of the indignant wind out of her sails. Diane had maintained that Blaine wanted to have no part of his son. This was a twist she hadn’t expected.
“Blaine, I thought I’d take Mickey and run to the store.” A gravely voice boomed out, announcing Jack Robertson’s appearance. “You mind watching this four-legged nuisance while we’re gone?”
The dog in question, a three-year-old German shepherd named Spangles that had been a gift from Blaine, barked in protest, as if knowing he was under discussion.
Jack halted abruptly when he saw that his former son-in-law had company. Didn’t take the man long, Jack thought without resentment. What Blaine and Diane had had died a long time ago. He couldn’t be faulted for getting on with his life.
And then the woman turned around and Jack grinned broadly, his tanned face dissolving into creases and lines that Nonna had confided to Bridgette were “sexy.”
He put his hands out and took both of Bridgette’s in his. “Hello, Bridgette. We missed you at the funeral.”
Uncomfortable, Bridgette lifted a shoulder and then let it fall. She resisted the temptation of dragging a hand through her hair. She supposed that there was no excuse for not attending the funeral. She had even gone so far as to get dressed in a somber navy blue dress and gotten in behind the wheel of her car.
But at the end, she couldn’t bring herself to drive to the church. She couldn’t even turn on the ignition. If she wasn’t there for the service, for the interment, then some part of her could go on believing that Diane was still alive.
“Diane knew how I felt about funerals. She would have understood.” Bridgette placed her arms around the older man. “Jack, I’m so very sorry.”
He patted her shoulder, determined not to break down. It wasn’t the way he saw himself. Tears were for private moments when he was alone.
“Me, too, Bridgette. Me, too.”
The sad moment was dissolved as a high voice squealed. “Bridgette, you’re here.”
Bridgette just had time to step away from Jack before she found her waist engulfed as Mickey threw his arms around her.
She laughed as she hugged him to her. “I sure am, sweetheart.”
Blaine could only look on in awe. It was the most emotional display he’d seen from Mickey since the accident.
His eyes met Bridgette’s over Mickey’s head. There was just a trace of a smug smile on her lips.
Chapter Two
Bridgette held Mickey against her. She ached for him when she thought of what his young heart had to endure. Death was always difficult to cope with, but it seemed so much more brutal when it invaded the life of a child. More than anything, she wished that there was something she could do for him.
Without thinking, she stroked his hair, just the way she’d seen Diane do a hundred times before.
Mickey pulled away from her with a jerk, as if something had suddenly snapped shut within him. The impression wasn’t negated when Bridgette looked down at him. The friendliness was gone, wiped away like a chalk drawing on the sidewalk in the rain. In its place there was a somber cast in his eyes which brought a chill to her heart.
“Mickey?”
Hand extended, Bridgette took a step toward him, then stopped. She had the definite feeling that she was intruding.
Never forgetting what her own childhood was like, both the good and the bad, Bridgette prided herself on being instinctively good with children. It was a gift rather than something she had to nurture. She truly enjoyed their company and they sensed it and responded to her. Especially shy children like Mickey.
This reaction was something she was entirely unprepared for.
Mickey licked his lips and shrugged, his shoulders moving independently of each other. He looked uneasy, lost. Looking down at the floor, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.
“I got my video game on pause,” he mumbled to the rug. “I can’t keep it that way or it’ll get ruined. That’s what Mom says. Said. I gotta go.”
Mickey turned and fled. Spangles followed like a four-legged shadow.
Bridgette could have sworn she’d heard Mickey’s voice crack, though his expression had remained frozen, unemotional. It was all the motivation she needed. But as she began to follow after him, a hand fell on her shoulder, preventing her.
Just barely suppressing her annoyance, she looked up at Blaine.
He waited a moment before he dropped his hand from her shoulder. “Maybe he just needs to work this out for himself.”
That would be the path he’d take, she thought. Noninterference. Translation: Do nothing, just as he had been doing all along. The man hadn’t a clue as to what Mickey needed.
“He’s ten years old. He doesn’t know how to work this out for himself,” she shot back. “What he needs is to be held.”
With the bearing of a man who knew an altercation in the making when he saw one, Jack physically placed himself between them. “What he needs is not to hear two adults arguing over him.”
Bridgette flushed as she turned toward Jack, embarrassed at having taken the safety latch off her temper. But she was a passionate woman who took each emotion she was experiencing to the limit.
Ignoring Blaine, she placed her hand on Jack’s arm. Comfort seemed to flow from her very fingertips. “I’m sorry, Jack. I guess my emotions just got the better of me.” She knew Jack understood. She wasn’t all that different from her grandmother. “Is there anything I can do for you or Mickey?”
Jack shook his head, a bittersweet smile on his lips. Bridgette meant well, but there wasn’t anything she could do. Nothing anyone could do, really.
“You can give us time, honey.” He patted the hand on his arm, knowing that she was in need of comfort herself. She’d lost a friend she’d cared about. “That’s the only thing that’s going to help. Time. Putting one foot in front of the other and getting from here to there.”
He was right. She knew that from experience. Still, she wished there was something she could do. Something that didn’t make her feel so useless, so frustrated. Especially when it involved Mickey.
Bridgette blew out a breath. “Well, if you think of anything, I’m here.” She looked in the direction that Mickey had gone.
She really didn’t have to say it, but it was nice to hear. “I know.” Jack fought back the clawing emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. Tears, he knew, were going to be a part of his life for a long time to come. But he refused to give in to them except in his room at night. So he forced a smile to his lips for everyone’s sake, including his own. “Tell Sophia I appreciated the casseroles. I didn’t really feel like cooking.”
If anyone could help him through this, Bridgette knew her grandmother could. Zestful and vivacious even though she was well through her fifth decade, Sophia Rafanelli had the enthusiasm for life of a woman one-third her age. Nonna had seen Bridgette
