by Karen Rock
His seat creaked as he shifted his weight. “After my surgery, I wanted to keep my savings intact in case...” He crossed his arms and turned to watch a cruising police car. He cleared his throat. “So now I do freelance design work for book covers, logos, marketing campaigns, internet and websites...things like that. The business grew quickly through word of mouth and referrals from my former Faire du Charme magazine contacts.” He swigged some water and lowered the plastic bottle.
“That must have been difficult, starting a business while recuperating.” He could have lived off his savings for a while, at least.
“No choice.” She followed his stare to a young father jogging with a baby stroller and suddenly understood what had driven him so—his children. He was providing for them—not just for now, but for a future he didn’t count on.
Her chest constricted at the thought. No wonder he’d holed up in his apartment, withdrawn from the world and from his children. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to live his life; he didn’t trust in it. And after his experiences, she couldn’t blame him.
Despite her epiphany, she held her tongue. Those were big realizations to face. Her training told her this wasn’t the right time or place for him to make them.
“So how’s Tommy?” She watched the dogs lunge toward pigeons strutting just out of reach.
“Better, thanks.” He bent over to tighten his shoelaces, though she noticed that he gave his leg a quick rub before straightening. It was bothering him more than he let on. “He was out of bed when I left this morning. Wanted to come with us. Cried when I told him no.”
“Poor guy. He must have hated being stuck in bed.” She nudged Angel’s nose from her knee. Honestly. Next time she’d double wrap their leashes around the pole.
“He’s bored. That’s why I told him I’d take him to Washington Square Park to play chess.”
“I love chess.” She’d grown up playing with her brother, a tradition that had fallen by the wayside with his failing health. They used to play for hours, the competition fierce.
“Then why don’t you come? Unless you have to work...”
Her head shook, supplying an answer before she was ready to give it...to consider how fast all of this seemed to be going. Her insides lurched as if she were at the start of a roller-coaster ride—the up, up, up sensation filled with the terrifying thought of how far and how fast they were about to fall.
“Great. Though I should warn you.” He stood, an eyebrow raised, sharp and full of attitude. “I take no prisoners.”
And didn’t she love a challenge? “I don’t plan on becoming one of them.”
A short laugh burst from him as he unhooked the dogs and passed her Angel’s leash. “So it’s like that, then.”
Their walk turned into a slow, steady jog home.
“Better bring your A game,” she huffed, the heavy bagel she’d eaten weighing her down. “Wouldn’t want to shame you in front of Tommy.” The waxy bag she carried for Laura started to slip.
Eli grabbed it in midair. “Losing is never an option.”
“Then you’ve never met your match,” she shot back. The expression on Eli’s face was priceless. She loved catching him off guard.
“Maybe I haven’t,” he said, his sideways look long and considering. “Until now.”
Her mouth dropped. Checkmate.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“THERE IT IS!” shouted Tommy. He surged ahead as they neared West Fourth Street and the south entrance to Washington Square Park.
Eli lunged for his son, his arm already extended the moment the wrought-iron fence loomed into view, the wind hissing through the leaves of the flanking oak trees. He’d been preparing for this possibility since they’d crossed Third Street. Good thing he had. A second too late and Tommy would have darted into the speeding traffic, single-minded, as always, to the point of recklessness. Thankfully, he hadn’t gotten lost lately.
His hand connected with his son’s collar. “Hold up. Wait until the light changes,” he admonished, glancing over his shoulder at Christie and Becca. They’d trailed behind for most of the walk, their heads nearly touching as they conversed in low, urgent tones.
Tommy had tried getting Becca’s attention a few times, but Eli had distracted the little guy by playing I Spy. When she’d heard Christie would be joining them at the park, Becca had offered to go—a first in months. More than ever, it became clear to him that his daughter needed a woman in her life. Specifically, Christie.
Something tugged at him when he drank in the sight of her in a white sundress, a summer breeze blowing back the gauzy material and her bright hair. Becca wasn’t the only one who needed her. She completed this family outing. Made them—and him—feel whole again. He couldn’t deny his growing feelings any more. But did he dare admit them? If he told her how he felt, would he scare her away? Given her past hurts, she might want to steer clear of a guy who’d had cancer. Was it better to play it safe and keep her in their lives as a family friend or take the risk to make her so much more?
“Do you see the park, Becca?” Tommy’s sneaker heels flickered green and blue every time he bounced on the pavement. He turned to Eli. “Can I press it?” His stubby finger was already reaching for the walk button.
“May I—and, yes, you may.” He sent Christie an amused look that she returned, smiling over Becca’s head as they arrived at the curb. Warmth spread through his chest. Their private exchanges felt intimate, close. They banished the loneliness that sometimes went with being a single dad.
“Now hold your father’s hand, Tommy,” he heard her say when the light changed. “He feels safer if he knows you’re near.”
The afternoon sun reflected off Tommy’s blond hair as he peered up at Eli, his blue eyes round. “I don’t want Daddy to be scared.” A small hand slipped into his and tugged him across the street. “Is that why you’re mad when I run away?”
Eli was speechless, his eyes flying to Christie’s. She raised her brows and gave him a subtle nod, urging on the conversation. She was so good at this stuff, so comfortable knowing what to say to kids.
“Yes.” He brushed back his son’s overgrown bangs as they neared the opposite sidewalk, the signal now blinking. It didn’t feel manly to admit fear to his son...but he was a better man, an honest one, for doing so.
Tommy patted Eli’s hand. “It’s okay, Daddy. I promise not to run away again. Pinkie swear. I’ll even tell our terrorpist, Mrs. Osar.”
He smothered a laugh at the innocent word mistake and hooked his finger around his son’s. Christie’s effect on the children was incredible. What changes would she work on him if he let her? Perhaps he’d suggest they jog every day. Make it a routine and test the waters.
They followed the treelined pavement to an area separated from the park by a wall of multicolored pebbles set in concrete. A reggae version of “Here Comes the Sun” filled the air as players perched on green, metal-sided wooden benches, hovering over chess tables abutting the partition. Observers cheered and groaned when gamers made moves before hitting black double-sided chess clocks.
Eli eyed the regulators, wishing he had one of those clocks to keep his life on track. How much time had he wasted, since his cancer, withdrawing from his friends and family? Coming here today would help him stop thinking about his problems and help Becca with hers. He could get to know Christie better, figure out his feelings for her and, like the players at the tables, decide on his next move.
“Ten bucks says that girl’s in check within a minute,” said a man beside him wearing a straw bowler hat and a thin, black mustache. Tattoos inked his forearms into sleeves. Eli turned. Russian Paul. One of the park’s infamous chess players.
A diamond pinkie ring flashed as the local celebrity pointed at a dark-skinned girl frowning down at a board. Her high ponytail and shoulder-length hoop earrings made
her appear Becca’s age. Her competitor, however, was older and wore a dress shirt and tie. A Wall Street type testing his prowess against the best in the city. Not that he appeared impressed with his current opponent. His arms trailed at his sides as he rolled his thick neck back and forth, waiting for her move.
Eli crossed his arms and shook his head. No deal. He knew better than to throw his money away on a bad bet. Russian Paul grunted in what could have been approval, disappointment or both and started to turn.
But a bill waving before his face stopped him. Christie. “You’re on, mister,” she said. Eli blinked at her. What on earth was she doing?
Christie’s earnest face glowed in the bright afternoon sun. He should have thought to bring his camera. Did he even know where it was anymore? The need to locate it seized him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“He’s one move away from being in checkmate,” she said, confidence ringing in her voice.
Russian Paul’s mouth quirked. “You want to wager that the game is already won, young lady?” He pulled out a wad of cash. “Then let’s double it.”
Eli leaned in to warn her, inhaling her unique smell that drove him senseless. “It’s Russian Paul. Save your money,” he said, close to her ear. He wondered what she’d taste like if he kissed her soft skin—sunshine and spun sugar maybe.
Despite her sudden shiver, her delicate chin squared below glittering, deep-set green eyes. “Yeah? And I’m Irish Christie. So?”
“He’s a legend around here.”
“And I’m feeling lucky.” She pulled another bill from her cloth purse. “You’re on, Paul.”
He smiled to see her spitfire side again, the one he’d enjoyed so much at Becca’s dance recital.
The chess champion waved an elegant hand. “Considering I just won it, I’m not terribly concerned. Though you should be.” His black eyes, the dark shade engulfing his irises, peered down at Christie. A smile played on his thin lips. Clearly he was enjoying the exchange, as were the few that stopped watching the game to observe them. Becca came up behind Christie and rested her chin on Christie’s shoulder. The natural affection of the pose made Eli’s throat swell. This was the last time he’d leave the house without his Nikon.
Christie rose on her tiptoes, peered around a passerby then turned. “The banker guy is done. Stick a fork in him, as Gran would say. Look!” She nodded to the players.
The girl slid her rook across the board, bypassing a pawn until she hit the edge of the board. Her hand hovered for a dramatic moment as the gathered crowd held their collective breaths. With a triumphant smile that revealed a mouthful of rainbow-banded braces, she angled the rook in the opposite direction until it stopped before the man’s king.
“Checkmate.”
After a moment of stunned silence, raucous applause broke out. “Yes!” Christie whooped then held out the flat of her palm, fingers crooked. “Pay the piper.”
How had she spotted a move that had eluded the best chess mastermind in the city? She said she felt lucky, but it was more than that.
“My brother pulled that move on me once.” She rose on the balls of her feet and whispered in his ear. “Lost my favorite Power Rangers action figure over it. I memorized the strategy in case he tried it again.”
Russian Paul doffed his hat, revealing a close-shaven head. “Let’s make this more interesting.” He gestured toward the now-empty chess table, a move that sent would-be gamers scurrying. “Play with me.”
A collective gasp rose from the dissipating onlookers. Eli put his arm around Christie. She could more than hold her own, but he still had her back.
Surprising everyone, she took Russian Paul’s twenty, passed it to an excited-looking Becca and sat on the bench with Tommy.
“Sorry, but we came here to play against each other.” Her smile at Eli made his heart beat like a sixteen-year-old on a prom date. “Maybe another time?”
Russian Paul tipped his head and angled his brim. “Indeed. You have a lovely family. I wish you the best.”
An unfamiliar look crossed Christie’s expressive face as she watched the park celebrity amble away, hands stuffed in his linen trousers. Did she like the man’s assumption that they were a unit? He hoped so. More and more, he couldn’t imagine their lives without her, especially his.
Tommy arranged the chess pieces with Becca’s help. “Dad, come on! What are you waiting for?”
A good question, he thought, taking a mental snapshot of Christie and his children, appreciating the thoughtful way she switched misplaced pieces whenever they weren’t looking. He wanted to keep this image always. It would help him get through tough times. A lace of shadow and sun spilled across the giggling trio, their carefree smiles filling him with longing. If he had a wish for tomorrow, they would be it. And after today, he realized he wanted to share their happiness, take the risks he needed to in order to have it. Now he understood that, like chess, life required taking chances, regardless of the outcome.
Tommy was right.
What was he waiting for?
* * *
SEVERAL DAYS LATER, four feet and four paws trekked down the blue-tiled hall of Memorial Sloan-Kettering’s Claire Tow Pediatric Pavilion. Christie maneuvered Sweet Pea through the shifting maze of equipment, linen carts and medicine trays, careful not to get in the way of children racing remote-control cars. Their giggles echoed off walls plastered in colorful finger-painted artwork and wooden animal cutouts. When her first scheduled stop neared—a pink door beside a window hung with zebra-print curtains—she passed Becca the leash.
Just this morning, she and Eli had talked over how his daughter would handle her first visit to the hospital. It felt great that he’d trusted her opinion. In fact, with every jog, he seemed to grow more open with her, willing to share his thoughts and feelings. Sometimes, he seemed on the brink of saying something about their relationship. They felt closer than ever. Were they about to commit to something bigger?
“Come in!” a young girl called at her knock.
“Hey, Vanessa!” Christie automatically picked up the bedside chart and glanced at her vitals. “Looking good. Your white-blood-cell count’s up and you had a recent PET scan.” The positron-emission tomography test meant they were still searching out treatment options for her medulloblastoma, a virulent brain cancer. Good news. Becca would make some tough visits today as part of her independent health project. She’d hoped the first round wouldn’t be one of them.
“Sweet Pea!” Vanessa called, her arms outstretched. In her excitement, her knit cap slipped off, exposing her smooth head. Without the hat, she looked both younger and older than her fourteen years.
Becca hung back, a wriggling Sweet Pea clutched to her chest. Her ashen face froze while her eyes darted from the gray IV drip to the steadily beeping monitor that tracked Vanessa’s heart rate and rhythm.
“So how do you like my crib?” Vanessa joked. The ability of pediatric patients to stay positive and kid around about their situation never failed to uplift and amaze Christie. One of the many unexpected gifts of working in a challenging field.
Color returned to Becca’s cheeks followed by a tentative smile. “Very techno?” She stepped to the bed, passed over the small dog then backed away. Poor thing. If her father shielded her from this, it must be a shocking eye-opener. Was Becca imagining her dad when he was ill?
Sweet Pea lavished kisses on Vanessa, her paws on either side of the girl’s neck. Between licks, the teenager managed to say, “Yeah. That was kind of what I was going for, with a little help from the oncology department.”
“I like your curtains,” Becca ventured. She strolled to the wild print and stopped beside a poster of a lanky boy crooning into a microphone. “And I have this poster in my room, too.” Her voice rose. Christie released pent-up breath. Finally. A connection. Cancer kids only looked different.
The rest was the same. The parts that mattered.
Becca’s visit today to learn about cancer for her health project was teaching her valuable life lessons, as well. How great that Christie was able to help open Becca’s eyes to this world and facilitate a deeper understanding of what her father had gone through. In the long run, it might lead to their reconciliation. She discreetly crossed her fingers at the thought.
Vanessa put Sweet Pea down on her fuzzy yellow blanket and pointed at another poster, this one featuring several swishy-haired boys. “Love them, too.”
Becca settled her hip on the bed. “They’re totally awesome. I’m Becca, by the way. Haven’t seen that poster. Wait. Is it signed?”
Vanessa nodded proudly and repositioned her cap. “Nick stopped in last week. It was my Make-A-Wish.”
High-pitched squeals got Sweet Pea yapping and Christie wishing she had her earbuds. But since she’d been jogging with Eli for almost a week now without them, their whereabouts eluded her.
She wandered around the room, leaving the girls to their rapid-fire debate over which boy was the cutest, best singer, best dancer or had the most style. Sometimes in therapy the most effective treatment was to back off when something else worked. And Becca and Sweet Pea were more than brightening Vanessa’s day.
The city skyline loomed outside the window, dark clouds hanging over it. That might mean rain tomorrow. Would her now-expected run with Eli be canceled? Disappointment wrung her stomach like a wet dishrag. This past week together had meant so much. It was still hard to process that he’d asked to make their exercise a routine. She never stopped feeling excited when she rounded the corner to Broome Street and found Eli waiting.
They saved most of their conversation for Murray’s and she’d learned lots about him—his solitary childhood, where he’d picked up his love of reading, especially spy novels. How he got interested in photography by taking pictures of farm animals for sale. And why he’d moved to New York—to be with his high-school sweetheart and later wife, as well as pursue his dream of showing his pictures in a gallery.
