E. E. burst into the living room that evening, after ten minutes spent in his bedroom, and announced, "I suck."
Zeus had left an hour before, and Lily was coloring in a coloring book on the couch. She glanced up long enough to reply, "No you don't. You're nice." She picked up her Dr. Pepper and took several long gulps.
E. E. actually seemed to brighten a little. He sat down across from Jake and calmly said, "I'm the worst writer in the world."
"You're a writer? What have you ever wrote?" Lily asked.
"Nothing. That's why I'm terrible. Hey, Lily—Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"Owls."
"Owls who?"
"I know that."
She laughed and Dr. Pepper came out her nose.
"The search for your muse not going so well?" Jake asked.
"Not even a little."
"You're good at knock-knock jokes, apparently," Jake said.
"You're right. Maybe that's my true calling. There's nothing embarrassing about being a knock-knock joke writer. Nothing profitable about it either, though. I have a dream that one day I will never again sell cherry blossom lotion to underclothed middle aged men for rent money."
Lily looked up from her coloring book with a confused expression. She said, "I dream about dinosaurs," then returned to her coloring.
Before Rachel came to pick Lily up Monday morning, Jake handed Lily a shiny keychain in the shape of a sailboat. "Put this behind the refrigerator when you get home," he told her.
She put it in her pocket. "All the remote controls are missing," she said.
Jake grabbed a handful of coins from the bowl by the door and gave them to Lily too. "Two or three times a week, put a couple of coins back there for him, too. Can you remember?"
"Yeah," she said. "And don't let Mom see, right?"
"Right." Jake watched her put the keychain and coins away. He wanted to tell her not to worry about it, just to eat her vegetables and mind her mother and not worry about those other things. But there was no one else to take care of those other things, and they must be taken care of.
Rachel came and left with Lily, and Jake stood in his empty apartment, his empty, powerless, grieving apartment.