by Beth Andrews
Still, he couldn’t help himself. She thought he was an island among men, a recluse who shunned all human interaction or some such bullshit, when in truth, he relied on others all the time. His family, mostly. He wasn’t sure how he would have managed after Lena left without his parents pitching in, his mother watching Max while Eddie worked, his brothers stopping by on the weekends for a beer or to watch a baseball game, Maddie having him over for dinner.
He’d just meant that when it came to the situation between Max and Lena, he had things under control.
Mostly.
“I’m not sure whether to laugh because you’re joking,” Harper said, “or cry tears of joy to discover you have a sense of humor.”
Wincing, he was the one who stepped back. Was that really how she saw him? What she thought of him?
“Being quiet isn’t equal to being a humorless asshole.”
He hoped.
She went white. “No. I didn’t mean it like that.”
He turned, ready to get his kid and get the hell out of there but she stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Eddie, I’m sorry. Really sorry. That’s the problem with being chatty. When your mouth’s open so much of the time, you’re bound to put your foot in it more often than not.”
She sounded so sincere, so apologetic, he faced her. “Makes sense,” he said.
And that was a big reason why he preferred keeping his mouth shut.
He’d never acquired the taste for his own feet.
Yet, thanks to his ego, he might have wedged his size tens in there nice and tight earlier. He’d told her exactly what was on his mind, hadn’t held back. He hoped that wasn’t a mistake.
“You going to hold it against me?” he asked. “What I said on the porch.”
She swiped up the kids’ cups, carried them to the sink, kept her back to him as she answered. “Of course not. I’m flattered.”
She didn’t sound flattered. Didn’t act it either. She acted freaked out.
Panicked. “Flattered?”
Now she faced him, as serene as a nun at mass. But she linked her hands at her waist, which he’d noticed she did when she was nervous. “That you had a crush on me in high school.”
“I didn’t have a crush on you.”
She dropped her hands. “But you said you watched me at the games, that you used to...that you dreamt...”
“You were a pretty girl in a short skirt, of course I watched you. You and the other cheerleaders. Plus a number of the girls from the softball team.” He scratched his chin. “And that chemistry teacher, the brunette with the big—”
“Mrs. Wilton?” she asked, incredulous. “She was married. And at least thirty.”
“Ancient.”
As if realizing they were both past that age now, Harper snapped to attention, grabbed the dishcloth from the sink and started scrubbing the counter. “Well, I guess that clears that up.”
Now she was mad he hadn’t been jonesing for her all those years ago? It was like he was walking on a tightrope. One wrong move—or in this case, one wrong word—and he was taking a header onto the concrete.
Story of his life.
What the hell? He’d already come this far today, sharing a few of his innermost thoughts, he might as well go for broke.
“I didn’t think of you that way in high school—”
“Yes,” she said, her voice tight and, if he wasn’t mistaken, offended. “You’ve made that perfectly clear.”
“That may have been a mistake. Thanks for the cookies,” he added quickly, walking out before she could respond.
He collected Max, having to sneak him out of the house when Cassidy’s back was turned. When they reached the sidewalk, they could still hear her screaming their names as if her little heart was breaking. It took all Eddie could do not to rush inside, see if he could calm her down. But Cass wasn’t his responsibility. He had no right thinking she needed comfort from him, not when she had Harper. Not when she wasn’t his daughter.
They climbed into the truck and drove off, Max wasting no time before pulling out his video game, losing himself in the electronic world of pissed-off birds and Pokémon. Which suited Eddie fine. Silence was good for the soul. He didn’t understand most people’s desire to fill it constantly with music or the noise of a television. With endless, pointless conversation.
You never say much. Have you ever considered that’s part of the problem?
At the corner stop sign, he hit the brakes too hard and had to fling his arm out to stop Max’s forward momentum.
“Sorry,” he muttered when his son looked at him questioningly. He drove on. “Squirrel in the road.”
Max went back to his game.
Eddie tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Maybe Harper had been right about Max needing to talk about his mother. But it wasn’t easy. Eddie had never been big with words, always felt as if someone was judging them.
Finding them, and him, lacking.
But for his son, he’d try.
“Harp...I mean...Mrs. Kavanagh said you told her your mom called the other day.” He glanced over but his kid kept right on playing. “Max.” They drove another block. “Max.”
Finally, his son looked up, frowning with massive impatience as if he’d been interrupted during brain surgery. His own. “Huh?”
“Why’d you tell Mrs. Kavanagh your mom called?”
With a shrug that was more a twitch of his shoulders, Max slid down in the seat until his chin touched his chest.
Shit. That hadn’t come out right. “It’s okay that you did. Do you...uh...did you have a nice talk with her?”
“With Mrs. Kavanagh?”
“No, with your mom.”
Another shrug.
“She’s going to be in town next weekend,” Eddie said. “She wants to see you.”
Max looked at him, his eyes huge. “She does?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and hoped like hell he was doing the right thing. “Do you...do you want to see her?”
Do you think about her? Do you miss her? Do you wish you were with her instead of here with me?
“She didn’t come the last time,” Max said.
“She was sick,” Eddie reminded him. But he hated how disappointed Max had been when Lena had called to say she couldn’t make it after all.
Hated himself for being so relieved.
“Maybe she won’t come this time either.”
Eddie inhaled deeply. “I think she will. She sounded like she really wants to see you.”
“She said she misses me,” Max whispered. “What will we do if she comes?”
“She’ll probably want to take you out to eat, then you could do something fun like go to the movies.”
Max rubbed the side of his nose, a sure sign he was doing some deep thinking. “Okay. Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I sit next to you?”
“Sure, bud.”
Max undid his seat belt and slid over, buckled up again then snuggled against Eddie’s side. Eddie slid his arm around his son’s shoulders and held on tight.
Prayed he’d never have to let him go.
* * *
THE KNOCK—THREE QUICK RAPS—late Friday afternoon, floated through the foyer, echoed in the living room where Eddie folded towels. They filled the air, had Max stopping mid-twirl in some faux karate move, stilling his flying fists of fury. They tapped on Eddie’s brain like a hammer.
Lena was there.
“She’s here,” Max said in an awed undertone. He looked at Eddie, his eyes wide, his lips curving in the smile Eddie would never get tired of seeing. “She’s here, Dad.”
“I hear that.”
Max ran down the hall only to whirl around. “I forgot the present!” Leaving Eddie to open the door.
He set a hand towel in the laundry basket, then made his way as slowly as humanly possible toward his ex-wife. Ever since Eddie had told Max Lena was coming, he’d done his best to bring up the subject, as casually as poss
ible, at least once a day. It hadn’t been easy, but Eddie wanted Max to feel comfortable talking about his mom. Wanted his son to know it was perfectly natural for him to be excited about spending time with her. Not that Max acted excited.
Until now.
He’d done a good thing, Eddie assured himself. Was doing the right thing, for both Max and Lena, by telling Max his mom wanted to see him, letting Lena take him out to dinner and a movie. He just wished doing the right thing wasn’t so damn hard.
She knocked again.
He reached out but yanked his hand back before touching the knob. Rubbed his fingertips against his palm. Heard Max’s clomping footsteps in the kitchen.
He opened the door.
“Hello, Eddie,” she said, her voice unsteady, anxiety clear in her brown eyes.
“Lena,” he said, stepping aside so she could come in. “Max will be out in a second.”
She’d lost weight. She’d always been slim, her legs and arms long, her figure more angles than curves, but now her cheeks were sunken, her collarbones standing out in sharp relief. Her hair, the same oak brown it’d always been, was short as a boy’s, the strands barely two inches long.
From the cancer, he realized, his fingers tightening on the door handle. From the disease that could have taken her life and the treatments used to save her.
He shut the door. Cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?” he asked, speaking more gently than he had since their first year of marriage.
She smiled, a quick, unsure quirk of her lips, as if she didn’t quite know whether his concern was real. “I’m good. I still tire easily but I’m getting stronger every day.”
Nodding, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m glad.”
He never wanted her sick or suffering. They’d loved each other once. He may not trust her change of heart concerning Max but he didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.
He just didn’t want her in his son’s life.
Max hurried down the hall. Lena’s entire face lit with joy. Love. “Max. Hi. Oh, my goodness, you’ve gotten so big.”
She dropped to her knees on the tile floor but Max froze. Frowned.
“Where’s your hair?” he blurted.
Lena touched the side of her head. Cleared her throat. “I got it cut. What do you think?”
Max’s horrified gaze flew to Eddie. “It looks pretty,” Eddie said. “Right, bud?”
It was never too early to learn how to say what a woman wanted to hear.
Too bad Max didn’t seem to agree. “Uh...”
Lena laughed. “Don’t worry. It’ll grow back.”
“Good,” Max whispered, stepping close enough for Lena to pull him into her arms.
She gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “You must have grown three inches since the last time I saw you!”
After his mother finished squeezing the breath out of him, Max patiently endured her inspection of his person. She ruffled his hair, commented on his new tooth coming in, told him how much she loved his Star Wars T-shirt.
“I made you something,” Max told her, holding out a messily wrapped gift.
“You did? That is so sweet. Thank you.” Lena took the present, leaned back on her heels and opened it. She gasped, covered her mouth with her hand, her fingers unsteady. “Oh. Oh...”
Her eyes welled with tears and Max shot Eddie a panicked look, slid over to press against his side.
“Sometimes women cry when they’re happy,” Eddie told him, gently squeezing his shoulder.
“Like when Nonna cried on her birthday?”
“Yep.” Rose had been touched by the week-long trip to Toronto her kids had all gone in on together, but Eddie suspected a few of his mom’s tears were for the fifty-five candles on her cake.
“It’s beautiful,” Lena said, running her fingers over the glass.
It was. Max and Harper had read some book about a hungry caterpillar this week during their first tutoring session. When Max mentioned how much his mom loved butterflies, Harper had given him time each day to work on a painting for Lena.
The background was a blending of light blue and white, the butterfly a deeper blue. He’d added white swirls of varying widths and lengths to the butterfly’s spread wings and outlined the creature in a bright gold.
“Dad helped me make the frame,” Max said.
Lena glanced at Eddie, sniffed. “Thank you.”
He hadn’t done it for her; he’d done it because Max had been so excited to make something for his mom. But now, seeing the very real gratitude on Lena’s face, Eddie was glad he’d been a part of it.
But ultimately, it had all been Harper’s idea.
“I can’t wait to hang it up in my apartment,” Lena said as she straightened. She smiled at Max. “Maybe someday you can come to Chicago. See how it looks in the living room.”
Max had been to Chicago only once. It’d been six months after their divorce had been finalized, and Lena had flown to Pittsburgh, then taken a three-year-old Max with her. He was supposed to stay two weeks.
She’d brought him back four days later when she’d been asked to fly to New York for a fashion show.
“Well,” Lena said. “Shall we go, Max? I’m starving. I thought we’d eat at Panoli’s.”
Panoli’s was Shady Grove’s best pizzeria. And Max’s favorite place to eat other than his nonna’s.
“Can we go to the movies?” he asked her, still leaning against Eddie’s side.
“We can do whatever you want to do.”
“We checked out the movie listings,” Eddie said when Max stayed quiet. “There are two shows he wants to see, one starts at seven, the other at seven-twenty.”
She checked the chunky, silver watch on her wrist. “We’d better get going then.”
She held out her hand.
Eddie’s fingers tightened slightly on Max’s shoulder and he quickly relaxed them. Gave his son an encouraging pat. Max hesitated then stepped forward, linking his hand with his mother’s. Forcing Eddie to let him go.
* * *
THE MOMENT EDDIE stepped inside Harper’s house, it started raining.
With the grim mood he was in, Harper couldn’t help but think it wasn’t just coincidence.
Now they sat across from each other at her kitchen table, Max’s schoolwork from the week in front of them, light static crackling from the baby monitor on the counter. Cass had fallen asleep on the way home from daycare, had stayed dead to the world as Harper carried her inside and put her in her crib.
Thank God. If she knew “Deddie” was here, they’d never get anything done.
“As you can see,” Harper said to Eddie, “Max did a little better on this week’s math quiz.”
Eddie studied the quiz as if the answers to world peace were on it. “So the tutoring’s helping.”
“He did a little better.” She pointed to the grade in the corner—a D. “But you have to take into consideration that it was a review quiz, which gives me a better sense of where everyone is at before moving on to the next section. And he was able to focus because he took the test while the rest of the kids were at the library.”
Because he hadn’t finished in the time allotted. When she’d collected the quizzes, she’d noticed he’d completed two of the problems and had sent the rest of the class to the library, keeping Max in the room to get through the quiz in peace.
All of which Eddie knew. He’d been in the class today helping, had taken the kids down the two flights of stairs to the library, stayed with them while the librarian had read them a story and checked out their books.
He’d looked a bit glassy-eyed and pale by the time he’d ushered them into their classroom, but he’d survived. Of course, he’d been short two girls, but he’d found them playing in the stairwell quickly enough.
“Unfortunately, Max struggled again on his spelling test.” Harper handed that paper over along with the progress report she’d written. “I noted what he and I did during each tutoring session, as
well as whether the technique we implemented helped.”
“He pays attention at home,” Eddie murmured. “Once I pry that video game out of his hands, anyway.”
“That’s not unusual. Most kids with Max’s problem—” no sense calling it ADHD before Eddie allowed him to be officially screened for it “—do better without all the distractions that come with being in a class filled with other kids. But if you do find him daydreaming or losing focus, try letting him stand to do his work or he can walk around the house once for each math problem he finishes.”
Eddie wrote that down. His head was bent, his dark hair recently trimmed— he and Max had gone to the barber Tuesday night—so that it lay in soft, messy waves. A frown of concentration wrinkled his brow, and his mouth was tense.
She suppressed a smile. He was so cute, so sweet, jotting down notes of ways to help his son.
And believe her, cute and sweet were not words she ever would have thought she’d use when describing Eddie.
I didn’t think of you that way in high school. That may have been a mistake.
She’d had no clue what he’d meant when he’d murmured those words to her. Still didn’t. But she’d wondered about it, oh, only a hundred times or so since Sunday. Worse, she’d dreamed of him. Just once, just that Sunday night, but it had been so steamy, so erotic, she’d awaken sweaty and aroused.
And so guilt-ridden she hadn’t been able to get back to sleep.
After that, she’d stayed up late each night until she hadn’t been able to keep her eyelids open another moment. Only then would she fall into bed and slip into a dreamless sleep.
“Anything else I should try?” he asked.
She pulled out the paper she’d typed up during last night’s stay-up-to-thepoint-of-exhaustion-so-you-don’t-have-the-energy-for-sexy-dreams-about-theman-across-from-you session. “I thought it’d be better if you incorporate a few techniques a week—one to three. That way Max won’t feel overwhelmed with changes, and we can build on each step.”
He read the list. Scowled. “I don’t see how his having a clean work area is going to help him bring his math grade up.”
“Like I said,” she told him, striving for patience, “we’re building on each step. These are just the beginning.” She got up and moved to the seat next to him. “These are all things to help him focus and complete his tasks. Having an uncluttered workspace will give him fewer distractions. Where does he usually do his homework?”