Owen's Best Intentions (Smoky Mountains, Tn. #2) Page 4

  “What’s up?” the man asked, his breath forming a wreath around his head.

  “I bought this seat for my son.” Had he said that word out loud before? It made him proud. He’d like to say it again.

  He popped the trunk open with his key fob and pulled out the huge box. “They told me at the store that you’d install it for me.”

  “You’ve never installed your kid’s car seats?”

  “My child is new to me,” Owen admitted. “I don’t mind explaining the situation to you, but do you need me to?”

  The firefighter shook his head. “Sorry, man. You want to watch?”

  “Yeah. This is a rental car. When we get home to Tennessee, I’ll have to do it myself.”

  The fireman installed the seat, instructing Owen as he did. “You’re sure you got the right one?”

  He’d called Lilah from the hotel the night before. After making arrangements to pick up Ben and take him out today, he’d gotten his son’s measurements. “I asked a salesperson at the baby store. She assured me this was right for my boy’s weight and height.”

  “Then you should be good.” The other man stepped back and folded his arms. “If you can do it on your own.”

  Owen had trouble the first time, but then installed the seat correctly twice.

  At last they both stepped back, Owen with a sense of accomplishment. The words “I’m a dad,” repeated inside his head, but he kept silent as he dug a few bills out of his wallet. “In my town, the fire service sponsors a burn charity. I don’t know if you do that up here?”

  “We have a brother in ICU at the hospital right now. We’ve started a fund for his family. If you’d rather give the money to a different charity, I will, but his wife and children could use this.”

  Owen added another bill. “Thanks for your help.”

  He walked back to his car, ducking the fireman’s gratitude. It was crazy the money his simple furniture brought him. Might as well put it to good use.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HE REACHED BEN and Lilah’s just as they were coming down the wooden steps of their small Cape Cod house. Lilah must have been waiting for him before she left for work. She stood on the narrow sidewalk, holding Ben’s hand. They were both dressed to fight off the snowy wind in parkas and scarves and gloves.

  Owen grinned at his son, who resembled the figure in one of those commercials where the spokesman is a stack of tires that look like marshmallows.

  “I hadn’t thought about climbing Mount Washington, but we could do that today,” Owen said.

  “What is that?” Ben asked. “Mommy, can I go that far?”

  “Not today, baby,” she said, grimacing over his head. “Owen made a lot of plans for you. He’s going to take you by your day-care center to pick up your art project.”

  She’d agreed to let him meet Ben’s teachers. “I heard you painted a poster of you and your mom, but it was still too wet to bring home last week,” Owen said. “Ready to go, buddy?”

  Now that the moment had come, the little guy looked up at his mother for reassurance, which made Owen resent Lilah more. But, if Lilah had been the one who couldn’t stop drinking, would he have wanted to risk letting their son spend time alone with her? No. He’d have to accept that Lilah hadn’t been entirely wrong.

  She’d judged him and stolen the most precious gift from him, but he had to let it go. Every time he looked at her he got angry all over again, but deep inside, a voice accused him.

  You aren’t fit.

  He would change.

  “Have fun.” Lilah leaned down and hugged Ben so long the boy began to struggle. “Mo-om.”

  She straightened, but Ben had picked up on her reluctance, clearly unsure what was supposed to happen next or if he wanted to be part of it.

  “We’ll have a great time.” Owen took Ben’s hand and led him to the rental car. “Have you eaten breakfast?”

  “Mommy made me toast and milk, but she said you wanted to have breakfast with me.”

  “Great. Do you have a favorite place?”

  “The eggs-and-potato place.”

  Their first roadblock. Owen turned back, calling her name. “Lilah?”

  She was standing where they’d left her, staring as if she were afraid this was her last glimpse of their son.

  “What’s the egg-and-potato place?” he asked.

  “The Scholar’s Lady. Your nav system will take you there, but I can text you the address if you like.”

  “No, thanks. We’ll be fine.”

  Owen helped Ben into the booster seat. It looked a little tight to him.

  “How does that feel, Ben?”

  The boy was already inspecting every inch of the car within his reach. The cup holders fascinated him.

  “Feels exactly like my other one. I can’t move much.”

  “Perfect. Careful of that cup holder. I think it might break if you tug it hard enough.”

  “I need a cup,” Ben said.

  “If you like it that much, I’ll have to get one like it for my car at home.”

  Ben sat back. “Where do you live, Own?”

  The name made him smile.

  “Tennessee. I live next to a big barn. On a farm with a stream and cows and goats and chickens.”

  Ben rubbed his nose and mouth, looking wary. “I never seen a goat. And chickens run so fast. On TV they have sharp teeth.”

  “Beaks,” Owen said absently. Vermont had goats and chickens, but he’d bet Ben had never been near anything as fraught with danger as a petting zoo.

  He backed himself up. He couldn’t second-guess the way Lilah was raising their son. Lots of kids Ben’s age didn’t associate regularly with farm animals.

  “Don’t know if I like ’em,” Ben said.

  “We’ll cross that farm when we come to it. Hold on a sec.” He got into the car and started the engine. On the screen in the console, he found the navigation system. He hit the icon for voice commands. “Scholar’s Lady, Barnesville, Vermont,” he said.

  A male voice with a New Zealand accent responded. “I will navigate you to the Scholar’s Lady in Barnesville, Vermont,” the man said.

  Owen laughed, and Ben giggled.

  “That man talks funny,” Ben said. “Why did you pick him?”

  “I didn’t. The man or woman who rented this car before us chose him,” Owen said. “He startled me.”

  “Me, too. Our car has a lady’s voice, but the lady gets mad a lot. Mommy tries out different voices.”

  “The lady on my car gets mad at me, too. Maybe I’ll switch to New Zealand guy.”

  “What’s New Zealand?”

  “A country way far from here, where people talk like this guy.”

  Ben just giggled. Owen pulled away from the curb. Lilah was still glued to the last step on her porch.

  He ignored a pang of guilt. For a moment, he saw himself through her eyes, and the self-awareness was unpleasant.

  “What do you want to do after we eat?” Owen asked his son, as if he got to hang out with his child all the time.

  “Duck bowling.”

  “Duck bowling?” He made a wild guess. “There’s a place called Duckpins across from my hotel. I walked in there last night.” And out again when the beer taps began to sing his name.

  “Did you practice?” Ben asked.

  “I didn’t know you’d want to play. I got a hamburger to go.”

  “I love duck bowling.” Kicking his feet, Ben lifted an ecstatic gaze upward and pumped both fists. Then he drooped a little. “Sometimes, the ball goes too far.”

  “Too far?”

  “When I throw the ball, it flies away and hits other people’s balls. Or the floor. Really hard.”

  “Good tip, buddy. Than
ks. Maybe we should stop for helmets.”

  Ben laughed. “Mommy says that, too.”

  * * *

  BEN WAS AIMING in the wrong direction, so Owen sprang to catch the ball. Fortunately, his boy always missed to the left, so he’d moved them to the last lane on the end. So far, Ben’s throws hadn’t been strong enough to bust out the wall.

  “You’re good at catching,” Ben said. “I hit Mommy in the head once. She didn’t even cry.”

  “I might have.” Owen could imagine Lilah pretending everything was okay. “These balls are heavy and fast.”

  “If I practice, they’ll go toward the little pins,” Ben said. “Mommy knows things like that.”

  “Mommy’s pretty smart.”

  “Smartest ever.” Ben threw one fist in the air.

  His four-year-old pride got to Owen. The little boy clearly considered his mom heroic, and his attachment to her touched Owen. He had to make sure Lilah didn’t change her mind about coming to Tennessee because how could he tear these two apart?

  “Ben, would you like to visit me at my house?”

  “All by myself?” Anxiety pinched his small nose. “Like today?”

  “No. Your mom would come with you.”

  The little boy tossed another ball that veered unexpectedly to the right, but landed in a chair without injuring anyone.

  “Do you have toys?” Ben scrambled over a bench to grab the ball back and tried again. It went straight this time and didn’t gouge a hole in the floor, despite landing with a heavy thud.

  “We could take your toys,” Owen said. “And maybe pick up a few more for you to play with while you’re there.”

  “You got those chickens and goats, too?”

  “And cows. They’re fun to hang out with. But you can only visit the animals when an adult is with you.”

  “Adults are big people.”

  “And a lot of them live near my house. My mom. My sister and one of my brothers. His name is Chad, and he can play football with you.”

  “Football?” Ben’s eyes gleamed as he whispered the word. He looked so happy, he didn’t have to say what he was thinking; but then he looked down, clenching his hands together.

  “Do you play football, Ben?”

  “Mommy doesn’t let me.”

  Owen found it hard to imagine how Lilah could risk her life with Duckpins, and be afraid Ben might get hurt at football.

  “If you come visit me with your mom, I can talk to her about football.”

  “Football,” Ben said in another reverent whisper.

  There it was. The key to Ben’s heart.

  Owen scooped the next ball off the return and sent it down the lane, but he wasn’t a whole lot better at Duckpins than his boy, and the ball slid off into the gutter. Ben, clearly a fighter, waited no time to make his next 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 th
e 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 a long time.” She cuddled Ben, who stopped struggling and folded his arms between his body and hers, and buried his head beneath her chin. He always leaned into her like that. She wanted to hug him even harder.

  “Own’s eating with us?”

  “I think so.” Owen obviously hadn’t managed to tell Ben he was his father today.

  “I’d like to,” Owen said, and his face, pleading despite the fact he had the whip hand, startled Lilah with his resemblance to her son. “Spaghetti. Smells amazing, Lilah.”

  “It’s Ben’s favorite,” she said, defensive because she still didn’t want him to know she’d remembered.