Part Two: Owen
Owen Hale moved in two houses down when Finn was six.
He was a small, quiet boy with red hair and freckles and big glasses that kept sliding down his nose. He was the same age as Finn. Same grade at Pittman Elementary.
They met on the sidewalk the first week. Owen was drawing a map of the neighborhood in chalk. Finn asked what he was doing. Owen said he was marking where all the good climbing trees were.
They’ve been best friends ever since.
Owen’s mother, Beth, was a single mom then. She’s a nurse in the intensive care unit at Mercy Hospital. She worked nights. Long shifts. Twelve hours, sometimes more.
I’d keep Owen when she worked. Sometimes on weeknights. Sometimes on weekends.
And here’s the thing I didn’t understand until much later.
When Owen slept over, Finn slept through the night.
I noticed it the first month. Owen would come over with his red sleeping bag, the one with OWEN written on the bottom in black marker. They’d lay their sleeping bags side by side on Finn’s bedroom floor. They’d whisper and giggle until I yelled at them to go to sleep.
And Finn wouldn’t wake up screaming.
Not once. Not on a single night Owen was there.
I asked Finn about it once, when he was seven.
“Why do you sleep better when Owen’s here?” I asked.
He thought about it the way he thinks about everything. Slowly and seriously.
“Because if I wake up,” he said, “I can hear him breathing. And then I know I’m not by myself.”
Part Three: Wade
Beth met Wade Parker two years ago.
He was a sales rep for a medical supply company. He’d come into the ICU to demonstrate a new kind of IV pump. He asked her to coffee in the hospital cafeteria.
He was charming. Handsome in a salesman sort of way. Broad shoulders, a big smile, a firm handshake. He remembered everybody’s name.
They got married last spring. Six months ago. A small wedding in the backyard of Beth’s house, with string lights and a taco truck and a DJ.
I went. Finn went. Owen was the ring bearer, in a little gray suit with the sleeves too long.
Wade gave a toast. He talked about how lucky he was to be getting not just a wife, but a son.
He looked right at Owen when he said it.
Owen looked at his shoes.
I liked Wade.
That’s the part I can’t forget. I liked him.
He was friendly. Welcoming. He shook my hand at the wedding and said, “Any friend of Owen’s is family to us. Finn’s welcome anytime.”
After the wedding, Beth’s schedule changed.
The ICU was short-staffed. She picked up Friday and Saturday nights. Seven p.m. to seven a.m. It paid a differential. Wade’s sales job was commission-only, and money was tight, she said.
That’s when the weekend sleepovers started.
The first Friday in September, Owen called Finn.
“Can you sleep over?” he asked. “This weekend? My mom’s working and Wade said you could come.”
Finn asked me. I said yes.
I drove him over at six. Wade answered the door in a Kansas City Chiefs T-shirt with a beer in his hand.
“Finn!” he said. “Come on in, buddy. Owen’s in the back.”
He smiled at me.
“Don’t worry, April,” he said. “We’ve got pizza and a movie. I’ll have him back to you by noon on Sunday.”
He did. Sunday at noon, Finn came home. Tired. Quiet. I figured they’d stayed up late playing video games.
The next Friday, Owen called again.
And the next.
And the next.
Every Friday for two months.
I’d drive Finn over at six. Wade would answer the door. I’d watch Finn walk inside with his blue duffel bag and his dark-blue sleeping bag.
And I’d drive home believing everything was fine.…
