by Anna Adams
“Ben, run upstairs and get your coloring books. You’ll want them on the plane.”
“Can’t, in gloves.”
She pulled them off again.
“Hurry, buddy,” Owen said. “We can’t hang around too long, or we’ll be late.”
“I’m fast.”
Lilah leaned toward Owen. “You won’t leave him alone with your mother?”
“My mother’s changed, Lilah. I told you before she’s not like she was when I was a kid, and she won’t let Ben get hurt.”
“She let your father hurt you and your brothers and sister.”
“That was a long time ago, and she’s still making up for it—she volunteered to look after Ben while I work. My sister will be there for part of the time, too.”
“But your mother will be Ben’s major caregiver.”
“Call her tonight, Lilah. Talk to her. If you don’t trust her, I’ll deal with it.” He looked at his watch again. “But I have to take Ben now, or we’ll miss that flight.”
“I don’t want him to go.”
“I won’t hurt him,” Owen said, his voice husky. He reached for her hand, and his touch was as gentle as his words. “You could have flown with us.”
She eased her hand away, not trusting herself. Even though a kinder, gentler Owen would be the best thing that could happen to Ben, she couldn’t let her guard down. She’d had Ben’s safety in her hands since he was born, and she wasn’t ready or able to give up control.
“It’s better to give the two of you time alone without me as a buffer. I have to make one last stop at the shop, and by the time I get to Tennessee, you and Ben will know each other better. I can’t change this, but I don’t have to like giving you my son.”
“Our son. He’s my boy, too.” He moved away from her. “Ben.” He raised his voice, and they both heard footsteps running overhead.
“I got crayons and pens.” Clutching them with one arm to his chest, along with his big coloring book, Ben held on to the bannister and came downstairs.
Owen took the items from him. “I’ll put these in my bag in the car,” he said. “Say goodbye to your mom.”
“Bye, Mommy.” Ben hugged her tight, and began to cry. “I miss you already,” he said.
“I miss you, too.” The teardrops on his thick eyelashes hurt her, but she smiled again, determined to make him feel safe. After she maneuvered his hands back into his gloves, she hugged him tight once more. “I love you. Owen will take good care of you.”
“And you can call your mom anytime,” Owen said. “You’ll see her again in a couple of days.” Despite all the anger between them, the kindness in his tone reassured Lilah just a little.
“Where’s Tommy?” Ben asked.
“His giraffe,” she said to Owen. “He’s in your backpack. You and he can take a nap on the plane.”
“Okay. You call me, too, Mommy?”
“I sure will.”
She turned him toward Owen, and Ben put his hand in his father’s. Owen took her hand, too, and squeezed. His drawn expression as he tried to deal with Ben’s second thoughts offered her a moment’s hope that he would change his mind, but he led her son over the threshold. She wished she could go with them as far as the rental car waiting outside, but if she did, she’d never let her son get in it.
Instead, she waved as Owen tucked Ben into a seat just like the one in her own vehicle. Ben was still waving as Owen got in the driver’s side and pulled smoothly away from the curb. Just like that, she learned how hard it was to share her son.
She must have been crazy to think she could let him go off with Owen alone. And why did she need her car in Tennessee anyway? She slammed the front door shut and ran to her computer to book a flight.
* * *
DARKNESS HAD CLOAKED the mountain by the time Owen drove his son to the cabin on land his family had owned for generations. Ben slept peacefully in the booster seat, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks, his mouth slightly puckered, as if he had a thought he needed to share.
Owen passed his mother’s inn, pale in the moonlight, its sunny yellow clapboards a faint glimmer amongst aged trees. Lights shone in the barn he was converting to be used as an urgent-care center for the remote resort town of Bliss.
He’d left his crews framing the new layout. Sometime this week, they’d start the drywall. This job was Owen’s last chance to live a normal life again. He feared failure, that he’d take the drink that beckoned every day. He’d had so many spectacular failures that his neighbors and family took it as a given that work was only a break from drinking for him.
But his focus now lay with the boy in his backseat. Ben made everything else make sense. Owen had to do a good job with his son and on finishing this project to gain respect in his hometown. He wanted to be what he’d never had. A good father.
His conscience prickled. Did a good father blackmail his child’s mother into sharing custody?
He glanced at the glow of lights from the inn in his rearview mirror. The son of Odell and Suzannah Gage did what he had to, to survive.
The inn fell into darkness, and the barn lights dimmed as he followed the curving road to the cabin.
Someone had replaced the bulb beside the front door. Often, with his own home, it was a case of “Contractor, heal thyself.” He did careful work for all his clients, but he tended to put off working on his own house, including small tasks like replacing lightbulbs and hanging curtains over the kitchen windows.
Several images of Lilah’s cozy home passed through his mind. The kitchen, with its smells of apple pie and cinnamon. The snowflake-shaped place mats she left on the table and breakfast counter, appliqued with boy things, like trucks and horses and heavy machinery.
He parked in the driveway. He’d never built himself a garage, despite the often treacherous winter weather. Maybe now was the time to take care of that, too. Lilah wouldn’t love the idea of Ben tramping through the snow and mud and ice to get to his car.
Lilah wasn’t going to enjoy sleeping at his mother’s inn while he and Ben occupied the cabin.
At least she wouldn’t be a thousand miles away. For Ben’s sake.
Owen got out of the car and eased the back door open. Ben stirred, but only a little. Despite being unfamiliar with the restraining seat’s fastenings, Owen managed to ease his son, still sleeping, from the car. Ben burrowed into Owen’s chest, and Owen covered the little boy’s face with his hand to keep the cold wind whistling through Bliss Peak at bay.
He fumbled with the key and opened the door, switched on the lights, and discovered his mother had been in the house. She’d placed afghans over the couches, added a small green children’s table and matching chairs in primary colors, just the right size for Ben. He could sit and color there, or eat his meals, or maybe build one of the wooden train sets she’d managed to save from Owen’s childhood.
One of them was waiting neatly in the center of the table, the box bound with different shades of duct tape.
A basket of fruit and homemade jams and canned tomatoes and green beans waited on the kitchen counter. One of her apple pies, all frilly crust and delicious scents, sat beside the basket on a glass trivet.
“I’m hungry, Own.”
Startled, Owen looked into his son’s face. Ben’s trust got him right in the gut. Lilah hadn’t poisoned him against his father. “I think we have food.” Owen hugged him and then set him on the wide, plank floor. “Let’s see.”
“Like pie,” Ben said, sniffing with a pointed look at the counter.
“Sounds good, but we should have a sandwich, or—something—first.” He wasn’t the world’s best chef, but he’d borrow one of his mother’s cookbooks. He went to the fridge and opened the door.
His mom had been there, too. She’d left sliced ham and a sweet potato soufflé she only
made at holidays. A lettuce and vegetable salad of many colors and textures glistened in a bowl, and she’d stacked two other glass bowls covered with plastic lids.
“Own?”
He turned. Ben was struggling with the zipper, which was half up one side of his jacket, completely down on the other. “Buddy, what do we do about that?”
He tried first with the zipper, but that didn’t work.
“I pull it over my head,” Ben said. “Bad jacket.”
“Good idea, though.” They shared a giggle that chipped away at the tension as Ben’s head emerged in a halo of rumpled curls.
“I’m really hungry.” Ben went to the open fridge. “Look, cookies.” He peered up again. “Why do you keep your cookies in here?”
“I don’t know. Because my mom did. Your mother doesn’t do that?”
“I don’t think so,” Ben said. “We eat them too fast. I like cookies.”
Owen grinned. “We’ll try those out later. Let me show you the bathroom. You wash your hands, and I’ll start dinner. After that, we’ll unload the car and get ready for bed.”
He’d been wrong about his mother. She’d learned to care for her children, even if the effort was a decade or so late. He could count on her now, and he could learn from her, how to make sure Ben knew he could always count on him.
But he was wrong about quickly getting his son ready for bed. They ate their warmed-up dinner of ham and potatoes and buttery peas from last summer’s garden. Ben somehow talked him into a sliver of pie and half a chocolate-butterscotch-macadamia-nut cookie for dessert.
Bath time flooded the one bathroom in the cabin. Ben refused help, and Owen counted himself lucky that his boy didn’t fall down or drown in the tub. Ben told him, “Mommy always makes me take a shower, but I like bubble baths.”
After he was dried and wearing some sort of superhero jammies, he decided against bedtime.
“I’m not tired, Own. I want to play trains.” He sat on the yellow chair at the little table and began to unpack the train.
Owen stared at him, flummoxed. It was getting late, but Owen didn’t want to force Ben to go to bed. The little guy was alone with a stranger, who happened to be his father. He didn’t know this new place, and he probably missed his mother.
Asking him if he missed Lilah might be a mistake.
“Okay. We’ll put the tracks together. Then we have to go to bed.”
Ben looked up from the box, which smelled a little musty. “You have to go to bed? My mommy doesn’t go to bed until she wants to. What’s your bedtime?”
“After yours, so I can make sure you’re comfy and asleep.”
“Maybe, after we play trains.”
Owen felt a little queasy. He didn’t want to be the heavy, but he didn’t want to let Ben run all over him either. He’d spent his childhood balancing between no rules and bouts of tyranny. He’d hoped to give Ben consistency. But how did a man treat his son consistently when he didn’t know him?
“Careful. That box is torn, and the tape will stick to you.”
“You like trains, too, Own? Do you have more?”
“I do like trains. My mom found this one. She brought it over for you.”
“Does your mom live here?” Ben looked around the quiet house.
Owen kept it clean, but it positively sparkled tonight. Suzannah had cleaned the TV screen. There were fresh vacuum marks in the rug. “She lives in her own house. We passed it when we were driving in.”
“Can I see it tomorrow?”
“I want you to. You can meet my whole family. They’re your family, too.”
“I have an uncle and a grandma and a grandpa. They’re in New York.”
Owen began piecing the wooden track together. “I know. I met them before you were born.”
“Mommy and I visit them sometimes. I never saw you there.”
“I probably visited them when you were at home in Vermont.” After his business with Bantry Galleries became strictly business. And everyone in Lilah’s family had kept the secret of Ben—whether intentionally or not, he didn’t know. Maybe, if he’d asked about Lilah, someone would have spoken up, but he’d been too hurt by her accusations that he was like his father. And he had kept drinking.
He’d made sure her reasons for sending him away hadn’t been completely wrong. He had to stop being angry with Lilah.
Owen and Ben finished the tracks and then set up the train cars. Ben found a couple of trees and a station house in the box. Owen made a note to order more trains and accessories after he got Ben to bed.
That didn’t happen easily. They went upstairs to the small loft that Owen had turned into a bedroom. His mother had worked magic, hanging fabric clouds and sails from the overhead beams, layering Ben’s bed in pillows shaped like cars and a puppy and a kitten. She’d added a small rocker and another table.
Ben climbed into the big rocker that now sat on a rag rug Owen remembered from his own grandmother’s breakfast room. All those years, his mother had seemed out of touch with reality, but she’d managed to preserve bits of their past.
“Read me a book, Own,” Ben said.
Owen picked up one of the Golden Books he’d rescued from a box in the barn. Then he scooped up Ben and sat, with his son in his lap. He tried to keep his voice steady but soon found his throat tightening as he read about the little steamboat’s trip to the sea. He could never reclaim all those days he’d missed of his son’s childhood.
“You sound funny, Own.”
“Must be some dust in this book.” He faked a cough and pulled himself together. He felt full of joy, and yet he couldn’t ignore the ache. They read two more books before Owen insisted on putting Ben in his soft, warm bed. The little boy wore a brave look as he chewed on his trembling lower lip. Owen couldn’t shut the bedroom door.
“You know I’ll be right downstairs?”
“But where’s Mommy?”
“Still home. She said she’d be leaving tomorrow morning.”
“She didn’t call me.”
Owen hadn’t even noticed Lilah hadn’t called. “She’s probably packing.” He looked at the clock on the small mantel. “And she probably thinks you’re asleep.”
“Mommy’s supposed to kiss me good-night.”
Owen hesitated. Should he offer? Or would Ben rather the stranger-dad not kiss him? He couldn’t stand there waiting all night, being afraid to act like his son’s father. He crossed to the bed again and leaned over to press a kiss to Ben’s forehead. “We’ll call her first thing tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Ben nodded and then turned over, pressing his face into the puppy pillow. Maybe the little man needed a real pup. Owen headed for the door again, feeling like the bad guy in this situation. He should have insisted Lilah travel with them and show Ben how glad she was to have him in his son’s life at last.
Something—anything—to reassure Ben and make him feel certain he was safe in his father’s home.
He reached for the light switch in the hall but left it on. Then Ben made a sound. Not a sob, just a small, almost-hidden whimper. Owen froze.
What would Lilah do? Did she let Ben cry himself to sleep? Why hadn’t he thought to ask her?
It didn’t matter what Lilah would do. Owen turned back into the room and scooped up every book he’d left on the table.
“Scoot over, buddy,” he said. “I’m dying to read. Do you mind?”
Ben turned over, rubbing his eyes. “I want you to read to me.” He burrowed into Owen’s side, his little fists tiny knots against his dad’s chest.
Owen began to read, his eyes burning.
“Own,” Ben said as Owen turned a page, “you can sleep in here if you want to.”
“It’s a nice room,” Owen said, taking in the fresh coat of gray-blu
e paint and Celia’s best renditions of airplanes and racing cars. He felt cozy. “Do you miss your room in Vermont?”
“I like this one, but I miss Mommy.”
“She’ll be here soon.”
Ben stretched his legs and kicked a little. He put his hands over his eyes, and Owen wrapped his hand around his son’s small wrist. Some day, Ben would feel as safe with him as he did with Lilah.
For now, a touch and more stories seemed to work. Ben finally removed his hands from his eyes and turned on his back. “Read the one about the boat again, please.”
Owen read, and Ben snuggled. At last, Ben was so still, Owen guessed the little guy must be asleep. He didn’t dare move, and he didn’t realize he’d also fallen asleep until the chirp of his cell phone downstairs woke him.
He sat up, and the pile of storybooks slid off his chest. He barely caught them before they hit Ben. His little boy flipped over again to cuddle the puppy pillow. Owen slipped off the bed and then eased out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
He hurried down the stairs. It could be his brother or a subcontractor, maybe a new client who’d found faith in Owen’s abilities because he hadn’t screwed up the barn yet.
He grabbed the phone off the dining table.
Lilah.
Should he wake Ben?
“What’s up?” Owen asked, answering her call.
“How’s Ben?”
Her abrupt tone put him on edge. As if she were talking to the babysitter. Except she probably would have been more welcoming to a sitter. “He’s asleep.”
“That was quick. He’s never slept away from me before.”
“We managed.” He relented because he’d want to know more when she had Ben, and he was the one stuck a thousand miles away. “It was a little tricky, but I read to him and he nodded off.”
“Oh.”
And that was it. Fine by him. “Talk to you later, then.”
“Wait, Owen. I need to tell you something. My plans changed.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m already on the way. I made a mistake, insisting on driving myself. I was angry, and I didn’t want to travel with you. I couldn’t watch you being a father to my son.”