The Mommy Quest

by Lori Handeland

  “Hey.” Stella’s voice at his elbow made Dean jump. “Whoops! Sorry I startled you.”

  “It’s okay. I was lost in thought.”

  Dean gave Stella a quick once-over. She looked happy, healthy, in control. Whatever had happened to her, she was doing a great job repressing it. He wasn’t a psychiatrist, but that couldn’t be good.

  Dean sighed. He wasn’t her husband, or even her lover; he definitely wasn’t her doctor. He was her friend.

  Dean gritted his teeth. He hated being friendly.

  “About what?” Stella asked.

  For an instant, Dean blanked. About what, what? Then he remembered. He’d been lost in thought about—

  “What in H-E-double toothpicks possessed me to say yes to peewee football?”

  “What did?”

  “Temporary insanity. And the kid really, really loves the game.”

  “Kids really, really love a lot of things. That doesn’t mean they get to do them.”

  He stuck his tongue out at her, and she laughed. “Sorry. Giving advice is an occupational hazard. If it helps, I’ve been told by countless football coaches, as well as nurses and doctors, that there are more sports injuries in basketball than football.”

  “Really?”

  She lifted her hand. “Swear to God.”

  “Thanks.” Dean let out a breath. “That does help.”

  They went silent as the thud of a cleat against pigskin sent the football toppling end over end across the grass, instead of through the air, before smacking some hapless eight-year-old in the shin like an out of control spin the bottle. At least the boy was smart enough to fall on the ball rather than try and run with it. The other team was far too close for that.

  “Tim ask you to his game?” Dean asked.

  “No. I saw you.”

  Dean’s mood lightened. Until he remembered the last time she’d seen him, and he wanted to run, like some kid was now doing on the field, as if wolves were nipping at his heels.

  Thunk.

  Someone hit the child from behind and he flew. So did the ball.

  “Ouch,” Stella murmured.

  “Yeah.” Dean slid a glance her way. She didn’t seem mad. “I should explain—”

  At the same time she blurted, “There’s a problem—”

  They both went silent.

  “You first,” Stella said.

  “No, you. A problem with Tim?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Tim trotted onto the field. He was playing defense? Oh, brother! This should be good. Or very, very bad.

  He glanced at Stella. “What did he do?”

  “Which day?”

  Dean’s eyes widened. “He’s done something every day?”

  “Sometimes twice a day.”

  “And you’re just telling me now!”

  Dean’s voice was too loud. Several other parents turned to stare. He waved at them and they stopped.

  “He didn’t do anything major, and it wasn’t until today that I figured out he was getting into trouble on purpose. I’m just not sure why.”

  The play was called. The kids scrambled. Tim knocked one huge beast on his butt and headed for the quarterback.

  Dean stopped listening to Stella and stepped closer, craning his head to see what would happen.

  Tim flattened that kid, too.

  Several of the other dads turned around and gave Dean a thumbs-up. He returned the gesture.

  “What was that?” Stella asked.

  “Tim sacked the quarterback.”

  “That’s good?”

  “If you’re a defensive end, it is.”

  “Okay. Can we get back to why Tim is being a pain in my behind?”

  Dean sighed. “I have an idea. Did he ask you to be his mom?”

  “What?” she said, a little too loudly herself. “No!”

  “He didn’t ask you to date me?”

  Stella frowned. “No.”

  “Hmm. That’s weird.”

  Dean returned his attention to the field. Tim was watching them. He waved and his son waved back, then got into position for the next play.

  “Why is that weird?” Stella asked.

  “He’s on a mommy quest.”

  “A what?”

  Dean turned slightly, became fascinated with the slight blush in her cheeks and the way the wind stirred her short hair. When the sun hit it just right, Stella’s hair shone more red than brown. Why hadn’t he noticed that before?

  Jeez, how was he ever going to be friends with this woman?

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “What did you ask me?”

  “What’s a mommy quest?”

  “Just what it sounds like. Search for a mommy.”

  “And he does this how?”

  “By asking every single woman he meets if she wants the job. Or at least that’s how he went about his daddy quest.”

  She blinked. “Let me get this straight—he asked you to be his dad and you said yes?”

  “Not at first. At first, he kind of freaked me out.”

  “I bet.”

  Dean grinned. “But then he grows on you.”

  “And now he’s decided he needs a mom.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So he’s asking women to be his mommy.” Understanding lit her face. “Like he did with that delivery woman at the party.”

  “Right.”

  Tim had also blabbed a description of Dean’s ideal woman.

  He let his gaze wander over Stella again. Which was so far from the truth it wasn’t even funny.

  “Since then he seems to have decided he’d do better to find me a wife. He’s been setting me up.”

  Stella lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Which is what you saw this weekend.” She looked away. “That was none of my business.”

  “Tim asked the pet-shop girl out, and I couldn’t very well say no.”

  “Of course you couldn’t. Just like you couldn’t say no when she straddled you and stuck her tongue down your throat.”

  Dean’s lips twitched. “Well, it was kind of hard to say anything at that point.”

  Stella stared down her nose at him, which was pretty hard considering he was taller than her, but she managed. “I just bet it was.”

  “I’m sorry you had to move out of your parents’ house.”

  “I wanted to. My father and I do not get along.”

  “Been there, done that.” She’d just begun to smile, a slight tilt of her lips, a lightening in her eyes, when a shout went up from the crowd and her gaze shot behind him. She began to run.

  Dean turned. Then he ran, too.

  THE FIRST RULE OF FOOTBALL was pay attention. Tim knew that. But payin’ attention was hard. Especially when his dad and Ms. O’Connell seemed to be getting along so great. He couldn’t stop sneakin’ glances at them, and then someone snuck up on him and—

  Wham!

  Tim flew forward and smacked into the ground. That wouldn’t have been so bad; except there was another kid there first and his shoe crunched Tim right beneath the ribs.

  He tried to get up, but he couldn’t breathe. Tried to tell the other guys, the coach, all the faces that stared at him, that he was fine, except he couldn’t talk. Then Ms. O’Connell was there, and she knew what to do.

  “Tim, did you get the wind knocked out of you?”

  He’d gotten something knocked out of him, but he didn’t think it was the wind. Maybe his stuffing. He’d heard about having the stuffing knocked out of you, and he’d figured that had to hurt.

  He hurt. In fact, he thought this might be what dyin’ felt like, and if it was, no wonder no one ever wanted to.

  “Move your feet,” she ordered.

  He did. “Hands.”

  Those, too. “Neck hurt?”

  He shook his head.

  Relief passed over her face. What was she so relieved about? He still couldn’t breathe, and his lungs felt like they might go kaboom.

  “Tim!”

/>   His dad was there, and the kids and the coach moved back. When he stared up all he could see was Dean and Ms. O’ Connell and, behind them, the bluest blue sky ever.

  “He can move everything,” Ms. O’Connell said. “I think he got the wind knocked out of him.”

  “There’s only one remedy for that,” his dad said.

  Reaching down, he grabbed Tim by the belt and hoisted his middle off the ground, then lowered him, then lifted him again.

  “Hey!” Ms. O’Connell smacked his dad’s arm.

  But suddenly Tim could breathe again, and he did with a huge gasp.

  “I—I’m okay,” he said, and sat up.

  The crowd and his teammates cheered. He kind of liked that.

  He also liked it when Ms. O’Connell removed his helmet and wiped his face with a tissue from her pocket and some water from a bottle. Then she kissed his damp forehead. Right there in front of God and everyone.

  “You okay now?” she asked.

  Tim was more than okay. He was in love.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TIM WENT BACK INTO THE GAME, even though his dad said he didn’t have to, and Ms. O’Connell had a hissy.

  “Take him home, Dean,” she ordered.

  Tim shook his head. “What kind of wussy doesn’t play after he’s gotten the wind knocked out of him?”

  “I don’t know—” his dad socked him in the arm lightly “—what kind?”

  “Not a Luchetti kind.” He gave his dad a high five.

  As Tim was running onto the field, he heard Ms. O’Connell say, “All men are nuts.”

  His dad just laughed.

  Tim saw his gramma and grampa, his aunt and uncle and his cousin arrive, but he’d learned his lesson and paid better attention to the game after that. If he got knocked down too hard again his dad would make him stop playing, and Tim liked football, he really, really liked it.

  He might be little, but he was fast and he was tough. For the first time in his life, Tim was good at something. He was part of a team, and while he couldn’t say that any of the guys were his friends yet, he kind of thought they might be soon.

  Tim’s team won and he ran toward his family, disappointed to discover Ms. O’Connell had left. “Where’d she go?”

  His dad’s gaze narrowed. “Who?”

  “Ms. O’Connell.”

  “She had to work, and we have to talk.”

  “Why?” he asked, but he knew.

  “Let’s have hamburgers and ice cream at Schully’s to celebrate,” Grampa said.

  “Count us out.” Aunt Kim jerked her thumb at a sleeping Zsa-Zsa.

  “Did she see any of my game at all?” Tim asked, touching his cousin’s tiny hand with his much bigger one.

  “Didn’t you hear her screaming your name?”

  “No.”

  “You must be the only one, then,” Uncle Brian muttered.

  “I’m going to buy her a cheerleading outfit,” Aunt Kim decided. “With pom-poms.”

  “Oh, Lord.” Uncle Brian shook his head. “Here we go.”

  “She’ll love it!”

  “She’d love to play with matches, too, but that doesn’t mean we buy her a box.”

  Aunt Kim turned away from Uncle Brian so she could lean down and brush a fingertip over Tim’s nose. “Silver and blue, just like your uniform. She’ll be cute, don’t you think?”

  “Sure,” he said, though he wasn’t exactly sure. Zsa-Zsa could be cute, but she could also be a really, really, really big pain in the butt.

  Tim saw Uncle Brian watching him, and when he winked, Tim knew he thought the exact same thing.

  “Hamburgers and ice cream for dinner,” his dad announced. “My treat.”

  “Yay!” Tim leaped into the air, then started after his gramma.

  Dean grabbed him by the back of the jersey. “You come with me.”

  “Rats.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Tim took off his shoulder pads and stuck his face mask through the head hole so he could carry it like everyone else did. He climbed into the truck, then he waited for the lecture. His dad hadn’t even driven out of the parking lot before he started.

  “I heard you’ve been in the office every day this week.”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  Tim put on an innocent face. “Maybe I need my meds adjusted.”

  Dean’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so.”

  Tim glanced out the window, wondering if he could stall until they got to Schully’s. He doubted it.

  “I know what you’re up to, Tim. Ms. O’Connell is your principal. We aren’t going to date.”

  “Why not? Principals date, too.” He frowned. “Don’t they?”

  “I suspect so. But Ms. O’ Connell and I. We— Uh— She and I were—”

  “What?”

  “We dated before, and it didn’t work out.”

  “So?”

  “We’re friends. That’s the best way.”

  “What if you were friendly daters? Isn’t that better?”

  “No.”

  “But she’s all alone.” He thought of the soft way her hands had checked him over to make sure he wasn’t broken, how she’d touched his face, kissed his forehead. “I think she needs a family.”

  And if she didn’t, Tim did. Or at least a slightly larger family than what he already had. One mommy more ought to do it.

  His dad swallowed as if his throat hurt. “No, Tim. She doesn’t need a family. She’s not the type of woman who stays in a place like this. She doesn’t marry a farmer. Or adopt his son.”

  “Why not?”

  “She just doesn’t.”

  From the stubborn set of his mouth, Dad wasn’t going to listen to any arguments. His mind was made up.

  But so was Tim’s.

  He’d never felt the way he had when he’d been lying on the ground and seen their two faces above him. In that moment, something had gone click, and Tim had understood that Ms. O’Connell was his heart-mom, the one who would take care of them forever. The only problem was, how would he convince her, and his dad, of that?

  He stared out the window as Dean drove the short distance from the school to the ice-cream shop on the other side of town, and he remembered something his teacher had told the class that week.

  She’d been talking about writing stories, but he figured the same rules applied to real life, since stories were supposed to tell about life, only prettied up.

  Show, don’t tell, she’d said. It was a good rule. Tim couldn’t tell his dad how perfect Ms. O’Connell was for them, he’d have to show him.

  And Tim knew exactly how.

  DEAN WATCHED TIM down two cheeseburgers, a chocolate milk shake and large fries. “Your gut okay?”

  Tim lifted his T-shirt. Despite the huge meal, his skinny belly lay flat beneath the waistband of his football pants. The imprint of a football cleat, dark red and deepening toward purple, marred the skin over his bony ribs.

  “What the hell?” Dean roared.

  “Watch it!” Gramma ordered.

  Tim took a slurp of his shake and held out his hand. Dean plopped a quarter into his son’s palm without thought.

  “Look at his stomach, Mom.”

  Ellie leaned over and ran the tip of her finger over the mark. Tim giggled and Dean relaxed. He couldn’t be broken inside if he was laughing. Still—

  “Maybe I should get him X-rayed. He could have cracked a rib.”

  His dad snorted; his mom shook her head. “If he went back in the game, his rib isn’t broken.”

  “Is that so, doctor?” Dean asked.

  “I’ve seen enough broken to know.”

  That was certainly true.

  “You should put some ice on it, though.” She stood. “Thanks for dinner.”

  The requisite hugs and kisses ensued. Then Dean and Tim threw away their trash and headed for the door.

  “Gotta pee,” Tim said. “I’ll meet you in the car.” Since that happened a lot, De
an went outside as Tim dashed into the bathroom.

  Dean thought about the game, his talk with Stella, the fear when Tim had gone down and he hadn’t gotten back up. Having Stella there had helped. He wished she would stay here forever, but he had to stop wishing that.

  Despite whatever trouble she’d had in L.A., she planned to go back. She said her job was her life— and she hadn’t meant this one.

  Maybe he should start power dating. At least he’d get her out of his mind for a few hours a night.

  Dean glanced up just as Tim waved goodbye to June Renfrew, the owner of the ice-cream store. A widow, she’d been running the place on her own since her husband passed away about a year ago. Her daughter had been a few years ahead of Dean in school. He thought Bobby might have dated her, but he couldn’t remember. June lifted her hand, and Dean did the same.

  Strange. He didn’t think she even knew him. Of course, this was Gainsville, where everyone knew everyone, as well as their dogs.

  A few minutes later Dean wheeled into his driveway, wincing when Bear, four doodles, Cubby and a partridge in a pear tree—began to bark and chase the truck.

  “We need to get rid of a few dogs,” he muttered.

  “No.” Tim’s eyes were wide. “Who would you pick?”

  “Eenie, Meenie, Meinie or Mo.”

  Which was what they’d named the four remaining puppies, who weren’t exactly puppies anymore, even though they acted like it.

  “Not them!” Tim’s lip trembled.

  “Relax, kid, I won’t. I just dream big. Now, get an ice pack and do your homework.”

  “But it’s Friday!”

  “If you do it now, then you can goof off the entire weekend.”

  Tim frowned as he thought about it, then a smile spread over his entire face. “You’re so smart, Dad.”

  Dean was warmed by the sentiment, and he never got tired of hearing it. Maybe because the older his son got, the dumber Dean would become, at least in Tim’s eyes.

  Tim loped off to the kitchen, Cubby on his heels. The freezer door opened, then closed. Since Tim had arrived, Dean kept half a dozen professional ice packs frozen at all times.

  An hour later, Dean was watching TV when Tim ran through the house, feet pounding as loudly as a herd of elephants. “I gotta feed Wilbur.”

  “Now?”

  “Gramma said I should feed him whenever I’m home, which ain’t been much lately.” Tim bounced on the tips of his toes. “I don’t want to piss her off.”