“Shh,” Ashley whispers, placing an index finger on her lips. “I finally cajoled Aidan to nap. He’s been so wired since we moved to this apartment. I can’t figure out why.”
I take a cleansing breath and enter. “Does he know I’ll be here when he wakes? I don’t want to scare him.”
“Yes. He’ll remember you. He’s a very smart boy…like his father.” Her eyes tear up, and she sniffs.
“Pardon me for asking and tell me if I’m being too intrusive. How did you lose your husband?”
Her eyes dart around the room as if she’s searching for the words. “It was a freak accident. He was running and tried to jump an iron fence. But he tripped and fell onto one of the spires.” A tear drops from a corner of one eye.
“Oh, Ashley. I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me for making you relive that. I shouldn’t have asked you.”
“No. It’s OK. It happened soon after Aidan was born. I was finishing my doctorate. I’ve been telling more people since I started dating Jeff. Better to be upfront about my situation.”
Ashley squats to zip up her backpack. “Shit. I left a folder in the bedroom. I’ll be right back.”
As I glance around the living room, I recall my dinner date with Nick. I fell asleep on the sofa. Hers is in the same place. She returns, puts the folder away, and picks up her backpack.
“I have fifteen minutes to get to campus. Thank you so much for watching him.”
“No problem. I’m almost sorry he’s asleep. I was looking forward to some playtime with him.”
“If you’re lucky, he’ll sleep right through, and he won’t know you were even here. Relax or do schoolwork. That’s what the undergrads do when they babysit. I’ll be back in two hours.”
Ashley exits the apartment, and I settle onto the sofa with my laptop. I try to concentrate on my capstone project, typing into the document, but my memories won’t let me focus. All the good times with Nick replay in my head—meeting in his office at the Celtic Studies department, laughing together at the Raven Pub, loving gazes shared. The image of his true self as a Tuatha Dé fairy flashes in my brain, and I shudder. When I look up, I flinch at Aidan, who is standing directly in front of me.
“Where Mommy?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.
“She’s at school teaching. Your nap should have lasted another hour. Why are you awake?”
“Itchy inside.” He scratches his abdomen. “Play with me?”
A grin brightens my face. “Yes. What would you like to do?”
Aidan turns and points at the pile of toys in the corner of the living room. I close my laptop in time for him to grab my hand and drag me over to his playthings. After spending thirty minutes stacking donut rings, sorting puzzles, hammering fake nails into wood, and generally making a mess, he becomes antsy and runs across the room.
“Catch me?” he asks, giggling.
The fidgety toddler darts from one side of the room to the other, stopping to jump up and down on an upholstered side chair.
“Aidan, get down from there. I don’t think Mommy lets you do that.”
He giggles again, continuing to jump from one cushion to the next, his sapphire eyes twinkling. I gesture to him to sit down, applying my stern face so he knows I mean business, but he continues to hop from one end of the sofa to the other. I’ve had enough of this, and he’s out of control.
“Aidan,” I say, holding him by the arms. “You need to sit down.”
We collapse onto the cushions, and I hold him still. Ashley has a tiny kid’s chair in another corner. It must be for time-out. I clasp the bundle of energy in my hand and guide him to it. I set him on the little seat.
“You need to sit there for two—”
He darts past me and jumps up and down on the cushions again, giggling so hard he can barely breathe. Wow…this kid has had no discipline. My leg shakes as my menopausal bladder calls. How the hell can I use the toilet? He falls on the couch, laughing and pointing at me. Aidan—one. Gwynedd—zero. Shit. What am I going to do?
I grab him by the hand again and guide him to the corner. “Time-out, Aidan. Sit in your chair.”
“No!” he shouts, stamping a foot. “Play.”
He runs around the room, over and under tables and chairs.
“You little imp,” I mumble under my breath.
My leg is shaking like a jackhammer, and my bladder is about to burst. So, I do what any impatient witch would do. I raise my right hand, reciting an incantation to corral him, and send a wave of magic at the mischievous toddler. The amber swirls around the boy, picks him up, and carries him to the chair. I chant another spell to lock him in place. He struggles to break free but remains in the seat.
“Ha. You’re not going anywhere now, are you? I have to go to the potty, but I’ll be right back.”
I dash to the toilet in the nick of time, moaning in relief. Aidan’s whimpering in the distance tugs at my heart. My actions were a copout. Certainly, Ashley can’t use magic to discipline her son.
Once I’ve done my business and I’m washing my hands, a mournful sentiment overtakes me. I rush down the hallways and turn the corner. Aidan comes into view. For a split second, I see an eerie halo hovering over the boy, green glowing fairy wings sprouting from his back like those of a butterfly. An aura swims over me with a whoosh!
When I blink, the image disappears, but a mild aroma of moss remains. I scan the living room, searching for signs of Nuada seeping from the walls. Nothing. Damn the PTSD! Or is the remnant of his magic still present, fucking with my brain?
As I amble to the sweet boy, he frowns at me. With a wave of my hand, I release him from the spell and kneel in front of him.
“I’m sorry, Aidan. I shouldn’t have held you in the chair with my invisible hands.” What else can I call it? He’s going to tell Ashley something that makes no sense. Better I give him a name for the spell that will confuse her.
He glares at me, his face blazing with the redness of fiery fury. “You’re mean.”
“Yeah. Sometimes adults make mistakes. But you weren’t listening to me. You could get hurt running around the apartment. You need to be safe. So, if you dart, I’ll have to pull out my invisible hands again. Do you understand?”
“OK,” he mutters. Then he yawns and puts his arms up. “Go to bed.”
