Page 45 of Out on a Limb

“My dad left when I was five.” Cameron spoke to the wall. He had no intention of moving. “When he would come home from work, he would carry me on his shoulders and walk around the neighborhood singing Bob Dylan songs. And then he’d tuck me in at night and check for monsters under my bed. One day, he never came home. He left us a note on the kitchen counter. He didn’t want to be a husband and a father. I slept by the door night after night, just hoping he’d come back, until I realized that I was being a fucking idiot. People don’t come back.”

Cameron didn’t turn, didn’t move. His body was a tense knot folded into itself.

Walker turned to him and became his big spoon. He wrapped his arm over Cameron, and gave him his warmth. They lay there in silence, neither of them thinking this was a cheap ploy for sex.

CHAPTER fifteen

Cameron

Cameron woke up in a familiar bed with familiar arms spooned around him. His mind scrambled for a second before remembering the details of last night. Trivia, Legos, talking about TV. Talking about his dad. Cameron turned red at the memory. Damn Walker for being such a great listener, and a flawless big spoon.

Daylight poured in through the windows and reflected off the mirrored closet doors. Walker’s peaceful breath brushed against his neck.

Their positions hadn’t changed from last night. They lay on top of the covers in their clothes. Cameron wanted to know what time it was, but he didn’t want to move.

“Dad?” Hobie called out from the other side of the door.

Walker woke up. He took in their surroundings and dressed state. “Did you say something?”

Cameron pointed at the door.

“Dad? Is there school today?”

Walker rolled out of bed, literally, smack onto the floor. He checked the alarm clock, which he had never set. “Shit.”

The time was 7:45. Early for Cameron, not for everyone else.

“Hobie, give me a second. Okay, bud?” Walker shouted to his son.

He paced around the room, nodding at different items. His mental to-do, Cameron figured.

Walker took off his ratty Browerton shirt. Cameron enjoyed the view. “I’m going to hop in the shower.” Then he stopped. “No. I should get Hobie ready first. Hobie,” he called out. “Did you brush your teeth?”

“Do I have to?”

Walker continued talking to himself, the stress of the morning piling up exponentially. “I’ll get him dressed and ready. But that means he’ll have to wait while I get ready. I can give him cereal, but we don’t have time to let him pour. He’ll hate that. Shit, and I have to let Patricia know I’m going to be late.”

He paused mid-pace. Cameron was sitting on the bed, watching this whole exercise. He held up a hand. “Don’t worry about me.”

Thank you, Walker’s face seemed to scream at him.

“You can head out,” Walker said. “You don’t have to stay for the circus.”

“There’s a circus?” Hobie yelled through the door.

“It’s a metaphor!”

Cameron should’ve left to let them get ready on their own, but he didn’t want to leave the guy hanging. Walker didn’t get to enjoy more than three seconds of waking up in bed.

“New plan. You shower. I’ll watch Hobie.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what you just agreed to?”

“I want to help.” Cameron found himself eager to spend more time with Hobie. The kid was a game, and last night, Cameron made it to the next level. Cameron got off the bed and pushed Walker toward his bathroom. “Besides, I’ve taken care of drunk friends having emotional breakdowns in a Denny’s parking lot during a hailstorm. This should be a cake walk.”