competitive throw. Three more tries, and they’d both managed to head a ball and their scores in the right direction.
“Own, can we have a hot dog to celebrate?”
“A hot dog?”
“They’d make us bowl better. I know.”
He looked so wise, Owen laughed and gave in. Maybe not the most nutritious lunch, but a celebration indeed. The Duckpins kitchen made great hot dogs.
After they ate, they headed to the day care Ben usually attended while his mom worked. The little boy seemed more comfortable with Owen. He said he wanted to introduce him to everyone, and Owen was even more eager to meet the people who’d be caring for his son during working hours when he was back here with Lilah. Because Owen had to face facts. Ben would spend substantial parts of his life back here with Lilah.
They parked in front of a small Federal-style house, but Owen had to ring a doorbell before a woman in a dark blue dress came to let them in. Smiling at Ben, she held the door.
“Ms. Bantry mentioned you’d be dropping by,” she said. “Ben, will you introduce me to your friend?”
“This is Own. He knows my mommy. Own, this lady is in charge of my school.”
“Thanks, little buddy.” She planted her hands on Ben’s shoulders. “I’m Tina Matthews. I run the day care. You’d like to see Ben’s class?”
“Owen Gage.” He shook the woman’s hand. “If you don’t mind.”
“Ms. Bantry explained.” She started down the hall, pulling a set of keys from her pocket. “This house belonged to my great-grandparents. My mother started a school here when I was a child. Sort of homeschooling to an extreme. She had small classes, from K to eighth grade. You know, restrictions and rules are tighter than they used to be, and we’ve had an influx of families with young children, so I reorganized several years ago and turned the school into a day-care center.”
Each room had a half wall of plaster and a half wall of glass, giving a view into the classroom. Lilah would have been drawn to that openness.
“You’ve no doubt noticed Ben has a wide vocabulary for his age.”
“I didn’t actually know that,” Owen said.
“He’s extremely intelligent. This room is his class.” She opened the door. “The children have gone outside to play. You can go out to see them if you want, Ben.”
“You won’t leave, Own?”
“Not without you, buddy.” He zipped Ben’s coat all the way up and tugged his knit cap over his ears.
Grinning, the boy shot through the door at the back of the classroom. Owen undid his own coat.
“Thank you for seeing me, Tina.”
“Not a problem. I understand a parent wants to be sure of his son’s care. Let me tell you about him. Ben can handle some books for young readers. He writes his own name and some basic words. He’s learning addition.”
Owen looked at her. “At four?”
“Nearly five, but we don’t push him. We offer him the opportunity to learn at his own pace.”
“He’s pretty amazing.” The surge of pride surprised him, as if he’d had anything to do with Ben’s bright curiosity. Genetically, yes, but so far, Ben was a product of Lilah’s nurturing.
“He’s a lovable child, and he’s eager to learn. I hope you’ll be able to find a similar type of school for him when he visits your home.”
“So do I.” But he was doubtful. His brother had just dragged the town’s council into the current century long enough to squeeze permission to build a medical clinic. A new day care? Probably not, and he’d never heard of anything this progressive in Bliss.
His conviction to keep Ben in Tennessee wavered. He didn’t want his son to have an inferior education just so they could be together.
* * *
LILAH HAD SPENT most of the day trying to pretend she wasn’t worried Owen would run away with Ben just to make her suffer through an equal amount of time without him. She came home early, hoping they would, as well.
No such luck.
After she wandered through the empty rooms of her home for an hour, she started Ben’s favorite spaghetti sauce for dinner. It was Owen’s favorite, too, but she wouldn’t be admitting she remembered that.
The second they opened the front door, she heard Ben’s exaggerated sniffing.
“Spaghetti,” he said, then, “No, Own. Let me go.”
Her pulse beat a little faster, but she refused to rush out to see what was going on. Fear for her son was part of loving him. Maybe it wouldn’t have been if she’d had a different childhood, but she couldn’t help being the mom her life had made her. She knew all too well how easily a child could get hurt, despite a careful parent’s best intentions. But she didn’t want Ben to learn her kind of fear.
“Can I help you with your coat first?” she heard Owen ask her son.
Lilah went to the hall in time to see Owen on his knees, peeling Ben out of his coat and mitts and hat. He barely got the coat off before Ben hurtled toward the kitchen, brandishing a thick piece of drawing paper.
“Mommy, this is my painting. Miss Katie put it on the wall, but she took it off so Owen could help me bring it home.”
Lilah swung Ben onto her hip and took the paper from him. Ben had drawn the two of them in front of their house. The house had big windows, like wide, happy eyes. She and Ben were both smiling stick figures with clothing.
The psychologist who’d cared for her would have described it as a happy drawing by a well-adjusted child. Lilah smiled to herself as she looked it over, until she noticed the large brown long-haired dog with huge eyes and sharp teeth.
“A pup,” she said. Ben believed if he kept inserting a dog into his life, she’d give in and let him have one.
“He’s hungry.” Ben tapped the paper twice as Lilah hugged him, walking toward the kitchen. “I would feed him,” he said. “All by myself.”
She didn’t look back at Owen. She didn’t want him to see how the day had unsettled her.
“Your pretend dog can sit at the table with us.” She kissed the top of Ben’s head, breathing in his scent because she’d been starved for the sight of him, the sound of his voice, the feel of his wriggling body in her arms. She was almost tempted to give in on the dog front.
Anything to make sure he loved her best.
She wasn’t going to be good at sharing her son. Down the hall, the closet door closed. Owen finally followed them into the kitchen, brushing his own hair with both hands. The static made his longish curls both stand up and cling to his face.
“He really wants a dog,” he said.
“For
