“We are being led by an idiot with a crayon.”
I turned and glanced at him, my husband for the last eight years as I sketched a map of the air duct system in our house, the only way out of our currently locked panic room. “Hey, I’m not the one who made the play room a panic room. I’m just working with what we’ve got.”
“No, but you are the one who taught Macy how it works.” Macy was our daughter who had just turned seven the week before.
“And what happens if the house were to be broken into?”
He looked at me hard. “And where would you be if this were to hypothetically happen?”
“Here. Probably. But what if I wasn’t? What if it was a babysitter or my sister? You know how my sister can’t work these things.”
He rolled his eyes. “Your sister is perfectly capable of working this system if our seven year old daughter can. And we can teach her babysitters how it works, too.”
“All those people? Declan, I don’t like that many people knowing that much information.”
“As opposed to all of your readers reading about our marital problems in your blog?”
I ran a hand through my hair. “You told me you were fine with that!”
“Who would be fine with that? But you don’t seem to listen to me when I talk to you. All you care about is your precious readers!”
I could only stare at him. “That isn’t true. and when you married me, you got everything that goes with it. I write, because it’s how I process things, and I have a following. It’s what allows us to live here. It’s what sells my books. If I were to suddenly go offline, sales would go down. This is as finished as it’s going to be.” I held out the sketch, which he took to examine.
“Fine.” Declan set the sketch aside and stood on one of the little kiddie chairs for our daughter to reach for the screen on the vent.
“Careful. You don’t want to fall.”
He twisted to look at me. “I’m not going to…” but then he did. It was like it was happening in slow motion. His body twisted, and then he was falling, falling…and then he landed on the floor, and I was running over to him.
“Declan! Declan, are you all right?” I cried as I knelt down before him.
He blinked up at me, surprise evident in his features. “I’m fine. I didn’t know you cared.”
“Of course I care,” I said quietly, unable to take my eyes off of his face. “I love you, you big idiot.”
“I love you, too…even if you are an idiot with a crayon.” He leaned in to kiss me, just as we heard the door creak open.
“Mommy, Daddy, are you done fighting?” Macy stood there in her pjs, ready for bed, staring at us expectantly.
“Yeah, we’re done fighting,” I told her as I stood, holding out a hand to help Declan up. My eyes met his. “But we’re fixing that door, so it locks from the inside.”
“And we’re not giving Macy the passcode,” he added.
“Agreed.” And Declan, Macy, and I made our way out of the play room/panic room. I don’t know about Declan, but I never wanted to see another crayon again.