Assumption of Guilt
by
Owlcroft

"Beej?" she mumbled, struggling out of sleep. It was pitch-dark and quiet, but she felt for him and found his side of the bed empty. "Oh," she whispered, and managed to get out of bed and out into the hallway. There she could hear a murmur of sound, which resolved itself as she neared their son's bedroom door.

"You feeling any better now, chick?"

"Uh-huh. Little bit."

"It's okay. I'm right here. Anything you need, I'll get it for you." A brief silence fell, and Lydia peeked around the edge of the door to see Beetlejuice adjusting the small boy's blankets around him. He then settled a little closer to their son and checked Chazz's temperature with the back of his hand.

"Tummy okay now? You have a headache or anything?"

Chazz shook his head weakly. "Papa, don't go anywhere yet."

Beetlejuice smiled at him. "'Course I won't. I'll be right here. And you'll feel better soon, okay?"

Lydia stood by the door and watched her husband care for their child, tenderly and carefully. And she felt her heart swell with love for both of them, then an uneasy idea crept in and took root. She hadn't known Chazz wasn't feeling well. She hadn't heard him whimper or call out. In fact, when one of the children needed help or wanted someone, they always seemed to call their father. Not her. Was she that bad a mother? Did she not pay them enough attention or seem to love them as much as her husband did? They just didn't rely on her, depend on her, trust her like they did their father. She was nearly overcome with self-recrimination as she crept back to bed.

Beetlejuice stayed with his son, holding him gently until he was fully asleep again, then left a message in the air beside the pillow: "I'll hear you if you need anything."

ooooo

As he settled back in their bed, Lydia spoke in a quiet voice. "Chazz is okay now, isn't he? Doesn't need anything else, need . . . me?"

"Nah. He just had a little tummy upset. Kids do, you know." Beetlejuice snuggled under the covers. "I gave him a little flat ginger ale and he's already asleep again." He yawned widely, then sighed. "I think he overdid it with those gummy worms tonight, is all. We probably should've kept track of how many he had, but he'll be fine now."

She bit her lip, then said, "They always call you. They always do, Beej."

"Huh?" he muttered sleepily.

"The kids always call for you and I never even heard him tonight, never knew anything was wrong until I woke up and you weren't here," she said unhappily. "Remember, last year in the hospital, when he broke his arm, Chazz asked for you. Both of them – they ask for you, they want you when they're hurt or scared or confused or . . . whatever. Beej, they want you. Am I that bad a mother?"

He turned onto his side and raised up on an elbow. "Are you serious?" He took a close look at her and her distress was obvious. "Lyds, dearest – you can't really think that!" When he saw that she did, he spoke again in a soft voice. "Both kids always ask you for help, with their school stuff, with friends, with . . . Dear one, babes, when Trix had to do that school project, she went straight to you to find out how. They know I'm not good at that sort of thing. I've always told them you're the one that knows what to do and what's right and all. They know I come to you when there's a question or I need help or I just want you to hold me for a while. And they do the same thing." He heard a faint sniff and bent a worried face down to hers. "They do. And they love you so much. Almost as much as I do. You're a terrific mother!"

Lydia shook her head sadly. "They do love me, I know that. But you're the one they both look to when there's a problem. Not me."

At that point, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her forehead. "You know how sometimes I'm a big dope?" He didn't wait for her to respond, but went right on. "Well, right now, you're being a big dope, okay? They don't look to me for anything more than they do with you. I've always told them you're the one in charge of just about everything and they – and I – know you're the one person we can always rely on to tell us what's wrong or what's right, what to do or not to do, to figure everything out for us. Heart's treasure, listen to me. I asked Chazz tonight if he wanted me to get you and do you know what he said?" When she remained silent, he told her, "He said 'Mama works so hard for us all day, we should let her sleep. Poor Mama. But you'll tell her about it, Papa, please?' And now I have."

She bit her lip, then looked up at him. "But I didn't even hear him. I'm his mother and I should know when he's sick."

"Of course you didn't hear him. He didn't even say anything, but you know I've set up all sorts of protections and alarms and alerts and stuff. So I knew when he needed one of us and I could get there in less than a second. Why wake you up if there wasn't anything really wrong?"

"Is that true? He didn't call you, didn't make any noise that I should've heard?" She was looking at him intently, but the sadness had changed to inquiry and hope.

"Can you remember the last time I lied to you, about anything? I can't – it has to be years and years ago." He pushed a lock of hair from her face, then kissed her again. "He pushed the alert button, so to speak, and I responded, that's all. And if he'd been really sick or in trouble, I would have fetched you right away. You know that, don't you?"

She nodded, mutely, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"And when I got there, he told me he thought he was about to throw up, and he did and I got him back to bed and then I pushed the look-for-me button and you woke up and found me." He screwed his face sideways. "That's . . . sort of the way it works, anyway."

She raised her head to look at him directly. "I woke up because of a look-for-me button? Beej, really?"

"Yeah," he sounded just a little defensive. "You're awful hard to wake up, 'specially in the middle of the night, so I set up a . . . an alarm that you'd . . . sort of 'hear' and then I pushed that and you woke up and came and found us." The uncertainty in his voice increased just a little. "That's okay, right?"

"Of course it is." She nestled thoughtfully against him. "So they always want you because you'll know it right away, no matter where they are or what the problem is?"

"Yeah. That's all it is. It's not because I'm their favorite or they think I'm better at stuff." He twisted his head to look directly at her. "Big dope," he told her.

Lydia sighed and snugged her head under his chin. "I guess I am a dope." She thought for a few moments, then added, "Sorry. It used to be you that was insecure, but now . . . sorry," she repeated.

Beetlejuice yawned again. "No need to be sorry. Everybody gets to be a dope once in a while." He settled a little deeper into his pillow, wriggling just a bit. "Long as it's important stuff, it's okay to be a dope." He sighed in contentment. "Once in a while."

She closed her eyes and, just as she began to drowse, heard him murmur, "But my turn next time," just as he drifted off.