“You look like you escaped from a bakery during a tornado.”
He giggled.
I took him inside.
I sat him on the kitchen counter and started washing his hands with a damp towel while he kicked his sneakers against the cabinet.
Then, without warning, he said:
“Mommy, Daddy is on Aunt Dana.”
I stopped wiping his fingers.
“What?”
“Daddy.”
He pointed toward the backyard.
“Daddy is on Aunt Dana.”
I smiled because I assumed he meant Mark was standing near her.
“Yes, Daddy’s outside with Aunt Dana.”
“No.”
Tyler shook his head impatiently.
“On her.”
Kids say strange things.
Once, Tyler told me the moon had followed us home because it wanted cereal.
So I wasn’t alarmed.
Not yet.
“What do you mean, on her?”
He pulled his hands away.
“I saw Daddy under her shirt.”
My stomach tightened slightly.
“Tyler.”
“I did.”
“What did you see?”
He slid off the counter.
“Come.”
“Buddy—”
“Come!”
He grabbed two of my fingers and pulled me toward the sliding door.
Outside, Dana was talking to Mark’s younger sister near the drinks table.
Tyler stopped.
“There.”
He pointed.
Dana noticed us and smiled.
“What?”
Tyler pointed again.
“Daddy.”
Dana laughed.
Mark’s sister laughed too.
I forced out a small laugh because I still didn’t understand.
Then I noticed where Tyler was pointing.
Not at Dana’s face.
Not behind her.
At her side.
