Part 1: The Frantic Favor
Rachel’s call came at exactly 6:40 p.m. on a Friday evening. Her voice was pitched high, tight, and frantic, but honestly, that wasn’t unusual for my older sister. Rachel lived her life at a constant, vibrating frequency of manufactured crises and last-minute emergencies.
“Jess, please tell me you’re home,” Rachel said the moment I answered, the sound of aggressive city traffic blaring in the background through her car’s Bluetooth connection.I’m home,” I replied, setting down the book I was reading. “What’s wrong? You sound stressed.”
“I am so stressed I could scream,” she huffed loudly. “Can you babysit Logan tonight? Just overnight. My boss just dumped a massive presentation on my desk that’s due Monday, and I have to go into the office to pull an all-nighter with the team. I’ll pick him up first thing in the morning.”
“Of course,” I said without a second of hesitation.
Logan was my seven-year-old nephew, and he was the absolute light of my life. He was a sweet, observant, quiet kid who loved drawing intricate pictures of dragons and superheroes, and he always remembered to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. I adored him. Given my own long, painful, and ultimately unsuccessful struggles with infertility over the past five years, Logan was the closest thing to a child I would ever have. I cherished every moment I got to spend with him.
“Thank God. You’re a lifesaver,” Rachel breathed heavily. “I’m ten minutes away. I owe you big time.”
When Rachel dropped him off twenty minutes later, she didn’t even turn off the engine of her heavily packed sedan. She practically jogged up my front walkway, thrust his faded Spider-Man backpack into my arms, and bent down to quickly kiss the top of his head.
“Be good for Aunt Jess,” she commanded, not waiting for him to reply. She looked up at me, her eyes darting nervously around my porch. “He already ate dinner. Bed by nine. Don’t let him stay up watching movies all night.”
“Rachel, are you okay?” I asked, noticing the dark circles under her eyes and the strange, rigid way she was holding her shoulders. “You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine, Jess. Just work stress. I really have to go,” she said abruptly.
She turned on her heel and jogged back to her car. She didn’t look back as she pulled out of my driveway, accelerating a little too fast down the suburban street.
I pushed the unease aside and smiled down at Logan, who was standing on my welcome mat, clutching his favorite stuffed shark, “Finn.”
“Well, Mr. Logan,” I said cheerfully, closing the front door. “Looks like it’s just you and me. How about some grilled cheese and cartoon time?”
His face lit up with a small, genuine smile. “Can we watch the new Spider-Man?”