“I’m so sorry, honey. I hear you crying, and you’re breaking my heart. But I’m not giving up on us. We’ll figure it out. I promise, we’ll figure it out.”
After more words of reassurance, he hung up and paced his home office, then jogged toward Wendy’s room in the one story home he’d bought after the divorce. He’d just made a promise to Nancy that he had to keep—for both their sakes. Too bad he was no parenting expert and certainly no expert about Bobby. He’d fought for custody of his daughter and won. But in Wendy’s eyes, he’d had the advantage in court because he worked from home while her mom traveled all over the states. Wendy didn’t know her mom had spiced up her trips in the arms of a co-worker. She didn’t need to know. Steve rolled his shoulders and knocked on Wendy’s door. His ex’s behavior was unimportant. His daughter was important.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, baby. Homework done?”
“Sure.”
“Does Mrs. Wyatt give you homework, too?”
She glared at him as though he had an I.Q of twenty. “You’re kidding, right? If she gave homework, I’d never, never go back there. Besides, we do so much in her class, we don’t need homework.”
He’d grab onto any thread of hope. “So, she’s a good teacher. And you like her?”
Wendy’s forehead creased, her eyes narrowed. “She’s okay in the classroom, but I don’t need another mother. I’ve already got one. So, don’t start arranging more ‘fun days’ or anything. If that’s what you really came here to find out, that’s my answer.”
Scared and defensive. She’d adjusted to their new lives as well as possible, and now he was throwing more change at her.
Suddenly, he understood Nancy's tears. He stared at his child, the child he loved and would protect with his life, and wondered why he’d chance messing things up. An image of Nancy floated in his mind, and he had his answer. Love beckoned. Happiness teased him, waiting just around the next bend.
“Sorry, kiddo. More family fun is in your future. But before that happens, I need your help.”
Her brows lifted, her interest caught. Bingo! Girls liked to be needed.
“It’s about Bobby Wyatt…
Steve pulled up to the school and waited for the kids to burst through the doors. Tutoring day for Wendy. He kept his eyes peeled and finally spotted her…talking to Bobby. Great! His daughter must have taken her old man seriously.
He rolled down his window as the kids approached. “Hey, Bobby. Want a ride home?”
“I can take the bus.”
“Give it a break, man. I won’t bite. Or lecture.”
“Right,” Wendy murmured as she opened the front door.
Bobby clasped the door’s edge and peered inside. “Stop trying to be nice to me. See those guys over there?” he asked, nodding toward a trio of lanky loudmouths. They looked familiar, but Steve couldn’t place them immediately.
“You’re no better than they are. Why don’t you give them a ride to the learning center?” And with that, Bobby slammed the car door shut and took off down the street.
Steve watched him go, then glanced at the other boys. “So those are the ones he fights with?”
Wendy shrugged. “I tried to be friendly and find out. But he wouldn’t tell me. He wouldn’t even talk to me except to say that you should stay away from his mom. I agreed with him.” A smile of satisfaction crossed her face. “See, Dad. I’m not the only one who doesn’t like this thing you have going with Mrs. Wyatt.”
“Doesn’t scare me, baby. But you’re going to need an attitude change. And so is Bobby. Nancy is not disappearing from our lives. And we are not disappearing from hers and Bobby’s. Get it?”
But it was Steve who “got it” a half-hour later when he stepped into Nancy’s classroom. Three adolescent boys were ogling their teacher as if she were a juicy steak and they were famished wolves. Their glances darted from Nancy to each other, their grins peeking out from behind their hand-covered mouths. Their idiotic expressions turned serious as soon as Nancy addressed them. If Nancy picked up on their behavior, she chose to ignore it. Maybe she was used to it. Or maybe she dismissed it as a typical teenage crush.
Steve remembered having crushes. No attractive female teacher was safe from a second look. But that’s all it was. A look. And then he kept his eyes down. These guys depended on their impeccable timing not to get caught. They thought a lot of themselves. Which meant he needed to knock some sense into them. It seemed Bobby had tried, but couldn’t do it alone.
He’d hang around tonight. See what went down.
BOBBY
I watched Mom walk into the kitchen that night and knew something was different. Her eyes were shiny and her smile was for real. She didn’t wait for me to ask any questions. She just put her stuffed tote bag down and twirled around the kitchen.
“The class was great tonight,” she said. “I could hardly believe it, and it must be because of you. Those boys you’re always fighting with actually behaved themselves. No more fooling around. No wandering eyes or wandering attention. I’m glad. Their parents are paying for the lessons, and they should see some results. I think tonight was the turning point.”
She had to be imagining things. My day in school was no different than yesterday or the day before. The jerks were still jerks.
Banging noises came from the cabinets as she gathered her pots and pans. “Maybe they got sick and weren’t feeling good,” I said. My imagination was limited.
“Nope. And Wendy had a good class too.”
“Oh…you mean they weren’t hitting on her?” Oops. Almost said, instead of you.
“Hitting on her? They wouldn’t dare, not with her dad hanging around. I think she likes it now when he waits for her.”
I could connect the dots, but my mom was clueless. That’s why she needed me to look out for her. If big Steve Duggan kept checking on the classroom through the glass windows, none of those idiots would make a wrong move.
That guy with the gray glinting eyes made Wendy and my mom happy. But his tricks wouldn’t work with me.
“I’ve planned the weekend for us with Steve and Wendy,” Mom began, her voice happy, “and nothing will interfere with your usual baseball practice on Saturday or the game on Sunday. So, don’t moan and groan.”
“Mom! This Sunday is Father’s Day. Steve Duggan is not my father. He and Wendy aren’t even family. They can’t come.”
The kitchen got quiet. Mom’s face turned white. “Baseball is for everybody,” she said, “including our friends.” She walked closer and put her hand on my cheek. “Please, Bobby. I don’t ask too much from you, but this time…can’t you just give it a chance?”
Geez, she was pleading with me. I loved my mother, and my father wasn’t here, and I didn’t know what to do. But I didn’t want Steve sniffing around her. Wouldn’t Dad mind? Especially on Father’s Day? I snapped to attention, my thoughts going at warp speed and stared at my mom’s anxious face.
The answer to my question stared back at me. Dad loved her. He’d want her to be happy.
“Okay,” I mumbled. “They can come.”
She beamed.
“But don’t make a big deal about it. Okay?”
Chapter Four
She made a big deal. For the next few days she walked around humming, and that was a clue all by itself. Neither of us can carry a tune, and Mom never sings or hums except in the shower.
On the day of the game, Steve pulled up in his big Buick. What a waste. For that money, he could have bought a ‘Vette. Wendy was with him. She even looked like him with the same dark hair and gray eyes. Mom had packed a lunch loaded with Wendy’s favorite foods, including chocolate mint cookies which were not my first choice. I threw my baseball stuff in the back and climbed in. Somehow, Wendy was already there, and Mom was in the front seat.
Steve’s daughter did not look happy. She kept eyeballing the back of Mom’s head.
“Knock it off,” I said. “She made you a good lunch.”
Wendy turned her head and looked out the window. “I always sit in front,” she finally said.
“Well, so do I.”
She swiveled in her seat and gave me the once over. “I suppose so.” Then she sighed and remained quiet. Maybe I’d given her something to think about. Me, setting an example? What a joke.
It was a relief to finally get to the game. Kids played against adults on Father's Day, and Mom always enjoyed it. No pressure. Just fun. Frankly, I preferred playing my regular games, but Mom suffered through every pitch I threw, worrying I’d hate myself for a bad performance. Or that the other parents would criticize. I didn’t care about any of that. When I was working my game, I saw nothing, heard nothing, and thought about nothing except the batter at home plate and my next pitch. On Father's Day, however, everyone relaxed.
Until today. Starting from the moment I faced Steve Duggan from the pitcher’s mound.
He stood at home plate, knees bent, bat up, like he was ready to blast one to China. His eyes met mine, and they sparkled that glinty gray, and I wanted him to strike out so badly, I started to shake. I took three deep breaths to calm down, eyeballed him and wound up for the first pitch. He swung and missed. I couldn’t believe it. He fouled the next ball. Didn’t swing at the third. I was pitching like a dream, but I still couldn’t believe it possible for Duggan to strike out. But that’s what he did. Completely stunned, I lost my concentration after that.
But when it was my turn to bat, that shaky feeling came over me again. I wanted to blast the ball out of the park. Just to show him. To show Mom. To show them…what? That I could compete? That I was a man? That I was better than Steve Duggan?
All of the above.
Steve stood in center field, and I wanted to send the ball right over his head. The first pitch was high, the second one low. Damn! I didn’t want to walk. I wanted to hit. My prayer was answered. The third pitch was perfect, and I swung with all that was in me.
Crack! What a sound. I started running to first and then heard some shouting and applause. Twenty-five feet from his original position, Steve was rolling on the ground, his glove clasped to his stomach. I knew the ball was in it. He jumped up then and held it over his head. A fabulous catch, but I felt robbed.
With unblinking eyes, I stared right at him. I was angry all right, and letting him see how I really felt, how I resented him. For once, I wanted him to know that I not only felt robbed of a hit, but of a mother too.
He saw. I’ll give him credit for that. He jogged down the field right to me, and he wasn’t smiling either.
“You’re a good player, Bobby,” he began slowly, “and I bet that inside that good player is a good kid.”
I stiffened up, ready to give him a lot of lip, but he beat me to it.
“I love your mother, Bobby, and nothing’s going to change that. Not your anger. Not your fear or imagined grievances. I love her, and I want to be friends with her son, but somehow it’s not turning out that way. Your mom and I are very unhappy about it.”
Man, he wasn’t dancing around the point. I looked at him hard. “Are you going to get married?” Geez, I hadn’t planned on asking that. It just sort of popped out.
“I want to. I’m asking her, in spite of everything.”
He meant me and Wendy.
“But-but you can’t be my father!” I shouted. My dad appeared so clearly in my mind’s eye, that wonderful man I had lost.
“But I can be your friend, Bobby. We could be a good, strong family. Your mom loves you fiercely. I can’t steal her away from you and wouldn’t want to. So think about it. What kind of home do you want? Friendly or unfriendly?”
He clapped me on the shoulder and started to walk away. The first thing I realized was that during the whole time we were talking, his eyes weren’t glinty at all. They were dark, quiet eyes. Serious. He was right about at least one thing—I had plenty to think about.
I watched him walk towards our blankets and chairs, and I scanned ahead to where Mom and Wendy waited. Mom stood leaning against a tree, but her body looked droopy. Wendy sat ten feet away, her back toward my mother. I trudged closer.
Steve faced my mom and tipped her face up toward him. He stroked her cheek, and it got pink. And then in front of my eyes, he kissed her. Right there. In the park.
And she—my own mother—kissed him back. And when they stopped kissing, they stared at each other. I don’t think they knew or cared about Wendy or me watching them. They probably didn’t even realize we were there.
I kicked Wendy’s foot and got her attention. “See that? I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other. So, for the record, my mother is a really, really nice lady. And you’d better sweeten up.”
“Or what?” She had more attitude than I used to have.
Squatting down next to her, I held the back of her head, and she didn’t have a chance. “This is what. See that bog over there? I’m going to push your face into it.”
Before she could cry out or complain to her father, I said, “We’re going to be a family, Wendy. A friendly one. That’s what your dad wants, too.”
She snapped her head around. Her own glinty, gray eyes pierced me. “But you don’t. You don’t even like us.”
“Sure I do.” And I guess it was true. Steve loved my mom. Even I could see that. He was nothing like the guys in school. As for Wendy…I suppose we’d get used to each other.
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “Let me see you tell him it’s okay. I dare you. Just go over there and….”
“No problem.” So, I’d choke a little. A small price to pay. I sauntered to the beaming couple, their hands now clasped. Mom glanced at me and smiled wide, the lines in her forehead gone. And suddenly, it really was okay.
“Your daughter needs to hear the talk,” I said to Steve.
His brow contracted, and he looked confused.
“The friendly-family talk.” I extended my arm. He reached out, and we shook hands in the way that men do. Strong and sure. This time, when I looked up at Steve, his eyes shone with pride. My heart took a slow tumble and a weight I’d been carrying disappeared.
“She’ll get the talk right now.” He beckoned Wendy over.
I figured this was only the beginning. We’d probably have lots of talks in the future—the four of us. I didn’t know if that’s the way it was done in all families, but I was pretty sure Mom and Steve would work it that way in our new family.
But I could live with that now. Yeah, I definitely could live with that.
“Hey, Mom?”
“Talk to me, Bobby.”
Her favorite sentence hadn’t changed, and I grinned. “Happy Mother’s Day.”
“Mother’s…?” And then she hugged me. “Thanks, Bobby. I am very happy. All because of my amazing son.”
Amazing? I definitely could live with that too.
The End.
Read an excerpt from The Solder and The Rose
Coming in May 2014
Chapter 1
Long Island, NY 2007
“Love is not for cowards.”
Rose Shapiro whispered the words with conviction as she sewed another row of sequins onto the new ivory silk jacket she’d wear the following evening. Ivory silk. Appropriate for celebrating a sixtieth wedding anniversary, and so different from the plain navy suit she’d worn to the wedding. She closed her eyes, shutting out that memory, shutting out the pain and confusion that accompanied her second marriage. Her marriage to Charlie.
Love is not for cowards. She understood that now, but she hadn’t in the beginning when Joe had been the love of her life, and cotton-candy dreams beckoned them as they whispered their “I do’s.” She’d grown up a lot since then.
She sighed and opened her eyes, once again stitching carefully. Not many couples reached sixty years of marriage. But she and Charlie had. She knotted and cut her thread, then viewed her efforts with a critical eye.
Cataract surgery last year had turned out to be a boon to her s
ewing skills, not that she’d thought of sewing as an art form. Using a needle had been a measure of economy during her girlhood, and she hadn’t been able to break the habit later on when her pockets were fuller. Especially not with the prices of manufactured goods. In amused tones, her three children blamed her “Depression mentality.”
“The jacket is beautiful, Rosie mine,” came a warm voice from the bedroom doorway. “But not as beautiful as you.”
“Maybe it’s your turn to have a cataract removed.” She glanced playfully at Charlie’s sparkling green eyes, also noting his recent haircut. Her partner of sixty years was ready to party.
“There’s nothing wrong with my vision,” he replied, reaching for her hand. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s time to practice our moves. Don’t want to make fools of ourselves on the dance floor tomorrow night.”
No chance of that—at least not when she was wrapped in Charlie’s arms—but she didn’t argue. She replaced the jacket on the padded hanger and stepped toward him.
“Ah, Rosie...” He held her close and began to hum “La Vie En Rose.” Her song. He’d been singing it to her in two languages ever since they got married…after the war. In fact, Charlie had been romancing her since he’d met her. She hadn’t always appreciated it; he wasn’t Joe.
But they’d gotten past that, not easily, and not quickly. Which was why she’d planned a special surprise for Charlie tomorrow.
She kissed him on the cheek, inhaling his woodsy cologne. “Hmm...I’ve always loved that fragrance.”
“You think I don’t know?” His laughter was deep and carefree. “Life is good, Rosie, huh?”
“As good as possible for a couple of creaky octogenarians,” she replied. She had no complaints, except...
Love is not for cowards.
Her heart lurched. If she was blinking rapidly now to stave off tears, they were not for herself, but for her beloved granddaughter and the young husband who adored her. Pregnant Elizabeth. Devoted Matthew. Matthew - who was about to be deployed to Iraq.
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