Chapter 50

I was only in charge of little Archibald Wilkes for an hour that day. Upon Faye’s return, relief again, but also sorrow battled for control.

“Don’t forget your hat.” The minute she took it off Archie’s little head, he started to sniffle. His face scrunched right up. His special eyes watered.

“He can keep it,” I said. “I have a bunch.”

* * * *

As I came out of the recollection, I was glad to see Archie looking so peaceful. If only one of us could sleep, I was glad it was him. Reaching toward the thirty-year-old Pepsi cap on the side rung of his headboard, I brushed his hair again, instead. The memento of our past nearing antiquity status by now might disintegrate in my hands, I feared.