The Single Daddy Club Boxed Set

by Donna Fasano

  "It doesn't matter," Tim blurted all of a sudden. "This'll pass."

  The emotion that swept over Derrick at hearing those words made him weak in the knees. Timmy's father had said those very words so many times.

  "This will pass," James would say, if he had to pull a tour of duty he disliked. It had been James's motto—a catch phrase to help get him through the bad times in his life. Derrick remembered his cousin chanting those three little words over and over during the weeks following the accident that took Timmy's mom's life.

  Derrick pulled out the chair and eased himself down into it. "Yes, Tim, this will pass. But it's not true when you say it doesn't matter. Because it does. It matters a lot. We have to learn something from this. And we can't learn anything unless we remember it." He reached out and touched Timmy on the shoulder. "Do you understand? We have to learn from our mistakes."

  The boy shrugged. "What's to learn?" he asked.

  "Sit down," he told Tim. "Listen to me. You are responsible for your actions. You were involved in a fight today—"

  "But Andrew—"

  He stopped Timmy with a stern expression. "I understand that Andrew was also involved," he said gently. "I can't concern myself with how his parents choose to deal with the problem. All I can do is be certain that you learn something here. It's a valuable lesson if you'll just take the time to listen. You have to understand that you are responsible for everything that you say and everything that you do."

  The boy lowered his gaze and stared at the empty salad plate in front of him.

  "Fighting is against the school rules," Derrick said. "You'll be meeting with the school's counselor next week to go over what constitutes good and bad behavior." He paused for a moment. "But I think, deep down in your heart, you know what you did today was wrong. There isn't a reason good enough to excuse what you did."

  Timmy's rounded shoulders told Derrick that his message was most probably sinking in. The boy refused to look at him, and Derrick felt the urge to give in, hug the child, and forgive everything. But he knew he wouldn't be teaching Tim anything if he did. So now was the time to dole out the punishment.

  "Firm and loving." He heard a gentle voice waft through his mind like a cool breeze.

  "Remember how I said that in order to learn from our mistakes we have to remember them?" Derrick quietly asked.

  Tim cast him a shy glance. "Yes, sir."

  "Well, to help you remember this bad behavior, I want you to get up bright and early tomorrow morning, go into the garage and start preparing all the recyclables."

  "But—"

  Derrick stopped him with an upraised index finger. "I want you to rinse out all the plastic bottles and bag them up. The steel cans need to have the labels removed, and all the aluminum cans need to be crushed and bagged."

  Timmy swallowed, his eyes wide. "But there's a month's worth of stuff in the bins."

  "I know," Derrick said. "It's a big job, but I think you can handle it."

  "It's gonna take me forever."

  Derrick chuckled. "No," he said. "But it will take you most of tomorrow morning." He squeezed Timmy's arm reassuringly. "And tomorrow afternoon, when you're all through, we'll go to the recycling center."

  He stood and went to the stove. After taking the lid from the pot, he began ladling the thick, steaming stew into a serving bowl.

  "Grab the salad from the fridge, would you?" he asked Tim.

  Setting the bowl of stew on the table, Derrick said, "Oh, and by the way, your work in the garage doesn't relieve you of your normal Saturday chores. You still have to find the time to clean your room and take out the garbage."

  Timmy's mouth set into a straight, angry line.

  "You have to remember," Derrick said, "it was your behavior that has caused you this extra work." He couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at his mouth. "You can take out all of your aggressions when you crush those aluminum cans tomorrow."

  Silently the boy slid into his seat, his chin practically touching his chest. It was a sight that ripped at Derrick's heart. He wanted so badly to pull the child to him, to alleviate all of his anxieties, but he knew that now wasn't the time to do it. Tim had a lesson to learn, and a big part of that lesson was to think about what he'd done and realize that his behavior was improper. If Derrick were to give in now, all of the groundwork he'd just laid would be for naught.

  He sat at the table and served himself some crisp salad greens before passing the bowl to his godson.

  Derrick pictured his actions tomorrow afternoon when he and Tim went to the recycling center. That would be the most opportune time for him to compliment the boy on a job well done. To hug him and tell him how proud he was. That would be the perfect time to talk about the fight at school, after Tim had spent the day thinking about his part in the whole matter.

  Yes, tomorrow would be a milestone event in this new family relationship the two of them were developing.

  But as Derrick munched on a crunchy bite of cucumber, he wanted badly to lighten the heavy mood that seemed to blanket the entire house. A little reassurance couldn't hurt, he thought.

  He reached out and patted Tim's hand.

  "Hey," he said. "We're in this together, you and me. We're in this for the long haul."

  Derrick realized that Tim didn't understand the deep, loving message he was trying to send.

  But I'll make you understand eventually, he silently vowed. I'll make you see that I mean to stick by you, that I love you. I'll earn your trust. Day by day.

  Tim picked up his fork and speared a piece of cucumber. "Uncle Derrick," he said tentatively, "can I ask you something?"

  "Of course." He smoothed his napkin over his thigh, anticipating Tim's question. He was prepared to explain the meaning of long haul. He was ready and even eager for the opportunity to finally make Timmy understand the true meaning of family. "Ask me anything."

  Confusion bit into Tim's brow as he whispered, "What's a jackass?"

  Derrick could only sit there, wide-eyed and dumbfounded.

  * * *

  The trees cast slanted shadows across the grassy schoolyard. Derrick paced back and forth in front of the entrance to the brick building, oblivious to the glorious autumnal red and gold and orange foliage all around him. His mind raced and his gut churned.

  The elation he'd felt ever since Saturday afternoon had never left him. His conversation with Timmy couldn't have gone better. After completing the job he'd been given, Tim had freely talked about what he had been feeling when he'd picked a fight with Andrew. He had been heart-wrenchingly honest about the stinging jealousy he'd felt over Andrew playing with Eric. Of course, his ego refused to let him put a name to what he'd experienced, but he clearly understood it. When Derrick had suggested an apology to Andrew and Eric was in order, Tim had surprisingly gone one step further, saying he also needed to apologize to April, a little girl in his class whose feelings he'd hurt, and to Miss Maxwell for his refusal to pick up the checkers as she'd asked him to do.

  Derrick felt as though he'd succeeded in his first "fatherly" act of doling out punishment, and it was all because of Anna's advice.

  "Just be firm and loving," she'd told him. And that bit of wisdom was exactly what he accredited his success to.

  All weekend he'd wanted to talk to Anna, to share with her all the things he was going through with Timmy. But he hadn't felt right calling her at home. Not after the things she'd said to him the last time he'd seen her. So he'd decided to keep things on a professional level and come to the school. He'd remembered overhearing Anna say that she'd arranged to meet with Andrew Whitney's mother this afternoon.

  So, here it was Monday, and he was filled to the brim with this exciting news and a wild desire to share it with Anna, and he planned to do just that as soon as she was finished her conference with Mrs. Whitney.

  But as much as the success concerning his weekend with Timmy had him feeling wonderfully ecstatic, he also had to admit that a part of him was unsure and even anxio
us about talking with Anna. The woman had told him she had no interest in seeing him on any kind of personal level. He should respect that.

  "And I will," he told himself aloud. "Absolutely."

  Just as a dark part of his brain was about to question the sincerity of his spoken statement, a prudish-looking woman came marching from the school.

  Derrick nodded a greeting, but the woman, whom he suspected to be Mrs. Whitney, barely noticed him in her haste to leave the school premises, tugging her miserable looking son along in her wake.

  As he held the door open for several teachers, he debated whether to go looking for Anna or to simply wait for her to leave the school. The heavy metal and glass door was shoved open wider, hitting him in the shoulder, as she exited.

  "Oh," she cried, scrambling to keep her armload of art supplies from tumbling from her grasp. "I'm so sorry."

  "It's okay," Derrick rushed to assure her. "I'm not hurt."

  "Derrick!" She stared at him, wide-eyed and waiting. "I didn't see you."

  She looked so beautiful when she was startled. It was so obvious to him that he was the last person she was expecting to see.

  The soft, black sweater she wore was a bit sedate for her usual tastes, he noticed, but she made up for it with the scarf and matching skirt that were color-blocked in vivid primary hues. The green in the scarf complemented her eyes perfectly.

  A gentle October breeze blew her full, black hair across her face, and he had to force himself not to reach out and brush it back. The breath of air died quickly and left the two of them gazing at each other in total silence.

  Suddenly he felt as though his tongue were glued to the roof of his mouth. He could think of absolutely nothing to say, and for a split second he couldn't even remember why he'd come.

  The bottoms of her high-heeled shoes scraped on the cement walkway as she shifted her position.

  "I left my canvas bag at home this morning," she told him.

  His heart raced at the melodious sound of her voice. It was almost as though his auditory senses had been deprived and this was the first sound he'd heard in ages. He couldn't help but think the idea was a weird one, but it passed through his mind nonetheless.

  She laughed self-consciously. "I think I'd leave my head at home if it wasn't conveniently attached to my shoulders."

  And what beautiful, shapely shoulders they are, too, he thought. He allowed his eyes to rove from her face, down the long length of her milk-white neck.

  He wanted badly to reach out and smooth his fingertips over the fine knitted fabric of the black sweater that covered her shoulders. Then, unwittingly, his eyes dipped a few inches lower, but his view was cut off by the plastic bottles of premixed paint, fat, white-bristled brushes and a stack of multicolored construction paper.

  "Derrick."

  Instantly his gaze was once again riveted to her face. He felt slightly embarrassed that she'd had to call out his name to garner his attention like he was one of her five-year-old kindergarten students.

  Wasn't she the one who was normally a little on the forgetful side? Wasn't she the one whose attention could so easily be diverted by the least distraction? What on earth was wrong with him?

  "I wanted to try a new art project with the children tomorrow."

  Her tone was light, almost forced, as though she was determined to ignore his little indiscretion of openly gawking her body.

  "And since I didn't have anything to carry all this home in..."

  She indicated the supplies she awkwardly balanced in her arms.

  Derrick blinked, suddenly feeling ungallant that he hadn't come to her aid more quickly.

  "Here," he said, plucking several bottles of paint from her grasp, "let me help you."

  She didn't refuse.

  "My car's right over there," she offered. "But then I'm sure you already know where I park, since you were just in the teacher's parking lot on Friday."

  Derrick tucked an art book under his arm and took the brushes from her. Her mention of their last meeting was a gentle warning, he wasn't so foggy as to miss that. And he might even have heeded her warning—if he were in his right mind. But he wasn't.

  "Well—" she hesitated "—let's go."

  When she brushed past him, he got a whiff of her perfume, a dark, mysterious fragrance he'd never noticed before. He wondered if she'd been wearing the scent when they had gone sailing together. He was certain she hadn't, because he knew without a doubt that he would have remembered it.

  He hurried to catch up with her, and as he walked beside her toward her car, he somehow felt taller, stronger.

  Another strange thought.

  And suddenly, like a lightning bolt from the clear, blue sky above, he was struck with a huge, crystal-clear revelation—a revelation that had his heart doing a jack-knife inside his rib cage. He wanted this woman! He wanted to go out with her. Spend time with her. Be seen with her. He wanted to take long walks with her, holding her hand and asking her questions about her life, her likes and dislikes, her opinions on, hell, anything under the sun. And going even further than that, he realized that he had no intention whatsoever of respecting the fact that Anna had no interest in their exploring a personal relationship.

  Derrick gave a small nod as he casually walked next to her toward her car, deciding he would completely ignore what she'd said she wanted. In fact, he was going to do everything in his power to persuade her go out to dinner with him. Tonight.

  Chapter 7

  Anna was on her guard, her internal warning system pulsing like slow-scanning radar. She'd felt the steady, heavy cadence since the instant she'd walked out of the school, nearly striking someone with the door—and finding out that that someone had been Derrick.

  She hadn't been ready for him. Her self-preserving instincts hadn't been charged and on high alert, and seeing him had been quite startling.

  Her meeting with Andrew Whitney's mother hadn't gone very well. The woman failed to see the serious problems that could result from her refusal to sternly address her son's aggressive behavior. So it was no wonder she hadn't been ready for the flood of emotion that rushed her like an NFL linebacker when she'd first encountered Derrick.

  But her guard was revved up now. And those strong defenses had helped keep her calm and cool even when their eyes had caught and held directly after her surprise had caused her to gasp his name.

  During those few silent seconds of staring, she had felt currents of electricity humming across her skin, jolting each and every nerve ending in her body. But she'd held strong. When he couldn't seem to get himself together enough to speak, she'd risen to the occasion quite effectively and come up with some small bits of mundane conversation to get them through those first awkward moments. She'd felt quite proud of herself, although she couldn't remember a word of what she'd said.

  She did her best to focus on the asphalt beneath her feet, the blue sky above, the vibrantly colored foliage surrounding the lot. But it was no use. Even though she kept her eyes and face in a stiff, forward direction, she sensed the tall, solid mass of him beside her. Why had he come to see her?

  As she pondered the question, the sudden desire to inch closer to him slithered its way into her consciousness. Her eyes widened the slightest bit, and without slowing her step in the least, she mentally grabbed the urge by the throat and choked the life out of it. She couldn't be entertaining such fantasies. Not after the pains she'd taken on Friday afternoon to let Derrick know that she felt it wouldn't be a good idea for the two of them to see each other in any way other than strictly professional.

  When they reached her car, she unlocked and opened the trunk. She let the plastic bottles of paint she carried roll from her arms and thump into the bottom of the compartment.

  This silence from Derrick was so... unusual to witness. The man she had come to know always seemed so self-assured, and she'd found that trait to be very appealing.

  She watched as he placed the supplies into her trunk, arranging them much more n
eatly than she had.

  But now he seemed... almost shy. She nearly smiled thinking that this big, assertive guy was having trouble expressing himself. She couldn't help but think it was... cute.

  The air around them started to sing with some kind of unidentifiable... something. No, she decided, the warble in the atmosphere hadn't just started—she'd been slightly conscious of it ever since she'd exited the school building—but what she noticed was that its volume had all of a sudden increased by several decibels.

  Every bit of intuition she possessed shouted for her to be wary and cautious.

  She felt that she'd be better able to fight off this... this... thing if she could just put a name to it. If she could just identify this... whatever it was that was twisting and tangling itself around the two of them like some persistent, swift-growing vine found in one of those grade-b sci-fi movies relegated to late-night television.

  Derrick reached up, flattened his palm against the top of the trunk lid and firmly closed it. Then he faced her, a small smile planted on his delectable mouth.

  "I do have a good reason for coming to see you."

  His statement was spoken with some hesitancy. And was that... my, heavens, yes, she thought. His face was actually tinged with color!

  Anna found his awkwardness so very engaging that her mental shield unwittingly slipped a fraction of an inch and her lips tipped up in the tiniest of smiles.

  "I think I had a breakthrough this weekend," he said, "and I wanted to share my experience with you."

  He launched into his story with a great deal of fervor, and Anna saw the Derrick she knew come to life. His voice was filled with happiness and a large measure of success as he talked. His face expressed with animation his pride concerning his first real act of firm but loving authority. His very stature seemed to increase as his self-confidence reemerged.

  "So," he concluded, "I think I handled things pretty well, and Tim was a real trouper about sticking to the job I gave him as, well…" He shrugged. "It sounds better to me if I call it consequences to his actions rather than punishment."