33 Dinner is eaten. The table is cleared. Dishes washed. And I am lying in bed with Joey reading Where The Wild Things are. “How come there isn’t a dad?” Joey asks. “I don’t know,” I say, “I never noticed that.” “Do you think he is traveling for a work vacation?” Joey says. “He might be,” I say, “dads do what they have to for their families. That’s part of what makes them dads.” “Like you,” he says. “Yes, exactly,” I say, rolling over and laying my head on his shoulder. “And it’s not because you don’t love us,” Joey says, “or would rather be somewhere else, right?” “No, never,” I say, “you and your mom are the best things that ever happened to me.” “But you could do something closer to home, couldn’t you?” Joey says. “I’m not sure baby, should I look into that?” I say, trying to fight the feeling of impossibility that immediately creeps into my brain. “Yes, okay, whatever,” he says getting drowsy. It is now, right now, that I’m supposed to tell him that I’m leaving again, but I don’t, can’t, I’m too chicken. “Tell me about your dad,” he says, his eyes closing and dreamy. “I didn’t really know him,” I say. “I would hate that,” Joey says curling away from me and facing the wall. “Me too,” I say as he falls asleep, “me too…” ...