Let It Go

Chapter 6
Six

Silently, Trip lifts Joel up, then walks the tyke to his racecar bed, setting his tiny friend inside of it before pulling the sheets and blankets up around him. Trip leans down to kiss him on the nose just as he’s tucking the warming fabrics beneath his shoulders.

“Love you, little dude.”

Trip reaches into his canvas bag, feels his hand come in contact with its target, and pulls out the object.

The stuffed dog is 27 years old, just like Trip. They’ve been inseparable for three decades, five presidential administrations, three foreign countries-- a lot of childhood potty-accidents, a lot of thumbsucking, a lot of crying, a lot of giggling.

He slides the stuffed dog beneath the blankets, gently pressing it against Joel, who instinctively latches onto it, squeezing it between his arm and his chest.

Trip smiles and wipes a little moisture off his cheek. Something must have gotten in his eye.