Chapter 14: Colt's POV: The Couch

Colt's POV

The bungalow had a green door, a porch swing with one bad chain, and a kitchen the size of a closet.

I had signed the lease that morning without reading it.

Now my wife stood in the middle of the front room with a bag on each shoulder, looking at the walls.

"Two bedrooms," I said. "The kids get the one with the twin beds. You take the big one. I'm on the couch."

"Fine."

"I put clean sheets on both."

"Colt. I said fine."

Birdie had already gone through the whole place at a run, in her raincoat, opening every cupboard.

"There's no piano," she announced from the hall.

"I know, bug."

"How do you write songs with no piano?"

"I don't write them," I said. "Your mother does."

It came out before I thought about it.

Linnea looked at me.

I looked at the floor.

It was the first time I had said it out loud in my own house, to my own kids.

It should have taken less than six years.

Gus had found the couch and climbed on it with his sneakers on.

"Is this where you sleep?"

"Starting tonight."

"It's lumpy."

"I know, buddy."

"You can have my fox," he said. "But only for the night. He's not a couch fox."

"I'll keep him warm," I said.

We fed them grilled cheese and had them in bed by eight.

I did all the bear's voices again from the doorway with the lights off.

Linnea sat on the edge of Birdie's mattress and did not leave until both of them were breathing slow.

Then she walked into the kitchen and shut the swinging door behind her.

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