by Debbie Mason
“I made coffee. Want some?”
“Yes, please,” she said as she straightened. Jack handed her a cup. “Thanks. Did you sleep okay last night?” she asked, taking a sip of coffee.
He nodded, pouring batter into the electric frying pan. “How about you? That bed didn’t look very comfortable.”
“I didn’t have a problem falling asleep. I must’ve been out of it not to hear him get up. I’m glad you were here,” she said, keeping an eye on her son, who was digging chocolate chips out of the last of his pancake. Setting her mug on the counter, she took a dishcloth from the bottom drawer and turned on the tap.
Jack shook his head with a low laugh. “I wondered how long it’d take before you had to clean him up.” He turned off the tap and took the cloth from her. “Leave him be. He’s having fun. A little mess never hurt anyone.”
“A little? It’ll take me at least an hour just to get the syrup out of his hair. I’ll probably have to cut it.” She hoped not. She loved his long, curly hair.
“Might not be a bad idea. Cutting it, I mean. Hair like that’ll get him teased. He looks like a girl.”
“He looks adorable. And he’s two. No one’s going to tease a two-year-old.”
“Two and a bit, but I still say he looks like a girl.” He shrugged and turned back to the frying pan. “Your pancakes are ready.”
“No, I’m fine, thank you. I don’t eat breakfast.”
“Everything’s always fine with you. Anyone else ever notice that?” He flipped three pancakes onto a plate and handed it to her. “Sit and eat.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy?” she asked, surprised when the words popped out of her mouth. Obviously, she was miffed at his comment about Jack Junior’s hair.
“Plenty of people.” He pulled out the chair for her. “Sit.”
“And you don’t care, do you?”
“Nope.” He set the plate in front of her. Well, that hadn’t changed. He’d never cared what people thought of him. She’d always admired his self-assurance.
“What about you? Aren’t you going to have any?”
“Already did.” He got himself a coffee and joined her at the table, motioning for her to eat.
She sighed and cut a small piece. “I’m never going to be able to finish all of this.”
“Try.” His expression turned serious. “You need to put on some weight, Grace.”
Her cheeks heated. She’d wondered if he still found her attractive. Now she had her answer. The piece of pancake got stuck in her throat. She took a sip of coffee. “I’ve always been on the thin side.” He never seemed to mind before. But maybe because he’d loved her then, he’d been more careful of her feelings.
“Grace, I didn’t mean—” Jack Junior banged his sippy cup, cutting off his father. Then the phone rang, drowning out her son’s me-want-more chant.
“I’ll get him. You get the phone,” Jack said.
She felt him watching her as she took the call. It was one of her employees. The new girl she’d hired hadn’t shown up for work. Given Jack’s reaction yesterday, the last thing Grace needed was for there to be problems with the bakery.
“Everything okay?” he asked when she hung up.
About to say fine, she caught herself. “I have to go to work for a few hours. But don’t worry, I’ll call the sitter.”
Lifting his son from the high chair, Jack frowned. “Why? I’m here.”
Grace’s stomach did a nervous jitter at the idea of leaving him alone with their son. Jack had no idea what a handful he could be. “He likes going to the sitter. She looks after two other boys his age. They have a good time together. It’ll only be—”
“I want to spend time with him, Grace.”
Of course he did. She was being totally insensitive and ridiculously overprotective. “I’m sorry. I just thought you might have things you needed to do.”
“I don’t.” He made a face, holding his son straight-armed away from him. “Whoa, buddy. You’re deadly.” He handed him to Grace.
“Since it’s going to be just the two of you this morning, you should probably learn to change his diaper. Come on.”
“I’m pretty sure I can handle changing a diaper. And it’s not like he’s going to do that more than once a day.”
“After what he ate for breakfast, I wouldn’t be so sure.”
He winked. “Good thing you’re downstairs, then.”
* * *
By the time Grace got Jack Junior cleaned up and herself ready for work, an hour had passed. Jack surprised her by once again cleaning the kitchen. She did her best to ignore the streaks on the counter and the crumbs on the table. She’d take care of it later when he wasn’t around.
Sitting Jack Junior on the area rug in the living room, she pulled out the bin with his train set and the bin with his blocks. His father joined him on the floor. Grace had written Jack a list of dos and don’ts, including a schedule of activities, nap times, and snack times. “I should be finished by lunch, but if I’m not, I made up a plate of leftovers in the fridge,” she said, handing him the list. “Everything else you need is in his bedroom. I left instructions on the change table.”
Jack looked from the piece of paper to her. “You’re kidding, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not some fifteen-year-old babysitter, Grace. I’m his father. I think I know how to look after my son without consulting a list.”
“I’m sure you do, but children like routine. And—”
“What he needs, Grace, is to play outside and get some fresh air, burn off some energy. He’s a boy. They’re physical.”
“Believe me, I’m well aware of that. But until you’ve spent more time with him, I think it’s best for you to stay indoors. We can go out when I get back, Jack.”
Her son looked up from dumping his blocks out of the blue plastic container and pointed to himself. “Me Jack.”
“You’re Jack Junior, and he’s Daddy.” A daddy who was starting to tick her off. Who did he think he was acting like he knew more about their son than she did?
“They’re calling for rain this afternoon. We’ll take a walk this morning. What do you think, buddy? Wanna go for a walk with Daddy?”
Grace gaped at him. She couldn’t believe he’d overridden her like that. Who did he think… his father, she reminded herself, and it looked like she better get used to sharing the decision making. It wouldn’t be easy. But there were some benefits to sharing responsibilities, she decided. Her husband had some poopy diapers in his immediate future.
“No. You Jack.”
His father sighed. “Okay, buddy. You’re little Jack, and I’m big Jack. How’s that?”
“ ’Kay.” He nodded.
“Good, let’s go.” He scooped their son off the floor and came to his feet. Jack looked at her and raised a brow.
“Fine,” she said, ignoring the twitch of her husband’s very fine lips. She walked to the front hall closet and opened the folding door. Taking the harness from the top shelf, she handed it to him.
“We have a dog that I don’t know about?”
“Very funny. The harness is for little Jack. And I’d appreciate you not fighting me on this. He’s really fast, and this keeps him safe.”
“I’m not putting my son on a leash, Grace. No,” he said when she opened her mouth to protest.
“But, Jack—”
He placed a finger on her lips. “I think I can handle a toddler.”
* * *
Standing outside the barbershop on Main Street, little Jack eyed the revolving red, white, and blue striped barbershop pole. “You sure you won’t change your mind?” Dan the barber asked Jack for the second time. The gray-haired man with the matching Fu Manchu mustache had come out of his shop when he’d spotted Jack and his son passing by. “The weather’s getting warm. His head’s going to get itchy under all that hair. And if you don’t mind my saying, he looks like a girl. I’ll give him a nice buzz cut same
as I used to give you.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, Dan, but I don’t think his mother… Shit,” Jack said when his son took off down the sidewalk.
“There, between the red Jeep and the black one.” Dan pointed out the two vehicles parked alongside the curb. Right before he shot onto the street, Jack snagged the back of his son’s green T-shirt. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm his rocketing pulse, then crouched in front of little Jack. “Don’t ever do that again. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” Jesus, he sounded like his grandmother. “You have to hold my hand, buddy, or we’re going home.”
He’d planned to stop by the station to visit Gage and his sister, but now he had second thoughts. “You wanna go to the park?”
“Yeah, park.” His son nodded, taking Jack’s hand.
Since they had to pass the bakery to get to the park, Jack lifted him into his arms. Better safe than sorry, and no sense getting his mother all worked up.
Sure enough, as they passed the bakery, he spotted a familiar honey-blonde head in the window. Grace ducked before little Jack got a look at her. Jack appreciated that because his son hadn’t been overjoyed when he’d discovered his mother wasn’t joining them. His cell rang. He had a good idea who it was since he’d given Grace his number when they’d gone their separate ways. Balancing little Jack on his hip, he dug in his jeans pocket for his cell.
“He’s good, Grace.” After what had just happened, he had a better understanding of her earlier concerns, but he couldn’t help being irritated at her need to check up on him.
“I know. Are you going to the park?”
“Yeah. Is that okay with you?” Some of that irritation leaked into his voice.
“Of course. I just wanted to warn you about the yellow house with the slide. He’s sneaky, and there’s another way out.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you have control issues?”
“No, because I don’t.”
Jack caught sight of old man Murray sitting on his front porch. The white stucco two-story was four doors down from the bakery. “That you, Jackson Flaherty?” Murray called out from his rocking chair.
“Yes, sir, it is,” Jack responded, even though the last thing he wanted to do was talk to the old man. He’d been the bane of Jack’s teenage existence. “Grace, I’ll see you when I get back.”
“Is that Patrick?”
“Yes. I’m hanging up now.”
“Be nice, Jack. He’s old, and he hasn’t been feeling well.”
“Good-bye, Grace.”
He thought he heard her mutter a not-so-nice word, but he must’ve been mistaken. His wife wasn’t the type of woman who swore. Then again, he hadn’t thought she was the type of woman who played strip poker or spied for her father. She was full of surprises, this wife of his.
He found himself smiling at the thought as he approached Murray’s front porch. The old man had been one of his grandmother’s friends. That alone put him on Jack’s list of people to avoid in Christmas. But he’d been raised to be polite to his elders.
“Sorry I couldn’t make it to your homecoming yesterday. I was feeling poorly.”
Jack was surprised he’d want to come. “I hope you’re feeling better. Say hello to Mr. Murray, buddy.”
His son framed Jack’s face with his small hands and looked him in the eye. “No. Go park now.”
Jack grinned. The kid was something else.
Under a head of thick white hair, Murray narrowed his rheumy eyes. “He’s just like you, that one is. Gonna give his poor mother a run for her money. Gracie’s a sweet girl, works real hard, too. You better be plannin’ on sticking around this time, boy-o.”
“I am.” He forced a smile. Cantankerous old coot. It wasn’t like it was Jack’s fault he hadn’t been around. Leave it to Murray to conveniently forget that.
“Men who are there for their wives and sons, who stick around when the going gets tough, they’re the real heroes. You remember that, Jackson Flaherty. Tell Gracie when she brings me my supper tonight I have some lilacs for her. She likes my lilacs.”
“I’ll let her know. I better be on my way. Little Jack wants to go to the park.”
“Where’s his leash? Gracie always has him on one. He’s a little devil, you know.”
Now Jack was pissed off. “He’s not a devil. He’s an active two-year-old.”
The old man snorted. “Two and a bit, and you’ll find out soon enough.”
“See you around, Mr. Murray.” Not if he could help it.
As Jack walked away, he told his son, “Don’t you pay any attention to him, buddy. You’re a good boy.” He didn’t want little Jack growing up listening to crap like that. They’d never let Jack forget that he’d been a hell-raiser, and now they were painting his son with the same brush.
“Me good boy.”
“Yeah.” Jack smiled. “You’re a good boy.”
“Jackson. Hello, Jack.” Two older women strolled down the sidewalk toward him.
“Aw, shit,” Jack muttered at the sight of Mrs. Tate and Mrs. Wright. Just what he needed—more of his grandmother’s friends. They were like ants, the warm weather bringing them out of the woodwork.
“Aw, shit,” his son said with a grin.
Jack grimaced. “Shit.”
“Shit,” his son echoed.
Grace was going to kill him. “No, that’s a bad word, buddy. We can’t say the S-word.”
“ ’Kay. Me have beer?”
Where the hell had that come from? Maybe Grace was right and they should’ve stayed home after all. He managed a smile for the two older women. “Hi, Mrs. Tate, Mrs. Wright. You ladies enjoying the nice weather we’re having?”
“Yes, we are. And we’re so glad you’re home to enjoy it, too, Jack. We’ve prayed for you every day since you went missing, you know.” The diminutive Mrs. Tate beamed. She reminded him of one of those apple dolls his grandmother used to collect.
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
“Seems like we’ve been praying for you since the day you came to live with Libby, Jack. The good Lord must’ve gotten tired of hearing your name and decided to answer us this time around.” Mrs. Wright, a white streak in her dyed black hair, wheezed a laugh and patted his arm.
“And a good thing he did,” Mrs. Tate added. “Your poor wife is fading away. You better take care of her, you hear? She’s a good girl.”
“I plan to, Mrs. Tate,” Jack said with a strained smile, relieved when his son started squirming in his arms. “Little Jack’s getting restless. I’d better get going. You ladies have a good day now.”
Mrs. Wright frowned. “Where’s his harness?”
“Grace couldn’t find it,” Jack lied, heading down the sidewalk with a wave. He released a gratified breath when they reached the path to the park. Despite it being a perfect late-spring day, the playground was empty. He spotted a couple of bikers and joggers on the tree-lined trails that bordered the green space. Thankfully, no one Jack recognized.
Twenty minutes later, he wished he would’ve listened to his wife.
“One more time and we’ve gotta go,” Jack called from where he waited at the bottom of the yellow slide for his son. “Hey, buddy,” he said, walking to the ladder leading into the plastic yellow house. He stuck his head inside. Shit.
“Lose something?”
Jack jerked, banging the back of his head. He pulled himself out and turned to find Sawyer with little Jack tucked under his arm.
“Swing. Me swing,” his son demanded when Sawyer handed him off.
“Who is he, Houdini?” Jack asked once he was able to breathe again. “The only way down is to jump.” And it was a good six feet.
Sawyer, wearing jogging shorts and a wifebeater, followed him to the swing set. “That ever stop you? The kid has no fear. It’s kind of scary. Where’s his harness?”
“Not you, too.” Jack groaned, sliding his son into the swing.
“I’m not exactly a fan of the leash, but I can see why G
race uses one. He’s a handful.” Sawyer took a seat at the picnic table beside the swing set.
“Yeah, unfortunately I’ve had firsthand experience. You’re not going to tell her about this, are you?”
“No.” Sawyer stretched out his legs and folded his arms behind his head. “So, other than almost losing your son, how’s it going?”
If Jack hadn’t seen and heard what he had yesterday, he might’ve felt more comfortable opening up to Sawyer. He wanted to. They’d once been as close as brothers. But he wasn’t sure what they were now. “Good to be home.”
“Glad you feel that way. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Higher. Higher,” little Jack yelled, pumping his legs.
Jack complied, then asked Sawyer, “Why’s that?”
“You weren’t exactly thrilled to find out Grace had taken over the bakery and moved into your grandmother’s apartment when you came back.”
“Why would I agree to her keeping the bakery, then?”
“Grace tell you that?”
“No, Jill.”
“Maybe you should talk to Grace about it. You, ah, weren’t yourself when you came back, Jack. You know that, right?”
“So I’ve been told.” Before yesterday, the loss of his memory hadn’t seemed like a big deal. Now it did, and it was starting to get to him. After Grace had gone to bed, he lay awake, trying to force the memories to the surface. It felt like he was digging through concrete with a spoon. All he ended up with for his efforts was a headache. He rubbed his temple to ease the beginnings of another one.
Sawyer came to stand beside him. “You okay?”
Dr. Peters had told him to take it easy for a while. But Jack had never been one to follow the rules. “Yeah. Still adjusting to the time change, I guess.”
“Tell that to someone who doesn’t know you as well as I do. You don’t have to play the tough guy, you know. You’ve been through a lot.”
Jack appreciated his concern. He began to wonder if he’d misjudged the situation between his best friend and his wife.
“Uppy, Da.” Little Jack held up his arms to Sawyer.
Chapter Seven
