The Art of Going Home (The Art of Living series Book 1)

by Nicole Sorrell

  “Oh? Why?”

  He picked at his cuticles and wouldn’t look at me. “It was the year before your sister died. The summer I started helping Dad with the lawn.” He stopped for a second then rushed on. “That time I was taking a break in the trees by your house. I was young, stupid. I shouldn’t have done it in the first place. I thought I was alone, and when I heard you two, I should’ve stopped, and… well…”

  I was staring at his attractive profile. His cheeks and neck glowed a deep red beneath his tan. “What are you talki—?” Suddenly, I remembered. “Oh,” I intoned. “Oooh.”

  He risked a glance at me. When he snapped back to stare straight ahead, I noticed that even his earlobe was crimson.

  “You mean that time you…” I said, moving my loosely clasped fist up and down in front of my hips.

  “Yeah,” he murmured so softly I barely heard him. He grimaced. He seemed ill at ease, and I imagined he wished the ground would open up and swallow him.

  The look of total mortification on such a physically intimidating man was priceless. A giggle escaped my throat. He was apparently stunned at my reaction, and that made me laugh even more. Soon, he was snickering along with me. After a minute, we were hysterical, both in tears. I put my hand on his shoulder to keep from tumbling over, and he got choked up and started coughing. Holding onto my stomach, I leaned against him and slapped him on the back.

  It was several minutes before we started to calm down.

  “Ah, sweetness,” he said when he’d caught his breath. “You’re such a beautiful surprise.”

  Tony burst through the front door. “Hey, Dad. Dad?” Bobby turned to look at his son, still chuckling.

  “Yeah, Bubba. What’s got you all in a tizzy?” He reached up to stroke his son’s cheek.

  “Auntie Amber says I got to ask you if I can have some chocolate milk. Can I? Please?”

  “Did you have any when you got home from school?” he asked.

  Tony gravely shook his head. “No. I haven’t had any today.”

  “All right. Half a glass,” Bobby allowed, a look of love shining in his eyes. Tony jumped in the air with a shout and ran back inside. “And don’t…” Bobby began. It was too late. “…Slam the door,” he finished after it hammered shut.

  When he turned forward again, his thigh settled next to mine.

  “He’s such a cutie,” I said. “I can see he’s everything to you.”

  He nodded with an abashed appearance. “Yeah, he is,” he admitted in his buttery deep voice. “My whole life.”

  “Do you share custody of him with his mom?” He pursed his lips at my nosiness, so I hastily added, “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

  “Nah, it’s okay. He lives with me full time,” he said. “Anytime she thinks I’m drawing attention, she says she’ll take him away, and fix it so I’ll never see him again.”

  “That’s blackmail! Could she do that? Legally, I mean?”

  “Sure. She’s the mother.” He shrugged. “He’s always been with me, though. She dropped him off right after he was born. She lives in Clantonville but never comes to see him.”

  Good Lord. She lived in the next town, yet never spent time with her child? What kind of mother was she? I wanted to find out who it was. I decided not to pry.

  “Does she pay you child support?” I asked.

  “No, never has.”

  “You should petition the court to give you sole custody. Then she couldn’t bully you. If she’s never been a part of his life and you’ve always taken care of him, I don’t see why it wouldn’t be granted. I could check with Zac about it, if you want.”

  “You think it’s possible?” he asked. “I always thought mothers had all the say over their kids. Who’s Zac?”

  “Zac Redondo. He’s an attorney in Clantonville. He handles family cases. Do you want me to have him call you?”

  “So, is he your boyfriend?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh.” His grunt seemed to carry a note of disenchantment. “Well, I can’t afford a lawyer.”

  “Nothing wrong with asking,” I said, encouraging him. “It would be worth it, if it meant keeping Tony, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Okay. Have him call me. I get off work at two thirty. Any time after that I can talk.” I dug in my purse for my phone, and he began telling me his number.

  Tony burst out of the house again, holding a baseball. “Come on, Dad. Let’s play catch! You promised!”

  “I’m talking to Miss Madisen right now. Remember, you have to wait your turn when someone else is talking.”

  Tony turned to me. “You want to play catch?” I couldn’t hide my amusement at his enthusiasm in contrast to Bobby’s glare when he’d been ignored.

  Entering the rest of the number, I slid my phone in my back pocket and got to my feet.

  “How can I resist such a handsome young man?” I asked.

  I strutted to the front of the small lawn, and Tony took a position close to the house. As we began tossing the ball, Amber leaned out the door.

  “I’m taking off,” she said. “See you Monday.” Bobby thanked her for helping, and Tony yelled goodbye. “Nice to meet you, Madisen,” she added.

  “You, as well,” I said. “Thank you for inviting me in.” I waved as she drove away.

  Bobby and I chatted, and I played with Tony until the sun had only just disappeared. He told me that, when he was fifteen, his father remarried, and they’d moved to the area. He’d lived around the county ever since. Amber, his stepsister, was seven years older. She helped with Tony, dropping him off at school and picking him up every day. She stayed with him in the afternoon until Bobby got home from work. His job with a waste management company in the neighboring county explained Bobby’s physique. Picking up heavy trash cans for eight hours every day built a lot of muscle. I tried to be discreet when I glanced at him. I don’t believe I succeeded, considering the panty-melting smirk he wore.

  Occasionally giving Tony pointers on catching and throwing, Bobby stretched out on the porch step, showing off his tightly wrapped body. He was too polite to comment on my lack of ability. It turned out that Tony’s aim wasn’t very good, either. He was tall for a six year old and had a strong arm. I often ran into the street to get the balls he fired past me.

  It was getting dark by the time I, once again, chased down the last one. A car screeched around the corner four blocks down. Standing in the street, I put a hand in front of my eyes against the blinding high beams to wait for it to go around. It didn’t move into the other lane. Instead, it came straight at me…

  ###