Hatchling

an excerpt

Today the first hatchling emerges from the gravel and dying maple leaves. A rough moody pebble to match the overcast sky and heaviness of the coming season.

Mason, always keen to avoid his highchair, spots it while retrieving a catnip-stuffed baby sock for Fuzzy. Truth be told, the cat should get the credit for this discovery, but rarely is credit given where it’s deserved. “Mama, they’re here!” Mason says, pushing a chubby finger into the hole of our screen door.

I offer a “That’s nice” while passing the relish to Gary. My half-hearted response only seems to spur Mason’s enthusiasm. He yanks on the door, and Fuzzy hunches forward, ready to pounce.

“Not yet, please. We’re still eating,” I say, curling my finger for his return, but now Cedric is under the table, army-crawling toward his brother. My eldest, Nora, stands, her gaze pacing between me, her dad, and the back door as if a traveling cosmetic-mobile has appeared and not an abandoned baby turtle.