“No. Kevin would never hit me. It’s nothing. Really. Just drop it.”
Braydon’s gaze roamed over her body. His strong hand picked up her wrist and turned her arm. “What are these marks from?”
Feeling cornered, she snatched her arm back. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I assure you it’s misplaced.” She grabbed her purse and stood, hating how exposed he made her feel. “I have an appointment. Thanks for lunch. I’ll send the paperwork over to Mr. Dillard’s assistant when I get back. You should have it by Thursday at the latest.”
He didn’t look pleased, but that wasn’t her problem. Taking the long way to the door so she didn’t have to get close to him again, she fled her office. She held her breath as she raced to the elevators and didn’t exhale until she was safely tucked inside and rushing toward the ground.
* * * *
That afternoon, as Becca drove to Hunter’s school, she couldn’t stop thinking about the things Braydon had said. She recalled the way he asked if he could touch her, the way he announced his desire to please her. The entire experience took on a different feel, now that she knew his past with Miranda.
Having to make enough decisions for everyone in her little world, she definitely didn’t want anything to do with a guy that needed a woman to decide for him. But still…something didn’t add up. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t imagine Braydon being ordered around. Asking was one thing. Manners were always nice. But thinking of him behaving subserviently in any manner was absurd. Maybe that was why he and his boss had broken up.
Once buzzed in to the aftercare room she spotted Hunter at the computer, a set of cushioned headphones covering his ears.
“Hi, Becca,” Natalie, the after school aide, greeted. Natalie was also an aide in the resource room, so she was great for Hunter. The woman was familiar with her son’s needs and often sat in on their IEP meetings.
“Hi, Natalie. How was he today?”
“Good. A little off in the morning, but he was fine by snack time. He actually did so well sorting today he earned an extra ten minutes on the bike.”
A proud smile crept to her face. Those slight victories were worth their weight in gold.
Hunter had various preferred activities. Above all, he loved music, especially The Rolling Stones. But he also enjoyed other activities like riding the bikes in the resource room at his school, piecing together model trains, and, his most recent affinity, playing the piano.
The bike was a special treat because it was a one-on-one activity. The teachers shadowed him as he took the large bike with training wheels around a circle of cones. Every time she observed him maintaining his balance it delighted her, seeing him beam with unspoken excitement. It was amazing to witness his progress considering his visual perception issues.
Strolling to the computer she placed a hand on his right shoulder. He turned and offered a wide smile. “Mom! Work’s over?”
She removed the headphones so he’d realize he was shouting. “Work’s over. Did you have a nice day?”
“I rode the bike! Work’s over now. Natalie, work’s over now!”
Natalie smiled. “Yup. Time to go home, bud.”
“If you start me up I never stop,” Hunter said and laughed loudly. Becca chuckled at his form of a joke. He frequently quoted lines in his best Mick Jagger impersonation.
She laughed and patted his shoulder. “You ready, bud?”
“You make a grown man cry, Mom.” He laughed again. The return of his pleasant mood filled her with calm and relieved some of her worry.
Natalie came to their side with Hunter’s belongings. A few minutes later Becca was buckling him into his seat in the van. They drove home, The Stones CD playing along as Hunter hummed to the beat.
Part of the reason Hunter loved The Stones was because Becca did, but he also liked the fact that he and Mick were both born on June 26. Hunter emulated the musician from his dance moves—which were sometimes amusing—to his preference of instruments. Her son was—in her mind—a genius when it came to the piano, never needing a single sheet of notes, but he also enjoyed the tambourine, the harmonica, and the guitar, just like Jagger. The other instruments were difficult for him, but for some reason the piano seemed to be an extension of his soul.
When they settled in for dinner, Hunter was still chatty. She’d take that over his silence any day. Carrying over a plate of bacon, she slipped into her chair. Breakfast for dinner was one of Hunter’s favorites and since Kevin left, she’d started preparing it once a week.
Her son’s motor skills had come a long way. His occupational therapist was great. Though his motions were broad and his tidiness was not that of a typical eight-year-old boy’s, he was now capable of feeding himself with a fork and that made Becca’s life a bit more manageable.
Nibbling her eggs, she laughed as Hunter folded and wedged half a pancake into his mouth. “Fork, please,” she reminded.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and chewed.
“Chew first, then talk.”
Forcing his lips closed as he chewed with exaggerated bites and laughed heartily. He opened his mouth a minute later. “Gone.”
“Good. I have a surprise for you.”
“What?” Hunter lunged forward and rocked back.
“Aunt Nikki’s taking us to the park this weekend.”
Hunter clapped and rolled his head over his shoulders happily. “Tomorrow?”
“No. Saturday.”
“Today’s Tuesday.”
“Correct.”
Hunter looked at the clock on the wall. “How many hours, Mom?”
“That’s you’re department, bud.”
Glancing back at the clock, he contorted his fingers as his eyes flinched. “Seventy-seven hours until Saturday.”
She didn’t know how he managed to do such fast math, but it had always been a gift. Without needing to check, she said, “That’s right.”
“The Rolling Stones played in Hyde Park on July sixth two thousand thirteen.”
“Is that right?”
“Mmm.”
After dinner she cleaned up the dishes. “Bring your plate over.” When he didn’t acknowledge her words, she approached him and placed a hand on his right shoulder, prompting him again. “Can you bring your plate over for me?”
Hunter stood. His shoulders rotated as he jerkily walked his plate to the sink. Once he dropped it in the basin, he went to his Velcro chart and moved the picture of a place setting to the finished column.
“What’s next, bud?”
He hummed as he counted down each row of the chart. “Bath!”
Bath time was always an experience. Becca was usually given her own shower by the time it was through. “Why don’t you go listen to two songs on your iPod and then we’ll take your bath?”
Hunter happily obeyed, snatching up his iPod and carrying it to the living room. That would keep him in a tranquil mood, but Becca was certain it wouldn’t last.
Five minutes later, she was finished the dishes and filling the tub. She went to find Hunter. “Ready, bud?”
He appeared to see her, but made no move to acknowledge her presence. Becca placed her hand on his shoulder. “It’s bath time.”
He jerked away and rocked to his music. “Hunter, if you want to go to the park this weekend we need to have a good week. It’s bath night. You can listen to your music when you’re done.”
He still didn’t relinquish the music. Sighing, she removed the device from his hands and gently pulled out his earbuds.
“No!”
Becca stepped back. “Hey. Don’t hit me.”
He threw his back into the couch, his legs kicking out in protest like a pinwheel.
“Hunter, you need to take a bath.”
He shouted a moan as he kicked again, knocking his shoe off in the process.
“There you go. Now take off the other one.”
He twisted and grabbed the pillow, jamming it into his belly as he rolled, pressing his face into the c
ouch to scream. Becca went to turn off the water. It was going to be one of those nights.
Hunter’s screams carried through the house, regardless of how he shoved his face into the leather of the couch. She stood back as he carried on. His hands curled and twisted. He grabbed at his clothing and pulled. When his hand punched the side of his head she intervened.
“Hunter, do not hit.”
Face flushing with frustration, he growled and screeched into the furniture. Becca walked away, ignoring his outburst. She only intervened when Hunter was hurting himself, others, or damaging property, but it wasn’t always easy to pretend indifference to his tantrums.
Tough love was an unfortunate part of maternal solicitude. Every struggle beat at her heart.
She laid out his pajamas and turned down his bed. Five minutes later Hunter was motionless on the couch, breathing hard, but quietly staring out the window, the side of his face now pressed into the cushion.
“Are you ready now?”
He didn’t show any signs of hearing her, but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d missed what she’d said. Sometimes Hunter had so much going on in his mind, words were a nuisance.
“If you want to listen to another song before bed, you need to come into the bathroom now.”
He grimaced and stomped to the bathroom. Becca followed and turned on the faucet, filling the tub the rest of the way. “Take off your clothes.”
He peeled off his clothes, yanking hard as the collar twisted around his neck. Becca waited until he was undressed. Patience was a virtue, rewarded by his developing independence. “Get into the tub.”
Grudgingly, he took her arm and stepped into the water, but refused to sit.
“We need to finish in ten minutes or no more music tonight.”
He screamed and Becca’s hands rushed to her ears as she winced. When the blood-curdling outburst abruptly stopped she calmly asked, “Why are you screaming?”
He stomped his foot, kicking water onto the tile. Breathing hard through his teeth he panted, each breath accompanied by a bleating cry. The intoxicating hum was all part of his progression toward something he found insufferable.
The water wasn’t too hot or too cold. It was simply a process for him to lower his body into the tub. “It’s slimy.”
“I know, but you’re dirty and need to get washed.” She patiently waited for him to give up fighting the inevitable.
“Five minutes,” she announced looking at her watch.
He dropped to the water. Go time. Becca grabbed the loofa and squirted a hefty amount of body wash on it. Boys were messy and her son was no different.
She scrubbed his back, arms, neck, chest, and feet. Picking up his hand, which he now held stiffly, she closed his fingers over the spongy ball. “Do your belly, Hunter.”
Hand over hand, she guided his motions as he washed the rest of his body. He was getting older, and it was imperative he master the task of bathing himself independently. It would be so much easier to simply do everything for him, but that wouldn’t help Hunter’s development. Independence was vital.
Scooping up the plastic pitcher, she rinsed his shoulders. He screeched when she wet his hair. “Eyes! Eyes! Eyes!”
She quickly placed the hand towel she always kept at the ready into his twitching fingers. “Almost done.”
He wiped his brow and calmed.
“Find the shampoo.”
Hunter handed her the bottle. He had some tactile issues with slippery substances, which was one of the reasons bath time was always so challenging.
“Open your hand.”
Begrudgingly, he held out his palm. She squirted shampoo in the center and he flung it off and squealed. She gripped his wrist and added some more. “Put it in your hair, Hunter. We’re almost finished. I wonder what song you’re going to listen to when you’re done.”
She guided his hand to his hair and rubbed shampoo over his head until a lather formed. “Head back,” she said as she proceeded to rinse out his hair.
Once he was out of the tub and somewhat dry, she followed him to his room to help him dress. “You did great, bud.”
He immediately went to his dresser where she’d placed his iPod. Without saying a word, he plugged in his earbuds and lay down on his bed.
Wiped, Becca grabbed the comb and quietly brushed his hair. The only reason he tolerated the gentle touch was because he’d likely exhausted himself bathing. She savored the moments she could get close to him, as they didn’t come often. By the end of the song he’d calmed.
By the time he was asleep she was dead on her feet. She’d made her rounds, returning all the task charts to their morning positions, cleaning up the pillows on the floor of the living room, and shutting off the lights. As she checked the locks at the front door she paused, a strange thought occurring.
She’d always done this. Since Kevin left she’d assumed a heap of additional responsibilities would be thrust on her shoulders, but the truth was, she’d been doing this on her own since Hunter was young.
It was hard, recalling how utterly inept Kevin was, and not letting her frustration get the better of her. Their marriage was over, and as tired as she was, part of her was glad it ended. It was better to depend on herself than to constantly wind up disappointed in the person intended to help her, not to mention the waste of energy, waiting and hoping for that aid. If only he’d shown more interest in helping her, being present in their day-to-day family life, their marriage might have survived and her family could have been whole.
* * * *
Over the following two weeks Braydon seemed to take the hint that she wasn’t interested and left her alone. It wasn’t until one Friday morning that he leapt right back into the forefront of her memory. There was an envelope on her desk with Nikki’s scribble on the front.
Didn’t know what you wanted to do with this…
Becca peeled the envelope open and found Braydon’s ID. Jeez, even his driver’s license picture was pretty. So not fair!
She stashed the envelope in her purse to deal with later, which was where it stayed for another week. Sure, she thought of him, but with every manifestation in her mind, she banished his memory to the back of her head—over and over again.
The following Wednesday while doing bills, she found the envelope. Frustrated that this man’s presence was still haunting her, she copied his address onto a fresh envelope, sealed it, and shoved it in with the rest of her bills.
Feeling vindicated and free of the temptation he caused once and for all, she submerged herself in typical routines hoping to reinstate some much-needed balance to her life. She spent the following days organizing the house, purging things she no longer used, and boxing up the items Kevin left behind, which was quite irritating. How difficult was it to move out?
Becca was running the vacuum while Hunter pounded away on the upright to the tune of She’s a Rainbow. She hadn’t heard the knock at the door and was completely unprepared when she heard a deep, muffled voice call her name.
“Becca?”
Frowning, she shut off the vacuum and rushed to the hall, coming up short when she saw Braydon’s face pressed against the glass, yellow roses at his hip.
What the heck was he doing there? She undid the locks and yanked the door open.
He smiled. “Hey.”
Her brain wasn’t working nor were her eyes blinking. So taken off guard, when she finally spoke her voice rushed out in a waspish tone she never used before. “What the heck are you doing here?”
He grinned, his invariable pleasantness grating on her. “I brought you flowers.”
“How do you know where I live?”
“Your address was on the envelope you used to mail my ID.”
She shook her head. Who popped over to someone’s house without ever being invited? The ID was meant to break their personal connection. “I was returning it to you, not inviting you over!”
His smile faded, but not as much as it should have. “What are you listening to
? Is that The Stones?”
She quickly shoved him out the door with a forward motion and shut it behind them. “You can’t come by like this, Braydon.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just…missed you.”
Frustrated, she folded her arms over her chest. “You don’t even know me!”
“I want to.”
She’d gone from being thoroughly ignored by a husband of ten years to being stalked by a gorgeous, stage-five clinger that couldn’t take a hint. “You have to leave.” The piano abruptly cut off. “Now.”
“Is someone here with you?”
“Braydon, I’m not kidding. This is my home. I take my privacy very seriously. It’s completely unprofessional for you to burst in here and start asking questions.”
His brow knit and guilt for her harsh tone tickled her conscience. Unexpected guests had a way of hijacking her son’s contented mood and she really didn’t want this unplanned visit to ruin an otherwise peaceful Saturday. She also didn’t have the time to explain all of that to Braydon. She didn’t want to be nasty, but mean seemed the only thing that got through to him. Everything wasn’t a joking matter.
Hurting others was never easy for her, and when rejection showed in his crestfallen eyes, she instinctively wanted to apologize. He dropped the flowers on the steps of the porch. “You should probably put them in water.”
When he turned away she winced, an apology for being so crass on her lips.
The door opened. “Mom? I’m hungry.”
She shut her eyes, as her solitude was irrevocably disturbed. There was no way Hunter would miss Braydon’s presence. It had nothing to do with who her son was as a person and everything to do with protecting him. Despite their history, she didn’t know Braydon well enough to gage how he’d respond to her son.
Braydon turned, as the reason for her reluctance was laid bare. “You have a son?”
She never considered dating, because she never wanted Hunter to get attached to someone that wouldn’t stick around. There were simply too many jerks out there and her son was extremely sensitive, whether others realized it or not. It was an easy sacrifice to make if it protected him.
As Tears Go By Page 6
