"I need to go out," Rose said to Jack the next morning. "I’ll be back soon, less than ten minutes. Just watch Jackie and Jackson for me?"
Jack wondered why she felt she needed to ask. "Of course."
Rose kissed him and hugged her children. Jackie was coloring and Jackson was drinking his water. She left, leaving a father and children who knew nothing about each other in her wake.
Jackie struggled to draw the bird sitting on the fire escape railing outside the window. Every attempt was deemed unacceptable and was either turned over to the fresh white side or crumpled and thrown in the trash. Jack watched for a few minutes, then surrendered to the pull he always felt toward paper and pencil when they were around.
"Jackie, the bird moves because it's winter. Let him go," Jackson said.
"Jackson!" Jackie complained. "Why don't you try?"
"Fine," Jackson said, trying on his own. He had his own trouble.
Jack knelt beside the children. "Do you want help?" he asked gently.
They turned their eyes on him. For the second time, he felt a sense of déjà vu, looking into those orbs that seemed to see everything for what it really was. They were his eyes and his love's eyes.
Jackie and Jackson, stubborn as their parents, shook their heads. They were very independent and fiery, like their mother. But after a few tries to draw the little bird again, they turned back to their father and nodded. He smiled. They were exactly like their mother.
He put his hand over each of theirs and guided them over the paper, smoothly creating the joints and feathers of the creature on paper. When each child got the hang of it, he took his hand away and let them finish. They didn’t even notice he had left. They just continued drawing, not perfectly, but they were mesmerized by their own abilities. When they finished, they stared at their work in awe, then looked at each other’s work.
"It looks like the bird," Jackson said.
"Yeah. Mine is better," Jackie said.
"Fine. I admit it. Yours looks a little better than mine," Jackson said.
Jack grinned. Both were amazed that a drawing could look so much like real life. "Thank you," they said, glowing with pride. Then they faltered, and finished, "Dad."
Rose stood in the doorway, looking in on this scene. Close to tears, she wondered if she had ever felt so happy. Not just happy, but proud of her son and daughter, and of Jack, that he was able to break through to them. Jackie and Jackson would be less awkward, more loving towards him. He would be their father. Not just in the literal sense, but in their minds, too.
Jack turned and saw her. For the first time in over seven years, he had a real smile on his face.