by Judy Duarte
“Nothing,” she snapped. Then trying to regroup, she added, “I’m not comfortable with him sleeping here.”
Her father’s brow furrowed, his displeasure evident. “Why not?”
“Just because. Let it go, Daddy. Please?”
He’d grumbled under his breath, but he let Dylan return to L.A. without any further comment.
The remainder of the evening had been low-key, and at nine o’clock they’d all gone to bed.
Now, hours later, the house was quiet, but Kristin couldn’t sleep. She’d tossed and turned like a beached flounder, unable to find a comfortable spot.
Exhausted, yet wide-awake, she threw off the covers and padded into the kitchen to make some chamomile tea. While the water heated, she retrieved a teacup and saucer from the china hutch in the dining room.
She studied the delicate pink-carnation pattern of the set that had once belonged to her maternal grandmother. Mama used to enjoy tea in the evening and had often invited Kristin to join her. Of course, Kristin’s cup had been filled mostly with lightly sweetened cream, but the memory was one of the few she had of her mom.
On the east wall, a large painting of her mother graced the formal room. Eleanor Reynolds stood barefoot in the sand, a white sundress billowing softly in the breeze. She wore a wistful smile—a dreamy smile.
At least, that’s what Kristin had always imagined.
Had it been a wry smile? A sign of unhappiness?
Sometimes Kristin could remember her mother sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in hand, her face red and splotchy, her eyes watery.
“They’re just happy tears, Krissy. I can’t believe how lucky I am that God blessed me with a little girl like you.”
Kristin had accepted the explanation as a child. But as an adult? She wasn’t so sure.
When Mama was still alive, her father hadn’t been around much. Had her parents been happy? Had her dad’s kisses weakened her mother’s knees? Or had they merely been nice and comforting?
Had they had a happy marriage? Had they laughed and enjoyed walks along the bay? Or had her father been too busy?
She shrugged off the questions she’d never have answered and carried the teacup back to the kitchen, where Bobby’s black drawing was displayed on the fridge.
Was it a sign that her child was troubled?
Dylan thought so. But it wasn’t Dylan’s opinion she wanted. It was Joe’s. And in spite of the hour, she picked up the phone and called her son’s father.
The phone rang, jarring Joe from a sound sleep. He fumbled for the receiver, then barked out, “Hello?”
“It’s me. Kristin.”
He sat up in bed and dragged a hand through his hair. Squinting, he checked the red numerals on the alarm clock—12:17. “What’s the matter? Is Bobby all right?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“What’s on your mind, honey?” He blew out a sigh when he realized the endearment had slipped out.
“Bobby drew a picture today.”
He scrunched his face and again looked at the clock. He’d told her he wanted to be involved in Bobby’s life. But couldn’t this wait until morning?
“He drew it in black, Joe. No other colors.”
“So?”
“Don’t you find that a bit odd? Kind of dark and morbid?”
Joe shrugged. “Not really. Do you?”
“Well, Dylan said it could be a sign that something was bothering him. And I’m concerned.”
Joe never had put much stock in television shrinks, and the more he thought about Dylan’s assumption, the more determined he was to get more involved in his son’s life. “Can’t you talk to Bobby’s pediatrician?”
“Yes, I suppose so. But Dylan suggested we schedule a full psychological evaluation.”
“Now, wait a minute. That guy may have written a couple of books and might be charming audiences around the country, but I’ve spent a lot of time with Bobby, and he seems normal. And happy. If something was bothering him, I think I’d know.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. I thought Dylan had overreacted.”
“You know, I’m not going to tell you who to marry, Kristin. But I’m not impressed with the guy.” Joe hadn’t meant to pressure her again—so soon—but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “If Bobby is bothered by something, maybe it’s your relationship with that damn shrink. Maybe Bobby likes the guy about as much as I do. And maybe he senses that I’m his father and he’s mad about being lied to.”
When she didn’t respond, he added, “If we could tell him the truth…”
“I can’t do that yet.”
“You said we could tell him when the time was right. But as far as I’m concerned, the time is now.”
“I didn’t call to argue.”
Joe raked a hand through his hair again. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just tough.”
“I know.”
“What did your dad have to say about it?” Joe asked, surprised that he cared what Thomas Reynolds thought.
“I haven’t told him.”
“Are you protecting your old man?” he asked. “Or still living under his thumb?”
“I’m protecting him. And I’m trying to protect Bobby. That’s why I called.”
Joe felt like a jerk. And a fool. She’d appealed to him as Bobby’s father, something he’d wanted her to do. “I’m sorry, Kristin. I really appreciate you calling to get my opinion. I’m just being overly sensitive, I guess. If you want to have Bobby see a psychologist, that’s fine. But I don’t think there’s anything bothering him.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Can I pick him up on Friday, as planned?”
“Yes. He’ll be ready.”
Joe looked at the clock—12:24. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
“No reason,” she said. “No reason at all.”
He didn’t buy that. But, then again, whatever might be going on in her personal life wasn’t his business.
Not even if a small part of him wished it were.
Chapter Ten
On Saturday afternoon, Kristin brought Bobby to Joe’s place, since she had errands to run.
Or at least, that’s what she’d said. Joe still had the feeling she wanted to keep him away from her house, if at all possible.
After Bobby went inside, she remained on the porch. The simple black dress she wore wasn’t anything remarkable, yet her classy aura gave it a style of its own.
“Would you like to go along with us?” Joe asked. “We’ll probably see a movie.”
“Sounds like fun.” Kristin tucked a glossy strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a good-size diamond stud, and smiled. “But I need to pick up some groceries and go to the drugstore for my dad.”
She looked especially pretty for a woman going to the market. And he thought about saying something to that effect, but he figured she might not want to be reminded that he found her attractive.
“I hope you have a good time at the movies,” she said. “What are you going to see?”
“Go Home, Mutt.” He shrugged, still feeling a bit out of his element with the parenting stuff but trying his darnedest to do the right thing. “It’s supposed to be good for families with children. One of my buddies at the fire station has three kids, and that’s what he suggested.”
“Good choice.” She stood there, just a moment longer than necessary. At least it seemed that way.
A midday breeze caught her jasmine-laced perfume and mingled with the rush of pheromones that swirled in the air whenever she was near. The arousing scent tempted him to make a move. Instead, he hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his faded jeans.
“Well,” she said, dragging out the word. “I’ve got a lot to get done, so, I’d better go.”
“I’ll drop him off later, if that’s okay.”
“That’ll be fine.” She offered him a dimpled smile that sent a warm, squirmy jolt to his gut and a zap to his heart.
“Is five o’clo
ck okay?”
She nodded, then turned and walked back to the white Town Car. Her hips swayed, and the hem of her black dress brushed the back of shapely calves, taunting him with what wasn’t his any longer.
It took all he had to shut the door to block his view. But he rallied. He had no claim on her; he never really did. And if she suspected he was having trouble keeping his eyes off her, she might curtail his time with his son.
Besides, he was glad that she felt comfortable enough to leave Bobby with him, especially after Dr. Shrink’s assessment of the boy’s black-crayon drawing. But something still ate at him.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that Kristin was avoiding him. And that she hadn’t really put the kiss behind them.
Actually, he hadn’t been able to shake it, either, although he’d be damned if he’d let her know.
“Hey, Bobby,” Joe said, focusing on reality, on what he could claim as his. “The movie starts in twenty minutes.”
“Okay! Let’s go.”
More than two hours later, as they strolled out of the Moonlight Cinema in downtown Bayside, Bobby chuckled. “That was a really cool movie.”
Joe hadn’t been excited to sit through the latest full-length cartoon, since he preferred action flicks. But he had to admit it was pretty entertaining while providing a moral lesson. “You’re right. In fact, it was much better than I expected.”
Even the adults in the audience did their share of laughing and rooting for the scruffy dog who’d been homeless until the end.
“I really liked the part where Barney swam into the lake to save the little girl,” Bobby said. “And then he got to live with a real family.”
“That was my favorite part, too.” Joe placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. He wasn’t ready for their day to end and head home. “How about an ice cream cone?”
“I’m kind of full from all the popcorn and that big soda, but I can squeeze in some ice cream, if it’s chocolate.”
Joe smiled. “Attaboy.”
They continued down the sidewalk, past Grandma Jane’s Kitchen, a down-home café that was famous for its chicken-fried steak. And past We’re Stylin’, the only hair salon in Bayside.
The ice cream parlor sat on the main drag, next to Bayside Trust and Savings, a bank that catered to the city bigwigs. After giving Bobby a talk about looking both ways, even in a crosswalk, they made their way across the street.
A bell on the door chimed when they entered the shop that boasted a Gay Nineties decor in colors of red and white. Moments later, Joe ordered double-scoop chocolate cones.
When they’d been served, they slid onto the red-vinyl seat of a booth in back, then ate while talking about Bobby’s hope for a puppy of his own—a wish, no doubt, triggered by the movie they’d just watched.
As a kid, Joe’d had a dog. Sort of. Good ol’ Buster was a stray who hung out in the alley near the run-down apartment in which he’d lived. His old man wouldn’t let him bring the dog inside, but that didn’t mean that sweet, scrawny mutt and Joe weren’t the best of friends. Or that Joe couldn’t slip him food and water whenever his dad was passed out on the sofa or took off on one of those two-or three-day parties.
In fact, Joe wouldn’t mind having a puppy now, one Bobby could claim whenever he came to visit. But he lived in a condominium. And with his schedule, it wouldn’t be fair to the animal.
But that didn’t mean he and Bobby couldn’t find something else to share.
“Come on,” Joe said. “Let’s go check out the hobby shop. Maybe we can find a project that’ll be fun for us to work on together.”
“Sure.” Bobby scooted from his seat, licking the side of the bottom scoop and snagging a dab of chocolate with his nose.
Joe laughed, then grabbed a couple of napkins from the dispenser on the table and dabbed at the small freckled nose that was shaped just like his own.
Bobby looked up at him like he was some kind of superhero.
It tickled Joe to be held in such esteem, but it was the bright-eyed smile that caught his eye. That wasn’t the kind of grin a troubled kid wore. Not that Joe was any expert. But wouldn’t he sense it if something sad and dark were brewing beneath Bobby’s surface?
Dylan had made a big deal about that black-crayon drawing. But there was no way that Bobby was manifesting anything, other than what could be considered normal for a boy his age.
Of course, that didn’t mean there wasn’t something bugging him at home.
Deciding to probe a bit, Joe asked, “How do you like being in Bayside for the summer?”
“It’s really cool. I get to play every day since I don’t have to go to school. And I get to live with my grandpa, which is neat ’cause I don’t get to see him very often.”
“That’s great.” Joe ushered the boy outside, wondering how far to push. Well, he’d take it one step at a time. “I guess it’s also cool that you’re so close to L.A. That way, you can see Dr. Dylan more often.”
“Yeah. I guess.” Bobby kicked at the sidewalk. “But he’s my mom’s friend. Not mine.”
Joe’s ears perked up. Even though he wanted his son to be happy with his mother’s choice of men, a selfish side of him wanted the boy to think the know-it-all doctor was a jerk. “You don’t like Dylan?”
“He’s okay—for a grown-up. But I like you better. You’re more fun to be with. And you don’t tell me what to do all the time.” Bobby slipped a hand in Joe’s.
As the small fingers gripped him tight, Joe’s heart nearly leaped right out of his chest.
He cleared his throat, hoping to make room for the words to come out. “Thanks, Bobby. I’ve enjoyed being with you, too. In fact, I’d like for us to stay friends, even after your mom takes you back home to start school.”
The towheaded kid shot him a glowing smile that damn near knocked him off the pedestal on which he’d found himself temporarily placed. “Really? Will you come and visit me?”
“Sure. And maybe your mom will let you come spend time with me, too.”
“That would be way cool! On the plane when we came out here, Mom and I saw a kid fly all by himself. And the airplane people were really nice to him, giving him extra dessert and making sure he could see the movie.”
“Let’s see what your mom thinks about that. If she’d worry, I’d fly out and get you.”
“You’ll probably have to come get me then.” Bobby scrunched up his face. “My mom worries a lot. But how could a kid get lost on an airplane?”
Joe had a feeling Kristin wouldn’t be too eager to send Bobby by himself on a cross-country flight. But it was something to look forward to. “When it gets closer to the time you’ll have to go home, we’ll talk to her about it.”
They’d just begun the short walk to the hobby shop when two men walked toward Bayside Trust and Savings. Joe didn’t recognize the guy in the blue suit. But Kristin’s dad was difficult to miss.
“Hey!” Bobby pulled his hand from Joe’s and waved. “There’s my grandpa!”
Thomas Reynolds turned at the sound of the boy’s voice. He smiled broadly, until he caught sight of Joe.
“Come on.” Bobby took Joe’s hand again and pulled him toward the man who wore a gray three-piece suit and more than a fair share of resentment on his face. “I want to show you to my grandpa.”
While Bobby introduced Joe to his grandfather, not realizing the two men had known and disliked each other for years, Reynolds managed a brittle smile—for the boy’s sake, no doubt. So Joe conjured up an insincere one of his own.
The younger man standing to the side of Reynolds stretched out a hand in greeting. “How do you do? I’m Darryl Niven.”
“Joe Davenport.”
“Nice to meet you.” If Mr. Niven realized Reynolds had an issue with Joe and wasn’t up for cursory introductions, he didn’t show it.
Reynolds seemed to struggle with putting on a happy front for Bobby’s sake—an impossible task, it seemed, as his cool, gray eyes traveled from father to son, then back ag
ain.
Had he noticed the resemblance that seemed obvious to Joe? The same topaz-colored eyes that Harry Logan had spotted?
It was hard to say.
Reynolds placed a gentle hand on the top of his grandson’s head, his fingers caressing the wheat-colored strands. “I’ll see you back at the house, Bobby. Mr. Niven and I are on our way to a meeting.”
“Okay. Bye, Grandpa.”
As Mr. Niven headed toward the glass door, Reynolds peered over his shoulder, taking one last look at Joe. He pursed his lips, then entered the bank.
But the chill of his gaze followed Joe all the way to the hobby shop, with no sign of letting up.
That evening, Bobby jabbered a mile a minute about Joe, the movie and a model plane they were going to build that would really fly.
Kristin, her heart warmed by her son’s enthusiasm, still found it difficult to believe a relationship with Joe had caused him any undue stress. Still, Dylan’s concerns were impossible to ignore.
Did the black drawing signify something dark in Bobby’s life?
Had he picked up on her own confusion? Her own worries and fears?
Kids did that sometimes. And she didn’t need a degree in psychology to know that.
She glanced at her father, noting his silence, the solemn expression on his face.
What was bothering him?
Probably the fact that Bobby seemed to idolize Joe.
But holding his tongue was unusual, and she suspected he was just biding his time, waiting until Bobby went to bed to roar out a complaint.
Talk about stress. If given a black crayon, Kristin could easily sketch a dark, morbid mural on the family room wall.
But she was no fool. When it was time for Bobby to go to bed, she was going to retire to her room, as well, making a confrontation impossible.
Those tirades weren’t good for her father’s blood pressure or his heart. And quite frankly, even if his health had improved dramatically, she’d grown tired of listening to him rave.
Especially about Joe Davenport.
“Come on, Bobby.” Kristin stood and reached out a hand. “Let’s you and I get ready for bed.”
