It's possible Charlie learned to read over the course of the next two weeks, because everything he did was straight out of the How a Child Grieves handbook.

Tantrums doubled. And got more physical. Michael and Fiona bobbed and weaved to avoid Charlie's angry limbs.

Underwear was refused; diapers demanded.

Charlie's room became a guest room again; he insisted on sleeping with Michael and Fiona every night.

Lightning McQueen and Sally Carrera action figures frequently rested next to each other, upside down. Dead.

And every day, every fucking day, Charlie asked Michael, or Fiona, or both why his mom, or dad, or both were dead. It seemed to get easier for him to hear, but it never got easier for them to say.

But all this was just at home. At school he was fine. Virginia was almost apologetic about how unchanged he was in class. "It's just because it's so much of a routine," she told them at the end of the first week. "We do the exact same things every day. It's comforting to him. And I know it feels horrible, but it's actually a good thing that he's letting himself go through all this with you. It means he feels safe with you. He doesn't think you're going to leave him if he's mad or bad."

For their part, Michael and Fiona had to find ways to relieve their stress. Michael ran. A lot. And Fiona took up painting. It started when Charlie wanted her to paint with him. The two of them sat on the back deck, covered in Michael's old t-shirts, swirling liquid gems with chunky brushes. Maybe it was the rhythmic back and forth. Maybe it was seeing Charlie so obviously distracted from his pain. Whatever it was, painting was Fiona's therapy. She picked up some grown-up paints and brushes from Michael's, but Charlie's soothed her soul just as much.

While Michael and Fiona didn't expect all of Charlie's reactions, they were prepared for them. They'd read. They'd talked with Virginia. What they didn't expect or prepare for was their reactions to each other. They bickered more. Talked less. And, as often as not, each preferred to be apart from the other.

A month later, Charlie was progressing well. Back in his room most nights. Still grieving, of course, but happy overall. But Michael and Fiona weren't. Still fighting, and unhappy overall. After the third uncomfortable dinner with them and Charlie that ended in Michael and Fiona not speaking, Jesse took action.

Sam was waiting for him in the bar of Elsa's hotel when Jesse arrived half an hour after that third dinner ended. "Hey, man." He stood up to slap Jesse on the back. "Woah," he said, seeing Jesse's grim face. "That bad?"

"That bad," Jesse confirmed. "Tonight it was whether to get Charlie a bike with training wheels or one of those new ones without pedals. What are they called again? Uhh . . . oh yeah, balance bikes."

"They make a bike without pedals?"

"Yeah."

Sam scrunched his eyebrows. "Isn't that just called walking?"

"I don't know. I was scared to ask."

"I hear ya. Hey, you want something?"

"Many beers," Jesse replied.

"Can do," Sam said, smiling. They walked to the bar where Sam talked to Joe the bartender, one of his ninety or ninety-five best friends in the Miami Beach area alone. A minute later they walked to a table, each of them holding three cold bottles in their hands.

"Now we're cookin'," Sam said after a long swig from his first bottle. "Ahhhh. Liquid gold."

"Not gold, Sam. Barely even tin."

"Mouth of the beholder. So how do ya propose we do this? Mike's not gonna talk to us, and Fi's just as likely to shoot us."

"We're not gonna talk to them. One of us'll get Mike and the other'll get Fi and we'll drop 'em off here without their cars. We'll tell 'em in the parking lot we think they could use a break."

"And their clothes?" Sam asked.

"Mike's easy. Just put a bag together for him when you're over there on Friday. Fi . . . we might need help with Fi. I guess just ask Elsa what she thinks Fi would want for a weekend kind of away."

"I'm just supposed to sneak off in a 1900 square foot house and pack a bag for Mike."

"What's the problem?" Jesse asked.

"Mikey isn't gonna be too happy I start riflin' through his unmentionables. And that's assuming I can even do it without him seein' me."

"Just – we'll figure something out. Worst case, we drop 'em off and you go back and get clothes for them."

"Yeah, all right. Me and Elsa'll be in town." Sam laughed with feigned embarrassment. "She said she was gonna reward me for all this domestic stuff we've been doin' lately. Boy, I can't wait to see that, because, I gotta tell ya, she rewards me pretty good as it is. Although that one time I pulled my hammy wasn't – "

"I don't wanna hear it any more than Mike does, Sam. TMI."

"All's I'm sayin' is that ya gotta stretch at our age, man."

"Our age? I don't think so. You could be my dad, dude."

"Well, your pop's been gettin' more action than you for a long time now, so you might wanna take my advice. Can't take that flexibility for granted, Jesse. Not gonna be young forever. Matter of fact, ya really oughta get in a yoga class. We got one here on Tuesday mornings if ya like."

Jesse started in on his second beer.

Saturday started early for everyone. Charlie woke up before dawn. Of course. Which meant Michael and Fiona woke up before dawn. They both knew intellectually there was no reason for both of them to be awake. And they used to trade off morning duty when they could. Now, though, neither of them was concerned with the other's sleep. Misery loves company.

Michael had to be up that morning anyway. Sam was picking him up at 8:15 for a 9:00 tee time. Michael, naturally, had questioned Sam about the ungodly hour when he brought it up late Thursday afternoon. They were supervising Charlie at the park. Sam was ready. "Uh, ya didn't hear it from me, Mikey, but your ma is planning to drop in for a surprise visit at ten. And then she wants to take you and Fi and Charlie to brunch. Figured you'd wanna be anywhere else when that happens."

"How do you know what my mom is planning?"

"Mike, whaddya think she does when you won't talk to her? She calls me or Jesse."

Michael looked at Sam. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. I think she uses Jesse for home improvement projects. Mostly she wants me to come over and drink with her."

"Since when?"

"I dunno, since . . . sometime before Charlie got here, I guess. Course, we had a nice long break there when she was sick. But that appears to be over."

Michael studied Sam's face and took a long beat. "Tell me what's really going on."

"What?" Sam said dismissively. "You think your ma stops being needy when you're not around?"

"Actually, yes, I do think that. That's not my point, though. Tell me why you want me out of the house Saturday morning."

Sam sighed. "Look, Mike, I – ya know, I know you and Fi've been goin' through some stuff, and me and Jesse just thought it'd be good for the two of ya to have some time to yourselves. Elsa set aside a nice suite for ya. Jesse's gonna stay with Charlie at your place, and your ma is gonna be with him some during the daytime."

"We're fine, Sam."

"C'mon, Mike. No you're not."

"Sam, I appreciate your concern, but, honestly, it's none of your business." Michael looked away, staring through the trees into a different world.

Sam was quiet.

"We – we just need to . . ." Michael trailed off.

"Need to?" Sam prompted.

"Need to get over it and move on."

Sam chortled. "Uh, Mikey, this isn't just somethin' you get over."

"And why's that?" Michael turned back to the conversation. "What are our options? The situation isn't going to change. Nate's dead. Ruth's dead. Charlie needs a permanent home. I missing something?"

"Well, no, Mike, that's the situation, and you're right that it's not gonna change, but, I mean, you're human, brother. Of course it's gonna take a toll. I just think it might be good for you and Fi to get out of your routine a little bit, get away from Charlie."

This time Michael was quiet.

"Or, hell, it's a suite. Sit in a different rooms and don't talk to each other. Whatever. But take advantage of the quiet, brother."

Eventually Michael sighed. "Fine." He looked at Sam. "Do we really have a tee time?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact."

"Good."

So, Michael really was going to play golf Saturday morning. Fiona knew the real plan as well. Michael had told her the night before. She was more pragmatic than Michael. The hotel had a spa and a pool; she didn't care past that.

Now that the adults knew what was happening, it was time to tell Charlie. So they did, around eight on Saturday morning.

Charlie did not care for the plan.

"Noooooooo! You have to stay hee-uh!" he choked out between sobs. He got up from his spot on the floor and threw himself at Michael's lower half, wrapping his little arms tightly around his uncle's legs. Michael had been walking around, getting things in order for Jesse, when Fiona told Charlie the plan. But he wasn't walking anymore. The 35-pound, heaving lump sitting on his feet made it hard to move.

Michael looked at Fiona, bewildered, as she hurried to sit next to Charlie on the floor. She rubbed his back and tried to calm him down enough to be comprehensible. In time, the crying subsided, and she managed to extract Charlie from Michael's legs and pull him into her lap.

Michael sat across from them on the floor. Fiona was cradling Charlie and still rubbing his back. Finally, he stopped crying except for the occasional sniffle.

Fiona cleared her throat. "Charlie, what's the matter? Why are you so upset?"

"You have to stay hee-uh in dis house wif me."

"Sweetheart, we'll just be gone for one day and one night. We'll be back in this house tomorrow," she said. "And while we're gone, you're going to have so much fun with Jesse and Grandma. I bet Jesse might even take you to Chuck E. Cheese tonight."

"No, no Jesse. You have to stay hee-uh. No Jesse." The sniffling intensified, and it looked like Charlie was going to start crying again.

Michael spoke. "Why don't you want us to go, Charlie? You love being with Jesse."

"No, you don't go because you will get died!" Now Charlie was back to full-on wailing.

Michael and Fiona looked at each other, stunned by his words, but at the same time embarrassed they didn't figure it out themselves. Then they realized it was the first event out of Charlie's routine since Ruth died.

"Charlie, baby," Fiona soothed, "we're not going to die. Uncle Michael and I are not going to die. We're going to come back tomorrow, and while we're gone you can call us whenever you want. Okay? Jesse can call us anytime you want to talk to us."

"Noooooooo. You will get died." At this point Charlie was so tired from all the crying that he looked and sounded defeated. His pitiful voice turned Michael's eyes watery.

Michael got to his feet. "I'll call Sam," he said to Fiona. "I'll be right back, Charlie. Okay?"

Charlie nodded.

Michael pulled his phone from his pocket and went out the back door. He waited for Sam to answer.

"Hey, Mikey. I'm about 10 minutes away. You excited for your weekend of love and/or sitting alone in separate rooms?"

"Change of plans, Sam. Charlie is freaked out that we're leaving. He's afraid we're going to die. We're going to need to take a rain check."

"Aw, Mike, really? I'm surprised. He's never minded being away from you guys before. He's stayed overnight with me and Elsa, what, three times now? Always loved it."

"That was B.R. Before Ruth," Michael said.

"Ahhhh, I get it. So now he's scared to let you two outta his sight. I can understand that. Poor little fella."

"Mmm," Michael agreed.

"Well, ya still wanna play this morning?"

"Uhh . . . probably should take a rain check on that, too. I don't want to leave Fi with all this."

"All right, brother. Call me if you need anything."

"Thanks, Sam." Michael hung up and stayed frozen in place, still rattled. A minute later, he went inside.

And five minutes after that, his phone rang. Sam.

"Yeah, Sam."

"Mikey, it's time to celebrate Elsa's genius."

"How's that?"

"Bring Charlie with you. Let him stay with us like always, and we'll move you two to a suite down the hall from us. That way he can keep his eye on you, but you can also have your alone time."

"Huh. That might work."

"Yeah, Elsa said it's like a good baby step for him. He'll be happy because he can still be near you, but you're changin' things up just a little bit. Few more baby steps like that, he'll probably be back to okay with leavin' ya."

"Elsa's a genius, Sam."

"I don't waste time on anything less."

And that's how it came to be that Michael, Sam, and Charlie played a round of golf that morning; then Madeline, Fiona, and Charlie had brunch; then Michael, Fiona, and Charlie rolled up to the hotel a little before 1:30.

Fiona dropped the boys off at the main entrance, leaving Michael to deal with 55 pounds of luggage for a 20-hour trip. By this time, Michael was remembering how fun grown-up time with Fiona could be, and he hoped much of the 20 hours would be spent naked. But that added insult to the 55 pounds.

Charlie helped by darting into the revolving door while smudging the sparkling glass with dirty fingerprints and a syrupy tongue. He was about to start his second lap when Michael extended his arm and grabbed him in the crook of his elbow.

"Charlie, explain to me why you lick everything," Michael said as he threw him into a modified fireman's carry over his shoulder. "You're hardwired with a survivalist instinct. It should stop you from voluntarily ingesting foreign germs. You're fighting it too hard."

Charlie was cracking up at being upside down. He (sort of) lightly pummeled the midsection of Michael's back with closed fists.

Michael just shook his head. Then he quickly reached up and tickled Charlie under his armpit. A devilish grin emerged on his face as Charlie convulsed with laughter.

Author's Note: Do you guys know how validating it is to have people comment solely to say they miss the story and want me to update? Love it. I wish I could reply to the guest comments. I also wish there was a way to leave author's notes independently of a chapter.

I go through spurts of creativity. The story was starting to feel forced, so I stopped. Now I feel creative again, so I'm back! I hope to have more to publish soon.