. "Good night." She walked a few feet over to Jude's bed next. She'd put the kids into the master bedroom with her the day she learned of her husband's death. They'd have to move back to their own rooms eventually, but she wasn't ready to let them go yet, even if it was just down the hall. She kept telling herself it was best for them, that they needed to be near their mama right now. But the truth was she needed to be near her babies. She needed them to give her the strength to get up every day.

"Mama?"

She smiled at Jude and sat at the edge of his bed. "Time to go to sleep."

"Hugs," he asked, holding out his arms.

Angela leaned down and wrapped him in a tight hug. "I love you, baby."

"'Love you, mama. I sleep in the big bed with you?"

He asked that every night and more often than not she woke up in the morning with Jude in bed with her. She knew no matter what she said tomorrow would start likely the same. "You need to try to sleep in your big boy bed first. If you need me you can come get me. You know that."

"Hug Mr. Spotty, too," he said, shoving his stuffed snow leopard into her side. "So this way he no a-scared."

She hugged his prized possession before giving it back. "Did that work or does he need another hug?"

"He good."

"Good, I'm glad." She tucked the sheet securely around Jude and Spotty. "Go to sleep. I'll see you both in the morning."

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"When daddy come home?"

She sighed. The tough conversations always seemed to come at bedtime. "Do you remember what we talked about? You remember how we talked about daddy and how he's not coming home?"

"Yeah," he responded softly.

"You remember when I told you that daddy got hurt very bad inside his body and doctors tried to fix him but they couldn't? When they couldn't fix him he died."

"But when he come home?"

"Jude, when someone dies they can't come home."

"But why?"

"Because he-because….that's just the way it is." She clenched his hands in one of hers and struggled for words to explain it in a way he would understand. "Mama doesn't know why. I wish he could come home but he can't."

"Not never?"

She shook her head and brushed a tear from her cheek. "No."

"But I want him to!"

"I know, baby, I know. I do, too." Angela lowered the guard rail and got into the bed, curling herself around her son. "Do you know what I do when I miss daddy?"

"You sad."

"Yes, a lot of times I'm sad and miss him so much I cry. Sometimes I feel mad and want to yell and scream because it's not fair. And it's okay if you feel mad and want to yell or feel sad and want to cry. That's okay. Tell mama and I will yell and cry with you." She took a deep breath in order to maintain control, but she didn't stop any tears that fell. It was important that Jude know it was okay to cry. "But do you know my favorite thing to do? I love to remember all of the good things about daddy that made me happy. I think about the times he made me laugh and smile. When did daddy make you laugh?"

"Birdie took his lunch," Jude asked through giggles.

Angela laughed as memories of a day not that long ago came flooding back to her. They decided to take advantage of a free weekday and took the kids to the beach for a picnic lunch. Grant had gotten up from their blanket to retrieve a toy one of the dogs was too lazy to fetch when, out of nowhere, a seagull swooped down and stole the sandwich right out of his hand. "That was so funny, right?"

"It just went whoop…" Jude waved his hands around. "…and it stoled his food. Daddy got mad and said lots of bad words."

"Mama didn't like the bad words so much. But it was funny. You remember what else we did that day?"

"What?"

"We got ice cream cones and we played Frisbee with Nala and Marshmallow-"

"-and daddy help me made a sand house."

"Yeah, you and daddy made a big sand castle. I think it was the biggest one ever."

"But then Marshy lay down on it and broke it."

"He didn't mean to. Marshmallow is just a big, silly dog." She kissed his forehead. "What else about daddy makes you happy?"

"He lifted up a house!"

Grant was helping his brother level out the floors on his new home. This required jacking up a corner of the house. Of course Jude didn't see it that way. He saw it as his daddy lifting a whole house by himself. "Daddy was very strong."

"He more stronger than anybody."

"Yes, he was. We are very lucky, you know?"

"Why?"

"We got to love daddy and be his family; you and me and Zora."

"We are the winners?"

"Yeah, we're winners. Out of all the daddies in the world we got the very best one." He yawned and leaned against her. "Are you okay to go to sleep now," she asked. "I have to go downstairs so I can let Nala and Marshmallow in after Mr. Reggie brings them back from their walk."

"I okay. Spotty is okay, too."

"Good." She sat up and put the guard rail back in place. "I'll be back in a little while. After I get the doggies to bed I have to have my snack and my story, remember?"

"Mama, can I have my soft book?"

Angela leaned over and grabbed the book from a shelf. It was a cloth book that had family pictures. She had it made for Jude during one of Grant's deployments because he was afraid their son would forget him. "Here you go."

He opened it to the first page, a family portrait. "No Zora."

"Zora was hiding in my belly when we made it, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I forget."

She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Good night. I will see you in the morning."

"'Night-night, mama."

Angela closed the door quietly, leaving it ajar just in case Jude needed her. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned around and saw Shawn standing in the hall. "What the hell are you doing out here," she hissed.

He grabbed his arm where she smacked him. "Ow."

"That's what you get for scaring me."

"I didn't mean to."

"What exactly did you mean to do? What, are you spying on me?"

"No, I just…I left my phone charger in my rental car and you took the keys away from Zora earlier. I looked around but didn't see them." While he hadn't intended to eavesdrop, he also didn't want to barge into her bedroom and interrupt what seemed to be a serious conversation with her son. But he needed his charger so the best course of action seemed to be to wait for her to come back out.

"I think I put the keys on top of the fridge. Sorry for snapping at you."

"That's okay." He followed her down the hall. "By the way, that was really impressive."

"What was?"

"How you handled things with Jude…all of his questions. You knew exactly what to say. He really understood, too." Angela stopped halfway down the stairs and turned around to face him, her eyes glistening with tears. "That's amazing for a kid his age."

"We've had that conversation multiple times. Almost every night he asks when daddy's coming home and every night I have to break his little heart and explain that daddy isn't coming home ever again."

Shawn didn't know what to say. So he said nothing.

"You think your life is hard? You want to trade places with me right now?"

His response was barely audible. "No."

She chuckled humorlessly and shook her head. "I didn't think so."

/

Though physical exhaustion weighed heavily on him, Shawn was unable to sleep. He glanced at the time and saw that, while it wasn't terribly late here, it was approaching one in the morning in New York and his body was still on New York time. As much as he wanted to blame the unfamiliar sleeping quarters he knew that wasn't it. It wasn't even about Angela, well at least not in the way he thought it would be. She looked haunted. Even when she smiled and laughed there was an aura of hurt and sadness that seemed to be etched into her soul. An ever-fixed mark, though not the kind Shakespeare talked about in the sonnets she introduced him to twenty or so years ago.

After a few more minutes spent tossing and turning he kicked the blanket off and sat up. Would it be rude to go downstairs and see if Angela had anything appropriate for a late night snack, ruder still to raid the kids' juice boxes and their graham crackers? He decided it wouldn't matter so long as he replaced them before he flew back home. Shawn wasn't sure what time Angela went to bed, but figured if he felt this exhausted being mostly a spectator to her life she had to be bone-tired and passed out by now. He quietly crept down the hall, praying he didn't come across any surprise baby gates he'd have to hurdle. Luckily the guest room was on the first floor and he didn't have to mess with the gates on the stairs.

Shawn made it to the kitchen without incident but before he could get his snack noise coming from the other room caught his attention, music specifically. After a minute or two of hesitation he decided to check it out and, after scaling a dreaded baby gate, found the living room empty. He frowned but then noticed a door that, he had earlier assumed led to a closet, was opened. He stuck his head inside and found Angela on a couch. She had a guitar across her lap, a notebook in front of her, and photo albums spread out on every available flat surface. He also spotted a half-eaten sandwich and remnants of a peach, much to his relief. He hadn't seen her eat more than two bites all day.

She was scribbling something down and he knew better than to interrupt. After all these years he still remembered how she looked when she was lost in her creative process. It didn't matter if it was an article for the school paper, an assignment for a creative writing class, a poem, or apparently a song- the look was the same and only a fool would intrude now. A few seconds later she dropped the pencil and picked up her guitar. She sang of love and loss, the cruelties of fate, and the joy you felt for being able to take the ride at all. Shawn felt tears stinging his eyes long before she played the final note.

"What are you doing here," she asked, not bothering to look back. "Isn't it like one in the morning your time."

He cleared his throat and waited a few seconds before he felt safe to speak. "How did you know? I thought I was pretty quiet."

"I could smell your hotel shampoo."

Shawn thought it odd that shampoo from his shower fifteen hours ago gave him away, but didn't challenge her. "Can I come it?"

"If you want."

"That's a beautiful song."

"I've still got some work to do on it, but thanks."

The further into the room he came the more he noticed the walls. At first Shawn thought the objects hanging to be pictures. After all, there was no shortage of them anywhere else. But most of what decorated this room weren't photographs. They were awards. There were a lot of military awards belonging to both Angela's father and husband. She also had awards up here, fairly prestigious writing awards from all over the globe. She'd been printed in languages he'd never heard of before. When he got to the next wall he stopped in his tracks. "Is that platinum record?"

"Yeah, I wrote a song, a record company liked it, someone famous decided to sing it, and it sold really well."

He read the title on the mock album. "You wrote that? That song was everywhere a few years ago. Wasn't it in all those promos for a big summer blockbuster?" He had vague memories of Riley and Maya constantly blasting the song. How weird they were singing Angela's words.

"That was the summer Jude was born so that whole timeframe is a bit of a blur, but yes."

Shawn stopped just short of touching the record. It was then he noticed a few gold albums beside it for other songs. "I can't believe I didn't know you wrote music, too."

"I use my married name to write songs. My agent thought it would be better to distinguish my songwriting from my more serious journalism. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Angela Moore writes about war, famine, political unrest, and environmental conservation. Angie Sinclair writes the music. They're both me, just different sides of me."

That explained it. While he was very well acquainted with Angela, Angie was a stranger. "So this new song…working on it for someone famous?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure I'll ever show it to anybody. I just know that I have to get it out of my system."

"I know what you mean." Shawn continued to scan the wall and was confused when he came to a photograph. Angela and Grant were in a hospital room and he was all smiles while she looked ready to commit murder. "What's going on here?"

She laughed when she saw where he was pointing and joined him by the wall. "I was in labor with Jude and Grant thought it would be fun to commemorate hour twenty-four of labor with a selfie. He meant it as a badge of honor, like 'look how bad ass and tough my wife is for surviving this' but I didn't see it that way. The last thing I wanted in my face was a camera. Seconds after that picture was taken I threatened to given him a vasectomy with a chainsaw."

He squirmed involuntarily. "Ouch."

"Don't screw with a woman in labor."

"Noted."

"Anyway, Grant insisted on hanging the picture up in here. He said it was the perfect addition to our brag room."

"A brag room?

"It's too big to be a closet and too small for anything else and as much as we liked to brag on each other, we were humble about our own accomplishments and didn't want to display our stuff around the house. This seemed like a good use of the room."

"It's better than hiding it in a box."

Angela straightened the photograph and remembered the day nearly three years ago when they welcomed Jude into the world. It had been a long, exhausting process, but she didn't remember the pain, the agony. All she remembered was finally having her little boy in her arms and the pride in Grant's eyes when he saw his son for the first time. He thanked her over and over for making him a daddy. She never imagined that he'd only get to be a daddy for a short amount of time before he was ripped away from them without warning. Now she had to raise their children alone and she didn't know how to do it without him.

Shawn could see she was lost in thought, but before he could even wonder if it was his place to ask her about it, something on the inside of her left wrist caught his eye. "Who's Arily?"

"What?"

"Your tattoo."

She looked down at her wrist before tracing the letters- Grant's handwriting- with her right index finger. "Always remember I love you."

"Huh?"

"A.R.I.L.Y. It's an acronym: Always Remember I Love You. Whenever Grant was…when he was deployed there was no guarantee it would be safe for him to contact me. Even when he could it was often just a quick text or email. We found a way to say all we were feeling with just a few letters. There were so many times his communication would consist of just this. But whenever I saw A.R.I.L.Y. I knew he was okay. I even got a text the morning he…it said A.R.I.L.Y.. So I thought he was safe," she whispered, tears threatening to spill out. "He was supposed to be safe."

"Angela-"

"We were six months away. Six damn months and then we were going to be free."

What was there to say? Hell, he didn't even know what she meant by six months away. "Angela, it's okay."

"No! It's not okay. My husband's dead. My kid's don't have their father. It's never going to be okay again! Why is this happening? What did I do to deserve this?"

Shawn decided to take a chance. He expected Angela to reject the hug and push him away, but she didn't. She clung to him as if her life depended on it. Her face was buried in his shirt and he soon felt her tears soaking through to his skin. He wanted to say something reassuring, something that would bring her comfort, but was at a loss. Nothing he could ever say would be good enough. This wasn't something he could fix.

So he did the only thing he could: he held her and didn't let go.

*I wish I could take credit for A.R.I.L.Y. but I can't. I don't remember where or when I saw/heard it, but I always thought it was very sweet.