The next morning, as I enjoyed a few extra minutes relaxing in between the cool sheets of my bed, the smell of bacon wafted all the way up the stairs, under the crack in my bedroom door, and straight into my nose. Instantly I knew that Gloria had followed through. I sat up in bed and stretched my arms up high, excited to have some extra time with Logan and Becca. Like an eager kid on Christmas morning, I rushed from my room into Becca’s. What was a late morning for me was still an early morning for my summer sleepyheads. I turned the knob to Becca’s door, cringing as it creaked open. The sun had started to peek through the pink curtains on her window, but she was still sound asleep with Cheer Bear tucked up under her arm. I knelt down next to her bed and brushed a few of the crazy blonde hairs from her face as I leaned in close, nuzzling her cheek with my nose. Even at six years old, she still smelled like a baby to me.
As I planted light kisses on her cheek, she groaned and swatted at me with her hand.
“Baby girl, time to get up,” I whispered, giving her plump cheek more kisses.
“I’m tired,” she whined, rolling away from me.
I put my hand on top of her head, gently massaging her tiny ear with my thumb. “Honey, I’m not going into work for a few hours. I have a surprise for you.”
Just as I expected, when I said the s-word, she sat up slowly, brushing the rest of her wild blonde hair from her face. “Surprise?”
“Yep.” I nodded. “It’s nothing too major, but I think you’ll like it. Why don’t you go potty while I wake Logan?”
She nodded and hopped off her bed as I made my way down the hall to Logan’s bedroom, tiptoeing in quietly. Oddly enough, Logan’s room was my favorite room in the whole house. He was a baseball freak, and I did all I could to nurture his obsession. Last year he’d told me he wanted to redo his room and make it baseball themed. Not only did I agree, I went a little overboard. And by a little, I mean a lot. I hired a local artist to paint his walls to look exactly like Target Field, home of his favorite baseball team . . . the Minnesota Twins. We’d replaced what would have been the Jumbotron in left field with a brand-new TV on the wall, and his bed was where the batter’s box was. A wooden home plate–shaped display case hung on the wall, housing signed baseballs from different Twins players over the years. Logan’s room was basically my dream bedroom as a kid.
I pulled up a stool next to him and sat down. His face was tan from all those hours playing baseball, and his hair was getting blonder and blonder. I reached out and brushed his cheek with the backs of my fingers, and his eyes flinched.
“Buddy.” I leaned in, whispering softly.
His eyes fluttered open, and he frowned at me, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He sat up quickly, almost in a panic.
“Relax, relax.” I put my hand on his shoulder to slow him down. “It’s just Dad.”
He squinted from the bright light of the window, scanned his room quickly, then turned back to me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m going into work a little late today and thought I’d surprise you guys. Go to the bathroom and head downstairs.”
I stood up and moved toward the door.
“Should I change?” he asked, still confused as he looked down at his blue-and-red plaid pajama bottoms.
“Nope. Leave that on. You’re fine.”
Logan went straight across the hall to the bathroom, and I headed down the hall. Becca was sitting at the top of the staircase, hugging her knees while her chin rested on the top of them, half asleep.
“Could you please not fall asleep at the top of the stairs? I really don’t want you rolling down them this morning.” I laughed as I walked down a couple of steps and sat in front of her. “Hop on.”
She knew exactly what I meant, as she climbed onto my back, locking her hands under my chin.
I carried her down the steps and into the kitchen, setting her down on the island.
“No booties on my countertops,” Gloria scolded me as she lifted Becca off the counter and set her down on the stool, kissing her forehead.
“Thanks for this morning, Gloria. I really appreciate it,” I said as sincerely as I could.
She pursed her lips together, eyeing me skeptically as she tucked a container of grapes into a basket. “Yeah, yeah. You owe me for this one, Mr. Shaw.”
“First of all, I’ve been telling you for eight years now, call me Andy. Second, anything you want. Name it.” I winked at her as Logan came into the kitchen.
He looked from the stove to the counter to the table and back to me. “What’s the surprise?”
My eyes slid to Gloria. “Are we all set?”