They were tired and ready for bed. but too excited to settle down. First they couldn't decide what story they wanted to hear; then Tanner wanted one of his dinosaurs to hold, which meant Tucker had to decide which toy he wanted, too. Finally he settled on his Batman figure, which he bounced around on the covers.
Tanner laid down his dinosaur and gave her a very serious look. "I'm going to be in the army when I grow up," he announced.
Tucker nodded, too caught up in a yawn to say anything.
Last week they'd been set on being firemen, so Cate could only wonder at how fast they changed. "Do you know where kings keep their armies?" she asked in wide-eyed seriousness.
They both shook their heads, their own eyes going big.
"In their sleevies."
For several long seconds they stared at her in silence, then began giggling as they got the joke. Sometimes she had to explain jokes to them, but that frustrated them and they loved it when they caught on all by themselves. Behind her her mother gave a soft groan, probably because she remembered that at the twins' age repetition was the name of the game and now she could count on hearing that joke at least a hundred times over the next two weeks.
Cate read them their story, which lulled them to sleep within five minutes. She kissed them good night, then tiptoed out of the room.
Sheila saw the tears in her eyes and hugged her. "You'll be all right, I promise. Just wait until the first day of school; that's when you'll cry your eyes out."
Through her tears Cate had to laugh. "Thanks, Mom, that's such a comfort to know."
"Yes, but if I told you it wouldn't bother you at all, when the day came you'd know I'd lied and you wouldn't trust me again. Of course," Sheila said thoughtfully, "I didn't cry at all when Patrick started school. As I remember, I turned handsprings on the lawn."
Sheila continued to reminisce about Patrick, keeping Cate smiling, until they went to bed. As soon as Cate told her mother good night and closed her bedroom door, however, her eyes filled and her chin wobbled. The boys had never been away overnight before. She was devastated by the prospect. They'd be so far away; if anything happened it would lake her hours and hours to get to them. She wouldn't be able to hear them playing during the day, their shouts and squeals and laughter, the pounding of their feet as they raced around. She wouldn't be able to hug them tight, feel their little bodies close to her own and know they were okay.
Bitterly she wished she'd kept her mouth shut about them going home with her mother, but at the time she'd been panic-stricken - which had been a perfectly normal reaction to having had a gun pointed at her. Her only thought had been to get her children away from any possible danger.
She hadn't known cutting the apron strings would be so difficult. Nor had she intended to cut them now?. When they were five would have been about right. Or six. Maybe even seven.
She had to laugh at herself, a watery gurgle that caught in a hiccup. Part of her had wanted them to be more independent, because being a single parent of two active little boys wasn't easy. She felt as if she never had any downtime, as if she had to be alert every minute of every day, because they could get into trouble in a second. If they were older, more responsible, she could relax a little. She just didn't want them to be older and more responsible right now.
Giving herself pep talks didn't help; neither did reasoning with herself. She cried herself to sleep, already missing the boys so much she ached.
The next morning Cate got up even earlier than usual so she could help her mother get the boys and their stuff loaded in the SUV, as well as do her normal morning cooking. She made hot oatmeal for the boys. because the predawn air was downright cold, but they were too sleepy to eat more than a few bites. Knowing they'd never last all the way to Boise without getting hungry, she prepared each of them a zippered plastic bag of cereal, and sent along two apples just in case.
Dawn hadn't yet arrived when they shepherded the boys outside. Even the cold air didn't rouse them very much. They climbed into their seats, looking adorable in their jeans and sneakers, their little flannel shirts left unbuttoned over their T-shirts. They had resisted wearing jackets, so Cate had gone outside and started the SUV ahead of time, turning the heater on high, and the interior was nice and warm. They settled in, each clutching a chosen toy. Cate kissed each of them, told them to have fun and that they should do what Mimi told them to do, then hugged her mother. "Have a safe trip," she managed to say without her voice quivering too much.
Sheila hugged her in return, patting her back just as she had when Cate was little. "You'll be fine," she said soothingly. "I'll call when we get home, and I'll call or e-mail every day."
Cate didn't want to mention the word homesick where the boys might hear her - she didn't want to plant a seed, in case they knew what the word meant - so she said, "If they get teary - "
"I'll handle it," Sheila interrupted. "I know you agreed to this when you were scared and then nothing happened and you're thinking you were worried for no reason, but... tough. You agreed, and I'm holding you to it. I don't like cutting my visit short, but I'll get the rest of my time when I bring the boys home."
Nothing like some of her mother's no-nonsense commentary to brighten her world, Cate thought, laughing as she got in another hug. Then her mother got behind the wheel, and Cate leaned down for a last look at the boys. Tucker was already asleep. Tanner looked drowsy, but he gave her an impish smile and blew her a kiss. Cate pretended to be staggered by the impact and he giggled.
They would be okay, she thought as she watched the taillights disappear down the gravel road. She had doubts about herself.