Page 24 of Bear’s House

Daddy sat down beside me, noticing immediately.

"What's going on, Soy?"

He put his hand on my forehead and his eyebrows went up.

"You're warm," he said.

I nodded and made a face without meaning to. I didn't like acting like a baby, but sometimes I couldn't help it.

"What's going on?"

"Things at school haven't been great," I said, low, looking at my hands.

I knew I was going to be in trouble for not telling him sooner, but he just looked at me with those warm eyes and that long, neat beard, patient and concerned.

"Tell me."

And then, before I could say another word, we heard my brothers yelling at each other downstairs.

"You're being an idiot!" JJ's voice.

"Don't talk to me like that!" Mikey's voice back.

Daddy sighed.

"I'm going to go sort that out," he told me. "While I do — I want you to call the school and let them know you won't be in today."

"I'm not that bad," I said. "It's more work to send plans for a sub than to just go in with a fever."

He shook his head.

"You're always responsible and you never miss work, but today you're not well. And it's not a suggestion." He paused. "I can call for you if you'd like, but I imagine they'll have some questions about who this man is and why he's calling in for one of their teachers."

We both laughed at that.

"But Sawyer," he continued, more serious, "you really don't look well. You've got dark circles and you're pale. You're staying home and I'm going to take care of you. You are not responsible for them not hiring enough substitutes. Send in one of your emergency plans. They'll survive without you for a day."

"Okay," I murmured.

I felt guilty. But also enormously relieved that I didn't have to go. He had taken the decision out of my hands, which meant I didn't have a choice — and there was nothing better than not having the weight of a choice to make. That was exactly why I liked being a sub.

I called the school bracing for pushback and got none. They just said fine. I emailed in one of the substitute plans I kept ready for emergencies, so it didn't take long. When I was done, I closed my laptop and lay back down, and for the first time all week I felt the real weight of my exhaustion settle over me.

The thing was, I still wanted to believe this wasn't a virus. That it was just stress.

Daddy came back with breakfast on a tray. A glass of orange juice and three pancakes stacked on top of each other, covered in maple syrup. He was spoiling me. He set the tray beside me while I sat up and leaned against the headboard and kissed my cheek.

"Now you're going to tell me what's been going on."

My eyes filled up.

"Sorry for not telling you sooner," I said.

"First of all, it's okay," he said. "But we do need to talk about why you felt like you couldn't come to me. Tell me — am I failing you somewhere? Because I need to fix it. I'm supposed to be your safe place."

"No, Daddy!" I said immediately, feeling awful. "It's not your fault. I just wanted to handle it myself."

"I know you're a big boy," he said. "But I'm here to take care of you and to help you. That's how this works. It doesn't matter how big you get — you're still my boy, and I need you to let me help you."