More Things In Heaven And Earth

Chapter Four

The unhappy person resents it when you try to cheer him up, because that means he has to stop dwelling on himself and start paying attention to the universe. Unhappiness is the ultimate form of self-indulgence. When you're unhappy, you get to pay a lot of attention to yourself. You get to take yourself oh so very seriously. -Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume

We arrived at my house and headed inside to find Michael waiting with enough Chinese food to feed a village in the Himalayas.

"I brought company," I announced, pecking him on the lips, and wrapping him in a hug. I could have contentedly stayed in his arms forever if not for the little cannonball that crashed into my legs.

I stooped down and squeezed my youngest son. "I missed you, Mr. Stinky."

He squirmed out of my embrace. "Daddy gived me cookies for lunch," he announced puffing his chest out with pride.

"Traitor," Michael accused, tousling Ike's hair. "Go get your brother. Tell him it's time to eat real food."

"Donny!" he yelled, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and raced out of the room.

Michael extended a hand to Freyja. "It's nice to see you again."

"Thank you. It's nice to be here. You have a lovely family."

"I couldn't agree more," he said, grabbing my hand and giving it a quick kiss. "How'd it go out there?" He asked me.

I shrugged. "It was," I paused. What was it? Informative? Interesting? I settle on, "sort of depressing. I felt better once Freyja showed up."

I asked her a question that had been brewing in my mind since the last time I'd seen her. "Are you always exerting some kind of happy magic, or is it something you're intentional about?"

"I make it a point to always be intentional, but a gift is part of one's being. In some moments it's highlighted more than others, but it's always there."

Donovan strutted into the room with his ear buds stuffed into his ears, bobbing his head like a skinny chicken in a desperate attempt to look cool.

Michael thwaped him on the back of the head. "Women aren't impressed by smug jerks. They like men who listen to them."

Donny slumped in a chair, flushing deep crimson.

I busied myself washing my hands so he wouldn't see the amusement on my face.

We were all seated at the table and enjoying the high sodium feast when my son found his voice and asked Freyja a question. "You're not like us, are you?"

My head snapped up. Michael froze, his fork halfway to his mouth and a frown creasing his brow.

Freyja sipped her beer. "We're all unique, Donovan. The One who made us has boundless creativity."

He leaned forward on his elbows, searching her face. "Yeah, but, you're... like... not from around here."

"I actually live very close by," she told him, and his expression changed to the dark sulkiness that had become far too common.

"Donny," I started, hoping to draw him back into the light before he became totally lost to his mood. "Freyja is a big reader, too. I'd bet she'd love to hear about the book you found last week at that thrift shop."

"May I be excused?" Donovan asked Michael.

Michael said he could, and we all watched him go.

"I'm sorry," I apologized to Freyja.