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The Eavesdropper

The job of tucking in kids that kept springing from their beds was over.

Sort of.

And so we sat. My husband in the chair against the wall. And me Indian style atop our bed. We talked in low voices, my day, then his.

Until we heard it. The creak of a small boy leaving his bottom bunk.

In seconds our son appeared in the doorway, his face mostly asleep. “Would it be okay,” he grogged, “okay if I just rest?”

We shrugged. Resting was still a kid in his bed.

“Cuz I just know,” he explained, “I just know what you’re saying is gonna be interesting and I can’t turn my ears off.”


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