A Mom for Matthew

Zeke grew stony at the mention of his ex-wife.

As if sensing the tension swirling around him, Matthew whimpered, dropped his toys and crawled into his father’s lap. He buried his curly head against Zeke’s chest, and his thumb found its way into his mouth.

The man enfolded the boy carefully and willed himself to relax. “Ma,” he said in a milder tone, “You’ve gotta stop imagining every woman I meet is a potential mom for Matthew. Do you need a break? Have I placed too many expectations on you for too long?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just that I hate seeing you this bitter.” Celia swung her legs off the couch. She wafted a hand through her recently styled hair. The move caused her son to study her the way another man might.

“It’s not so ridiculous,” Zeke muttered. “I’m not talking about me here, Ma. You inherited good genes. You could easily pass for a woman ten years younger.”

“Hardly,” she shot back. Nevertheless, she couldn’t hide her pleasure. “This doesn’t sound like you, Zeke. I’ve never known you to be chatty. You’ve always been so…so…”

“Selfish?” he supplied with a crooked grin.

Celia swatted his arm. “Never. No one would think that, Zeke. When the bad-luck chips fell for Matty, you handled everything like a real man.”

Now it was Zeke’s turn to flush. He ducked his head and felt the rasp of his afternoon beard against Matthew’s boyishly soft hair. “I am a man, Ma. Have been for long enough that I should’ve known better than to get involved with Trixie. It was my irresponsible—”

“Trixie should’ve told you her brother’s kids had measles,” Celia broke in, “and that her doctor was concerned enough to warn her. She knew she’d never had them. She could’ve gotten the shot.”

“Old ground,” Zeke responded, screwing up his face. “Tell me honestly, Ma, is keeping house for me and watching Matt every day getting you down? I tied you down when you were younger. You deserve to find a nice man who’ll treat you right. Here you insist I need a wife. Well, you have a right to male companionship that’s not your son.”

Celia jumped up. “I had chances after you left home, Zeke. I could’ve gotten married if I’d wanted. I didn’t, and I don’t now. End of this silly discussion.”

“Oh, it’s silly for me to suggest you might like a man in your life? But it’s perfectly okay for you to harp at me over any woman we meet that you decide would make me a good wife?”

“Yes, for Matt’s sake. I saw over the years how hurt and angry you were about your father walking out on us—on you, Zeke. Matty’s more fragile. I worry—what if something happens to me?”

Zeke’s eyes cut to his mother’s face. “Which brings me back to my original question. Are you sick? Is there something you’re not saying, Ma? I see you put a doctor’s appointment on the calendar for next week.”

“My yearly checkup. But there is something I’ve never told you….” Biting her lip, she picked at her nail polish. “In the past I’ve had cancer scares. They’ve removed fibrous cysts from my breasts three times. It’s why I stopped smoking.”

Zeke finally found his voice. “And…you have another of these cysts?”

“A lump. Dr. Collins has ordered a biopsy, but not to worry—I arranged with Doris Smith next door to watch Matthew for that appointment and whatever else may be needed.”

“Of course I’m worried,” Zeke snapped. “That has nothing to do with arranging a sitter for Matt. Why didn’t you tell me about your health problems when I phoned nearly four years ago asking for your help?”

“Because, tough guy, in all of your twenty-six years, you’d never asked me for anything. I wanted to help you, Zeke. I wanted to feel needed. Dammit, I still do.”

That rocked Zeke. Again he wrestled with the weight of what had surely been selfishness throughout the years of his hell-raising youth. He didn’t know how to put any of what he was feeling into words. He barely managed to muster a croak as his mom headed for the kitchen, saying she was going to make a pot of coffee. “I more than need you, Ma,” he called. “Having Matthew changed my life. I want to know what Doc Collins finds. Until this is settled, I’ll hire a high-school girl part-time to watch Matt. Give you a break a few hours every day.”

Celia turned at the door. “You’re ignoring almost everything I’ve said. Hire someone for a few evenings so you can date a nice young woman once in a while.”

“There you have me, Ma.” Zeke spread his hands. “I don’t know any nice young women.” He stressed the nice, which Celia flatly ignored by covering her ears.

Bouncing his son on his hip, a child who’d clearly grown anxious again, Zeke strode down the opposite hall. Matthew used to be frightened to death of baths. Now that he was older, he loved them. Zeke discovered that the time he spent performing the routine task allowed him to mull over problems that cropped up at work or elsewhere. Tonight he was faced with so many, Matt would shrivel like a raisin if he left the kid in the tub long enough to figure out answers. Tomorrow morning, not only would Zeke have a host of workmen and upset contractors to deal with, he was also expected to hasten Grace Stafford’s departure. Last, but far from least, there was his mother’s health. What if her cyst was malignant?

Not until he’d wound up Matt’s toy boat and sent rows of ripples spewing from underneath a plastic bridge, did Zeke decide to deal with the obstacles one at a time. First, he’d talk to the men. The contractors next. Maybe by then Pace would have good news from his D.C. connections. If not, Zeke might ask if his boss would allow hazard pay for helping Grace. Or there was Gavin, who could be persuaded to do almost any job for a few extra bucks a week.

As far as Celia’s checkup went, Zeke refused to buy trouble by thinking the worst.

THE NEXT DAY, Zeke arrived at work with his plans made. Again, Gavin met him at the door. “What happened to you yesterday, Zeke? I expected you to come back after your trip to the courthouse. Instead, you left me here to field calls from all our contractors, who want to know what the hell’s going on. Thanks heaps.”

“Sorry, Gav. I phoned Pace to tell him what I learned about Ms. Stafford’s permits. He asked me to try and negotiate her out of our hair.”

“It must not have gone well. She’s back in the same spot this morning.” Davis jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

Zeke shook his head. “She’s on a mission. Save me from women on a mission.” He shifted his lunch and thermos to the other hand and walked into his office. He set everything on his desk and grabbed the binoculars. Moving to the window, he brought the creaky old boat into focus. It swayed gently on the incoming tide, but he saw no signs of life. Zeke supposed that meant Grace had dived and Jorge was doing whatever the hell he did when she was down.

“So we’re twiddling our thumbs until she finds that relic?” Gavin crowded in behind Zeke and cupped his hands around his eyes to squint into the sun.

Zeke spun and looped the binoculars back on their hook. “Pace wants us to hurry her along.”

Gavin frowned. “You mean…like purposely jab a few extra holes in that leaky old tub?”

“Jeez, no.” Zeke threw himself into his swivel chair. He pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket. “Kemper thinks two divers will cut her search time in half. Here’s a list of scuba gear. Run down to the dive shop and have this put on the company account. I’ll stay here and try to buy time with the crew and subcontractors. Once you get the gear, take the runabout and offer to assist Ms. Stafford. Tell her your help is courtesy of Pace Kemper.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding!” Gavin’s jaw dropped and he turned five shades of red. “I can’t do that, Zeke.”

“Why not?” Zeke glanced up from rummaging in his desk drawer, hunting for a stack of contractors’ business cards.

Gavin sidled over and closed the door to Zeke’s makeshift office. Then he lowered his voice and said, “I wouldn’t want this to get out, but I can’t swim.”

Zeke’s eyes widened. “Now who’s kidding?”

“I’m not. I swear.” Gavin held up his hand, palm out in pledge fashion. “I’ve tried to learn a hundred times. I freeze up and sink like a stone.”

“Then how in hell can you work on offshore rigs? Or set marker buoys? What if you got swamped by a wave and fell in, Gav?”

“Unless somebody fished me out, I guess I’d drown. I try not to think about it. That’s why I don’t want anyone I work with to know. It’d be just like some smart-ass to toss me in to see if I’m telling the truth.”

“Holy catfish!” Zeke closed his eyes and rubbed at the lines forming between his brows. “Didn’t it occur to you that something like that could negate our broad policy insurance?”

“I’m careful out there.”

“Accidents happen.” Zeke leaned forward in his chair. Damn, he didn’t need this on top of everything else.

Gavin bellied up to the desk. “You thinking about firing me, Zeke? I don’t know any other kind of work. I’ve been doing this since I was sixteen. First down in Louisiana, then California, now here.”

“I’m not going to fire you. I came here only knowing land wells, for God’s sake. You taught me almost everything I know about offshore drilling.”

“So, you won’t tell Pace? ’Cause he’d have a fit over the insurance thing. I reckon he’d ax me, Zeke.”

“I won’t tell him. But I will insist that during this slow period you find a swim instructor in town and take private lessons. I refuse to believe you can’t learn. I want your promise that you’ll keep at it until you can swim twice the length of a pool.”

The crew chief didn’t look overjoyed, but he agreed.

Zeke didn’t like where that left him. Back at square one when it came to diving with Grace Stafford. “Go on,” he growled, “buy the stuff on that list. I’ll start making those calls.”