The Weekday One Hundred

I had one job. Keep an eye on a sleeping kid for just a few hours. That was it. But somehow, I was failing.

I checked in on him – mistake number one. His bed was empty, the window open, curtains rustling in the midnight breeze. My sister was going to murder me.

There was no sign of the boy outside, so I pulled out my phone. Call her? The Feds?

Then I heard it. Giggling.

I opened the closet and found him – silly grin, wide mischievous eyes.

This uncle thing isn’t for the faint of heart.

I’m demanding a raise.