Читать книгу Owen's Best Intentions - Anna Adams - Страница 12
ОглавлениеHE 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. Thanks. 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 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 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.
“Can we help you with anything?” Owen asked.
She wanted to just sit and hold her son. Instead, she set him down and went back to the kitchen. “Nothing left to do,” she said. “I’ve set the table and made the salad and bread. We’re ready to eat. You and Ben should wash up.”
“Aww, Mom.” But Ben looked at Owen and led the way to the bathroom. Their splashing and laughter unsettled Lilah even more. Her boy had missed having a man in his life. He was already bonding with Owen, and she dreaded the day she’d have to leave them together at the airport, or even just at Owen’s car, and come home without her son for days or weeks.
The thought sent her back to the kitchen, where she added pasta to the pot of boiling water on the stove. She poured ice water in glasses, set the pitcher in the center of the table and tried to look self-assured.
“You didn’t dry those hands,” Owen was saying as he danced Ben back into the kitchen with a towel. He drew Ben to the sink and dried his little fingers and dripping-wet palms.
“Thanks.” Ben scrambled into his seat at the table.
Lilah made his salad plate and added a slice of garlic bread and served it to him. To her surprise, Owen dished out salad for her and put some on his own plate, and then set them both on the table.
“The pasta isn’t ready yet,” she said as he peered into the pot of boiling water.
He came back to join them at the table. Ben waited until Owen lifted his fork. They chewed as one man. Lilah closed her eyes, not wanting to see them together.
“You like me, Own.”
Lilah jerked in her chair at the head of the table. He’d also inherited his father’s habit of speaking bluntly.
“I do like you, Ben. You know why?”
Ben had created the most natural opening for Owen to tell him about himself. Lilah dropped her fork and slid her hands beneath the table, twisting them together.
“Because I’m lovable.” Ben gripped his fork like a spear. “Right, Mom?”
“Extremely right,” she said, her insides shattering. Her son was about to gain a second loyalty that would last a lifetime.
“You are lovable,” Owen said, “but I’d care for you, no matter what, because you’re my little boy.”
The fork stopped in midair, pointing across the table at Owen’s face. “Huh?”
Owen’s confidence didn’t waver. It had to be an act, but it was convincing. He looked happy, not anxious about how Ben was going to react. She felt sick.
“You are my son,” Owen said. “I’m your dad.”
“I don’t have a daddy. Mommy says so.”
Owen still didn’t falter. He gazed at Ben’s face with a loving expression of reassurance. “Just this once your mom made a mistake. I am your dad, and I always will be.”
“But I’m a big boy now. I didn’t see you when I was a baby.”
Lilah’s eyes burned as her son seemed to panic. She reached for his hand, trying to make it seem as if this situation only rated a little bit of comfort, and she wasn’t scared. She couldn’t help feeling guilty.
She’d love to believe she hadn’t set up this well of pain for her child the moment Owen walked away from rehab.
“Where’s he been, Mommy?”
“Owen’s been at his house. He didn’t know about you.”
“If I had known, I would have been with you,” Owen said, and Lilah’s guilt increased.
She hadn’t been wrong. She refused to consider the possibility. Owen reached for Ben’s hand, but Ben pulled away from both of them. He threaded his fingers together in his lap, looking down.
“We had a nice time today, didn’t we?” Owen asked.
Ben nodded, looking up with suspicion in the ice-blue eyes he’d inherited from his father. Owen had told her once that his father and all his siblings shared the same color.
“Well, we’ll get to have fun together from now on. We’ll have good times and bad times, but we’ll learn more about each other with every day that passes, and I can’t wait, Ben.”
“Do I have to call you Daddy?”
Lilah bit her lower lip and leaned forward. Trying to save her son, she’d given him grief and confusion. And she still didn’t know if Owen was capable of being a good father to Ben. “I thought you wanted a daddy like your friends,” she said.
“How do I know he’s my daddy?”
“I can help you with that.” Owen pulled two small photos out of his shirt pocket, along with the gift tag her parents’ assistant had draped around the neck of every wine bottle he’d sent to the gallery’s artists. Owen set down the tag, folded to display only Ben’s photo. Beside it, he lined up two pictures of himself, one at a beach, holding up a bright yellow bucket, the other of him perched on a dirty white picket fence, his face more solemn. “Daddies and sons sometimes look alike,” Owen said. “Those two pictures are me when I was your age, and you and I look almost exactly the same.”
Ben looked even more confused. He turned toward Lilah. “I don’t get it, Mommy.”
“You know when people say I look like my mother?”
“Yeah.”
“Owen is saying you look like him, and you really do.”
“But I don’t want to call him Daddy. I’ll call him his name. Own.”
“Sounds perfect,” Owen said, sounding relieved. He must have thought Ben didn’t want a dad, or if he did, he didn’t want this stranger who’d shown up on his doorstep.
“We’re going to Tennessee,” Lilah said, startling herself, as well as Owen and Ben.
“That place where Own lives?”
She nodded. “He wants you to meet his family because they’re also your family. I want to go with you because I’ll miss you too much if you go on your own.”
Water bubbled over the pasta saucepan to sizzle on the stovetop. Lilah sprang to her feet. “I may have to start this over.”
“It’ll be fine.” Owen appeared beside her. “Looks good.”
She had a feeling he was thanking her for making this sojourn in Tennessee look like her idea. She didn’t want his thanks. She looped a piece of pasta on a fork and tasted. “It is good. Ready, Ben?”
“I’m done with my salad.”
Owen collected the salad plates from the table and took them to the sink. He picked up the top plate on a stack of three for the pasta. His frozen gaze had melted a little when he looked into hers.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Fighting you is pointless.” She couldn’t pretend she’d been wrong, and if she let him see she had any awareness she’d cheated him of these years with Ben, he’d grab back all the time he could. “We’re not moving to Tennessee.”
Owen glanced at Ben, but answered with a smile. “We’ll work out a custody schedule. I don’t mind flying to pick him up and bring him back.”
She resented him all over again for acting as if he were being perfectly amenable. “You are not human.”
He laughed, but the sound lifted all the hairs on her arms, while Ben watched them, his mouth open.
“You might have a point,” Owen said in a tone only she could hear. “And I still can’t believe you took Ben from me. But I’m going to make sure I make things different for him.”
