kocz would be for herpes sores to appear, how long it would be before I’d have to smear myself with whatever creams and salves doctors might prescribe. She put her dishtowel on the counter, bent down to touch my cheek. A pitter patter of little feet came down the staircase, a sound that normally induced a smile. Upon entering the kitchen, Taylor, our seven-yearold, spotted the sudsy water spilling down to the floor and sensed immediately something was amiss. He brought his hand to his open mouth. I felt for him, for he was astute enough to surmise the tension. He stood in terror, bracing himself against the doorjamb, afraid to join us in the wet kitchen. Michael, our youngest, however showed no hesitation. He trotted into the room in a footed blue sleeper. He was two years old. We had been trying to wean him from his pacifier for months and my first thought was one of disappointment, for he was sucking on that thing again. He too had been crying but he looked up at us in wide-eyed amazement and leapt into the puddle. “Water,” he shouted, splashing himself. Goaded by Michael’s example, Taylor inched into the kitchen. He was a light sleeper and this was not the first time he awoke because of our arguments. Some children are naturally bold, naturally rambunctious. He was not among them. He bent down and touched the widening puddle. I loved my boys equally, but it was Taylor I worried about most, how lost he seemed at times, how needing of a good hug. “Are you okay, buddy?” I asked. “Why are you sitting in water, Daddy?” One of the buttons was missing on his plaid pajama top, which had become too snug for comfort around the arms. Soon it would be time to buy him clothes in the next size up. We’d been tossing his old clothing in a box to give to
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