Walking Disaster

protective, even if he was eight minutes older.
    I puffed. “Let me talk to her.”
    “Jess! Dad’s on the phone!”
    A sweet, small voice came over the line. It was amazing to me that she could be as savage as I ever was, and still sound—and look—like an angel.
    “Hi, Daddy.”
    “Baby . . . did you find some trouble today?”
    “It wasn’t my fault, Daddy.”
    “It never is.”
    “Jay was bleeding. He was pinned down.”
    My blood boiled, but steering my kids in the right direction came first. “What did Papa say?”
    “He said, ‘It’s about time someone humbled Steven Matese.’”
    I was glad she couldn’t see me smile at her spot-on Jim Maddox impression.
    “I don’t blame you for wanting to defend your brother, Jess, but you have to let him fight some battles on his own.”
    “I will. Just not when he’s on the ground.”
    I choked back another swell of laughter. “Let me talk to Mom. I’ll be home in a few hours. Love you bunches, baby.”
    “Love you, too, Daddy!”
    The phone scratched a bit as it made the transition from Jessica to Abby, and then my wife’s smooth voice was back on the line.
    “You didn’t help at all, did you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
    “Probably not. She had a good argument.”
    “She always does.”
    “True. Listen, we’re pulling up to the airport. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”
    When the driver parked next to the curb in the terminal, I rushed to pull out my bag from the trunk. Sarah, Thomas’s assistant, just sent through an email with my itinerary, and my flight
was leaving in half an hour. I rushed through check-in and security, and made it to the gate just as they were calling the first group.
    The flight home seemed to last an eternity, as they always did. Even though I used a quarter of it to freshen up and change clothes in the bathroom—which was always a challenge—the
time left over still dragged by.
    Knowing my family was waiting for me was brutal, but the fact that it was my and Abby’s eleventh anniversary made it even worse. I just wanted to hold my wife. It was all I had ever wanted
to do. I was just as in love with her in our eleventh year as I was in the first.
    Every anniversary was a victory, a middle finger to everyone who thought we wouldn’t last. Abby tamed me, marriage settled me down, and when I became a father, my entire outlook
changed.
    I stared down at my wrist and pulled back my cuff. Abby’s nickname was still there, and it still made me feel better knowing it was there.
    The plane landed, and I had to keep myself from sprinting through the terminal. Once I got to my car, my patience had expired. For the first time in years, I ran stoplights and weaved in and out
of traffic. It was actually kind of fun, reminding me of my college days.
    I pulled into the drive and turned off the headlights. The front porch light flipped on as I approached.
    Abby opened the door, her caramel hair just barely grazing her shoulders, and her big gray eyes, although a little tired, showed how relieved she was to see me. I pulled her into my arms, trying
not to squeeze her too tightly.
    “Oh my God,” I sighed, burying my face in her hair. “I missed you so much.”
    Abby pulled away, touching the cut on my brow. “Did you take a fall?”
    “It was a rough day at work. I might have run into the car door when I was leaving for the airport.”
    Abby pulled me against her again, digging her fingers into my back. “I’m so glad you’re home. The kids are in bed, but they refuse to go to sleep until you tuck them
in.”
    I pulled back and nodded, and then bent at the waist, cupping Abby’s round stomach. “How about you?” I asked my third child. I kissed Abby’s protruding belly button, and
then stood up again.
    Abby rubbed her middle in a circular motion. “He’s still cooking.”
    “Good.” I pulled a small box from my carry-on and held it in front of me. “Eleven years today, we were in Vegas. It’s still the best day of my life.”
    Abby took the box, and then tugged on my hand until we were in the entryway. It smelled like a combination of cleaner, candles, and kids. It smelled like home.
    “I got you something, too.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “Yeah.” She smiled. She left me for a moment, disappearing into the office, and then came out with a manila envelope. “Open it.”
    “You got me mail? Best wife, ever,” I teased.
    Abby simply smiled.
    I opened the lip, and pulled out the small stack