“Would you like to join us for a hamburger?” Jon asked, and was shocked when she nodded.
“I’d like that, thanks.”
Twenty minutes later, after a quick diaper change in the front passenger seat of Jon’s small, four-door truck, they were seated across from each other in a booth at the fast-food hamburger place just outside of town. Lillie, who’d followed behind them in her car, had insisted on paying for her own grilled chicken sandwich.
Abe, in a booster seat next to him, was happily shoving French fries in his mouth.
Lillie made a face at the boy. He laughed out loud. She chuckled.
And Jon was struck by how much he was enjoying himself.
Which posed a major problem.
“I have a question,” he said, leaning forward over his opened container with a quarter-pound burger inside.
“Ask anything. That’s what I’m here for.”
“You married?” Not the question he’d meant to ask.
She blinked. “No.”
“You said, the other day, that your life was an open book. I’m apparently not much of a reader. You know about me. I know virtually nothing about you.”
And he wanted to know. Which was why he had to ask her.
“I graduated from Montford eight years ago. I married a business major I met my senior year. I’m divorced. And I’ve been back in Shelter Valley, practicing child life full-time, for the past five years. I live alone and am on call 24/7. My choice. Because that’s the way I like it.”
“No children?”
“No.” Something moved in and out of her expression so quickly he couldn’t make it out. Sadness, maybe.
Had she wanted children?
Or her husband had and she hadn’t?
It seemed kind of strange that a woman who knew so much about kids, and who clearly adored them, didn’t have any of her own.
“That wasn’t my question.”
She grinned. “Whose was it?”
Bowing his head, he tried to hold back his own grin, and lost the battle. “Okay, it was mine. But it wasn’t the one I’d meant to ask. Before. When I told you I had a question.” If he sounded anywhere near as idiotic to her as he sounded to himself, he should just hang his head and go home.
“What’s your question?” Grabbing a napkin, she wiped a drop of ketchup from Abraham’s mouth.
“Are we working?”
Frowning, she took a bite of her sandwich. Chewed and swallowed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Right now. What we’re doing here. Is this work?”
“As opposed to what?” She really seemed confused.
Breaking more pieces of bread and hamburger patty, Jon put them on the paper in front of Abraham.
He felt stupid. “I don’t know. Two people becoming friends...” It sounded as though he was hitting on her. Which he wasn’t. At all. Not that he hadn’t noticed how those jeans of hers hugged her long legs and a backside that— No. He was better than that. “Am I a client? I mean, I know you said I don’t have to pay you, but—”
“I’m happy to help you with Abe, Jon. Don’t worry about it.”
He wasn’t worried, exactly. Except when paranoia set in and he thought she might be a spy. “I’m not too sure about protocol for child life specialists.”
His burger was getting cold. He loved burgers. And since becoming a father he only got one a week.
“Are you allowed to be friends with your clients?”
“Not according to the books,” she said, and then shrugged. “And certainly in some situations, life-threatening medical procedures, for instance, I have to keep my professional distance, but in a small town like Shelter Valley it would be impossible not to be friends with my clients. Most of the parents of young children are my age and I wouldn’t have any friends if I couldn’t be friends with them. Or conversely, I wouldn’t have many patients if I couldn’t tend to the children of my friends. I’ve got a skill set, you know, like a plumber or a doctor. If your pipe bursts and your buddy’s a plumber, he comes over to help, right?”
“So you and I—” he gestured toward her with his hamburger-holding hand “—we could be friends. If the idea was mutually satisfying, of course.”
“If the idea was mutually satisfying, yes...” She’d withdrawn a bit. Wasn’t smiling like she had been.
He got nervous again. “Hey, you do understand I’m not hitting on you, right?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“But you are now.”
“Yes.” She nodded once, slowly.
“Good, because I’d like to offer my services. In exchange for what you’re doing here for me. And Abe.”
“Your services?”
The idea had occurred to him during the hour she’d spent giving him back some semblance of control where his son was concerned. “I’ve got some skills, too. I’d like to offer them to you.” Especially now that he knew she lived alone. “For instance, do you have a sliding glass door?”
“Yes, why?”
“Does it have a security lock on it?”
“It’s got the lock on the door handle. I’m sure it’s secure.”
He shook his head. “There was a theft in town last night.”
“I heard. And I’m sure the thief, if he’s still around, will be caught.”
What was it about the people in this town? Did they have no street smarts at all? They didn’t live behind a locked gate. Shelter Valley was accessible from the highway. All kinds of people took the highway.
“I’d like to install a secure lock on your sliding glass door. If you’re okay with that.”
“Sure. It never hurts to be safe. I’ll pay you for it, of course.”
“You’re missing the point,” Jon said. “This is a trade-off. You help me with Abe and I’ll help you.”
Being in debt gave people control over you.
She eyed the uneaten food in his container. “But...”
Abraham held up a French fry, looked from Jon to Lillie, grinned and nodded.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Lillie grinned at the toddler.
Abe’s nod encompassed the entire top half of his body. And then, still grinning, he chewed, French fry showing between his teeth. He picked up another and handed it to Lillie.
“You want me to have it?” she asked, when Jon would have just taken the fry.
Abraham, studying her with seriousness now as he held out his gift, nodded again.
She took the potato from his sticky fingers, said, “Thank you,” and popped it into her mouth.
Abe went back to the sections of burger Jon had cut for his son, picking one up and taking a huge bite out of it. He chewed, swallowed and kicked his feet. It occurred to Jon that he looked like a healthy, happy, well-adjusted kid.
One who was communicating.
“Do you want a pickle?” Lillie asked the boy, picking up the discarded vegetable from her take-out container.
“No!” Abraham said emphatically.
Smiling, Jon looked across the booth at their gorgeous companion. “I don’t buy that Bonnie Nielson pays you to spend hours on Saturday with the parents of her clients,” he said. “Being at the day care, to help them adjust, makes sense, but this?” Sitting back against the booth, he motioned at himself and Abe and the food in front of them.
Lillie’s gaze dropped before she once again looked him in the eye. “You’re right. I’m on my own time.”
“I don’t accept charity.”
“I understand.” She gathered her trash together and Jon thought she might be about to walk out on them.
“But if you’d allow me to return the favor—professional skills in exchange for professional skills...”
Her hands stilling, Lil
lie studied him and his son. “I have to be honest with you, Jon. I’m not sure why I’ve been so persistent where the two of you are concerned. It’s not my usual way.”
So he hadn’t been completely paranoid in thinking she’d singled him out. Just erroneous—okay, paranoid, maybe—in his conclusions that she was out to get him.
Maybe. Clara Abrams could afford to hire people who were highly skilled at acting.
“Tell me this,” he said, “are you here because you’re genuinely interested in helping me help my son?”
“Absolutely.”
She hadn’t blinked. Hadn’t looked away. “Then that’s enough for me,” he said. “Assuming you’ll allow me to reciprocate in kind. Service for—”
“I know, professional service for professional service,” she finished, a small smile on her beautiful face. “I agree to your terms.”
“Good.” He smiled. Her grin grew wider.
Something was going on here. He wasn’t sure what. And he was fairly certain he didn’t want to know.
“Good,” she said.
“Dada?” Abe’s voice sounded between them.
He’d forgotten that his son was still eating. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to watch Abe right next to him.
“Yes, son?” he said, wrapping an arm around Abe’s tiny, fragile shoulders as he surveyed the ketchup-smeared table. Abe had pushed what was left of his food-filled paper across to the other side of the table.
“Uh,” the boy grunted, bobbing up and down in his chair and pointing toward the door.
“He’s ready to go.” Jon gathered up the debris from their meal and retrieved a couple of packets from the back pocket of his jeans. The individually sealed antibacterial wipes he’d learned never to leave home without.
“Use your words, Abraham,” Lillie said softly from across the table as Jon tended to his son’s chubby little fingers and face first before starting on the table.
“Tell us what you want.” Lillie’s attention was intent on the boy. “Tell us you want to go,” she said.
With a small frown marring his brow, Abe’s big brown eyes studied the woman.
Jon wiped the table. He knew what Abraham wanted without needing to be told.
“Tell us you want to go,” she said again. “Go.”
“Gah,” Abe responded, bobbing up and down some more. “Gah.”
Jon grinned. A new word. Gah. It meant go.
“Gooo,” Lillie said, drawing out the long O sound. “Gooo.”
“Gah,” Abe repeated, grinning. “Gah.” The boy stood up on the bench and almost fell backward as his booster seat got in the way.
Jon reached out and steadied his son, feeling as though he’d just been given a new lease on life. He picked Abe up and set him on the ground.
“I was making it easy for him not to learn to talk,” Jon said to Lillie as they made their way through the restaurant. “He didn’t have to speak to get what he wanted.”
“That’s probably part of it. And he’s just turned two.”
“I do try to teach him words.” With Abe holding on to one hand, he held the door open for her.
“I don’t doubt that, Jon.” Lillie’s voice was soft. Tender. And, inside, he softened toward her.
“We’re working on potty training, too,” he added, still proving himself, just in case.
“Not too vigorously, I hope,” she said. “Boys generally train later than girls, closer to three than two. It takes that long for them to feel the sensation that they have to go. And trying to get him to understand what you want when he can’t recognize the feeling inside his body yet will only lead to frustration. For both of you.”
He’d read all of that.
“But sometimes they’re ready early,” he said. “I just wanted to give him the chance to move forward if he was ready. It’s not an everyday thing. Just an occasional invitation.”
He was talking about peeing with a woman he was attracted to.
“So—” Jon cleared his throat “—make a list of things you’d like done around your house,” he said, getting back on track. “Tomorrow is Sunday. I have the day off.” Except for cleaning the bathroom, washing the sheets, picking up groceries and studying. “I could come over and fix that door for you.”
They’d reached their vehicles, sitting side by side in the parking lot. Her newish dark blue Malibu next to his quite a bit older, four-door Ranger.
He wasn’t ready to leave her.
And he’d promised Mark that he and Abe would sit with Nonnie so Mark and Addy could have a night out.
“Tomorrow would be great.” Lillie leaned into him and, for a second, Jon thought she was going to kiss him.
And knew he’d kiss her back.
She kissed Abe on the cheek. “Anytime after noon would be fine,” she said.
What was she doing before noon?
He told himself it was none of his business as he watched her drive off.
Alone with Abe once more, Jon opened the back door of his truck, fastened the toddler securely in his car seat and settled himself in for the drive to Mark’s.
All in all they’d had a good day. Fun in the park. Good food.
And Abe had five words now instead of four.
Jon turned the truck toward Mark’s house, looking forward to a couple of hours of sparring with Mark Heber’s recalcitrant grandmother.
Hopefully Abe would fall asleep soon and Jon and Nonnie could get in a game of penny poker. The old bat had five dollars of his money.
CHAPTER SIX
JON HAD ASKED her to make a list of things she’d like done around her house. She did so, mentally, as she drove to Phoenix on Sunday morning. Overall, she loved the little house she’d bought close to the center of town, but a few of the rooms needed ceiling fans.
He’d have to bring Abe along when he installed them. It wasn’t like he could leave the toddler home alone.
She really wanted to have new faucets in the master bathroom. And one in the kitchen, too, with a pull out sprayer....
She’d need to baby-proof her home. She still had the cupboard safety catches she’d purchased when...
Maybe Jon could undermount her kitchen sink—a style of mounting that put the counter on top of the edge of the sink. She had granite countertops, which she’d had in her home in Phoenix and loved, but the sink was traditionally mounted. She’d grown used to undermounting. Preferred not to have to worry about water and other debris spilling over, wetting her outfit as she leaned against the edge of the counter as she worked.
A little boy in her home. Wandering from room to room...
The electrical outlet in her living room, the one behind the couch, didn’t work. Could Jon do electric?
She had brand-new sippy cups, still in their plastic. Was Abe too old for those?
There was the sticky latch on the window in the office. And she’d been meaning to get quotes on having a front porch put on....
Wait.
Taking the 202 to the 101, Lillie headed north toward Scottsdale and the little café that made breakfasts good enough to compel rich and famous people to wait for a table.
This thing with Jon. And Abraham. She wanted to help them because she knew she could. Because something about Abraham, the serious way he looked at her, as though he was trying to tell her something, haunted her.
But the time she was spending with them was nowhere near equal to the time that would be required to complete the list of jobs she was compiling.
She had to scale herself back. Way back.
Maybe just the ceiling fans. And the faucets.
Or just the ceiling fans.
And they could see about the faucets....
* * *
ABE WOKE JON up at s
ix. Laundry was done by seven. Two loads was all it took. One with jeans and pants, the other with the rest of their clothes.
Sitting down with his son for a bowl of nonsugared cereal with fresh bananas and a piece of toast at the little four-seater, faux butcher-block table that had come with the furnished, two-bedroom apartment he’d found for them, Jon checked the strap on Abe’s booster seat one more time and, reaching under the table, pulled it more firmly up to the table before placing Abe’s plastic bowl within sight, but not reach.
“Eat,” he said clearly, holding the big handled little spoon. “You’re hungry,” he said, leaning down just a bit so that his lips were right in Abe’s line of vision. “You want to eat,” he said, keeping his voice steady, kind. But firm, too. “Tell Daddy you want to eat.”
Abe grunted, looking at the bowl of cereal, and kicked Jon’s knee under the table. Repositioning himself so that his legs were together and angled away from the little boy, he leaned forward a little more. “You’re hungry,” he said again. “Tell Daddy you want eat.” And when Abe grunted again, he repeated the process a third time, putting more emphasis on the word eat each time.
Abe’s face puckered and Jon could see a bout of tears on the horizon. “I’m not giving in, Abraham.” He almost smiled. But this wasn’t a game. “It’s just you and me, buddy, and if you want to scream to he―Hades and back, you go ahead.” In his former life he’d used more colorful vocabulary. It came naturally to him. But he was working on not slipping up. “You want to eat. I understand that. I just need you to tell me.”
Slamming his hands on the table, Abraham started to cry. Jon moved the boy’s cereal bowl a little farther out of reach. He’d cleaned up enough spilled milk.
And he took hold of his son’s little hand, rubbing it lightly.
Abe stared at him.
“Your breakfast is here, son,” he explained slowly. “So is mine. And I’m hungry, too. I just need you to use your words. Tell Daddy you want to eat.”
With drops of tears wetting his lashes, Abe stared.
“Eeeeaaat,” Jon said again. Slowly.
“Eeeeeuh!” The word wasn’t offered gently at all.
Jon didn’t give a damn about that. He almost spilled the cereal himself in his haste to reward Abe’s milestone.
Second Time's the Charm Page 5