Finding Spring

by B. E. Baker

  “Maybe another time,” she says. “A weekend or something?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Except when she unlocks her car and starts to get inside, I almost can't bear to let her go. Not yet. I'll see her tomorrow, but in a suit at a hearing. I want more of the wide blue eyes. I want to meet her son. I want to see more of this side of her, the soft side that gave up a career to take care of a baby.

  “Or.”

  She turns toward me. “Or what?”

  “We could go to dinner with your son.”

  “He's four,” she says.

  “What am I missing?” I ask.

  “He doesn't do well sitting down quietly in a restaurant,” she says. “Especially not when he's been at my friend's house all day.”

  Right. That makes sense. “Another time then.”

  “Unless.” She grips the steering wheel.

  “Unless what?”

  “I have chili in the crockpot,” she says. “It's nothing fancy. We eat it over Fritos.”

  “I love Frito pie.”

  She finally meets my eyes. “You do? Really?”

  I beam at her. “It was a special treat when I was in college.”

  She snorts. “Oh good. One of my go to meals was your college food, like ramen noodles and nachos.”

  I laugh. “I mean it though. I love chili, with or without Fritos.”

  “Well, okay. If you want to come to dinner, you're welcome to. Just don't expect a lot.”

  “No expectations,” I say. “Can I pick anything up to bring? A dessert, or a side or something?”

  She shakes her head. “We don't eat a lot of dessert at our house. I hope that's okay.”

  “Fine by me, but I have a little bit of work I need to finish and send. Can I meet you at your place in forty-five minutes or so?”

  She exhales deeply, like that's a relief somehow, and slides the key into her car. “That's perfect actually. I've still got to grab Troy, remember?”

  “Right. Well, text me your address and I'll see you soon.”

  “See you soon.” She tosses me a half wave and a tiny grin on her way out of the parking lot.

  I wait until she's gone to start beaming like a simpleton. This is the first date I've been giddy about in years, our plan is to eat crockpot Frito pie with a four-year-old boy. I definitely did not see this one coming.

  12

  Trudy

  I didn't particularly think my house was a mess when I left this morning, but when Troy and I walk through the door, it looks like Pigpen was playing in here. With charcoals. The chili is ready, but I spend the next half hour frantically cleaning. Eventually I give up and simply start grabbing everything off the counters, from photos to decor to toys, and dumping it into the master closet. I'll sort through it all later. The counters and surfaces look a little bare, but that's better than cluttered. So what if he doesn't see any photos of me and Mary, or the cute decor I've made to turn the house into a home.

  I can impress him with all that later, when I have time to put the Toy Story figurines, Legos, and army men into the toy box one by one. I'm sweeping the kitchen floor when the doorbell rings, and my heart flies into my throat.

  “Is that pizza?” Troy asks.

  I crouch down. Maybe instead of cleaning, I should have been explaining to my son that a friend was coming over, especially since I've never had any guy in the house other than soon-to-be-Uncle Luke. “Um, no, we're having chili, but I invited a friend to come over and eat with us.”

  Troy nods. “Does she have kids to play with?”

  “No, and it's a he, not a she.”

  “That even better,” he says.

  “Why is that better?” I ask.

  “Because boys like trains more than girls do.” Troy picks his train up again and pushes the button on top that makes the wheels move.

  I stand up and brush off my pants before walking to the door. I breathe in and out slowly, and then I open it. Jack's smiling at me from the front porch. I told him not to bring anything, but he’s holding a bouquet of Stargazer Lilies.

  I love lilies.

  “Those smell so good, thanks!” I take them from him. No one has brought me flowers in. . . Ever. Other than Mary, no one has ever brought me flowers. Which is really pathetic, now that I think about it. “Come on in.”

  Jack walks inside and looks around like he's sweeping the room for terrorist threats. I almost chuckle when I realize he's looking for Troy, who's hunched over the train table.

  “Troy, this is my friend Jack. Come and say hello.”

  My adorable son straightens up and walks over to the entryway. “I'm Troy. I like trains even more than cars and I’m happy you’re a boy.”

  “I’m happy to be a boy, and I like trains, too. Maybe after dinner, we can play with yours. If you don’t mind sharing with me,” Jack says.

  Troy's face lights up. “I got so many for my birthday, and my mom never wants to play with them.”

  “I play trains with you all the time,” I protest.

  Troy scrunches his nose. “Yeah, but you don’t want to do it. I can tell. You always set up a track and say, ‘okay now we’re done.’”

  “My four year old son can see right through me, apparently,” I say.

  “Well, you're in luck,” Paul says. “I have a real knack for train tracks, and I might even be able to come up with a setup you’ve never seen before.”

  Troy beams at him.

  I've never seen Troy eat his dinner so fast. He shovels the Frito pie in his mouth in heaping spoonfuls and barely even chews. Once his bowl is empty, he wipes his mouth on his sleeve. I bite my tongue and let it go.

  Troy sits up straight and beams. “I'm all done, Mom.”

  My heart contracts. He misses having a guy around, clearly. Not that Chris ever played with him, but it looks like he still feels the lack.

  “It might take me a minute longer than you to finish,” Jack says. “But why don't you get started and I'll join you momentarily.”

  Troy leaps to his feet, but I snag his arm before he can dart away. I lead him to the sink and give him his shot quickly under the guise of cleaning him up. Jack doesn't notice, luckily. Troy gets embarrassed sometimes around people he doesn't know, and the cooler he thinks the person is, the less he wants them to see him getting shots and being told to eat every bite. Troy hurries over to the train table, and I walk back to the kitchen table.

  “Sorry.” I say. “He's excited to have a visitor. Clearly we don't get out much.”

  “I don’t mind. He’s adorable.” Jack's hand inches over until our fingers are touching. A little thrill zings up my arm to my heart. “Thanks for letting me invite myself over,” he says. “I know it was short notice.”

  “Kind of a lame dinner. Sorry about that.”

  Jack puts his hand over mine. “Stop apologizing. I'm having way more fun here, eating chili with you, than I ever did with Cynthia. Even if you sucked every tiny second of fun out of the time we spent and aggregated it all, I’d still have had more fun in this one night.”

  I find that hard to believe. “Whatever you say.”

  Jack scoops three bites into his mouth in rapid succession, and still manages to talk around all the food. “I do say.” He stands up and crosses the room to sit next to my son, whose whole face lights up.

  Troy frowns and whispers, but I can still hear him. “If you didn’t wash your hands, my mom’s gonna fuss at you.”

  Jack choke laughs and walks back into the kitchen to wash up, catching my eye and widening his. He shakes his head at me as he walks back. “Your mom sure has a lot of rules, huh?”

  Troy sighs as though he’s quite put upon. “You don’t even know.”

  Jack winks at me before he turns around to focus on the train track. “This won't do at all.” He points at the current configuration. “Whoever built this has no vision.”

  “That's me,” I say. “No vision Mom. Architectural design isn't really my thing.”

 
; Jack starts taking pieces off the table and stacking them on the floor. “Your mom's got quite a lot of vision, but maybe her strength just isn’t in the train arena. Did she tell you that she saved my entire company last week?”

  Troy shouts, “No way!”

  “Indeed she did. Without her, someone bad would have stolen all my hard work and my company would have collapsed.”

  “That's so cool, Mom. You caught the stealers?”

  I stack up the dirty dishes and carry them to the sink. “Something like that.”

  “Why didn't you tell me?” Troy asks. “That's cooler than being a police person.”

  “It's kind of a secret, baby.” I doubt Jack wants Troy telling the world. Although, who could Troy really tell?

  “Your mom's right,” Jack says. “Until some things get announced, maybe we keep this between the three of us.”

  Troy looks unconvinced. “Mom says no secrets.”

  Jack grins. “She’s right, no secrets at all from your mom. But she’s in on this one, so I think it’s okay.”

  Troy bobs his head. “Only until the police can arrest the bad guy, right? Then I can tell Benson about it?”

  “Sure,” I say. “But it could be a bad girl.” I'm quick to correct him about this kind of thing. I can't have him thinking only men are bad. And in this case, it was a woman.

  “Hey kiddo, I might need to lend your mom a hand real quick.” Jack hops up and walks toward me. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to leave you to clean everything up, especially after you fed me.”

  I shoo him back. “No, play with Troy. Trust me, that makes my life easier than if you help with the dishes.”

  Jack heads back to the train table, where he and Troy are building a double decker train track, complete with a directional control flip that sends trains different routes. Jack even manages to integrate the loading arm.

  “This is the coolest track ever,” Troy says. “Can we leave it like this until Benson comes over to see it?”

  Now that he’s there every day, Troy talks about Benson nonstop. “I’m sure we can.” Heaven knows I never want to change it. Once I finish in the kitchen, I head for the family room to relieve Jack.

  “Hey baby, did you want to watch one episode of Mickey in my room?”

  “No way. This is way more fun.”

  “Wait, did you just say something is more fun than Mickey?” I clutch my chest in mock horror. “You can't be serious.”

  Troy scowls at me.

  “Jack was so nice to help you set this up, but I doubt he wants to sit here and watch trains go around and around all night.”

  “We're racing them, Mom. Look, mine is going to beat his.” Except Troy's doesn't beat his. They crash into each other and the red train falls off the track.

  “Ah, you killed me,” Jack says.

  “It does look like fun, but sometimes adults want to talk instead of playing,” I say, determined to save poor Jack.

  Jack pats the ground next to him. “I’m having fun right here. I knew you had a four-year-old son when I decided to come. Why don't you join us?”

  Troy runs off to grab his dinosaurs and army men, and the three of us sit in front of the train table, setting up barricades and reptilian attackers, knocking little battery powered trains off the tracks and laughing. I don't think I've sat down and played with Troy like this since before Chris left me. Normally I'd feel guilty about that thought, but tonight I just enjoy myself.

  Until I notice it's nearly eight p.m.

  “I've got to get this one to bed,” I say. “Troy, go find your toothbrush and meet me in the bathroom.”

  “I want your friend to brush my teeth.”

  I sigh. “That's not Jack's job.”

  “I don't mind,” he says. “My nephew likes me to brush his teeth too. In fact, he says I do a better job than his dentist.”

  Right after Jack brushes Troy's teeth, he gets a phone call. He steps outside to take it. I run through Troy's bedtime routine, and tuck him into bed. By the time I sink down onto the sofa, it’s already eight-forty five.

  The tap on the front door startles me, but then Jack pokes his head inside. “Am I okay to come back in?”

  I wave him inside, and my heart somersaults when he crosses the room to sit right next to me on the sofa. “You're a really cute mom.”

  “You're a pretty hot boss.”

  He winces. “And. . . that's my cue to go.”

  He starts to stand up, but I grab his hand and he stops. He turns toward me, slowly. Too slowly.

  “Don't go yet,” I say.

  “No?”

  I shake my head.

  “How likely is Troy to come out here and ask for a glass of water or another story?”

  I laugh. “Pretty likely.”

  “How scarred would he be if he saw me doing this?” Jack lowers his head toward mine and brushes his mouth against my lips. When he pulls back, I follow him for an inch or two before flopping back against the sofa.

  My hands shake at my sides. “On a scale of Sponge Bob to Marilyn Manson?”

  He grins. “Sure.”

  “I'd say closer to the Sponge Bob side. He's a pretty sheltered kid, but he pays attention to stuff around him. He knew what a zombie was this morning when I asked.”

  “So you think he'd survive this.” Jack kisses me again, leaning closer to me this time. His hand cups my face and when he stops, it's to trail kisses across my jaw. He whispers in my ear. “This is kind of exciting. Like making out in a dressing room or a movie theater.”

  “Or the theater catwalk.”

  His eyebrows rise. “Now I wish I knew you back in high school.”

  I think about the four shirts and two pairs of pants I owned in high school, and the one pair of shoes. Scruffy, hand-me-down Keds. I doubt Mr. Polished Jack would have liked high school Trudy. I'm frankly shocked he likes present-day me.

  But any doubts I had about whether he likes me are kissed away over the next few minutes. I'm lost in a haze of strong arms, bristly kisses and whispered compliments until I hear a very loud ringer.

  He pulls back and groans. “I'm sorry, but I've got to call this guy back. So many work things to deal with right now.”

  “No, go ahead. It's completely fine. I'm just happy you made time to come for dinner.”

  Jack kisses me on the nose. “Best part of my week so far.”

  Really?

  “In fact, I'd love to see you again tomorrow. Assuming the hearing goes alright, I should be able to carve out a little time after work. Are you free?”

  Troy's got a doctor appointment right at 5:30. I shake my head. “Not tomorrow. Maybe Wednesday?”

  “I've got a dinner meeting that night. Thursday?”

  I laugh. “I'm busy all of this weekend, but I could do Thursday night. What did you have in mind?”

  “How does Troy feel about dogs?” Jack asks.

  “He loves them,” I say. “Why? Do you have a dog?”

  Jack nods. “I grew up with just one sibling and always wanted more. Until I have kids of my own, I wanted a furry pal to keep me company. He's a very bouncy, very energetic golden lab. He's going to be mad at me for ignoring him for so long today.”

  “I'm sure we'd love to meet him.”

  “And since you cooked tonight, I'll provide food Thursday.”

  “You're cooking?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Not unless you want grilled cheese. It's about the only thing I can make passably, but I order some mean take out. I'm getting a little work done at my house right now, but we could meet at the park.” He checks his phone. “It's supposed to be perfect weather. Assuming that doesn't change, would you be up for it?”

  “It sounds fun,” I say.

  “Like visiting crazy Uncle Elton fun, or like exciting second date fun?”

  “Is it a date when I'm bringing my son with me?” I ask. “Was this a date tonight? Frito pie and train tables?”

  Jack pulls me up against him. “If we'r
e judging by how fast my heart is beating and how excited I am to be here, this is definitely a date. The first I’ve had in a long time.” He kisses me until I believe him, and then he leaves.

  I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

  13

  Paul

  WelshAllyn sends its scariest lawyers. Three men and one lady, all wearing expensive black suits. I'm actually a little nervous when Mr. Brighton walks in. His suit fits well enough, but he's got quite a girth about him and his breath smells strongly of coffee. Is the best patent lawyer in Atlanta in the same league as WelshAllyn's fancy New York City lawyers? Probably not.

  Will it matter? Gosh I hope not.

  Gertrude clearly despises being on the stand. She's shifty and nervous and licks her lips in between every question. In spite of all of that, she does a brilliant job at the hearing. Her answers are clear, her mannerisms endearing and honest, and she explains the technical bits in a way that anyone can understand. The judge loves her and calls her 'darling little Miss Jenkins' twice. It's more than a little patronizing, but she never lets her annoyance show. I'm not surprised when he gives his final decision.

  “I'm throwing out WelshAllyn's claim. The evidence is clear. Whether or not there was any fraud or wrongdoing is a matter for a civil court, but I'll be surprised if I don't hear that you brought a claim there.” The judge looks pointedly at me.

  After the hearing, Mr. Brighton asks me what I want to pursue against them. “They're all assembled here, boy. So now’s your best chance at negotiating a settlement.”

  I hate when he calls me boy, but he did a great job today, so I try to focus on what matters. “What do you think we should demand?”

  “My fees as a baseline,” he says. “Plus a big chunk of change for bad faith. But the real question is whether you want to pursue criminal charges.”

  “Let's hear what they have to say first, and we can go from there.”

  We approach WelshAllyn's team together, with Gerty trailing slightly behind us. I want to take her hand, but I settle for gesturing her over to stand next to me.