by Pamela Tracy
Natalie had never felt so lost.
Lucky’s mother chatted happily as they pulled away from the Main Street Church. Her bright red nails beat a frantic tap, tap, tap against the door handle. She was as excited as he’d ever seen her, and his mother excited easily.
Nothing compared to this evening.
She wanted to buy Robby a pony. She wanted to decorate a room for him at her house. She wanted to buy a second home here in Selena so she could be easily accessible should she be needed. She wanted so much Lucky almost felt out of breath just keeping up with her.
He wanted a few things, too.
He wanted not to be around when his mother fell back down to Earth. No way would Robby be getting a pony anytime soon. The empty barn was a testimony to Natalie’s fear. His mother decorating a room was fine, but Lucky didn’t want to be around when she mentioned the idea to his father. As for buying a second home, Lucky figured that argument would be won or lost about the time his mother mentioned decorating a bedroom for what his father would consider a “surprise” grandson.
His mother was having trouble staying true to the short-term, and boy could she dream about the long-term. Lucky was more a realist. More than anything, he wanted Natalie to realize she wasn’t losing Robby but gaining family.
No, more than anything, Lucky wanted his father to be open to the idea of Robby, wholeheartedly accept him and support everyone involved.
If the prodigal son had had a son, he’d have been welcomed in his father’s home.
Lucky’s father didn’t welcome any son who went against his wishes. Ever.
“Mom, what have you told Dad?”
The tapping fingers stilled. “After you came home from the meeting yesterday, I decided to call Henry. It’s not fair to keep this from him. I told him there was something I needed to tell him, but he sounded busy so I didn’t tell him what.” She stared out the window instead of at Lucky. He didn’t blame her. Her whole life she’d learned to approach her husband from the side and never straight-on.
Well, maybe not her whole life. He and Marcus had found pictures from when their parents dated. There’d been a time when their father smiled, laughed and spent time with family.
That part of his dad no longer existed by the time Lucky came along. Maybe if it did, his mother wouldn’t be angst-ridden and maybe Marcus wouldn’t be—
No, don’t go there.
His mother took a deep breath and finally looked at him. “You didn’t tell him, either.” Her words were somewhat accusatory.
Sometimes Lucky wondered how his mother kept her sanity. He and Marcus left at age eighteen. His mother stayed, and this year she’d be celebrating twenty-eight years of staying.
“I’m going to call him tonight.”
The evening shadows made the town an eerie gray and black. A wind sent the trees shivering. His mother shivered, too. “We have to,” Lucky said, “and the sooner the better. We probably should have told him before we negotiated our visitation requests.”
“What do you think he’ll do?” Mom asked.
For the first time in years, Lucky truly didn’t have an answer. His father was fast approaching sixty and Lucky couldn’t remember the man ever having fun, ever being open to new ideas. There were rodeo clowns past sixty who knew how to embrace life. How to have fun. Some of them worked harder than Lucky; some of them played harder than Lucky. They epitomized fun, and most of them initiated new ideas. Never, not in Lucky’s memory, had Henry Welch given permission for anyone—not himself, not his children—to take a risk, make a poor choice or live down a mistake.
The father Lucky knew would demand paternity tests, consider Robby an embarrassment, and then he’d still turn his back on Marcus’s son.
The way he’d turned his back on Marcus.
Risks, poor choices and mistakes had no place in Lucky’s dad’s life.
“What do you think he’ll do?” Lucky’s mother repeated softly.
“I’m not sure, Mom, but it doesn’t matter. Robby is what matters.”
She nodded and went back to staring out the window. Her bubbly mood was gone.
Bernice had beaten them home. No surprise since Lucky’s mother had to escort her grandson to the car, had to say “Bye” fifteen times and had to contain herself and her words because the little boy didn’t know the woman cooing over him was his grandma.
The porch light was on. Lucky’s mother went up the stairs and into the house without a word. Lucky followed slowly, nodding a greeting to Bernice’s family and then heading upstairs. Mary’s room didn’t look inviting, and the grays and blacks outdoors deepened. It was nine at night. His dad would be in his office, books open, not even remembering that for the rest of his family, it was church night.
Lucky went straight to the table by the window and set his Bible down. He didn’t need to open it. The scriptures he needed swirled in his mind like bumper cars connecting, detaching and jarring.
Honor thy father and thy mother. Lucky had always honored his mother, figuring out at an early age that she more than any other person on Earth was on his side. After he’d moved out, honoring his father became much easier because he could honor at a distance.
Until coming to the Selena rodeo, that is.
But humility comes before honor. For the first time, Lucky considered just who should experience this humility. He wanted it to be his earthly father, but, Lucky knew this time, yet again, it would be him. He picked up the phone. It took only two rings before Henry Welch barked a hello, managing to sound harried.
“Dad?”
“Your mother about to come home?”
No doubt Dad wanted home cooking.
“I don’t think so. That’s why I’m calling.”
His father was silent, which was unusual enough to give Lucky hope. But then, his dad was canny. He had to know something was going on.
“Go ahead,” Dad finally said.
“I’ve met a woman here. Her name is Natalie Crosby.”
Lucky heard a book close and a chair creak before his dad stated, “Crosby? That was Tisha’s last name.”
Surprised his father remembered, Lucky hurried on, “Yes, she’s Tisha’s cousin, and apparently she dated Marcus, too.”
His father’s snort indicated no surprise. Lucky winced. So far, he was making Natalie sound a whole lot like Tisha, and nothing could be further from the truth. Still, Lucky continued, wishing the words sounded better, wishing his gift of gab hadn’t failed him at the worst possible moment. “Dad, she has a son. He’s three years old. His name is Robby and—”
“She’s claiming the boy belongs to Marcus?”
“She doesn’t need to claim. One look at Robby and there’s no doubt.”
“There’s always doubt,” Dad insisted. “What does she want?”
Lucky felt the pressure lifting. “She doesn’t want anything.” It was true, too. Not once during their negotiations last Tuesday had she brought up money. He had, and she’d explained about the will, the missing money and then the discovery of the bank bonds.
“Dad, I’m just letting you know that here in Selena, you have a three-year-old grandson. His name is Robby Crosby. His name should be Robby Welch. Mom and I met him, and we already love him.”
“You stay away from this woman, and tell your mother I said get home now.”
“Dad, this is something you need to tell Mom yourself. But I’m staying in Selena. Robby is Marcus’s child, my nephew, your grandson, whether you like it or not. I’m going to help take care of—”
Lucky needn’t continue. His father had hung up.
Good thing, too, because Lucky might have accidentally given away that not only did he intend to become a permanent fixture in Robby’s life, if his heart was any indication he intended to do the same in Natalie’s.
Chapter Seven
N atalie felt even more lost on Saturday morning as she stood in the front doorway watching as Robby piled toys in the backseat. He was convinced that Miss Betsy ne
eded to see his train collection. He was convinced Lucky needed to see his trucks and broomstick horse.
All Natalie really needed to do was toss in some food and clothes, and they’d be good to run away for at least a week.
She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs and fantasies. “Come in, Robby. We need to get a sweater on. It’s cold.”
“Nooooooooo.”
“Yeeeeeeees.”
While he truly believed that Miss Betsy and Lucky needed to see his toy collection, he didn’t think Miss Betsy and Lucky needed to see his warm clothes. He chose cowboy boots, shorts and a torn white T-shirt. He wasn’t happy when Natalie changed him into a warm red sweater and a pair of heavy-duty jeans. That she let him keep the cowboy boots went unnoticed.
“I hot,” he insisted, so Natalie changed him into a long-sleeved T-shirt, tucked the sweater in his backpack and, finally, with only ten minutes to spare, buckled Robby into his car seat and crawled behind the wheel.
She imagined herself driving to Canada. It was a straight shot north.
“Mommy, choo-choo,” Robby whined. Usually, Natalie worked hard not to reward such behavior, but this morning, no way did she want to show up at Bernice’s with an unhappy, screaming kid and a disheveled look. She jumped out of the car and headed into the house to retrieve yet another train. She knew just the one he wanted. She’d put it on top of the refrigerator last night when Robby decided that playing on the kitchen floor with his train was more important than eating.
Hopping back in the car and handing Robby his beloved favorite train, she hoped he didn’t do the same today. Natalie didn’t need Mrs. Welch demanding an account of what, when and where Robby ate, and why he thought throwing himself on the kitchen floor was okay.
Bernice lived twenty-five minutes away, on the other side of town, in a house that looked lived-in. Natalie parked behind a red Sebring. Checking the child mirror, she saw Robby’s anxious face and forced herself to calm down.
“We’re going to have fun today.”
Robby nodded and went for his seat belt. Since Natalie didn’t want him to master unbuckling yet, she made it around the car and to his side quickly. To her relief, he ignored the stash of toys and simply held on to his favorite train. They’d barely taken a few steps when the front door opened and Lucky came out.
“The star attractions!” he called.
“You mean attraction,” Natalie corrected.
Robby pulled his hand from hers and ran toward Lucky. “See my choo-choo.”
“I see your choo-choo,” Lucky said. “And, I meant attractions. We’re glad that both of you are here. Come on in. Most everybody is either in the kitchen or around back.”
Natalie had actually been here a few times as a teenager, but back then she’d been here for the horses and hadn’t noticed the down-home look. It was a kid’s dream. Scattered toys, soft furniture, and most breakables were out of Robby’s reach.
Small things, but they helped Natalie relax.
She didn’t need to ask Lucky directions to the kitchen. The aroma of fried chicken led the way. Then came the sounds of laughter and raised voices.
“Mary’s here. Do you know her?” Lucky asked.
Bernice’s oldest daughter, nine months pregnant and ever the high school cheerleader, raised a Popsicle in greeting.
“Everybody knows Mary,” Natalie finally said as Robby pressed against her leg and herded her toward all the noise. Clearly, he wanted to be in the thick of things, only he wanted to make sure she was near. “I was three years behind her in school.”
“Natalie!” Bernice turned from the oven when they walked into the kitchen. “I’m proud of you and mad at you at the same time.”
“Mother,” Mary warned. She was placing plates on the table. Natalie did a quick count—eleven.
Hmm.
Bernice aimed a large spoon at Mary and shook it. “I’m supposed to fade into the background, I’ve been told. Still, we’re so glad you’re here. Most everyone is in the backyard.”
Lucky looked relieved to get out of the kitchen.
“I want kicken,” Robby said. He headed for the stove.
Bernice blocked the oven door, spoon at the ready. “Well, of course you do,” she said. “I’ve saved a leg just for you. I’ll bet your mother’s taught you the word hot. Am I right?”
“I think she has some six-legged chickens hidden away because she always offers legs to my two children,” Mary added. “Rachel is Robby’s age. Shall we introduce them?”
The backyard was even better than the living room. A swing set beckoned. The door to the barn was open enough so Natalie and Robby could see horses, hay and farm tools. Even better than that, right in front of the barn were the beginnings of something.
“What that?” Robby asked.
Lucky crouched down so he was eye level with Robby. “Howie Junior’s been bugging me to help him learn to ride bulls. I put together a mini-arena. I’ve been making him jump on the bales of hay, and I’ve been helping him with balance. See?” Lucky pointed. He’d tied a metal barrel to four trees. “With just a pull on a rope or two, Howie gets to ride a pretend bull.”
“Oh,” Robby said. He’d stopped paying attention after the first three or four words. He took two steps toward the barrel.
“I don’t think so,” Natalie said.
Lucky shot her a look, but echoed, “I don’t think so.”
Robby looked ready to let out a healthy three-year-old whine, but luckily someone laughed behind them. Robby turned and saw kids his own age. He took two steps in their direction, looked at his mother questioningly, decided he was brave enough to leave her side and ran toward Howard, Bernice’s husband, and Mary’s two children. A little boy bigger than Robby stayed near his Grandpa, but a little girl just Robby’s size ran toward him.
“Robby, wait!” Natalie called, but it was too late.
They met hard in the middle, looking like two tiny sumo wrestlers. Both fell to the ground. Robby sat up first, grinned and said, “Okay?”
The little girl nodded, “’Kay.”
“I’m thinking about making her a bull rider,” Lucky said after both children brushed themselves off and ran toward the swing set. Lucky smiled as the little girl scampered up the slide with Robby right on her heels. For the first time, Natalie noticed how his smile seemed to reflect in his rich brown eyes.
Lucky continued, “So far today, Rachel’s fallen off a chair, hit her head on a door handle and pulled a bowl on top of her head. Not once did she cry. She did ask the bowl if it was ‘’kay.’”
“Rachel must be two.”
“Yup.”
“Robby was forever hurting himself when he was two. One night I heard him. He’d fallen out of bed. When I got to him, he was already back to sleep, on the floor, clutching a shoe. He had a knot on his head. I stayed by him for hours afraid that he shouldn’t be asleep, but also afraid to wake him up.”
“And Marcus missed all those things,” Lucky said sadly.
“Yes, he did.” There was no sense sugarcoating it.
“I just find that so strange.” Lucky sounded amazed. “He loved children. When we were teens, he was the one who worked at a special-needs camp for three summers in a row. It had some kind of animal therapy with horses that Marcus helped with. The kids loved him. He still gets letters.”
Natalie opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come. She’d never really met Marcus, and Tisha had only had negative things to say.
“I still wonder. How did you meet?” Lucky started.
“Where’s your mother?” Natalie interrupted.
Lucky sobered. “She’s not here. I planned on telling you but was hoping to let you settle in first. We called my dad Wednesday after church. We told him about Robby.”
Natalie’s stomach clenched. Lucky’s dad was the one who knew high-dollar lawyers. Lucky’s dad even scared Tisha. Tisha wouldn’t say what it was about the man that frightened her. She left Natalie with the idea that not only did
Marcus want nothing to do with his dad, but that his dad wanted nothing to do with them.
“Dad made her come home. He doesn’t believe Robby is a Welch.”
“And your mother went?” Natalie had trouble fathoming the concept.
“She went. I drove to Lubbock and put her on a plane Thursday. She cried the whole way.”
“Oh, my.” Natalie sat on a bale of hay.
“I promised her I’d take lots of pictures today. I hope you don’t mind.” Lucky took out his cell phone, punched a button and aimed it at the children.
It would be a lovely picture, Natalie thought. Mary’s daughter’s blond hair shimmered in the sunlight as she tried to climb up the slide instead of using the steps. Robby’s brown hair stuck straight up in the air. He followed the little girl’s lead. Looking back at Lucky, Natalie watched as his hand went to his own hair, smoothing it back, making sure it didn’t stick up. The smile had gone out of his eyes. He was probably thinking about what his mother was missing.
Natalie had spent the day, the week, the last two weeks regretting what her rash announcement at the rodeo had done to her Robby, her world, her life.
She’d forgotten there were other people, other worlds, other lives involved.
And they were hurting just as much as she was.
Lunch went great, except for his mother’s absence. Robby sat between Mary’s children. He mimicked the older boy and bowed his head in prayer, even saying Amen, and then took care of little Rachel. Robby moved her drink so it wasn’t too near the edge of the table. Lucky took a picture. Robby said “Nooooo” when she reached for Grandpa Howard’s butter knife. Lucky took a picture. The little boy seemed to think he had a job taking care of Rachel, and he intended to do it. Lucky’s mother would have been mesmerized. Lucky was. He hadn’t been around kids much, except at the rodeos, and there they all seemed to want autographs or cotton candy.
Looked like Robby was a good kid.
