I turned back.

“Thanks. I know this is an awful way to spend your time.”

Another punch to the gut.

“Jules,” I told her as my eyes pinned her in place, “watching you scrub that toilet and playing a horribly boring game over and over again is the highlight of my day.”

And that’s the truth.

Well, mostly the truth. I’d rather have been watching a movie, but whatever. I think she got my point that I would take her how I could get her. And besides, I’m still trying to figure things out. Trying to figure out what I’m trying to get out of all of this, and whether or not I can even see any feasible way of getting some time with her alone to figure those things out.

But for now . . . this works.

I’m not in a rush.

“Let’s play again,” Levy says aggressively as he pulls all the gingerbread men back to the start. “I want to win again.”

I groan internally but try to put a pleasant smile on my face. Luckily, I’m saved when Jules walks into the tiny kitchen that opens up into the living room and says, “Okay kids. It’s time to get to bed.”

This is met by grumbles all around, but fuck . . . they’re kind of cute doing it. They’re each ready for bed, even though it’s only a little after eight p.m. as Jules had them take their respective baths immediately after dinner. Annabelle has on a pink pajama set that has a unicorn on the front. It looks old and faded but totally comfy. Levy is wearing equally faded Batman pajamas while Rocco sports Superman pj’s.

Jules levels them all with a stern look and holds an arm out, indicating for each of them to precede her down the hallway. More grumbling as Levy and Rocco mutter goodnights to me, but Annabelle hops off the chair and runs around the table. “Thank you for the pizza and playing with us.”

She looks so much like Jules, there’s no wonder I originally thought she was their mother. This means that Melody and Jules must look a lot alike. Tonight I’ve been very impressed with how well-adjusted the kids seem, despite losing their mom four months ago. And Jules . . . she’s a fucking dynamo, easily alternating between loving aunt and stern guardian when needed.

“You’re welcome, Annabelle. Can’t wait to play with you again.”

She gives me a huge grin and turns around to run down the hallway. Jules shoots me a soft smile before turning to follow the kids down the short hallway. That smile . . . the way in which she said thank you in about a million different ways with just that one look has me rising from my chair and following them down the hall, intrigued to see how she gets the kids to sleep.

The first door on the left is where I find all of them, as Rocco and Levy climb into a double bed and Annabelle waits patiently for Jules to tuck them in. Watching her hold the covers up so they can push their little legs in, then pulling them up to their chins . . . the way she leans across the bed and kisses first Rocco on the forehead, and then pulling back to do the same to Levy, touches me deeply. She may feel in over her head, and this I know because I’ve seen the look of frustration and defeat at times, she’s a fucking natural at this. Whether it’s raising her niece and nephews or her own children, she was destined to be a mother one day.

Jules turns out the light, picks Annabelle up and perches her on her hip. She sees me standing in the doorway and her look is accepting of me watching the intimacy of their bedtime ritual. I even get a soft smile as I step back from the doorway to let her by before following her to the room on the opposite side of the hall.

I immediately know this is Jules’ room because this is only a two bedroom apartment and I quickly figure Annabelle sleeps in here with her. A small bedside lamp is on, casting the room in a warm glow. Her comforter is done in mint green with tiny roses embroidered around the edges. It’s a little more feminine than I would have pictured a strong woman like her having, but it works, I guess. As Jules starts the process of tucking Annabelle in, which apparently includes reading her favorite book, I walk over to a dresser on the opposite wall of the small room and pick up a frame that holds a picture of two women.

I immediately know this is Jules and her sister, Melody. They’re both outside and the sun is shining bright on them. Both of them have the same eyes, which seem to glow not only from the rays of the sun but from sort of an inner vitality that you can tell they both possess. Their arms are wrapped tightly around each other and their cheeks are pressed together as they look at the camera and appear to be laughing at whoever is taking the picture. It’s both gorgeous and sad, knowing that one of those lights is completely snuffed out and the other has been dampened.

I set the frame down, vaguely listen as Jules reads about a giraffe that can’t dance to Annabelle, and my eyes slide to a painting on the wall to the side of her dresser.

It’s done in gallery wrap canvas and I’m stunned by the boldness of the colors, only enhanced by the boldness of the brushstrokes. It’s a night scene, the sky done in various shades of blue darkening at the horizon and getting lighter in the foreground. A lone row of autumn trees colored in oranges and reds are lit up from below by streetlamps, and a concrete walkway runs parallel. A woman walks along the path, her back to the viewer. She’s wearing a trench coat and carries a bright yellow umbrella to shield her from the rain. But I don’t need the umbrella to tell me it’s raining in the painting. I know this because the leaves on the trees are dewy looking and the streetlights are reflected on the concrete, which looks shiny and slick. What really strikes me about the painting though is that I immediately recognize details like that, but it’s not because of fine brushstrokes. Rather, it’s done in chunky swatches of color that if you were to look closely at it, wouldn’t make sense, but from afar I can tell without a doubt that it’s a dark rainy night.

I wonder why she’s got such a remarkable painting in this room and I also have to wonder how she afforded it, because it’s quality work and I’d like to know more about the artist. My mother is a freak when it comes to original pieces of art, and our house back in Montreal is filled with all of her finds. She’d love something like this I’m sure.

I turn to the bed and see Jules has finished the story and is pulling the covers up around Annabelle, so I make my way to the bedroom door. She bends down and kisses Annabelle on the forehead, same as she did for the boys, but Annabelle responds by grabbing Jules around the neck and giving her a hug that’s very fierce for such a little girl.