Tibby's wet hands slid across my cheek. She was singing some weird high-pitched Disney-esque song and she smelled like syrup.
"Tweet tweet sang the birdy and ribbit said the frog as they sat on the log in the bog. Chirp little birdy, hoppy little frog..."
"Baby, why are your hands wet?"
Her face pressed close to mine, hers infinitely softer because of the lingering baby fat. "I peed my pants and I washeded them in the sink."
That was all I needed to hear. I was awake. My eyes opened wide. My hand tentatively slid along the bed.
It was soaked.
"Oh Tibs," I groaned. Her eyes widened.
"I'm sorry! I cleaned it! I cleaned good!"
"It's okay," I said noticing that she had changed into my spare t-shirt, the hem of which was practically hanging on the ground. I got out of bed and kissed her head.
"Can you go downstairs and watch TV? Don't touch anything but the remote."
Tibby nodded. "Okay," she said quietly. She turned and promptly turned out of the room, launching right back into song.
I swore she was bipolar sometimes, but only in the best way possible. I glanced back at the bed, the wet spot immediately noticeable and began to strip stuff down. I dreaded seeing the mess she had made in the bathroom across the hall. Images of wall to wall water and a pair of soggy, yellow stained pajamas hanging over the toilet floated through my mind.
"Everything okay?"
Brian leaned against the door frame. His hair was a mess, but more than that, he was clad only in pajama pants that sat low on his hips. It was the first time in a long time I had seen him shirtless. My eyes were not immune to appreciating a good looking man and I drank him in for a second, my heart twisting slightly at the sight of the faded scar on his chest.
"Tibby wet the bed. I'm sorry," I said.
He smiled, looking far from angry. "Don't be sorry. It happens. Here let me help."
"No, it's okay. Her mess is my mess."
"And your mess is my mess."
"It is not."
"Is too."
"Is not."
He walked towards me. "Is too."
"Is--"
He grabbed me before I could get the rest out. His fingers got right under my armpits, tickling me with fervor. A snort escaped my nose as I doubled over, the sheet falling out of my hands.
"No!" I gasped. "Please! No! Stop!"
"You don't mean it!" Brian laughed. I twisted into him, more reflex than anything else. If he didn't stop soon, we were going to have two messes on our hands, but he was relentless.
"STOP!" I squealed.
"LET GO OF MY MOM!"
Brian stopped, his face registering complete shock. I dropped to the floor, my pits still tingling from the tickle assault. I looked over at Cole. His hands were clenched into fists, his eyes brimming with tears.
"Sweetie, it's okay," I said softly. "He wasn't hurting me he was--"
"But," his voice had dropped about five levels in volume. "that's what you said before," he whispered.
"Listen," Brian said, finding his voice. "I'm not going to hurt your momma. And--" he held up a hand, stopping Cole from interrupting. "If the guy who did hurt her comes anywhere near her or you guys, I'm going to kill him."
The words were laced with sheer venom and spoken with such absoluteness that I was sure even Cole could see the sincerity of the threat.
"What's going on?"
Baylee popped up behind Cole. Before the two boys could start bickering, Brian pointed towards the stairs..
"Why don't you guys go downstairs and watch some TV? Once we're done here we're all going to IHOP."
"Sweet," Baylee said. He left, but Cole remained.
"I promise you," Brian said as gently as possible. "I'm not going to hurt her. Or you. Or Tibby. Please believe me, son."
The look in Cole's eyes could have melted plastic. "I'm not your son," he said. "My dad died for our country. He was brave."
And with that, he turned and stomped down the stairs. Silence took over.
"Well," I finally said, my voice wavering. "That went well."
"I want to know the whole story, Jill."
I scrambled back to my feet and picked up the sheet. No sooner had I started to fold it over he grabbed it from me. Gently, he took my shoulders.
"Look at me."
With a heavy sigh, I looked up.
"What happened to you?"
"We had only dated about two months when I found out I was pregnant. I didn't realize that he had the temper that he did or that he had spent time in jail for beating his ex-wife. It was the first and only rebound after Paul and I just wasn't thinking. It just felt so good to be wanted and I just screwed up."
As someone who was far from the greatest storyteller, I had managed to tell the story practically backwards from the point where I was laying stabbed and dying, eliminating a few things here and there. My hands ached from all of the wringing that I was putting them through. We were sitting side by side on the stripped down bed.
"So his name's Gregg Hixsenbaugh?"
"Yeah," I nodded, hating the sound of that name. "By the time Tibby was born I had been beat around so much that I knew I wasn't going to give her his last name. He wasn't at the hospital when she was born and I never told him, but I refused to even put his name on the certificate."
"He wasn't at the hospital?" I shook my head. "He got arrested on a marijuana charge that night and was still sitting around waiting to be booked and bonded."
The sadness in Brian's eyes made me feel awash in shame and stupidity even though I knew that wasn't his intent. "Did your parents know?"
"Are you kidding? Of course not. My parents moved after I finished college to be closer to my brother in Chicago. I was still in Michigan and I just couldn't...I just couldn't tell them. I was ashamed. I made up an excuse why Gregg wasn't at the hospital and made up a lie about why it wasn't a good time for my parents to come stay even though Cole was little and all Tibby did was cry." Brian didn't ask anything else. Ever so slowly he reached over and undid my twisted hands, holding them both tightly. His lips pressed against my forehead.
"He won't hurt you again," he whispered. "I meant what I said."
I felt a large tear drip down my cheek. "We can't stay here. I won't ask you to do this."
"You're not asking. I'm tell--"
"Mommy, Aunt Bee's on the phone! Why are you crying?"
Tibby stood there, still in my t-shirt, holding my cellphone. Her eyes widened in concern.
"I just stubbed my toe," I lied. Brian let go of my hands and I quickly wiped my face. "Gimme the phone, babe."
"Here go!" she said, skipping into the room. She handed me the phone and smiled up at Brian. He picked her up and she began to laugh.
"Hello?"
"Jill, it's Bee." Her voice sounded more panicked than I had ever heard in my life. My heart began to pound. Something happened. Something bad.
"What's wrong?" I said.
"It's the house," she said.
"Who's house?"
"Your house. Mikael just got a call."
"It's been burned to the ground."
