Second Time's the Charm

She kissed Abe on the cheek. “Anytime after noon would be fine,” she said.

What was she doing before noon?

He told himself it was none of his business as he watched her drive off.

Alone with Abe once more, Jon opened the back door of his truck, fastened the toddler securely in his car seat and settled himself in for the drive to Mark’s.

All in all they’d had a good day. Fun in the park. Good food.

And Abe had five words now instead of four.

Jon turned the truck toward Mark’s house, looking forward to a couple of hours of sparring with Mark Heber’s recalcitrant grandmother.

Hopefully Abe would fall asleep soon and Jon and Nonnie could get in a game of penny poker. The old bat had five dollars of his money.

CHAPTER SIX

JON HAD ASKED her to make a list of things she’d like done around her house. She did so, mentally, as she drove to Phoenix on Sunday morning. Overall, she loved the little house she’d bought close to the center of town, but a few of the rooms needed ceiling fans.

He’d have to bring Abe along when he installed them. It wasn’t like he could leave the toddler home alone.

She really wanted to have new faucets in the master bathroom. And one in the kitchen, too, with a pull out sprayer....

She’d need to baby-proof her home. She still had the cupboard safety catches she’d purchased when...

Maybe Jon could undermount her kitchen sink—a style of mounting that put the counter on top of the edge of the sink. She had granite countertops, which she’d had in her home in Phoenix and loved, but the sink was traditionally mounted. She’d grown used to undermounting. Preferred not to have to worry about water and other debris spilling over, wetting her outfit as she leaned against the edge of the counter as she worked.

A little boy in her home. Wandering from room to room...

The electrical outlet in her living room, the one behind the couch, didn’t work. Could Jon do electric?

She had brand-new sippy cups, still in their plastic. Was Abe too old for those?

There was the sticky latch on the window in the office. And she’d been meaning to get quotes on having a front porch put on....

Wait.

Taking the 202 to the 101, Lillie headed north toward Scottsdale and the little café that made breakfasts good enough to compel rich and famous people to wait for a table.

This thing with Jon. And Abraham. She wanted to help them because she knew she could. Because something about Abraham, the serious way he looked at her, as though he was trying to tell her something, haunted her.

But the time she was spending with them was nowhere near equal to the time that would be required to complete the list of jobs she was compiling.

She had to scale herself back. Way back.

Maybe just the ceiling fans. And the faucets.

Or just the ceiling fans.

And they could see about the faucets....

* * *

ABE WOKE JON up at six. Laundry was done by seven. Two loads was all it took. One with jeans and pants, the other with the rest of their clothes.

Sitting down with his son for a bowl of nonsugared cereal with fresh bananas and a piece of toast at the little four-seater, faux butcher-block table that had come with the furnished, two-bedroom apartment he’d found for them, Jon checked the strap on Abe’s booster seat one more time and, reaching under the table, pulled it more firmly up to the table before placing Abe’s plastic bowl within sight, but not reach.

“Eat,” he said clearly, holding the big handled little spoon. “You’re hungry,” he said, leaning down just a bit so that his lips were right in Abe’s line of vision. “You want to eat,” he said, keeping his voice steady, kind. But firm, too. “Tell Daddy you want to eat.”

Abe grunted, looking at the bowl of cereal, and kicked Jon’s knee under the table. Repositioning himself so that his legs were together and angled away from the little boy, he leaned forward a little more. “You’re hungry,” he said again. “Tell Daddy you want eat.” And when Abe grunted again, he repeated the process a third time, putting more emphasis on the word eat each time.

Abe’s face puckered and Jon could see a bout of tears on the horizon. “I’m not giving in, Abraham.” He almost smiled. But this wasn’t a game. “It’s just you and me, buddy, and if you want to scream to he―Hades and back, you go ahead.” In his former life he’d used more colorful vocabulary. It came naturally to him. But he was working on not slipping up. “You want to eat. I understand that. I just need you to tell me.”

Slamming his hands on the table, Abraham started to cry. Jon moved the boy’s cereal bowl a little farther out of reach. He’d cleaned up enough spilled milk.

And he took hold of his son’s little hand, rubbing it lightly.

Abe stared at him.

“Your breakfast is here, son,” he explained slowly. “So is mine. And I’m hungry, too. I just need you to use your words. Tell Daddy you want to eat.”

With drops of tears wetting his lashes, Abe stared.

“Eeeeaaat,” Jon said again. Slowly.

“Eeeeeuh!” The word wasn’t offered gently at all.

Jon didn’t give a damn about that. He almost spilled the cereal himself in his haste to reward Abe’s milestone.

The boy was not stupid. He’d just had a father who’d been too good at reading his mind and not good enough at forcing him to do for himself.

* * *

“SO...WHAT DO you think?” Lillie stared back and forth between the two people she loved more than anything in the world—her stand-in parents, Jerry and Gayle Henderson, who’d taken her into their hearts long before they’d become her in-laws, and kept her there in spite of the divorce.

“I think you look happier than you have in a long time.” Gayle’s soft-spoken words settled a bit of the unease deep inside of Lillie.

She turned to Jerry. “What about you, Papa?” Not Dad. Or Daddy. Lillie couldn’t give another man that name. But neither could she call Jerry anything but a variation of it.

“I trust you, Lil. You’ll do the right thing.”

She’d told them about Jon and Abraham. Every Sunday morning over breakfast, she gave them a rundown of her week and they did the same. They were her family.

The only close family she had.

“What does that mean?” she asked, shaking her head. “I’m asking for your opinion, Papa. That’s when you tell me what you think even if I’m not going to like it.” They’d been over this point before. She needed Jerry’s honesty. She wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what he said to her.

“I think that you obviously feel something for this little boy. And it could be a bit personal. Frankly, I can’t imagine that your personal experience doesn’t play some part in the work you do. How could it not? What happens to you becomes a part of you. You can’t just leave it behind. No matter how badly you want to.”