“Oh.”
Matt was single.
Matt was single?
How was that possible? Then a new horror hit her. This changed everything. If Matt was still single after all these years, her showing up with her son after she’d claimed she hadn’t wanted children was bound to make things worse. What if he took out his grudge on her son? She was going to have to pull Toby from the team.
“Okay!” Matt called out. “Everybody huddle around.” When the kids gathered in front of him, he said, “That was a great practice! Everybody showed a lot of hustle and you’re learning to control the ball. If you have your own soccer balls, practice at home, and feel free to bring your own balls to practice. Parents,” he said, looking over at the mothers and the lone father, “we’re using a size three ball, so it would be helpful to get your child one in that size. I hope to have the completed game schedule by next Tuesday. Any questions?”
The parents were silent.
He grinned. “Okay. Everyone put your soccer balls in the mesh bag, and Ethan, help me pick up the cones. I’ll see everyone on Thursday!”
Toby nearly tripped on his ball as he tried to kick it toward the bag, but Matt grabbed his arm and held him upright. “Easy there, bud. You almost did a face plant just like I did when you got here.”
Toby looked up at Matt with adoring eyes. “How did I do, Coach Matt?”
Matt stared down at the boy for a moment before his face lit up with a soft smile—almost like it was in spite of himself. “You did great for your first practice, Toby. And you’ll do even better next time.”
Anna’s heart shattered into pieces.
“Thanks, Coach Matt!” he said, then took off running for Anna. “Mummy! I did it!” He threw his arms around her legs and hugged her.
“You were wonderful, Toby,” she said. A lump formed in her throat as she saw Matt watching them. She and Matt were adults, and he obviously could put aside his feelings to be kind to her son. Maybe they could work this out.
His eyes held hers for a second, the bitterness and hurt sucking her breath away, then he turned on his heels and walked toward the empty field.
Chapter Three
Toby talked more on the short car ride home than he had in the past several days, giving her little time to think. “I kicked the ball around the orange cones, Mummy. Did you see me?”
She smiled at him in the rearview mirror. “Yes, I saw you. You were amazing.”
“I can’t wait until the next practice. Can I get some balls? Coach Matt said I need three balls.”
She pulled up to a stoplight and caught his gaze. “He said you need a size three ball, pumpkin. Not three of them.” It would devastate him when she told him that he was going to have to switch teams, but the look on Matt’s face convinced her there was no other choice.
“Oh.” He was silent for a moment. “Coach Matt says my shin guards are too big. He says I need to get smaller ones.”
“Okay,” she said. Coach Matt. How could he already adore his new coach? Then again, why was she surprised? Toby was always drawn to kind men who paid attention to him. “We’ll get you a ball tomorrow, along with smaller shin guards. Right now we’re going home and starting dinner.”
He scowled. “That’s not home. It’s Grandad’s house.”
“Well, Grandad’s house is ours for now.”
His frown deepened and he looked down at his lap.
Anna’s heart sank. “Is living at Grandad’s so bad?”
He lifted his face with a smile that looked forced. “No, Mummy.”
But she knew he was lying, and it killed her even more that he was trying to make her feel better. “I know Grandad can be grumpy—”
His gaze held hers. “Why doesn’t he like me?”
A car honked behind her—the light had turned green—and she had to look away. Why were they having this conversation in the car? Then it occurred to her that he was opening up because she was partially distracted. She knew her father scared him at times, but she’d hoped Toby would get used to her father’s rants. “What are you talking about? Of course Grandad likes you. How could he not? He’s just hurting from his broken leg.” And his wounded pride, but no need to mention that to the boy.
Toby didn’t answer.
“Hey, I know,” she said in a cajoling tone. “After tea, how about you and I watch TV snuggled up on the bed? Just like we do back home.”
He looked unsure. “Grandad won’t like it. He doesn’t like when we watch TV in our room.”
Toby had a point. “Well…” she said with a grin, “Grandad can get over it.”
A smile spread across his face. “Okay.”
Anna sighed. Albert Fischer had never been an overly pleasant man, but age and widower-hood had made him downright cranky. His schedule was precise: he was up at six, by six fifteen he was drinking his coffee and reading the Kansas City Star at his kitchen table, he liked his dinner promptly at five thirty, and he was always in bed by ten. Her mother’s death seven years before had made him even more set in his ways, and anything that threw him off-schedule made him a bear to live with. A five-year-old boy underfoot had sent Albert’s whole world careening off its axis.
In fairness, her father’s world had already been upended when he’d broken his femur. Albert was fiercely independent, so having his thirty-three-year-old daughter move in with her son to care for him had filled him with shame, which only exasperated the problem. But the doctors had told Anna that if someone didn’t move in with him for the next few months, he would have to go to a nursing home. Since Anna was an only child, that left the sole responsibility to her. She’d considered hiring him a full-time nurse, but it would have been difficult to make decisions about his care from across the ocean. So she’d taken a semi-leave of absence, packed up her son, and moved back home.
Her firm hadn’t been supportive, not that she blamed them. Being gone for three months was a burden to her as well. But even though she wasn’t in the London office, she was still working at her father’s house, juggling her clients with e-mails and international phone calls and the occasional client meeting when they happened to come through Kansas City—a more common occurrence than she’d expected. But they still weren’t happy, as Anna’s boss had made perfectly clear this afternoon as they’d gone over her accounts.
This wouldn’t end well. She could feel it.
“Can we have fish fingers and chips?” Toby asked.
She had a package of fish sticks in the freezer, but her father always complained that the house reeked of fish when she heated them up. Let him complain. She was going to make her baby boy happy before she broke his heart with the news he had to switch teams. “Yes, baby. You can have fish fingers and chips.”
Several minutes later, she pulled into the driveway of the 1960s ranch house and turned off the engine. She got out and opened the back passenger door as Toby finished unbuckling his booster seat. Grabbing his backpack, she slung it over her shoulder. “Let’s go make your fish fingers and you can tell me about your day. Who did you play with at recess?”
He gave her a look that suggested she’d lost her mind. “Ethan. Duh.”
“Duh?” she asked, amused. “That’s a new term.”
He shrugged as they walked to the front door. “Ethan says it.” He reached the front steps and hesitated. “Maybe we should just watch TV with Grandad.”
Damn her father. He’d been on a rant that morning that had been louder than usual, and while Anna had dealt with worse as a child, her sensitive son had taken it personally.
Anna brushed past Toby and opened the front door. “I’ll deal with Grandad. What should we watch tonight?”
“Ninjago.”
She laughed. “You’ve seen every episode. Twice. You don’t want to try something new?”
“I like it,” he said quietly.
He stood on the doorstep, hesitating.
Why did her father have to be such an ass? She’d hoped things would ease up after h
e’d adjusted to having house guests, but if anything, they’d gotten worse. What was she going to do? Her father’s answer would be to tell Toby to toughen up—the Albert Fischer who’d raised her had no patience for weakness—but she refused to do that. And she couldn’t continue to traumatize her son, but she couldn’t leave her father alone either. Maybe hiring a nurse wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She could find a short-term place for them to stay—close enough to check on him, far enough to give them all some space.
She grabbed Toby’s tiny hand and squeezed. “Come on.”
They entered the dark living room and Anna turned on a lamp. “Dad, we’re home.” When she didn’t see him in his chair, her breath stuck in her chest. “Dad?”
“Back here,” he said, his voice faint.
How had he gotten to the back of the house?
Anna handed Toby his backpack and cupped his cheek. “You go into the kitchen and get out the fish fingers, okay?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
He headed to the back of the house while Anna walked down the short hall. “Dad, you’re in your room?” She stopped in the doorway, surprised to see him sprawled on the bed and his walker several feet away and tipped on its side.
“I wanted to lay down. Can’t a man do what he wants in his own damn house?”
She didn’t answer his question. He’d asked it multiple times over the last four weeks, and in many different forms.
It was definitely time for a Come to Jesus chat.
“I thought you were going to lunch in downtown Kansas City, not Chicago,” he grumbled. “You said you’d be gone a couple of hours.”
“I’m sorry. It took longer than expected, and then I didn’t have time to come back before I picked up Toby from school and took him to his first soccer practice.”
He frowned. “Isn’t he too young to be playing soccer?”
“They start kids as early as three,” she said, picking up the walker and moving it next to the bed. “And since Toby turns six in a few weeks, he’s more than old enough. Besides, I told you before I left for my meeting.”
“Where’s he at? I don’t hear him making a ruckus.”
Her jaw clenched. “Toby’s in the kitchen. I’m making him fish sticks and French fries for dinner, but I’ll be happy to heat up some leftover casserole from last night if you would like.”
“More damn fish sticks. The house is gonna stink to high heaven.”
She stood next to the edge of the bed. “They make Toby happy, and that little boy needs some happiness in this house, Dad.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he asked, his eyes flashing with anger as he stared up at her.
“Toby’s hungry. I’ll get his dinner started, then we’ll discuss it later.”
“Your son has had your attention for nearly six years,” her father said. “You can spare me two damn minutes.”
Was that what this was about? That she’d stayed in London after her mother had died? He’d been the one to run her off, not that she’d been eager to return since. Her mother had always been her anchor growing up. While her father had been a better parent when she was younger, he’d never been like all the other dads. But he slowly changed, and by the time she’d hit middle school, he’d gone from cantankerous to emotionally distant.
After she left for college, her mother had been the reason she’d come home and her grief had resurfaced the moment she’d walked through the front door. She missed her mother, and her father’s surliness only made it worse.
Anna shook her head. “Later. I’m going to heat up your dinner. Do you want me to help you up before I go?”
He hesitated, then gave a rough nod.
She helped him slide his feet to the side of the bed and positioned his walker in front of him. “You got out of your chair in the living room without any help,” she said. “That’s great.”
“Took me ten minutes.”
“You’ll get faster as you get stronger.”
“Hmm…” he grumped.
Stepping back, she watched him balance his hands on the walker and then slowly rise. While he was still as difficult as ever, it was hard to see him so vulnerable. When she was younger, his strong physique and sour attitude had made him an intimidating force, but now his weak and frail body wore his surliness like a hand-me-down coat. She felt guilty for being gone so long, but he hadn’t made it easy. Still, her mother would have been disappointed in her, and that was reason enough. “I’m going to get dinner started. Holler if you need anything.”
When she reached the kitchen, Toby had the box of fish sticks and a bag of crinkle-cut French fries out on the kitchen table.
“I turned on the oven,” he said with a proud smile. “And it’s the right temperature. Four twenty-five Faren…Fahrenheit. What’s that number back home, Mummy?”
Toby had been confused by Fahrenheit versus Celsius and was constantly asking the difference. “Two hundred, but you know you’re not supposed to play with the oven.”
His head drooped down. “But I’ve seen you do it, Mummy. I know how to turn the knob. I wanted to help.”
“Four twenty-five is very hot, my love,” she said. “You have to be careful when you turn on an oven.”
“I was,” he insisted. “I turned the knob very. Slow.” He mimicked the movement with his hand.
Anna squatted in front of him and gave him a soft smile. “I very much appreciate your help—you are such a thoughtful boy. But your safety is more important than anything, okay?”
He nodded, his eyes serious. “Yes, Mummy.”
She stood and grabbed a cookie sheet from the cabinet next to the stove. “Why don’t you help me put the fish fingers and chips on the sheet? Enough for the both of us.”
Toby took his chore seriously, his mouth set in determination as he lined ten fish sticks in two rows. By the time he got the fries situated, the oven was ready.
Her father appeared in the doorway, the thump-shuffle of his walker announcing his presence long before he arrived at his destination.
Toby moved closer to Anna and stood partially behind her, still on edge from this morning.
She slipped an arm around her son’s back and held him close to her side. “Dinner’s not ready yet, Dad, so if you want to watch the news, I’ll let you know when it’s time to eat.”
“Dinner’s already forty-five minutes late. How long does it take to heat up a damn casserole?”
“Dad.” Her tone was brisk. “Language.”
“I’ve said ‘damn’ around you since you were a baby,” he grumbled. “I never censored myself around you.”
“I’m raising Toby differently.”
“I’ll say,” he grumbled. “You’re raising him on the other side of the damn world. What? The US of A’s not good enough for him?”
Anna moved to the back door and pushed it open. “Toby, why don’t you go play in the backyard while I talk to Grandad?”
He looked up at his grandfather with big, wide, round eyes before shifting his gaze to her.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “We’re going to have a chat while we wait for your fish fingers.”
He nodded, then headed out the back door. Once it was shut behind him, she turned to her father.
“Do you purposely want him to be afraid of you or is it an unconscious effort?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked as he took a step into the small kitchen.
“You scare him.”
“I can’t help it if he’s like a damn church mouse.” He plopped in a kitchen chair. “Ain’t that what you say over there in England?”
“Any child would be scared of you. Half my friends were scared of you growing up.”
“I just tell it like it is.”
That’s what he’d told her too many times to count when she was younger, that he was entitled to his bluntness because he was telling it like it was—other people’s feelings be damned. Hers included. Even her mother wasn’t completely spared.
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“No, you never think of anyone else or their feelings. Only your own.” How many times had she seen her mother bow down to her father’s wishes? Too many times to count. “Maybe it would be better for all of us if I found somewhere else for Toby and me to stay for the next month and a half.”
A sneer curled his upper lip. “Is this house not good enough for ya? Not as fancy as your London apartment?”
She sighed, too tired and frazzled to fight with him. “This house is just fine, and if you took the time to get to know your grandson, you’d realize that Toby could live in a paper bag and be happy as long as he’s surrounded by people who love him.”
A strange look passed over her father’s face, and when he spoke again, it was quieter and with less venom. “You said you came back to take care of me. Falling through on your promise, I see.”
She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic storage container. “No. I’ll still be around to take you to your physical therapy and doctor’s appointments, and you’ll have a full-time nurse, but I think we’ll all do better with a little more space between us.”
He pointed a bony finger at her. “I never asked you to come.”
“Look, Dad,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face with the back of her hand. “I realize you’re not the most demonstrative person in the world, and I don’t even expect you to thank me, but I do expect you to be civil and not to scare my son.”
“I never tried to scare the boy.”
“You haven’t been very nice to him either.” She pried the lid of the container open, then grabbed a plate. “Do you hate me that much for leaving?” she asked quietly as she scooped some casserole onto a plate.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Annaliese.”
She put the plate in the microwave and turned it on. “Dramatic? I’ve held my tongue for too long, Dad. He’s miserable here, and it has everything to do with your attitude.”
Her father waved a hand in dismissal. “I ain’t that bad.”
“You’re no Sunday picnic.”
The corners of his lips twitched into a grin. “Sometimes I can be an ass.”
Always You Page 3