Bright Eyes

by Catherine Anderson

  Chad looked up. Tear tracks glistened on his cheeks below the goggle cups. “I’m not smart. All’s I ever get is B’s. My dad got straight A’s in every subject without even studying, and he was good at sports, too.”

  “And you’re not, I take it.”

  “I suck at sports.”

  “Maybe you just haven’t found the right one yet.”

  “I’ve tried everything.” He kicked at the wood again. “I’m not too bad at baseball, but I’m nowhere near as good as my dad was.”

  Zeke was beginning to actively dislike Robert Patterson. “When I was your age, I sucked at sports, too. It wasn’t until I started riding horses and roping competitively that I found my real niche. Don’t cubbyhole yourself. Keep trying new things. Sooner or later, you’ll find where your talents lie, and you’ll excel.”

  Chad made a face. “Who wants to be good at riding and roping? You can’t get a varsity letter for that.”

  “No varsity letters, that’s true,” Zeke agreed. “But if you get good on a horse, there are plenty of buckles and trophies to win. My sister, Bethany, was the state champion three years running in barrel racing and would have gone to the nationals but for a riding accident. She has more championship buckles than anyone I’ve ever known, and you can wear those all your life. A varsity letter—” Zeke broke off and shrugged. “Well, hey, a grown-up would look pretty silly wearing a letterman’s sweater to town.”

  “I guess.” Chad glanced at Zeke’s belt. “That a championship buckle?”

  Zeke turned up the ornate oval of silver and gold for the boy’s inspection. “Roping, my specialty. It’ll separate the men from the boys in nothing flat.”

  Chad pursed his lips. “I used to ride horses.”

  “Too bad you’ve lost interest. I have a couple. We could have done some riding and roping. Much as I enjoy my horses, it’s not as much fun alone.”

  “I haven’t lost interest.”

  After studying Chad’s tear-streaked face for a long moment, Zeke concluded that he’d never met a boy in more serious need of a friend. “Hmm,” he settled for saying. “I’ll keep that in mind. No better way to relax than to throw a few lassos and go for a ride. Gives a man time to reflect on things and clear his head.”

  Chad straightened his shoulders. “I hear you.” Then he frowned. “If you’ve got horses, where are they?”

  “Rented pasture. Best roping horses you’ll ever clap eyes on.” Zeke handed Chad the tape measure. “I showed you how last time. Your turn to mark the board.”

  Chad bent to the task. Zeke stood over him, giving instructions as needed. “Okay,” he said, when the board was marked. “Which angle should you cut, a right or a left?”

  Chad studied the board. Finally, he said, “It shouldn’t matter. I just have to cut the opposite angle at the other end to make it work for a cross buck.”

  Zeke grinned and patted the kid on the shoulder. “Just like I said, sharp as a tack. I know grown men who can’t figure angles to save their souls.”

  While setting the saw blade, Chad asked, “So when will you bring your horses here?”

  “As soon as the fences are up,” Zeke replied.

  “When will they be up?” the boy asked.

  “As soon as you get them built.”

  Chapter Three

  That afternoon Natalie had to leave for work before Chad got home, so she called the house later to check on him. She expected Chad to be upset when he got on the phone, but he greeted her with a cheerful, “Hi. What’s up?”

  “I just called to see how you are.”

  “I’m good.”

  Chad had been sullen and difficult for weeks. “My goodness, did I dial the wrong number?”

  “Jeez, Mom, cut me some slack, why don’t you?”

  “Sorry. It’s just so nice to hear a smile in your voice for a change.”

  Natalie’s piano player, Frank Stephanopolis, struck the first chord of a new song. They were supposed to be practicing before the supper crowd came in.

  Natalie cupped her hand over the portable phone and called, “I’ll be right there, Frank.” She returned her attention to the conversation with her son. “So how did it go today?”

  “All right, I guess. Mr. Coulter’s teaching me some stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Just stuff, okay? Nothing you’d know about.”

  Natalie had grown accustomed to Robert talking down to her. He thought all women were mentally impaired. But it hurt, hearing condescension in her son’s voice. For too long, Chad’s only point of reference had been his father’s bad example. “I was just curious, sweetie.”

  Chad relented with, “I used a circular saw, is all, no big deal.”

  “A circular saw?” she echoed.

  “What? You don’t think I’m old enough or something?”

  Could she say or do anything right? “You’re old enough. It’s just that power tools can be so dangerous. I hope you were very cautious.”

  “No, I, like, sawed off all my fingers on purpose.”

  Natalie closed her eyes briefly. “Was Mr. Coulter nice to you?”

  “Get real. What reason does he have to be nice?”

  “If he’s being awful, Chad, I’ll figure out a way to pay him back.”

  “Yeah, right. What’ll you do, take it out of petty cash?”

  She hadn’t punched in the wrong number, after all. This was definitely her son. Natalie yearned to make things better between them, but somehow, no matter how she tried, she only made things worse.

  “Did you call Dad to tell him I’m in trouble yet?” Chad asked.

  She had left messages on Robert’s office and home lines and on his cell phone as well, but so far, Robert hadn’t bothered to call her back. He was probably too busy bonking Bonnie Decker, his latest girlfriend, to complicate his life with parenting problems.

  “No, I haven’t called him yet,” Natalie lied. “I’m sorry, Chad. I just haven’t had time.”

  “You never have time for things that are important to me.”

  Natalie wanted to defend herself. She hated taking the heat for Robert’s failings. But if she told the truth, Chad would know how little Robert cared.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling heartsick and so angry with Robert that she could have strangled him. “I rushed off to work last night and never found a second to spare until my shift was over.”

  “What about today?”

  “I got sidetracked doing the laundry and paying bills.”

  “You always get sidetracked, Mom. Then you blame Dad for not coming through for us. How can he be there for me if he doesn’t know I need him?”

  Good question. And it took all of Natalie’s strength to paint herself as the villain. Again. But this wasn’t about her.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ll call him tomorrow, I promise.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “I will. Honestly. I just get so busy sometimes.”

  Long silence. Then Chad sighed. “It’s okay, I guess. I tried to call him myself. He didn’t call me back. Grandma Grace says he’s probably out of town, looking at development property or something.”

  Grace Patterson was in denial where her son was concerned. Robert, the big-time wheeler and dealer, lived in fear of missing a business call, so he picked up his voice messages no matter where he was. Natalie’s anger toward him intensified. The selfish jerk. Maybe he’d die of a coronary while ejaculating. On his headstone, she’d have the dates of his birth and death engraved, along with, “He came, he went, and who cares?” Only that wasn’t precisely true. Her son cared.

  Natalie was grateful that Rosie hadn’t been around Robert very much, a result of his incessant late hours at the office before their divorce. Ha. In truth, he’d been with his mistress all those nights. But that was beside the point. Rosie hadn’t formed a strong attachment to her father, and Natalie prayed it remained that way. Chad was another story. He’d always yearned for Robert’s approval
, always craved his attention.

  “I love you, Chad.” It was all that Natalie could think of to say. “More than you’ll ever know.”

  During the ensuing silence, she blinked the sting of tears from her eyes, wishing—oh, she didn’t know what she wished. She knew only that she loved her son, and she couldn’t seem to talk to him anymore without running face-first into this thick wall of resentment.

  “I know you love me, Mom,” he finally said.

  Natalie’s heart leaped with gladness at his change in tone, and she waited, hoping he might say he loved her, too. Dumb. Chad saw things with a boy’s perspective. Someday, when he grew older, he might come to understand what a lousy husband and father Robert had been, but for now, he was furious with her for destroying his world.

  “I’ll call your father tomorrow. I promise.”

  “Never make promises you may not keep.”

  “That’s my line,” Natalie teased. Then she tried for another note of humor by saying, “Hey, if all else fails, I’ll put a rubber band on my finger to remind me.”

  “You can’t play the guitar with a finger missing. Knowing you, you’ll forget the rubber band and get gangrene.”

  Natalie knew that she was hopelessly forgetful sometimes, and she burst out laughing. She was pleased to hear Chad reluctantly join in. “Hey, mister, I can play a guitar with my toes, and don’t you doubt it.” Another silence fell between them. Frank pounded on the piano, making impatient noise expressly to distract her. Natalie chose to ignore him. A woman might own many businesses, but, in her case, at least, she would have only one son. “I’m glad to know that it wasn’t too awful with Mr. Coulter today. If it gets to be too much, just tell me. I’ll figure out a way to settle the debt and just ground you for six months.”

  Again, Chad laughed, sounding more like her little boy. “Six months. How about six weeks?”

  “Not!” Natalie retorted with a chuckle. “You totally ruined that poor man’s garden, and his shed door, and his house, and his windows. You’ve got to do some serious time before you get probation.”

  “I guess that’s fair. I was kind of shocked when I saw what I did. It didn’t seem like that much while I was doing it. I was so mad, I must have zoned out or something.”

  Natalie felt partly responsible for Chad’s anger. Right before the boy left for Coulter’s place, he had tried to call his father. As usual, Robert hadn’t answered the phone, and Natalie had muttered something nasty under her breath about Robert, sending Chad into a rage.

  “Maybe, when Dad hears my message, he’ll pay for the damages.”

  Natalie knew that Chad’s hopes hung on that. “Maybe,” she said faintly.

  “Do you have to say it like that? Every time you talk about him, you get that sound in your voice, like he’s a total loser or something. He’s my dad, all right? Hate him all you want, but don’t try to make me.”

  “I don’t hate your father, Chad. We’ve had our differences, I admit, and sometimes I feel angry with him, but I certainly don’t hate him.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  In truth, Natalie was coming to hate Robert, not because of the things he’d done to her, which were legion, but for all the things he was failing to do for his children. It struck her as being grossly unfair that a wealthy man’s kids should be one step away from going on welfare.

  Did the bastard even care? Hell, no. He was having the time of his life, single at last, taking his girlfriends to four-star restaurants, putting fancy hubcaps on his new Corvette, and buying himself snazzy suits. He probably looked at their divorce settlement and laughed, giving his friends the high-five, proud of himself for beating the system and coming through a divorce financially unscathed. Most men lost some money to their ex-wives. Instead, Robert had taken her to the cleaners.

  Natalie still didn’t know how Robert had hidden the giant’s share of his assets. She suspected that he’d transferred some of the funds into overseas accounts and the rest into corporate subsidiaries that weren’t easily traced, the result being that he’d appeared to be dirt poor when they went before a judge. Natalie’s attorney had been unable to disprove the financial depositions. The judge had had no choice but to make his rulings on the evidence provided, and Natalie had left the courtroom an impoverished divorcée, indebted to Robert for his rightful half of her supper club.

  To save the business, her only source of income, she’d been forced to lay off employees, run the inventory to dangerous lows, nearly empty her operating accounts, and do a constant juggling act with the remaining funds to hold the creditors at bay. If she dropped one ball—just one—the debts would domino and the club would plummet into bankruptcy.

  Did she hate Robert? Yes. But that was her secret, something not to be shared with her son, whose heart was already breaking.

  “Mom?”

  Natalie blinked and came back to herself. “I’m sorry. Did you say something, sweetie?”

  “No,” Chad replied softly. “You just stopped talking.” As if he sensed her distress, he added, “It’s really not that bad, working for Mr. Coulter. If Dad doesn’t come through, I’ll hang tough and be okay with it.”

  Natalie swallowed hard.

  “He even made me eggs Benedict for breakfast. I think he’s a gourmet cook. You ever had them that way?”

  “A few times.”

  Frank pounded on the piano again, and Natalie waved a placating hand at him. She pictured Zeke Coulter—with his chiseled features, dark skin, thick sable hair, and rippling muscles. She couldn’t imagine him in the kitchen, fussing over a fancy recipe.

  “Would you bounce that ball somewhere else, Rosie?” Chad cried. “This is a kitchen, not a basketball court. You’re such a pest.” Then, to Natalie, he said, “I kind of like working for him, actually. He doesn’t treat me like a kid, unlike other people I know.”

  Natalie smiled wearily. It figured, didn’t it? The man next door communicated with her son better than she did.

  “Maybe, if I work with him till school starts, I’ll get good enough with a saw to fix Poppy’s fences.”

  Natalie wouldn’t hold her breath. It took an Act of Congress to get Chad to take out the garbage. Nevertheless, there was a definite note of pride in his voice, and she couldn’t help but rejoice. She had tried to build Chad’s confidence, but for some reason, her opinion didn’t carry as much weight as his father’s. Maybe he needed an adult male friend to give him the reinforcement that she couldn’t.

  After Natalie said good-bye to her son, she tapped the phone antenna on her chin, wondering if she’d misjudged Zeke Coulter. Her son didn’t sound as if he were being mistreated. Just the opposite. He sounded uplifted and proud of himself. Maybe Zeke was a whole lot nicer than she’d judged him to be.

  “You gonna make love to that phone all night or come practice this number?” Frank yelled.

  Natalie laid the phone on a table, removed her imaginary Mom hat, and walked to the raised stage. “I’m ready,” she said as she grabbed her guitar. “Hit it.”

  Zeke was about to kick back with a beer when he heard a faint tapping noise. Sipping the head from a freshly drawn glass of ale, he moved through the house, wondering if he had mice. Wonderful thought. He was just putting traps on his mental shopping list when the tapping came again. He turned toward the kitchen door that opened onto the side porch. One of his brothers, maybe? Hank was as unpredictable as the Oregon weather. Tucker and Isaiah were almost as bad.

  When he opened the portal, he nearly missed the tiny visitor who stood on his stoop. Then he glanced down and saw one of the sweetest countenances he’d ever clapped eyes on, framed by a mop of curly black hair.

  “Oh! Hello. I thought I was imagining things.”

  Ethereal in the twilight, the child moved closer. “Hi. I’m sorry for coming over so late, but it was the only time I could leave without Aunt Valerie noticing. She bribed Gramps to let her watch The Planet’s Funniest Animals.”

  At first glance, Zeke had judged
the child to be about four, but now that he’d heard her talk, he decided she must be older.

  She thrust out a tiny fist. “I’m Rosie Patterson. I came to help pay for what Chad did.”

  At a loss, Zeke accepted the offering. When the coins were dumped onto his palm, he counted fifty-three cents—two quarters and three pennies—which clearly constituted a fortune to his caller.

  “What did you say your name is?”

  She pursed her lips like a miniature schoolmarm. “I’m Rosie, Chad’s sister. That’s Rosie with an I and an E, not a Y.”

  Zeke noted that she was a dead ringer for her mother. Fascinated, he stared at her perfect little face. “Hi, Rosie,” he said, striving to keep his expression solemn. Did all preschoolers know how to spell their names?

  Without waiting for an invitation, she started inside. “Mommy says you’re mean and noxious.”

  Zeke struggled not to laugh. He had already concluded that he wasn’t high on Natalie Patterson’s popularity chart. “Is that so?”

  “Yep. I want to know how come. It can’t be very fun.”

  There was a thought. As Zeke shifted to get out of her way, he almost slopped beer on her curly head. He righted his mug just in time. “I, um—hmm.”

  She nodded as if he’d just said something profound as she invaded his kitchen. “Nice,” she pronounced. “Pretty wood floors, and everything’s tidy.” She turned slowly, taking in the oak cabinetry with a critical eye. “You need some stuff on your walls, though.”

  That was a sentiment shared by his mother and sister. He guessed it was a female thing. The only thing he’d tacked to a wall so far was a Les Schwab Tires calendar, and he liked it that way. “I just moved in.”

  “You’ve been here almost four months. Poppy’s been counting. He says you must be stuck up, never coming over to say hello until you have a bitch.”

  All Zeke could think of to say was, “I’ve been busy.”

  She tapped her foot. “Even so, it’s important to make your space feel homey. My mommy says.”

  “She’s probably right. I keep meaning to buy some wall hangings, but I never seem to find time.”