Cathryn

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With a heavy sigh, Dylan lifted his coffee mug, the one that said World’s Greatest Dad, and sat beside his firstborn, the son who looked so much like him. Cathryn pulled out a chair next to Beth, who was cheerily emptying her backpack of the day’s papers and arranging them in front of her. Cory, already immersed in a library book, sat at one end of the table.

“What’s up?” Justin asked, aware that his first question still hadn’t been answered. Cory lifted his gaze, sensing something peculiar in his brother’s voice.

“We have something to discuss with all of you,” Dylan began. He looked tired, distraught under his surface calm, and Cathryn’s anger ebbed somewhat.

“Something important?” Cory asked.

“Yes, important and difficult, and I’d give anything if I didn’t have to say it.”

Then don’t, Cathryn silently implored, desperate to shield her babies.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Cory and Justin asked simultaneously.

Dylan glanced briefly across the table at Cathryn, then down at his coffee mug. “Kids, your mother and I—”

Cathryn feared he was about to blurt everything and send the children into shell shock. “Before we go any further,” she interrupted, “we want you to understand something. And this is the most important thing of all, so listen up.” Her gaze circled the table. “Beth?” she said to get her daughter’s attention. With everyone listening, she continued, “Your father and I love you. We love you more than anything in the world. And we will always love you, and be here for you.”

Justin paled. “Oh, no,” he murmured, two jumps ahead of his younger siblings.

“What?” Beth asked, head swiveling, curls flying out. “What’s happening, guys?”

Cathryn had more to say, more words of assurance and comfort to impart, but Dylan, perhaps thinking she was done, picked up the ball with, “Your mother and I have hit a rough patch in our marriage.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple working over the ribbing of his crewneck sweater. “And we’ve decided it might be best if I…if I moved out for a while.”

There. It was said. Dylan didn’t breathe, waiting for the children’s reaction. Neither did Cathryn. She couldn’t for the pain encasing her.

“What?” Justin shot to his feet. His lean face, which lately seemed so grown-up to her, became a child’s again, soft and vulnerable.

Cathryn glanced around the table, from Justin to Cory to Beth, watching Dylan’s words sink in. It was like watching her children being lined up and executed. This was abuse. This was consciously inflicting harm on them. And it shouldn’t be happening.

“Sit down, Justin,” Dylan said gently.

Justin sat with caution, as if the chair might not be there anymore. “What kind of rough patch?” he asked. “What do you mean? Did you and Mom have a fight?”

“Sort of. I can’t really get into that right now. It’s between me and her.”

“You’ve had fights before,” Justin argued.

“Yes, but this one was a little different.” Dylan dipped his head to his coffee mug as if he were diving for cover. Cathryn noticed her two youngest had grown unnaturally alert and tense. They seemed to be absorbing the scene with the very cells of their skin.

“How?” Justin persisted. “How was it different?”

“More serious.”

Cathryn could almost hear the gears of Justin’s mind whirring, processing all the adult troubles he’d ever heard about. No! Please let’s not go there.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—everyone was distracted by a hiccupping sound at the end of the table, and turned their attention on Cory, who was struggling not to cry. Embarrassed, he buried his face in the crook of his arm, but his sobs were audible anyway. Although Beth still didn’t seem to fully comprehend what was happening, she sensed calamity and burst into tears, too.

Cathryn considered comforting them with words, but nothing she thought of was true. No, the situation was not all right. There was reason to cry. The only comfort she felt she could give with any honesty was physical—a hug, holding a hand or stroking a head.

“But where are you going, Daddy?” Bethany asked through her jerky whimpers.

Yes, where? Cathryn wondered.

“To Gram and Grandpa McGrath’s farm. I’ll stay in my old room.”

With a fresh stab of pain, Cathryn thought of her in-laws, good, hardworking people both. She loved them, got along well with them, and considered them an inextricable part of her life. Now what? How would they relate to one another after this?

“When are you coming back?” Justin asked his father.

A heavy pause hung over the table. “I’m not sure, Jus,” Dylan replied, staring at his tightly folded, white-knuckled hands. “There’s no timetable to this.”

“But why do you have to leave at all?”

“We…need some time apart.”

Cory lifted his head off his arms, sniffing back tears. His face was mottled and stricken. “From us?”

“No! Not from you, Buddy.” Dylan squeezed Cory’s shoulder. “Not from you. I’ll see you as often as I can,” he said, only making matters worse by reminding the children he wouldn’t be seeing them on a normal basis.

“But who’ll take me to Scouts?” Cory asked.

“I will, same as always,” Dylan replied.

Justin pouted. “And will you still take me to my basketball games?”

“Of course. In fact, I was thinking we could do something special this Saturday after the game. All…four of us. Maybe you could even sleep at the farm that night.” If he expected to see smiles or eager faces, he was sadly mistaken.

“Why are you gonna stay at the farm?” Beth asked, still lagging in understanding.

“They had a fight, stupid,” Justin snapped.

“Take it easy, Justin.” Dylan patted his son’s arm.

“But you are coming back, right?” Cory needed to know.

Dylan hesitated too long.

“You’re not getting divorced, are you?”

Dylan’s swallow was so dry his throat made a scratching noise. “No one’s talking about divorce here.”

Cory’s expression crumbled as if Dylan had said just the opposite. “But who’ll take care of us?”

Shivering with her own insecurities, Cathryn answered, “I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere, love.”

“But—” Lack of confidence filled Cory’s eyes.

“Hey!” Dylan interrupted sternly. “No one’s abandoning you. I’m still going to take care of you. Don’t you dare start thinking I won’t.”

His certitude seemed to assure the children somewhat, the youngest two at least. Cathryn could see that Justin’s thoughts were leaping ahead.

“What’ll we tell our friends?” he inquired, pulling repeatedly on the short blond hair over his right ear.

“You don’t have to tell them anything,” Dylan replied, growing irritated. “It’s nobody’s business.”

“But they’re gonna know.” Tears glistened in Justin’s dark blue eyes. “They’re gonna ask about it.”

“So?”

Cathryn shot her husband a quelling glance before saying, “You can tell them your parents are separated. Use the word separated. And if they want to know more, just tell them the truth, you don’t know the details and, therefore, can’t talk about them.”

Justin sighed and fell into a sullen funk. “Easy for you to say.”

“Does anyone want any more milk?” Cathryn asked, noticing half-full glasses all around the table. The children mumbled no and shook their lowered heads.

She gazed at Dylan, trying to delve his thoughts. Did he have anything to add? Any way to make this better? Apparently not. His eyes were downcast, too.

Justin got up and carried his glass to the sink. Cory and Beth followed his example, their bottom lips jutting and quivering. “Maybe I’ll just go upstairs now and do my homework,” he said. Seeing him hoist his backpack, the younger kids did the same.

“Do you have any other questions?” Cathryn asked. “Any concerns?”

“No,” Justin answered and was followed by two echoes.

“Well, okay. I’ll call you when supper’s ready.” With a knot in her chest that wouldn’t loosen, Cathryn watched her children file out of the kitchen and up to their rooms where, she was sure, no homework would get done.

“Something tells me that didn’t go very well,” Dylan said, placing his coffee mug on the counter.

Cathryn fumed as she wiped cookie crumbs from the table. “You thought it would?”

“I don’t know what I expected.”

She pitched the dishcloth into the sink. “Then maybe you should’ve arrived earlier.”

He nodded, brow pinched, and turned to face the hutch. “Sorry. I…have no excuse.”

Cathryn leaned her hip against the counter, crossed her arms, listened to her speeding heartbeat. “Are you really going to stay at the farm?”

“Yes. I think that’d be best.”

“Did you stay there last night?” When he hesitated, she explained, “I simply want to know if you told your parents, if they know about us, in case I run into them.”