struck on February 15. Those four months were all I had with him.”
While Hank had had three years. She tried to force that thought away.
“October 11. The doctor’s guess was pretty close. But the point I wanted to make is that Robbie isn’t old enough to really understand the concept of a mother. Not the fact that a mother’s the woman who gives birth to a person, I mean.
“Sometimes,” Hank added after a moment, “it’s hard to know exactly what he does understand.”
“Well, as you said, he’s only three and a half.”
“Yeah.”
A few beats passed, then Hank said, “I guess I should tell you that he knows he’s adopted—sort of, at least. I talked to him about it a few months ago, but I don’t think my explanation really made much sense to him.
“And getting back to his concept of a mother…as far as he’s concerned, I think she’s just someone who lives with a child and looks after him. Something his friends have but he doesn’t.”
“Has he ever asked why he doesn’t?”
“Uh-huh. And I told him his mother was dead.”
“Oh,” she murmured again. Even though she realized it shouldn’t, that hurt, too.
“Looking at things now,” Hank continued, “I guess it wasn’t the best answer. But it seemed to be at the time. My ex-wife doesn’t keep in touch, which meant there was no point in even mentioning her to him. And as far as I knew, you actually were dead, so…
“Well, he doesn’t really understand the concept of death, either. And he seems quite content that he has only me and Audrey. At any rate, I think we’d just confuse him if we got into how you can be his mother.”
She merely nodded, aware her voice would give her away if she spoke.
She’d studied child development in med school, and half the patients she treated in Villa Rosa were children. She knew the stages of growth their minds went through, was perfectly aware what a child Robbie’s age could comprehend and what he couldn’t.
Even so, when it came to her son, she’d been deluding herself—imagining that they’d tell him she was his mother, he’d wrap his little arms around her neck and the three missing years would simply melt away. But that wasn’t going to happen.
Hank had those years and they could never be hers.
HANK CUT THE IGNITION, then stared into the rearview mirror as Natalie’s rental pulled up behind his Blazer.
She’d suggested coming over in her own car so he wouldn’t have to take her back to the motel, and it had struck him as a good idea.
He’d figured that driving home alone would give him a chance to sort through something he was having trouble with—the fact that the more time he spent with her the nicer she seemed.
Oh, not that he’d rather she was evil incarnate. After all, she was Robbie’s mother.
Still, he’d find their situation easier to cope with if he was obviously the guy wearing the white hat and she was Cruella De Vil.
But it was clear that nothing about this mess was going to be black and white. And unfortunately, like most cops, he wasn’t as good at dealing with shades of gray.
Opening the door of the truck, he told himself that—as far as their negotiations were concerned—whether Natalie was nice or not was immaterial. Even if she was a reincarnation of Mother Teresa, he didn’t want her ending up with the lion’s share of time with Robbie.
He watched her get out of the Taurus, thinking she looked nervous. Maybe even frightened. But that was hardly surprising after Robbie had basically ignored her the first time around.
She had to be concerned about what kind of reception she’d get today. And worried that he’d never decide he liked her.
Audrey had raised that possibility last night. And after she had, they’d discussed it. They’d even flirted with the idea of trying to insure Robbie wouldn’t warm to Natalie.
They’d both been a little ashamed of themselves, but they had considered it—although ultimately they’d rejected it because he had a right to know his mother.
Like it or not, he did. A moral right and a legal one, as well. Doris Wagner had left no doubt on that score. Still, Hank couldn’t help wondering how long Natalie would persist if Robbie didn’t take to her.
Maybe she’d get discouraged pretty fast. Discouraged enough to pack up and head back to Guatemala. Alone.
He fantasized about that for a few seconds, then told himself it was nothing but wishful thinking. After spending three years and heaven only knows how much money to find her son, she wouldn’t quit now that she had.
Besides, her quiet manner probably made most kids feel at ease with her. And Robbie was basically a pretty friendly little guy, so he’d come around.
Glancing at the shopping bag she was holding, he thought about how many points she’d score with that fire engine—likely enough that she’d have Robbie on side in no time. And once he decided he liked her…
Hank gestured that they should head for the house, not wanting to let his thoughts wander any farther down that road right now.
Sooner or later they’d have to start talking about how much sharing each of them was prepared to do. But he was in no rush. Discussing the idea would only make it seem more real.
When Hank started forward Natalie followed along, telling herself there was no reason to feel even half as uncomfortable as she did. That wasn’t actually true, though.
The man wished she was anywhere else. She could read that in his body language—in his walk and the stiff set of his broad shoulders.
Telling herself not to go there, she turned her attention to the house. In contrast to him, it seemed positively welcoming.
The first time around, she’d been so nervous that she’d barely noticed what the exterior was like. Today, she was a little more observant. And the Cape Cod styling, the gray board-and-batten construction, the long front porch with its white railing…everything about it added up to a “friendly” sort of place.
The setting was appealing, too. On either side of the house, the lawn gave way to shrubs and trees that seemed to stretch forever—although she could make out a weathered split-rail fence that said he didn’t own anywhere near as far as she could see.
They’d almost reached the porch steps when the door flew open and her son came racing out. Just as it had the other day, her breath caught at the sight of him.
“Hey,” Hank said, swinging him up into his arms. “I haven’t been gone for a month, you know.”
“Yeah, but Mrs. Chevy made cookies. For the company. So I hadda wait for you. And her,” he added in a loud whisper, looking over at the “company.”
Natalie shot him the warmest smile she could manage.
“This
