Tommy Is Here
Kelly
The door opens behind me—there's a tiny squeak I keep meaning to fix because it wakes him up sometimes when we come in to check.
"Be quiet!" I whisper. He's up and awake, but sometimes if he doesn't see anyone or hear anything, he'll just go back to sleep.
I keep him on my shoulder while I sway a little, patting his fat, diapered bottom, that always makes me smile. Sometimes I call him Trunk just because it makes me laugh. I imagine a day when he'll be fifteen and I call him that in front of his friends to embarrass him.
My grin at the idea fades quickly as I hear Holly step into the room and pray she isn't going to try to talk me into coming back to watch the concert right away. I need a break. This is welcome distraction. Seeing Crash, especially close up, makes my hands ache to touch him, and my heart . . .