Seth nodded. “I did! And it is so-o-o neat, Daddy. Gam said I could show it to you next week when I’m back in camp and you have to pick me up at her house after work.”
“I can’t wait to see it.” He carried his son into the living room and set him down on the couch, claiming the cushion to Seth’s left. “Maybe, if I can find another box, we can add on an addition. Like a throne room or something.”
His son’s eyes brightened with genuine excitement. “I bet my princess would like a special room for all her fancy dresses.”
“Your princess, eh? Is she pretty?” Mark teased, ruffling Seth’s hair with his fingers.
“Yupper doodle. The prettiest.”
He considered the little boy’s words with all the seriousness he could muster, and consciously relaxed his shoulders. “That’s quite a claim, little man. Tell me about her.”
Tucking his legs beneath him, Seth took a deep breath, releasing it along with a lengthy description. “She’s got great big brown eyes that twinkle with so much pixie dust that some of it falls over the top of her nose and across her happy cheeks. She’s got short yellow hair that curls right here—” he pointed at the sides of his face “—and a really big smile all the time.”
“Wow. She does sound pretty. Special, too. Just like you.” Mark pulled the little boy’s head onto his lap. “I missed you last night and this morning. I didn’t have anyone to make my special pancakes for.”
Seth giggled. “You could make me some tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, I can.”
“So what did you do, Daddy?”
“I ate cereal.”
Seth’s giggle grew louder. “No, silly. What did you do last night while I was at Gam’s?”
Mark forced a smile and did his best to keep his voice light. “I played some horseshoes.”
“Is that a game?”
“Yes, it is.” He tapped Seth’s nose with his finger and animated his voice. “You use real horseshoes, just like the kind real horses wear on their feet.”
“Where’d you play with those kinda shoes, Daddy?”
“At a barbecue I went to.”
“Whose barbecue?”
“No one you’ve ever met.”
Seth sat up, eyes wide. “You went to a stranger’s house, Daddy? You know you’re not s’posed to do that. It could be dangerous.”
He tried not to laugh at his son’s solemn expression. “Well, they weren’t strangers, exactly. The people having the barbecue are friends of the person I went with.”
“Who’d you go with?”
He exhaled into the palm of his hand, his discomfort over the shift in topic increasing exponentially. “I went with Emily.”
“Emily!” Seth parroted, just before a smile spread his lips wide. “Oh, wow, I like Emily. Bunches and bunches!”
Clapping his hands together, Mark seized on the only sure-fire conversation changer he could find. “You know what I found in the cabinet earlier today?”
Seth shook his head.
“Butterscotch sauce and a bag of mini chocolate chips. And I figured, if you’re up for it, maybe we could make our own ice cream sundaes right here at home,” he said in his best conspiratorial voice. “So what do you say, little man? Does that sound like a yummy plan for after dinner?”
“I already had dinner. At Gam’s. She made me eat all my broccoli.” Seth looked toward the door and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “It wasn’t very good.”
“But it’s good for you.” Mark scooted to the edge of the couch and glanced back at him. “Come on. Let’s have a treat.”
“Did you find whipped cream, too? ’Cause sundaes are s’posed to have whipped cream, Daddy.”
Grateful for his son’s one-track mind where ice cream was concerned, Mark rose to his feet and motioned for him to follow. “As a matter of fact, I did. A great big tub of it.”
When they reached the kitchen, Seth climbed onto his stool at the counter and Mark grabbed a pair of bowls from the cabinet, along with two spoons from the utensil drawer. Then, with as much pomp and circumstance as he could muster, he set about getting everything they would need for their sundae bar, including the jar of sprinkles Seth spied while Mark was extracting the chocolate chips from the pantry.
“Do you think Emily likes ice cream, Daddy?”
He paused with his hand on the freezer door, his back to his son. “I can’t answer that, Seth.” Reaching inside, he pulled out two cartons and held them up. “So what’ll it be? Vanilla or chocolate? Or—” he winked “—a little bit of both?”
“I betcha she likes vanilla best, just like me,” Seth declared.
Mark’s shoulders drooped. So much for changing the subject.
He carried the cartons to the counter and set them beside the bowls. “Maybe. I don’t know.” Then, with the help of the old spoon-under-warm-water trick he’d learned from Sally, he scooped two small mounds for Seth and two for himself. “Mmm. Finding that butterscotch sauce today was a pretty nice surprise, wasn’t it?”
Seth propped one elbow on the counter and reached for the sauce with his other hand. “Can I put it on all by myself, Daddy? Please?”
If it’ll make you forget about Emily…
Aloud, he said, “If you’re really, really careful, sure. But let’s try to make that bottle last for a while, okay? That way we can have sundaes again another day.”
“Okay! Maybe Emily can have some then, too, right?” Seth pulled the lid off the butterscotch sauce and carefully tilted it in the air above his bowl. Slowly, carefully, he poured some across the top of his ice cream, and then did the same to Mark’s. When he was done, he turned the container upright and smiled. “See? I saved plenty for Emily.”
Not wanting to stomp all over his son’s mood, Mark made a show of adding a dollop of whipped cream to both bowls and then allowing Seth to decorate them with a few tiny handfuls of chocolate chips and a quick shake of the sprinkle jar. Once the last chip was placed on each sundae, Mark declared their concoctions ready to eat.
“Now, what do you say we try and see which one of us can eat all our ice cream from start to finish without making a peep? Whoever wins gets to pick which story we read before bed.”
“Can I say it’s yummy if it’s yummy?” Seth asked.
“No, sirree. No yummies, no lip smacking of any kind, and—” he sat on the stool next to Seth and touched his finger to the little boy’s nose “—most especially, no burping.”
A fit of giggles gave way to the quietest ice cream eating Mark could ever remember, and he was glad. Whatever it took to keep Seth from talking about Emily. Mark’s feelings for her were still way too close to the surface.
All day long he’d revisited moments from the barbecue, his favorites revolving around the game of horseshoes he’d failed at again and again. She’d been so good-natured and easygoing that she’d coaxed the same qualities out of him despite his lack of prowess or points. And when they’d gone climbing inside her office building, she’d made him feel as if there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.
But it was the part that came later—in his bed—that he’d found himself lingering on. Every touch, every sound, every move was replayed in his thoughts until he’d had to force himself to focus on something else.
Now that Seth’s chattering had ceased, though, Mark found himself pressing the play button in his mind once again. And sure enough, an image of Emily looking up at him as he made love to her flashed bef
ore his eyes, making him drop his spoon into his bowl with a metallic crash.
“Daddy, you made a noise!” Seth accused. “A great big loud one!”
Shaking away the memory, he turned to the towhead sitting beside him. “So I did.”
“I won! I won!” Seth jumped off his stool and headed down the hallway to his bedroom. “And I know exactly the story I want to read. It’s my very, very favorite!”
Thirty minutes later, once Seth had had a bath and brushed his teeth, Mark settled atop his son’s covers with the selected book—a story about a young prince and princess and their fairy-tale castle in an enchanted forest. Mark tried hard to make the story come alive by calling on his best repertoire of voices for all the main characters. The effort delighted his son.
When they reached the end, Mark closed the book and laid it on the night table. “I think that’s my favorite story, too.”
“Daddy?”
He looked down at his son and smiled. “Yes, little man?”
Seth let out a big yawn. “When can we see Emily again?”
Closing his eyes, Mark searched for yet another way to change the subject—something he could say to end their evening on a happy note instead of one tinged with guilt and the kind of highlight reel that was sure to haunt him as he slept. Yet all he could come up with was a truth Seth needed to hear, if for no other reason than Mark’s own sanity. “Son, I’m afraid we won’t be seeing Emily anymore.”
Seth’s eyes widened with questions Mark was simply too tired and too strung out to answer. Instead, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and made his way to the door, stepping out into the hallway and flipping off the overhead light as he did. “Good night, little man. Sweet dreams. I’ll see you in the morning.”
* * *
SETH STARED UP AT THE sliver of light the moon cast on his ceiling, and wiped the wetness from his cheeks. The lump in his throat kept getting bigger and bigger no matter how hard he tried to swallow it away.
He was trying to be brave, like a big boy, but it was hard. God kept taking all the happy, smiley princesses for himself.
Like Mommy.
And now Emily, too.
Rolling onto his side, Seth pulled his stuffed giraffe, Geronimo, against his damp cheek and stared out the window into the night, the sadness on his daddy’s face when he’d told him about Emily making the tears come faster.
He remembered Emily saying she was sick, but he hadn’t known she was going to leave so fast. And once again, just like with Mommy, he hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.
Daddy had. Daddy got to hold Mommy’s hand when she went to be with God. But he was too little. He’d had to stay with Gam.
Daddy got to go to a barbecue with Emily and see her smiles one last time. But he didn’t. He was having two whole bowls of ice cream with Gam.
Why didn’t anyone ever let him say goodbye? Didn’t his goodbyes matter, too?
Sitting up, he looked into the giraffe’s black shiny eyes. “I want to say goodbye, too, Geronimo. Don’t you think Emily wished I could say goodbye just like Daddy got to?”
He nodded the animal’s long neck in agreement.
“Yeah. Me, too, Geronimo.”
His mind made up, Seth slipped from his bed and tiptoed over to the closet for his quietest pair of sneakers and his favorite backpack. Then, being extra quiet, he put his softest baby blanket and his special picture of Mommy inside the main pocket and zipped it up tight, his uneaten Pop-Tart from yesterday still packed safely in a side compartment.
Careful not to make any noise, he made his way across his room to his bedroom door, which Daddy always left partway open. With a quick left and a right, Seth headed over to the sliding glass door in the living room and stopped. Then, peeking over his shoulder toward his daddy’s room, he pushed the little silver lever into the unlock position. When he was sure Daddy hadn’t heard the click, he stepped outside and slid the door shut.
“C’mon, Geronimo,” he whispered as he crept around the house and onto the street, his feet taking him in the same direction Daddy’s car always went. “It’s our turn to say goodbye.”
Chapter Twelve
Emily propped her elbows on her desk and stuck her fingers in her ears in a futile effort to drown out the steady whump whump of the helicopter flying back and forth over Bucket List 101.
She tried to concentrate on the course description she was composing for the upcoming fall calendar, but the incessant noise made writing difficult at best. No matter how many times she consulted the list of skills her students would learn during the four-day extreme camping expedition, she forgot them the second she began typing, her thoughts, derailed by the persistent feeling that something wasn’t right…
She knew it was silly, paranoid even. It was a helicopter, that was all. Its very nature was to push down air, thus putting pressure on a person’s eardrums. Pulling her fingers from her ears, Emily rose from her chair and made her way to the window, the maddening whump whump of yet another pass overriding her need for fresh air.
“Hey there, boss.” Trish breezed into the room, her slim legs making short work of crossing to the desk. “I compiled a list of twenty former clients who expressed an interest in a survival-style camping trip when they filled out their comment cards at the end of class. Gives us a nice solid base to start with, don’t you think?”
Emily turned away from the window. “That sounds like a great idea. Nice work, Trish.”
She rounded her desk and dropped back into her chair, repositioning her hands atop the keyboard. “Now, if Mr. Helicopter Instructor would just take his student a few miles east, I might actually get the darn course description written and ready for you to paste into the fall program guide.”
Trish strode over to the window and peered out. “That’s not a flying lesson, boss. It’s a search team.”
“Search team?”
“Uh-huh. According to my mom, they’re looking for some little kid who was missing from his bed this morning.”
Emily’s stomach tightened with fear at the mere notion of what that would be like for a parent. “Boy or girl?”
“A little boy.”
“How old?” she asked.
“I think my mom said he’s four, maybe five, but I’m not exactly sure. I do know he’s not school-aged yet.”
Jumping up, Emily joined Trish at the window. “Call the local police station. See if they’ll fax you some information on this little boy. If they can do that, tell them I’m willing to call in some of our more seasoned hikers and see if we can get together a search team to go out into the woods on foot.”
Ten minutes later, Trish was back, fax in one hand, pink sticky note in the other. “Got the info you requested, boss. A picture, too.”
“Tell me.”
Consulting the note, Trish began filling in the blanks. “Okay, the kid’s name is Seth Reynolds and—”
Emily’s gasp echoed against the walls, only to be drowned out by an eighth helicopter pass and Trish’s voice relating, “He’s four and—”
“A half,” Emily cried. “Four and a half. Oh my God, Trish, I know him.”
Her assistant’s eyes widened. “You do?”
She reached out, grabbed the fax from her hand and stared down at the face of the little boy who’d smiled so sweetly at her across the dinner table at Sam’s. “This is Mark’s son.”
“Mark?”
“Yes. You remember Mark.”
&nbs
p; Trish looked questioningly at her. “I do?”
“He’s the guy who came to my orienteering class late the other day! The one who…” She let the words trail off. There wasn’t any other meaningful correlation to be made for Trish or anyone else. Not now. Not ever.
Looking back down at the paper in her hand, Emily read the word for word quote Mark had given the police department’s dispatcher: “My son isn’t the type to wander off, but he’s been through a lot lately, losing his mom and all. I mean, I thought he was doing okay—as okay as he can be, anyway, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I missed something. But he’s a sweet little guy who loves his toys and dreaming about fairy tales and castles.”
“Dreaming about fairy tales,” she whispered. Suddenly she was back on the beach at Lake Winoka. Seth’s sand castle was to her left, while Seth himself played in the sand, wide-eyed and happy. In her hand was the flag she’d crafted out of a stick and a leaf. She was glued to the spot by Seth’s tales of royalty and secret hideaways....
“Secret hideaways,” she whispered, before grabbing Trish by the arm. “Oh my gosh, Trish, that’s it! That’s it!” She released her assistant’s arm, only to grab for her purse and keys. “I’ve gotta go. Cancel my class for this morning and the one this afternoon, too. Tell people we’ll reschedule for next week—same day, same time. If they can’t make it, give them a refund.”
* * *
DESPITE THE TEARS that had clouded her vision on the drive home from Mark’s twenty-four hours earlier, Emily was able to find her way through downtown Winoka and out the other side with little to no effort, her hands instinctively turning the wheel down one side street after another until she was back on Crystal View Drive. Any hesitation she entertained as to which house was the right one was quickly wiped away by the smattering of police cars parked outside the fourth bungalow on the left.
Storybook Dad (Harlequin American Romance) Page 11