by Caro Carson
Evan had always known Rob would make a lousy husband for any woman.
He would never forgive himself for letting Rob become a lousy husband for Juliet.
He’d known she was marrying a man who wasn’t good enough for her, but he hadn’t known, hadn’t really understood, just how much damage a lousy husband could leave behind.
Evan smacked the lever of the kitchen faucet and shook the water off his hands. As he punched the ground beef into hamburger patties, he looked out the kitchen window to his backyard. Juliet was throwing a Frisbee to her son.
Just looking at her made Evan’s heart bleed. It had been even worse for her than he’d imagined, when he’d let himself imagine her life at all.
Rob had cost Juliet money, soaking her for a shocking amount of alimony, unconscionable when he was an employable, able-bodied man who’d cheated on his wife multiple times.
Evan threw the patties onto a platter, raw meat hitting the stoneware with force.
Rob had cost Juliet friendships, too, by leaving every responsibility on her shoulders so she had no time or energy left to make friends. Her son couldn’t remember her ever going out with a friend. She’d forgotten how to have fun, because she hadn’t had the time or opportunity to have fun.
Worst of all, this incredibly appealing, physically fit woman tossing a Frisbee in his yard doubted her own inherit sexiness. She didn’t trust herself. Her body responded to his touch, but her instinct was to keep her distance. Was that Rob’s fault as well?
It had to be, because Juliet had liked sex before she’d married Rob.
How the hell do I know that?
Juliet leaped to make a one-handed catch, a sliver of her bare waist showing as her sweater rode up with the reach, and the memories came quickly: Juliet dancing at a party in a dress that bared her middle, a dress she wore with confidence. Juliet in the hallway after class, talking to a guy she thought was cute, flirting like a champ. Evan could picture her laughing at juvenile jokes about sex positions or props. He could remember her telling bad jokes herself.
One morning, he’d caught her making the so-called walk of shame. He’d been going out for a run, stretching first on the steps to the seniors-only dorm. She’d been coming toward him on the sidewalk, head down, wearing a little black dress at seven in the morning, barefoot. Her fancy shoes had been in her right hand, just one more instance where he’d never actually seen her walk in high heels, not until she’d walked into his office forty-eight hours ago.
That morning, he’d relished the chance to tease her. “Good morning, Miss Grayson.”
She’d looked up, startled and guilty as hell. Hair a mess. Makeup smudged. “Oh. Evan. Hi. Uh, you’re going out for a run?”
“Nice morning for it. You’re out for a walk, too?”
“Yes. I’m done now. Just heading back to my room.”
He’d kept his tongue firmly in cheek. “Shoes hurting your feet after your workout?”
“Oh. Uh, they’re Tana’s.”
“I see.”
“So, I’m just carrying them back to the dorm for her, because...”
“Because?”
“Because I borrowed them. Last night. It’s morning, so I have to return them, and...am I fooling you at all?”
“You are stone-cold busted.”
She’d dissolved into giggles, and he’d laughed at her and with her, both. He’d hopped off the steps to start his run. She’d given him a shove off the sidewalk when he passed her.
He’d just turned around, jogging backward. “By the way, nice dress. Really.”
The memory made him want to smile. It was odd that the thought of Juliet with Rob destroyed him, but the memory of Juliet carrying her high heels after a night with her college boyfriend didn’t.
He picked up the platter of raw hamburgers and headed out to his patio and the grill he’d spent his money on, because he hadn’t had a family to buy park tickets and slushies for.
Juliet carrying her high heels...
The only emotion that stirred in his chest was affection. Maybe he didn’t feel jealous now because he hadn’t felt jealous then. That morning had been in the fall of their senior year. They’d been friends, so he’d felt no more jealousy than he would have felt for any of his other friends, for Connor or Wayne or Tana sleeping over at someone else’s place, someone they liked, someone they wanted to be with.
He hadn’t felt possessive toward Juliet then. Not yet. Not until that night in May, when he’d realized he was going to lose her to the United States Army, and he’d wondered why he’d never kissed her before.
Evan set the platter down and fired up the grill. The important point was that Juliet hadn’t thought she was bad in bed, that was for sure. Not until she’d been married to Rob.
Evan’s fault. Rob was Evan’s fault. The guilt was going to kill him.
But first, he was going to make sure Juliet remembered how to have fun.
In bed.
Chapter Ten
After the burgers and before the s’mores, Evan saw more of the damage Rob had left in his wake.
Juliet wasn’t the only one who’d learned to shield herself. So had Matthew. The best mother in the world still couldn’t fill the hole an uncaring father left. The evening was revealing glimpse after glimpse of that hole.
It was too cold to sit outside after the sun went down, but Evan owned an outdoor space heater, a stainless-steel tower that was a foot taller than he was. He’d lit its central flame, which shot up a glass tube, providing an arresting visual effect as well as radiant heat.
“No waaay,” Matthew had said.
“Impressive.” Juliet had laughed at him. “Heating the outdoors. Such an ultimate dude thing to buy.”
He’d winked at her. “Man toys.”
Matthew had said, “Yeah, we don’t have one.” Because we don’t have a man.
Was that his childish rationale? They didn’t have a man toy because they didn’t have a man?
Evan had decided he was reading too much into it. Then Matthew had patted the metal tower. “This would be a good present for my dad. He’d want one for Christmas. Did you get it for Christmas?”
That damned hole sucked all kinds of happiness away from that boy, even the pleasure of an eye-catching flame.
Evan was certain now that Juliet was hoping he’d be able to fill that hole, while the two of them played friends with benefits. He could see that her experience with Rob was shaping part of the equation. She was afraid the sex would become lovemaking. She was scared to fall in love.
Evan didn’t like it, but it made sense to him, knowing what a bastard she’d married. The part that didn’t make sense was how Juliet had come to the conclusion that Evan would make a good substitute father. They’d had so little contact since college. What had he done as a nineteen-and twenty-year-old that translated to father material in her mind?
He added another log to the iron firepit he used in the winter. Between the heater and the firepit, he’d turned his patio into a place where a man could look at a fire, sit and think. Tonight, it was a place where a man could make s’mores with a kid who gave him a lot to think about and no peace to think it in.
Maybe Juliet thought of Evan as a potential father because he’d said, Kids don’t scare me. He’d said it on that college green, and he’d said it again in his office. It was true.
Juliet had said, That’s because you’ve never lived with one, which was probably even more true.
The one he was going to live with accidentally set his marshmallow on fire. He blew it out more quickly than he had the first time he’d burned one.
“That’s still good to eat,” Evan said. “You’re getting better at this.”
“I don’t like them burned.”
Evan held out his graham cracker. “I do. Slap it here.”
Another marshmallow was speared and began its transformation to charcoaled near-inedibility.
Evan sat back and devoured the s’more. “So what else do you like to do besides video games and grilling?”
Matthew had enjoyed the grilling. Evan had let him flip the burgers. Only one had landed on the patio—and then the trash—a small sacrifice to teach a kid a new skill. Matthew had forgotten to pout for an entire half hour.
That half hour was up, and so was Matthew’s guard. He didn’t answer Evan.
Juliet answered for him as she continued to skip the graham crackers and the chocolate to eat one perfectly toasted marshmallow after another. “Matthew is on his school’s baseball team. They’ve had their first three practices.”
“I hate baseball,” Matthew said.
“You loved baseball at Fort Benning.”
“That was T-ball. It was dumb, baby stuff. That’s why Dad didn’t come to the games.”
There was that hole again. Rob, you bastard.
“I don’t think that’s why, honey. He moved to Nevada. It’s too far to drive.” As Juliet began toasting another marshmallow, she and Evan exchanged a look, a silent acknowledgment that they both knew Rob wouldn’t have made the time for a T-ball game regardless of where he lived. Matthew’s conclusion about his father’s absence was actually correct, but how was Juliet supposed to tell him so? Nevada sounded better than complete disinterest.
Evan was done toasting marshmallows. He sat back in his Adirondack chair and used his marshmallow stick to take a few one-handed baseball swings, liking the sound as the stick swiped the air. “So, what are they playing in sixth grade if it’s not T-ball? Coach pitch?”
That was the next step, if memory served. The players were too young to pitch accurately, so the team’s adult coach stood on the mound and gave his or her players the easiest pitches possible.
“No, I’m playing real baseball. Real pitchers from the other team try to strike you out, like the major leagues. It’s how adults do it.”
Evan nodded. “That makes the game very different.”
“I mean, maybe Dad wouldn’t be bored at a real pitching game. You’re going to tell him where we live now, right, Mom? Can you tell him I’m not playing baby T-ball anymore?”
Juliet’s voice was very calm and even. “I’ll send the information to the bank when we get a permanent address.”
“And you’ll tell him about the baseball?”
“I can try, but I can’t promise he’ll get the message, and I can’t promise he’ll come to Texas if he does.”
Evan used his stick to tap the arm of Juliet’s chair lightly. I’m here. I’m getting all this. I see the problem.
Matthew tried to blow out the fire on his marshmallow, but that one had burned too quickly to be saved. It plopped on the patio. “Sorry.”
“It doesn’t hurt concrete,” Evan said.
“You have to make him get my message, Mom.” Matthew put another marshmallow on his stick and glared at Juliet, which had to hurt her. “Make the bank give him my message.”
Evan sat forward. “You’re old enough to know it’s not your mom’s fault if your dad doesn’t visit. It’s not your fault, either. Your dad is an adult and you are a kid, so whether or not he decides to come to Texas isn’t something you can make happen. You can’t force an adult to do something, even if you think it would be great.”
Matthew just watched his next marshmallow go up in flames. This time, he didn’t make any attempt to save it. It plopped into the firepit. “Dad wouldn’t see me play if he came, anyway. I’ll be on the bench, because I suck. I only played the stupid baby leagues at Benning, and everyone here has already done coach pitch.”
Evan studied Matthew’s self-pitying pout in the firelight. “Sounds like you suck because you haven’t practiced enough.”
“Evan!”
He tapped Juliet’s chair and sent her a reassuring wink. Juliet was a good mama bear—nobody could say her baby sucked—but in this case, Evan hoped she’d give him a chance to reach Matthew.
“Here’s the thing about baseball. Whatever level your skills are at today, you can improve them if you practice. If you suck at batting, but you keep going to batting practice, you won’t suck as much. If you can only throw a ball ten yards, and you practice throwing balls every single day, you’ll be able to throw farther than ten yards, guaranteed.”
“Pete Gomez can throw it from left field all the way to home plate.”
“What’s Pete Gomez have to do with whether or not you can throw a ball ten yards?”
“He gets to play every game. The other kids told me.” Matthew was still feeling sorry for himself.
“Sounds like the coach is putting players where he thinks they’ll help the team win.”
“The coach is his dad.”
There was that hole again. Evan steeled himself to sound unaffected. “I can’t help you make another player suck, but I can take you out to practice your catching and throwing. You can’t make another player suck, either, but you can control how much you work on your own skills.”
“I’ll get better than Pete?”
“Who cares? You’ll get better than you are now.”
Matthew perked up a little. “Okay, yeah. And since you and my dad are friends, you can tell him when I get good.”
“We were on the same team, but that was sixteen years ago. We never run into each other.” Evan wished Juliet had never said he and Rob were friends. That little untruth was going to come back and bite him.
Juliet tried again. “Honey, your father still lives in Nevada, no matter what kind of baseball you play or how good you get at it. Nevada is still very far away.”
The disappointment on a child’s face was too easy to read, too pitiful to see. Evan rubbed his chest. It wasn’t just Juliet who stirred up every emotion. The two of them—jeez.
Evan wanted to cut through Matthew’s useless desire to please an absentee dad. It gave Rob too much control over him. “Let’s just assume your dad won’t show up this season.”
Mother and son looked at him, startled. He turned to get out another graham cracker and chocolate bar, keeping the vibe casual, so Matthew wouldn’t put his guard back up. Between the s’mores and the sundaes, he was going to gain ten pounds trying to talk to this child.
“If you knew for sure he wasn’t coming, would you still want to play?” Evan paused to give that question a moment to sink in. The candy bar wrapper made a pleasant crinkling sound as he opened it. “I like the sound the ball makes when it hits a glove. Walking out on that diamond should give you a feeling of anticipation, like standing in line for a roller coaster. You dig your cleats into that orange clay by home plate, ready to bat, and it feels a little scary, right? Exciting, too. If you like that feeling, then you should play this season, no matter who sits in the stands. But if putting on a glove or sitting with your team in the dugout sounds boring, then we should check out things you might like better. It’s your call.”
Matthew and Juliet watched the fire. Evan watched them. He’d done it again, wading into a situation as if he knew the child, while the real parent was sitting right beside him. He’d just given someone else’s son permission to quit a sport.
That little speech had come easily, probably because he’d given it a dozen times to privates who were deciding whether to reenlist after their initial two-year commitment to the army was up. It was a question he’d first heard his platoon sergeant ask a soldier in their platoon, back when Evan was a brand-new lieutenant. I know a two-thousand-dollar reenlistment bonus sounds like a lot, but if that wasn’t being offered, would you still want to be a soldier?
It was good advice, time-tested advice—and it took Rob out of the equation.
Matthew’s marshmallow caught fire again. Evan leaned forward with his graham cracker and chocolate. “Put it here.”
“It’s on fire.”
“I know.”
Matthew set the blackened marshmallow on the chocolate, and Evan used the second graham cracker to scrape it off the stick, smother the flames and turn it into a sandwich, a million-calorie, messy sandwich of pure sugar.
He’d already eaten two. He handed it to Matthew, as if that had been the plan all along.
Matthew took a huge bite and had barely swallowed it before he made his announcement. “I like baseball a lot. I’m going to stay on the team.”
More emotions, warm emotions, surfaced. “That sounds like a good decision. How hard do you want to work to get better at it than you are now? If someone offers to give you extra practice time, are you going to take it?”
“You mean you?”
“I mean me.”
Matthew scrutinized him. Looking for loopholes, kid? There’s no trickery here.
“Okay. I’ll practice with you.”
“We’ll play some catch in the street tomorrow, before dinner.” With that, he’d also settled the question of whether or not they’d be having dinner together again. He hauled himself out of the deep chair and stretched, feeling like he’d just hit a home run. “Next question. I’m going to get some wine and sit out here and talk to your mom. Do you want to stay and listen, or would you rather play Lego Avengers?”
“Avengers.” Matthew jumped out of his chair and beat Evan to the sliding glass door, opening it with sticky hands that left marshmallow goo on the glass.
The smudged, child-sized handprint was half the size of his hand. It gave Evan pause. He’d wanted to be a family man, hadn’t he? He’d dreamed of it for years, ever since that tailgate. That handprint was proof that his impossible wish had come true. My wife. My child. Maybe it was messier than he’d expected, but it was real.
For the second day in a row, Evan appreciated one of life’s perfect moments.
He stepped into the house and called for Matthew in the living room. “Hey, Matthew. Wash those hands before you touch my game controllers.”
He almost laughed. He’d sounded like such a dad just then.