by Cathy Bryant
“How’s it going, slugger?” He tugged at the bill of Bo’s baseball cap and plopped down on the bench beside him.
Bo gave no acknowledgement. He stared blankly at the field, a wall the size of Fenway Park between them.
“You ready to field some balls?”
Again he said nothing.
Andy scratched his neck, his frustration building. The second night this week Bo refused to talk to him. Refused to talk to anyone. Refused to take part in practice. They were losing him, and it was Trish’s fault. Her and her stupid pride.
A crunch of metal sounded behind him, and Andy jerked his head in the direction of the crash. Trish! He bolted to his feet and sprinted to the parking lot.
By the time he reached her, she’d already climbed from her Suburban to survey the damage. She hurried over to Carla Clark. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you.”
“It helps if you check your rearview mirror. Just look what you’ve done to my pickup!” Her face livid red, Carla muttered a profanity, kicked at the dirt, and sent a shower of gravel thudding into the grass.
The 1980’s model GMC pickup, its bed rusted out, now boasted a caved-in passenger side door, while Trish’s back bumper looked none the worse for wear. But considering the age and appearance of the pickup, Carla’s fury seemed unwarranted. Besides, the pickup’s dent coordinated so well with the crumpled tailgate held in place with a bungee cord.
A keening wail sounded behind him, and Bo dashed past him and latched onto Trish’s legs with a death grip.
She freed herself from his grasp, knelt, and engulfed him in a hug. “Shh, honey. I’m okay.”
Carla muscled her way over, her hands clenched into fists. “Hope you have insurance.”
“I’ll see that your pickup is repaired.” Trish managed a calm façade, but she blinked hard several times, and her voice wavered.
A minute later, Carla’s pickup tore from the parking lot, exhaust fumes in its wake, the lack of a muffler roaring her rage.
Trish ushered Little Bo to the backseat of the Suburban and buckled his seatbelt. “I’m taking Bo home.” She refused eye contact as she spoke, then shut the door and moved to the driver’s side.
Oh no, she wasn’t getting away that easy. He scooted in front of the Suburban and rested a hand on the door handle. “You’ve gotta do something about this, Trish. He’s getting worse.”
“We have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”
Andy lowered his hand and moved out of the way. Good. At least she was taking a step in the right direction. “Let me come and ask about the horses.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Trish didn’t answer or even look at him. Just climbed into the front seat and slammed the door behind her, then started the engine and drove away.
The Thursday night practice ran slower than molasses in wintertime, and Andy struggled to keep his focus. His team needed his attention, but neither his mind nor his heart would cooperate. Every part of him longed to run after Trish and shake some sense into her. How could she not see how desperate the situation was?
Finally, practice ended. His stomach grumbled from lack of food, but there was only one thing on his mind. This had to be settled. Now.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into her driveway. God give me the words to say. Help me get through to her. He strode to the front door and rang the door bell, then pounded. She’d have to answer eventually.
Trish cracked the door a minute later, her eyes swollen and red, and her cheeks damp.
His heart crumpled. He yanked open the storm door and pulled her into his arms where she clung to him and cried.
When her tears were spent, she pulled away. “I’m sorry. I have no right to—to—”
“To cry in my arms?”
She nodded feebly, then lowered her head.
He grabbed her hand, led her to the family room, and eased onto the sofa next to her. “Where’s Bo?”
Trish pressed her lips together, her eyes round and sad. “In bed.”
Alarm skittered down his backbone. “Already? It’s only seven. Did he eat?”
She shook her head. “I tried. He wouldn’t eat anything.” Her eyes closed slowly, the tears returning. “What am I gonna do?”
He stretched out a hand, lifted her chin, and stared into tear-filled eyes. “You’re gonna get through this. Both of you. But you’ve got to stop being so stubborn. Please let me help.”
Her face contorted, and she struggled to maintain control, but said nothing.
“What time is your doctor’s appointment?”
“Three. In Morganville.” Trish snatched a tissue from a nearby box and wiped her face and nose, then hunched over, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. “I usually pick him up from school a few minutes early.”
“Let me drive you and talk to the doctor.”
Doubt waged war on her features. After a long minute, she gave her head a defeated nod and released a breath, her face so full of sorrow it shredded his heart.
Thank You, Lord. He raised a finger and brushed away a stray tear that wandered down her cheek.
* * * * *
As they entered Dr. Wyse’s office, Trish tucked Little Bo’s hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. The room was designed with kids in mind, with toys, books, kid-sized tables, and bean bags, but well-organized and lit with sunshine. Soft, soothing music and a vanilla-scented candle made it a womb-like place, safe and comforting.
The kind-faced woman met them at the door. “Hi, Trish.” She knelt in front of Bo, her eyes instantly concerned. “He’s worse?”
Guilt punched Trish in the gut. Maybe she should’ve called to let her know he’d had a setback. She stepped aside to allow Andy in the room. “Dr. Wyse, this is a friend of ours, Andy Tyler.”
The doctor stood and stretched out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Tyler. Why don’t we all have a seat?”
“Andy is Bo’s T-ball coach, and he has a few questions.” Trish rushed through her carefully-rehearsed spiel as they made their way to the leather office chairs.
“Okay. First let’s see if we can find a special toy for Bo to play with, and then you can fire away.”
The woman, clad in a flowing dress that depicted Noah’s Ark, laid a gentle hand on Bo’s back and guided him to the toys. She offered several alternatives, but he refused each one, until she handed him . . . a stuffed horse. He tucked it under his arm and plopped down on a beanbag.
Trish shifted in the chair and shot a quick glance at Andy. His eyes didn’t hold the I-told-you-so look she’d expected.
Dr. Wyse made her way back. “Okay, now for your questions.”
He cleared his throat. “I’d like to introduce Bo to equine therapy. I used to volunteer at the Sunnyvale Ranch near Dallas.”
“I’ve heard of that ministry. They do great work.” She edged forward and crossed her arms on the desk. “What is your relationship to Bo?”
“Just a friend.”
Trish shook her head. “No. He’s more than a friend. Bo looks up to him like a father figure. Which leads to my next question. Is Bo’s attachment to Andy healthy?”
“It’s actually healthier to have a father figure than to not have one.”
Not what she wanted to hear. She brought a hand up to brush back her hair. How was she supposed to encourage Bo to have a relationship with someone without losing herself? “Really?”
Dr. Wyse stared at her a long moment then flicked her attention to Andy. “Do you have a family of your own, Mr. Tyler?”
“No, ma’am, but I’m concerned about Bo.” He stopped and looked at Trish, his eyes sincere. “And Trish. I want to help.”
“I see.” Dr. Wyse peered her way again then lowered her gaze, an understanding smile on her lips. “I think that’s very noble of you, Mr. Tyler. Of course, if Trish has problems with it, then maybe it’s not for the best.”
Andy’s mouth opened halfway. “I don’t understand.” His tone held hurt.
>
“Bo is very tuned-in to Trish’s emotions right now. If he senses any doubt toward a person in her, he picks up on it.” She tapped her nails against the desk then addressed Trish. “But you also need to consider the positive impact a father figure and the horse therapy might have on Bo’s life.”
Her body went numb and her thoughts tangled—a long lasso looped with knots. She’d do anything—anything—to help her son. Even if it meant losing her heart. “So you think horse riding would help?”
Dr. Wyse gazed at Little Bo, who stared out the window, the furry pony on his lap. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s chosen the horse the last few times. Have you noticed any other attachment to horses?”
Trish’s skin tingled. The book. Andy’s soft green eyes focused on her. “Y-yes. He has a horse book his father used to read to him at night. He chose that book for Andy to read to him not long ago.”
A crinkle appeared between the woman’s eyes. “It could be he’s subconsciously trying to tell us something. Children can’t always verbalize what they’re feeling, so they find other ways to tell us.” Dr. Wyse pursed her lips for a moment, one hand on her mouth, seemingly deep in thought. “Does Bo like to draw?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to try something new today.” Dr. Wyse stood and moved to the child-sized table near Bo, motioning for Andy and Trish to follow. She eased into a seat and patted the chair next to her. “Bo, why don’t you join us? We’re going to draw.”
He plodded to the chair, the plush horse still squeezed under one arm. The doctor passed out blank paper to all of them, the pages whispering against the bright yellow tabletop. “Today I want us to draw a picture of something we’d really like, even if it’s something that makes us afraid.”
An array of colored pencils and crayons lay in baskets in the center of the table. Bo grabbed a green crayon and started drawing, the only sounds the background music and his crayon scratching against the surface of the paper and table.
Andy snatched up two pencils. Their eyes met as he held one toward Trish, and an unexplainable force tugged at her heart. She took the pencil and lowered her gaze to the blank sheet of paper, her throat like a vise. What if nothing came out? What if she couldn’t do this anymore?
Within a few seconds, the blank paper sucked her in the way an empty canvas had once lured and beckoned. She abandoned herself to the joyful urge and drew without thinking, only stopping long enough to pick up other colored pencils, her ears tuned to the conversation between Dr. Wyse and Bo.
“Tell me what you’re drawing, Bo.” The woman’s voice was soothing and calm, like the musical trickle of the creek after a spring rain.
“It’s my horse, Domino.”
Trish’s heart pounded faster, but she forced her eyes to her paper, afraid she’d shatter the tenuous moment.
“You have your own horse?”
“Yep. Daddy and Mommy bought him last year for my birthday.” His voice took on an excitement and eagerness—almost a hunger—Trish hadn’t heard in such a long time.
“I bet you like to ride Domino, don’t you?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I love to ride him, but I haven’t ridden in a long, long, long, long time.” Now his voice was sad.
Trish swallowed the tears lodged in her throat, and glanced up at Bo’s pallid face. Andy had his gaze trained on her son, too, his eyes oozing love and compassion.
“Does riding Domino again make you afraid?” Dr. Wyse’s voice was non-threatening, and she continued to sketch.
Bo didn’t answer with words, but nodded, his brow furrowed with wavy wrinkles.
“Are you afraid he’ll kick you?”
Thick heavy lines now crossed his paper, his agitation stabbing so hard Trish’s left fist clenched in her lap, her fingernails scooping into soft flesh. She opened her mouth to speak, but Andy laid his hand on her arm and shook his head.
Dr. Wyse repeated the question, a little softer.
The chubby crayon fell from Bo’s hand, clattering to the table. He slumped in his chair, shoulders sagging. “I’m afraid it’ll make Mommy more sadder.”
Immediate tears spilled down Trish’s cheeks. Andy encircled her shoulders with a strong arm.
“Bo,” Dr. Wyse knelt in front of her son, forcing eye contact. “Would you like it if Andy took you riding?”
Bo looked at Trish, his dark eyes holding an odd mixture of sorrow and hope. “Only if it’s okay with Mom.”
“Of course, it’s okay, sweetie.” Trish reached across the table to caress his cheek. “I know how much you love Domino.”
Bo nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Yep, but not more than I love you.”
Tears flowing freely, Trish leapt from her chair and engulfed him in a hug. She snuggled into his warmth, her lips against his baby-shampoo-scented hair. “I love you, too, sweetie, and I’m glad you and Andy are going to ride horses together. Domino misses you.”
Bo pulled away, his chocolate eyes searching hers. “You’ll come with us, won’t you Mom? Can we go when we get home?”
Trish didn’t know how to answer. She had no desire to ride again. Ever.
Andy came to her rescue. “We’ll talk about it on the ride home.”
“Thanks for drawing such a beautiful picture and telling us how much you love horses.” Dr. Wyse patted Bo’s back. “Would you mind going out to the waiting room with Andy? I think Miss Judy probably has a treat for you. I’d like to talk to your Mom alone for a few minutes.”
“’kay.” He hopped from the chair, clutched Andy’s hand and tugged him toward the door, his expression bright. A complete turnaround in such a short time. If only she could bounce back like that.
Trish used fingertips to wipe away tears and followed Dr. Wyse to the leather chairs.
The woman scooted a box of tissues across the desk. “That was a major breakthrough for Bo. I feel certain the horse-riding will be good for him. There’s a lot of truth to the adage about dusting yourself off and getting back on the horse.”
“I agree.”
Dr. Wyse eyed her knowingly. “Now I want to talk about you.”
“Me?” Trish’s eyes widened, and she rubbed her bare arms. “Okay.”
“Don’t feel guilty that Bo’s reason for not wanting to ride horses had to do with you. It just shows how much he loves you.”
Trish nodded, blinking back more tears that flooded the never-ending reservoir flowing beneath the surface.
“Do you trust Andy with your son?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he’s a good role model and a good person?”
“Without a doubt.” Where was she going with this line of questions?
“Then what are you afraid of?” The woman pushed a paper across the desk—the drawing she’d done while she listened to Bo and Dr. Wyse.
Her pulse pounded and she blinked. Hard. She’d meant to draw someone else. How could this have happened? She studied the picture. Bo. Herself. Both with smiles on their faces. But the part that bothered her was the third person in the sketch.
A man.
Not a man with a cowboy hat and handlebar moustache, but a man with sea-green eyes and sandy curls. She knit her eyebrows together.
“Trish, what about this picture makes you afraid?”
“I-I didn’t mean to draw that. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Dr. Wyse didn’t respond immediately, a silence that seemed to stretch with insinuation. Then the woman’s head cocked to one side and her face took on kindness. “You don’t have to experience guilt if you have feelings for this man. It’s normal to care about someone who cares for you and your child.”
“B-but Doc’s only been dead a few months.”
“The fact that it’s only been a few months doesn’t make it any less final. Your husband’s not coming back.”
In a daze, Trish slowly rose to her feet and turned her back, one arm encircling her waist, one shaky hand on her lips. “It just seems so wro
ng.”
“It’s not wrong to have feelings of love for another person. Wrong comes with how we express it.” She hesitated briefly. “Or fail to express it.”
Love? Was she falling in love with Andy, or was it only admiration and gratitude? She swallowed and forced the question from her mind. “But what if . . .?”
“What if it doesn’t work out?” Dr. Wyse drifted from behind the desk with a smile, and placed a hand on Trish’s shoulder. “That’s a chance we take in our interactions with others every day. The real question is what if you allowed your guilt and fear to keep you from a relationship that has the potential to be wonderful? Not only for you, but for your son?”
Andy’s paper still rested on the sunshine yellow table. One glance and her heart sank.
Blank.
Chapter 14
“Don’t you think a paying job is a prerequisite to a marriage proposal?” Andy intentionally huffed out the words. How could Matt ask for more money in one breath and casually mention asking his girlfriend to marry him the next?
“Chill, bro. I didn’t say I was gonna ask her tomorrow.” A defensive hurt resonated in Matt’s tone.
The bat bag slammed against the concrete floor of the dugout, the metallic clink of the chain link fence rattling in reply. Matt’s news wasn’t what bothered him and he knew it.
“Are you doing okay?”
Andy had to grin at Matt’s turnaround question. He ran a hand down the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just busy and tired.” He had nothing to complain about. Business was better than expected, but loneliness had loomed over him all week. What good was a successful practice if he had no one to share it with?
Matt continued. “You haven’t sounded this cranky in like forever, dude. Maybe I should come for a visit.”
Andy chuckled. “Sounds good, but you might wanna wait ‘til I have a place for you to sleep. My little apartment barely holds me.”
“And how long will that be?”
His brother’s words immediately sobered him. Good question. “The contractor was supposed to break ground today, but we’ve had a lot of rain this week.” So much rain that he still hadn’t taken Bo riding, and ball practice had to be canceled. He’d missed Bo and Trish something awful, but knew better than to push. Trish needed her space, and he didn’t need to butt in on their private family time. “The ground-breaking has been postponed ‘til next week, provided everything dries out.”