Sleepwalker by Wendy Corsi Staub

fuller than her sister’s. Where Hudson seems old and wise beyond her years, Maddy gives off a sweet naïveté that sometimes makes Mack—and, he knows, Allison as well—fear for her out in the big, bad world.
    Ironic, because they named her after the avenue associated with the cutthroat advertising industry. Back when she was born, though, his career had yet to consume him. Business was booming, he was content, and since they’d already named their firstborn after the Manhattan street where they lived when they met, it seemed appropriate to follow suit with their second child. Plus, Mack thought it would be nice if both the girls’ names ended in “son,” like their mom’s.
    By the time they were expecting J.J., they were over place names for their children. A sonogram had revealed the baby’s gender, and for various reasons, most of them Mack’s, they couldn’t agree on anything suitable for a boy that ended in “son.”
    â€œJameson,” Allison suggested one morning as she flossed her teeth and Mack lathered his face with shaving cream.
    â€œNah. Too close to James.”
    â€œThat’s the point. James’s . . . son.”
    â€œNo. People will confuse him with me.”
    She texted him that afternoon: I’ve got it. Emerson .
    He texted back moments later: That’s a girl name.
    A few days later, she greeted him at the door with, “Jackson. It’s perfect. It’s rugged, and manly, and—”
    â€œAnd about ten people at work have kids named Jackson.”
    â€œHow about Anson?” Allison suggested that night in bed, baby name book propped on her rounded belly.
    â€œThe kids will call him Potsie.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œPotsie. From the TV show Happy Days . The actor who played him was named Anson.”
    â€œOnly you would ever possibly know that in a million years.” Allison shook her head with a laugh. “I give up on the ‘sons.’ He’s going to be our son. That’s enough.”
    She ultimately convinced Mack that the baby should be named after him. Fittingly, J.J. is the spitting image of his daddy. Mini-Mack, Allison sometimes calls him.
    Down the hall in J.J.’s room, he finds his son lying on his back in his crib, snoring softly, his little finger stuck in the corner of his mouth and the blankets kicked off.
    He looks so angelic asleep that Mack has to remind himself what a handful J.J. can be—particularly when he’s overtired.
    Like father, like son , he thinks, tiptoeing out without a kiss. He doesn’t want to risk disturbing J.J., and anyway, he can’t bend low enough over the bars of the crib.
    Peeking into Hudson’s room, he assumes that she, too, is out like a light. But her eyes snap open before he’s taken two steps across the pink carpet.
    â€œWhat are you doing, Daddy?” she asks in a loud voice that’s not the least bit groggy.
    â€œShh, just tucking you in.”
    â€œMommy already did that.”
    â€œTonight, you get two tuck-ins. How lucky are you?”
    She smiles. “I’m the luckiest.”
    That’s their little ritual, one they’ve had for months now, every time something nice happens.
    How lucky are you? I’m the luckiest.
    Tonight, Mack adds a new twist.
    â€œNo, you aren’t,” he tells Hudson, and at the predictable furrowing of her blond eyebrows, he quickly adds, “ I am. Because I get to be your dad.”
    The frown is instantly replaced by a grin. Hudson snuggles contentedly into her quilt as he bends over to kiss her good night.
    â€œI love you, Daddy.”
    â€œI love you too, Huddy.”
    Back out in the hallway, he can hear Allison down in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. She’ll probably be coming upstairs soon. She’s never exactly been a night owl, but she goes to bed earlier than ever thanks to J.J., who rises every morning long before a rooster