The Daddy Coach

by Karen Muir

  She flinched at the words “dishonest employee.” He meant her brother. She longed to probe further. What was his version of the theft? The police had believed him, the business owner and solid citizen, not her brother, the working stiff with attitude. She bit back her questions and returned to the list.

  “Do you have any photos of you and your wife together?”

  “No, I burned them.”

  “Even the wedding pictures?”

  His jaw tightened. “Especially the wedding pictures.”

  Whoa. She’d hit a nerve. “Let’s try something else.” She glanced down at her notes for suggestion three. “We need to build a sense of family between you and the boys.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “Let’s start by putting together a family photo album. Do you have a camera?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We need to take lots of photos of Ian and Harry and you together.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  Progress. She loosened her clenched hands. “Now let’s talk about Ian.”

  “What about him?” His tone seemed defensive.

  “I assume his bedwetting and aversion to clothing started after his mother’s death.”

  Will snagged a pencil and tapped it lightly against his desk. “Near as I can tell.”

  “I have a couple of ideas we can try.”

  “Such as?”

  “Buy him a sleeping bag—one with his favorite cartoon character on it.”

  His mouth quirked. “That would be SpongeBob.”

  “Great.” She caught her breath at the transformation in his face. A full-on smile from this man would be dazzling.

  She cleared her throat. “You’ll also need a tent and sleeping bags for the three of you so you can sleep out in the backyard. Three flashlights and backpacks for clothes and snacks would be good, too. Do you know any ghost stories?”

  “I don’t see the connection.”

  She tapped her fingers on her elbow. Slow down. This is a lot for him to absorb. “We want to make sleeping in the tent lots of fun, and Ian will need his sleeping bag to do it. He’ll have a reason to not wet it, because if he does, he’ll miss sleeping outdoors the following night. I’ll make a point of not having it washed and dried in time.”

  Will dropped the pencil and eyed her curiously. “You think his bedwetting is something he can control?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s worth a try.”

  “Hmm.” He stroked his chin. “What’s your other idea?”

  “Take Ian clothes shopping. Let him pick out whatever he wants, no matter how weird. And be sure to get him a pair of pajamas he really likes. But just the one pair, so if he wets them, they’ll be gone the next night.”

  “Lost in the wash,” he said.

  “Exactly.”

  “What if this doesn’t work?”

  “Then we’ll try something else.” She had no idea what.

  Will was silent for so long, she feared he wasn’t buying her ideas. He’d been frowning ever since she’d mentioned sleeping outside in the tent.

  “It seems rather extreme, but we’ll give it a try.” He pushed out of his chair, as though they were done.

  She stayed seated. “There’s more.” Frowning, he sat back down. “Maybe I should write this down.”

  “Good idea.” She watched him pull a pad of yellow paper from a desk drawer to begin writing hastily. She focused on his hands. Strong, yet nimble enough to create a kitchen sketch and repair a toy castle. He seemed serious about wanting to improve his prickly relationship with his sons. Listening to her advice, writing it down. If she weren’t careful, she’d find herself approving of this man. Her adversary. She must never forget that.

  Finished writing, he glanced up at her. “What’s next?”

  She turned to page two of her notes. “You need to share tasks with the boys every day. Let them help you cut vegetables for the salad you’re making for dinner. Or carry out bags of garbage with you. Or water the flowers at night.”

  “I don’t water the flowers.”

  He’s missing the point. She tapped her elbow more. “The important thing is you do things together, even if it takes twice as long and makes a mess. Shared tasks will make the boys feel needed and build a sense of camaraderie between the three of you.”

  He wrote more, then glanced up. The glint in his eyes warned her he was near overload.

  Too bad. She pressed on. “You also need to talk to them every day. Not about getting dressed or picking up their toys, but about cool stuff. Ask them to tell you about the picture they drew, or what you see around you—the birds, the clouds, passing cars, whatever.”

  He sighed. “My time with the boys is limited on weeknights.”

  “We’re talking quality time, not quantity.”

  ”Quality time.”

  “Right. And start slow. Try one idea, then add another, not everything at once.”

  “Good to know.” He tore the sheet of paper from the pad and turned it over to write on the other side.

  “One last thing,” she said when he’d finished. “The most important thing of all.”

  Straightening, he hitched his shoulders. “What?”

  She paused. This will be hard for him. But it’ll make all the difference. “You want the boys’ faces to light up when they see you. That means you have to be fun.”

  “Fun,” he echoed dully.

  She nodded. “Yes, fun.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “You loosen up and crack a smile.”

  He scrunched up his face, and she smothered a groan. “Tell a joke,” she urged. “Make a funny face. Sing a silly song.”

  He threw down his pencil. “I’ve never done anything like that. The boys will think I’m nuts.”

  “Nuts is better than them thinking you stole them from their mother.”

  He crossed his arms and stared down at his notes for so long it worried her. Did I push him too hard?

  Finally, he raised his head. “Silly songs? Kid jokes? You’ll have to teach me some.”

  …

  Will came home from work at noon the following day to try out Gina’s ideas. He stood at the kitchen counter making sandwiches, with Harry and Ian perched on stools to his left. Harry slathered mayonnaise on the bread then handed it to Ian, who bit his tongue and spread tuna filling on the slice. Will’s job was to cut the finished sandwiches and bag them in plastic.

  Gina’s “shared tasks” took a lot of patience, yet, despite the snail’s pace, he was pleased. The sky was cobalt blue, and they were going for a picnic at the beach. Gina was coming along to act as his “daddy coach.” Hearing footsteps, he turned to see her enter the kitchen carrying two small duffel bags and wearing a shin-length denim skirt and a baggy purple smock. Another bizarre outfit. Where had she gotten her odd taste in clothing?

  She plopped the duffel bags on the kitchen table. “Here are your bags, boys. Whatever fits in them goes. Nothing more.”

  Will nodded. Good call. The table was already piled high with buckets and shovels, sunscreen and towels, blankets and extra clothing for Ian and Harry.

  The boys abandoned the sandwiches to each grab a bag and hurry toward the stairs. “I’m taking my cars,” Harry called to Ian.

  “I’m taking my teddies.”

  He smiled at Gina. “They’ll need suitcases for what they have in mind.”

  “They’ll figure it out.” Her tone was cool.

  She was always solemn and business-like with him. Her manner with the boys was all that mattered. But why is she so distant with me? Before the challenges of fatherhood and a failing business, he’d enjoyed the company of women. As friends—sometimes more.

  The “rugged male charm” he’d been credited with seemed lost on Gina. Not that he wanted an employee who fawned over him, but a shared laugh now and then would be welcome. He hadn’t laughed much lately.

  When the boys bounded downstairs with bulging duffel bags, the foursom
e loaded Will’s SUV then climbed inside. Gina sat in the passenger seat next to Will, the boys in the back in their car seats. As Will turned his head to back out of the driveway, he was struck by how much they looked like a family.

  Which only proved how deceptive appearances could be. The last thing he wanted was another wife, and Gina had zero interest in him. Except for that one time in the foyer. He jammed the shift lever into drive. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  “Let’s look for red cars,” Gina said to the boys.

  “There’s one!” Ian cried.

  “That’s a truck,” Harry protested.

  “Trucks count.”

  “No, they don’t. Gina said ‘cars.’”

  “Good listening, Harry,” she interjected. “I meant to say let’s look for red cars and trucks. Starting now.”

  The search began anew, the boys calling out red vehicles they spotted.

  “Nice save,” Will said.

  She turned to him warily.

  “I mean it, you’re good. I enjoy watching you with my guys.” Her skill left him awestruck, like the thing with the duffel bags. She gave the boys choices, yet somehow kept control. Will wasn’t sure he’d ever get the hang of effective discipline. Right now, he’d settle for being one of the crowd.

  “Tell me when you see a purple car,” he told his sons, “and I’ll honk.” In the rearview mirror, he saw both boys searching the road like hawks. He smiled.

  Minutes later, he pulled into the graveled parking lot of the seaside park. He braked as a car pulled out of a parking space ahead of him: a purple Mustang. Both boys sang out, and Will tooted the horn, which earned him a rude gesture from the departing young driver.

  He pulled into the empty slot and led his merry band, each of them toting picnic gear, across gray sand and sea-smoothed driftwood. They passed a mother putting shoes on her barefoot toddler perched on a log, and a gray-haired couple strolling hand in hand at the water’s edge. Will stopped at a wooden table, where they deposited their stuff, then the boys hurried to the water carrying buckets and shovels. He and Gina followed to sit on a nearby log.

  Breathing in sea air, he scanned the gray-green waters of Puget Sound. A tugboat inched past, pulling a barge stacked high with crates. The Kitsap Peninsula lay in the distance, dark with evergreens that fronted the snowcapped Olympics. His gaze moved to his sons as they filled their buckets with sand, dumped them out, and then filled them again. It seemed pointless to Will, but Ian and Harry shoveled as though driven.

  A young couple walked past, struggling to rein in their frisky black Labrador. Down the beach, a trio of children threw rocks into the water, reminding Will of his own boyhood days at the beach, splashing his younger brothers and turning over rocks in search of scuttling baby crabs.

  He turned to Gina. “Did you come to the beach often as a girl?”

  She shook her head. “Lakes, mostly. My stepdad, Jim, had a boat.”

  “Were you a happy child?” When she didn’t answer, he turned and looked back at the waves foaming onto the shore. Apparently, he’d gotten too personal.

  “Jim made us happy,” she said finally. “He took my brother and me camping. We slept in a tent, and he’d wake us early to go fishing.”

  A wistful smile crossed her face, and he caught his breath, intrigued by the way it softened her looks. He wanted to hear more.

  She scooped up pebbles and shifted them from hand to hand. “We grumbled at having to crawl out of our warm sleeping bags at dawn. But I treasured those cool summer mornings when the sky was streaked with pink and the world was quiet and still.”

  “Sounds special,” he said.

  She nodded, her smile broadening as she stared out at the water. “Jim bought us new fishing poles for Christmas. Mine was bright red. I’ve never had a gift that meant so much.” She laughed. “I even slept with it at night. It made me feel loved and part of a normal family.”

  He smiled, too, but as he watched, her smile died.

  “It didn’t last, of course.”

  He paused. “You broke your pole?”

  “No.” She leaned forward to snatch a single large pebble and fling it hard toward the water. “Jim left one day without a word. We never saw him again.”

  Dear God. “That must have hurt.”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Her brusque tone suggested it still mattered very much. She turned to him. “What about you? Were you a happy child?”

  He leaned down to snatch a pebble himself. Did she really want to know about him? More likely, she was closing the door on a painful subject. He answered anyway. “Yes, my two brothers and I grew up happy. We lived in the country like the Waltons, short on money, long on good times.”

  She paused. “I thought your family was well-off.”

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “I had a paper route at age ten and put myself through college framing houses and earning scholarships.”

  “Athletic,” she said.

  “Scholastic.” Her eyes widened, and he feigned indignation. “What—you don’t think I have a brain?”

  “No, of course not. I just assumed…”

  He grinned, enjoying her confusion. An errant strand had escaped her braid to wind-whip her cheek. “You should wear your hair down,” he said.

  “It gets in the way.”

  He caught the long tress between his fingers and tucked it behind her ear. As his thumb brushed the soft skin of her neck, her lips parted in a gasp. Sensual awareness flashed in her eyes and slammed him hard. He saw himself loosening her tightly bound hair, spearing his fingers through it, and pulling her near. Desire changed to alarm in her eyes, and he pulled his hand back. Easy now. You’ve scared her.

  She stood and then pulled the camera from her smock pocket. “Go play with the boys, and I’ll get some pictures.”

  “Good idea.” He’d been scared, too. He walked to the waterline and sat in the sand beside Harry and Ian. After a moment of watching his sons fill their buckets with sand, he picked up a hollowed-out chunk of driftwood and scooped sand into a mound.

  Harry paused in his digging. “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Making a sandcastle. Want to help?”

  “Sure.”

  “Fill your buckets and dump them here.” Ian and Harry complied, and soon the three of them used their hands to smooth the mound into a dome and poke finger holes for windows and doors. Behind them, the camera clicked as Gina captured the moment.

  Intent on castle building, he lost track of time until Ian wailed, “The buckets! They’re gone!”

  Will looked up and saw the green-and-yellow buckets bobbing in the water several yards from shore.

  “Go get ’em!” Harry urged.

  Will looked down at his son, then back to the buckets. The water had to be waist deep or more at that point, and so cold, it would hurt. “They’re too far out. We’ll have to let them go.”

  “But we need them for our castle!” Ian looked stricken, as though he was losing his most prized possession. So did Harry.

  Will frowned. The buckets might be cheap and expendable in his eyes, but to his sons, they apparently meant the world. He couldn’t let them down.

  Gina eyed him silently, offering no advice. She didn’t need to. Sighing, he handed her his wallet and keys from the pockets of his cutoffs then took a reluctant step into the chilly waters of Puget Sound. And shuddered. His tennis shoes slipped on the smooth rock bottom.

  “Be careful,” she warned.

  He waded out to his ankles, his feet already aching from the cold. Then on to his shins and then his knees. The buckets were still a long way off. A few more feet, and he’d be freezing his butt off, literally, all for two lousy buckets he could buy at the dollar store. No sound came from shore, but he felt three sets of eyes boring into his back.

  Arms out to keep his balance, he pressed on despite the cold creeping up his thighs. Immersed past his vitals, he let out a fierce howl. Damn. He turned
back to find the threesome watching him intently. Gina snapped a picture.

  “Go, Will!” Harry called. Ian raised his knobby arms above his head to give him two thumbs up.

  Spurred on by their support, he waved back and trudged farther out to the first bucket. He caught its flimsy handle with the tips of his fingers, growled a curse, and pulled it in.

  Frigid waves lapped his chest as he stretched his arm to snag the farthest bucket with his free hand. But as the handle brushed his palm, his feet slid out from under him, plunging him into a cold, dark current that stung him like icy needles. Pushing hard off the bottom with his feet, he broke the surface with a savage shout. Grabbing the second bucket handle, he plodded for shore.

  A brisk wind chilled his wet skin as he staggered free of the water and onto the beach. The boys clapped and jumped up and down as he handed them each a bucket.

  “Yaaay, Will!”

  “You got ’em!”

  It was the first time he’d seen approval in his sons’ eyes. A fierce need to keep it there slammed him hard. Harry and Ian moved closer, all wiggly and grinning, and looked up at him like he was their hero. The same way he’d looked up at his own dad. Too choked up to speak, he bent down to give each of them a high five. They laughed, and it warmed his heart and filled him with pride. And love. To him, Harry and Ian meant the world.

  Gina handed him a large towel. “Dry your head first. It’s where you lose the most body heat.”

  He complied.

  “Now take off your shirt.”

  Wearily, he pulled his wet shirt over his head. It stuck part way off, and she helped him pull free of it. He was shaking as Gina draped a towel over his shoulders and used it to rub his arms and back.

  “You need to get warm,” she said. “Hypothermia is no joke.”

  The worry in her eyes surprised him. He traded his wet towel for the dry one in her hands and rubbed his arms, chest, and legs. “I’m all right,” he assured her. He retrieved the blanket from the picnic table, wrapped it around him, and sat down on the log they’d used earlier.

  Gina sat down beside him. “You didn’t bring extra clothes.”

  He smiled. “I didn’t plan to go swimming.”

  Her mouth quirked upward, and a fireball of warmth sped through him at the first smile she’d given him. He’d take another polar-bear swim to earn a second one.