The Museum of Lost Love. Gary Barker

to regret. He felt relief when he, too, could sleep.

      Most nights, as he crossed over into sleep, Tyler’s last conscious moment was one of longing—for warm skin touching him and a mouth close to his. It didn’t surprise him when a short time later his sleep was interrupted by one of the boys, or both, calling for a glass of water, or, more often, crying out for their respective mothers. He understood their cry, shared it even. Still, no matter how quickly he reached their room in response to their cries, he was an impostor parent.

      This new life had started with a phone call less than a year before.

      Tyler, it’s me. Melissa.

      Melissa. It’s been a long time. How um … Where are you? Are you back in Austin?

      Yes, visiting. I want to see you. I have something to tell you.

      …

      It’s not what you think.

      …

      I heard you made it back from Afghanistan in one piece. I mean, unless you have PTSD or something.

      No, I’m okay. I think. But thank you for asking.

      Can I come over? There’s someone I want you to meet.

      …

      It’s your son.

      Jesus, Melissa. Shit, why didn’t you tell me?

      And why didn’t you tell me you were joining the army, Tyler?

      Melissa, you wrote me off long before I enlisted. If I had known …

      Tyler, I told you I wasn’t looking for anything when we met.

      And so you couldn’t even bother to tell me you were pregnant, and had …?

      Look, Tyler …

      Shit, I can’t believe you waited all this time to tell me.

      …

      …

      You still with me, Tyler?

      Yeah.

      So are you back at being a cop?

      Yeah. Bastrop County Sheriff’s Department.

      You got a girl? Some good Christian lady you can take home to meet your momma?

      No, Melissa, there’s no one at the moment, good Christian or otherwise.

      Where are you living?

      I’ve got an apartment in Bastrop. The county gave me one.

      The county gave you one? What, are you on welfare or something?

      It’s an apartment complex where battered women and their children live. County supports it. Run by the family crisis agency. They give me the apartment for free. Need a cop around. Makes the women feel safer. You know, just in case any of the guys try to come look for them.

      Wow. There’s got to be a word for that. Lots of mistreated, lonely women and a hot, single cop. What would that be? Supply meets demand?

      Can I meet him, Melissa?

      That’s why I called.

      It was Friday and he didn’t have patrol that weekend. As he hung up, the first thing he thought about was what four-year-old boys liked to eat. This was something he learned to do in Afghanistan. When that out-of-control feeling came over him, those moments on patrol when an IED or an ambush might be around the next corner, he learned to focus on something small, something obvious. A task to complete.

      The next morning Melissa brought Sammy over. Tyler had thought about proposing that they meet at the park by the river, or at a coffee shop, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to see his son’s face for the first time with strangers around. He wasn’t sure how he would react, or how he was supposed to act.

      Melissa rang from the front gate of the apartment complex and Tyler buzzed them in. He heard the knock at the door and stood up. He looked around his simple, mostly undecorated apartment to make sure it was presentable to a four-year-old, and to Melissa.

      Tyler opened the door. Melissa wore a tropical print dress. His eyes were drawn to her tan neck. He remembered resting his head there. She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. Melissa smelled much the same as he remembered, like sandalwood. Tyler thought he could smell pot on her breath.

      “You look good,” she said. “You can still break hearts. I bet the women here don’t mind having you around.”

      Their gazes turned at the same time to Sammy, who was closely examining a Big Wheel outside an apartment two doors down from Tyler’s.

      “Sammy, come meet Tyler. This is who I told you about. He’s your daddy. Remember what we talked about?”

      Sammy lingered for a moment near the Big Wheel and then walked towards them.

      Tyler felt a flush of his skin, like a first kiss or that moment when a girl he liked suddenly noticed him. That was the only feeling that came close to this. He felt Sammy’s eyes on him, but even more so he felt a stare from Melissa, a look that he could not understand.

      He bent down and extended his hand. Sammy looked at him with a serious but calm face and shook it.

      “So, Sammy, I’m Tyler. I’m really happy to meet you. I really am. I didn’t …”

      “Can we come in?” Melissa asked.

      “Yes, of course. Come on in. I got some juice and cookies for Sammy.”

      Sammy part-hopped, part-jumped, part-walked in, and began to inspect the apartment. He saw Tyler’s guitars in their stands and walked over to one of them.

      “Be careful with those, Sammy,” Melissa said.

      “It’s okay. You can touch them if you’re careful,” Tyler said.

      Sammy strummed one of the guitars and wiggled in response to the sound.

      “Can you play something?” Sammy said, looking back at Tyler.

      Tyler picked up the closest acoustic guitar and started to pick Blackbird by the Beatles.

      Sammy smiled and Tyler smiled back.

      “Do you like to draw?” Sammy asked, looking at Tyler.

      Tyler stopped playing.

      “Don’t get too excited, Tyler. Every three-year-old on the planet likes to draw,” Melissa said.

      “I’m four,” Sammy said.

      “Of course, I know, honey.”

      “Yeah, I do like to draw,” Tyler said. “Hang on a second and I’ll get some paper and pencils and we can both draw.”

      Tyler left the room and returned with a wooden art case that he set on the floor and opened in front of Sammy. Sammy stared, transfixed at the dozens of colored pencils and the paper and the drawings that Tyler pulled out from the case.

      “You’re a good draw-er,” Sammy said.

      Tyler opened up a drawing pad for Sammy.

      “Do you like pencils, or crayons, or pastels …?”

      “Yeah,” Sammy said and picked up a blue pencil.

      A few minutes later, with the two of them engrossed in drawing, Melissa stood up.

      “Hey, you two. I need to go to the pharmacy to get something, okay? I’ll let you two get acquainted. I’ll be back in a little while.”

      As she closed the door, Tyler stopped drawing long enough to think that it was a little strange that she was leaving Sammy alone when he and Tyler had only just met.

      They continued drawing. Later, Tyler made them both sandwiches, and then he played guitar again and he showed Sammy how to strum while he held the chords. Then they drew some more, taking turns