frustrated. But his response conveyed none of those things. He just swiftly scooped up his son and lifted him away from the sharp shards.
Teddy heaved sobs in between extensive explanations to his dad.
“It was a woman who did it. She came in the front door. I said who are you and you’d better get out of here. But she picked up Slugger’s ball and threw it at the lamp just like that. I couldn’t stop her. I wasn’t strong enough. I said, I’m going to get my dad! But then she ran away! It wasn’t me, Dad! It was her! The woman!”
Mike set his son on a chair-firmly-with a glance at Amanda.
“Where’s your broom or vacuum?” she asked.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m telling you the
“Teddy,” Mike said quietly, sternly. “Your mother was not here.”
“It wasn’t my mother. It was just a woman who looked like her. And had earrings like her. I told her and told her, go away and I’ll call my dad. But she still just picked up Slugger’s ball…”
Amanda figured it was an ideal time to tiptoe away. She grabbed Molly and the picnic basket and took off for home.
It was another four hours before she could call the day quits. All through the kitchen cleanup and story reads and putting Molly to bed, she kept thinking about Mike-about how he was with his son.
They both had their share of parenting challenges. But she liked how he’d handled Teddy with gentle, calm firmness. How his first thought was to rescue his son from potential harm, not to scold. And how Teddy showed no fear of his dad, only absolute, secure trust, even when the squirt had been inventing an incredibly wild story and had to know there’d be some punishment for throwing the ball in the house and breaking the lamp.
She folded the dish towel, poured a glass of sun tea, turned off lights and ambled outside. Instead of choosing a chair or the chaise, she perched on the deck steps.
The sun had just dropped out of sight, but there was still ample light to see the backyard and the plantings she’d done that morning. Robins pranced in the grass. A dove cooed from the shadows.
Slowly, the sky deepened, softened, darkened. She sipped her tea, set it down, stretched out her legs, relaxed. Stars popped into the sky, which was hardly a surprise on a cloudless night…but suddenly there seemed to be stars in the grass, as well. She sat up, confused, figuring the twinkling lights on the ground had to be some kind of optical illusion. The tiny lights switched on, off, one after the other, all through the yard. Five, then a dozen, then more.
It was crazy. She wandered into the yard, feeling the tickly brush of soft grass beneath her bare feet, and extended a hand…something touched her, then lit up. Another one of those impossible “stars.”
“Fireflies. Amazing, aren’t they?”
She whirled around, saw Mike’s shadow from his deck, and immediately felt her pulse kick up. It was because she wanted to talk to him, of course. It wasn’t chemistry. It was that debacle at dinner that she wanted to discuss.
He aimed down the steps, into her yard. Her heartbeat did more of that frisky thing…but there were stars floating and dancing around them, on an evening turned velvet dark, and the man looked downright magical, coming out of the shadows like a prince in a fairy tale.
Obviously her mind couldn’t be trusted.
“I’ve never seen them before. Fireflies? So they’re an insect?”
“And ugly in daylight. But they don’t bite or sting or hurt anything. They’re just putting out flashes to attract the opposite sex.”
Like him, she thought. The damned man kept putting out flashes, forcing her pulse to do that thrum thing, making her somehow want to lean closer to him. Not that she did any such thing. “You recovered from dinner? And just for the record, I think you’re a hero for taking on the sex-education questions.”
He gave a short laugh. “Your daughter had me stumped with the question about why humans have babies and can’t have puppies. Not that it’s a hard question. Just hard to think up an answer that works for a four-year- old.”
“Speaking of four-year-olds…I swear, Mike, my daughter can be absolutely wonderful.”
He chuckled again. “I think she is. She’s honest. And she stands up. My guess is that all that character comes from the red hair. Your set of genes.” And then it was his turn to clear his throat. “And speaking of the other four- year-old…I swear, my son does know how to tell the truth.”
“Of course he does. That’s just what four-year-olds do. Invent. Imagine. It just gets out of control sometimes.”
Mike scraped a hand through his hair. “Well, in my time, we called it lying. The tricky part is that the villain in all his stories is never an ogre or an alligator or a bad guy. It’s always a woman who looks just like his mom.”
Amanda winced-for both of them. “Touchy.” She didn’t motion him toward the steps, but they both seem to aim back there. He took one side and she took the other, neither touching…neither even looking at each other. She thought they were both being seriously smart this time.
Besides, there were those magical fireflies to look at.
“You weren’t kidding about Teddy having mom issues, were you? Or mom-desertion issues.”
He sighed. “I keep trying to turn it around, but I’m not sure how. I was a lawyer by profession, did I tell you that? Right and wrong questions are supposed to be easy. But even when a divorce is right…even when both sides do their best…it’s never so easy for the kids.”
“Totally agree.” She tried not to turn her head. “You’re not working now?”
“No. When I left the downtown firm I was employed by, it wasn’t just the divorce, but wanting something with less pressure, less hours, for Teddy’s sake. I really wanted to take a couple months off, go after a healthier life here. A kid’s life, rather than an adult’s city life. All the stuff we talked about before. Speaking of which…do you know what you’re doing for preschools?”
She started to laugh…and then he did, too.
“I know,” he said wryly. “I can remember when I had the spare time for music, restaurants, a show, whatever. Now it’s analyzing what makes a four-year old fib and deciding whether he needs vaccination shots for preschool. What happened to my real life and will it ever show up again?”
Amanda felt a heart tug…she could have asked the exact same question, and she couldn’t believe there was someone else who understood exactly what she was going through. This kind of talk…it wasn’t like leaning. It wasn’t like counting on a white knight to rescue her. It was just…incredible…to find someone else who needed to reach out for the same reasons.
A friend.
A plain old real friend.
What a wild concept.
“What?” he said, as if trying to read her expression.
“Nothing. I just… It’s nice to laugh. Just laugh. Just be with someone else,” she said honestly.
“Yeah. No strings. No weirdness. No worrisome anything.”
“Exactly,” she said, and in that peaceful moment, her sanity took a complete nosedive. There was no explaining it. Mike lurched up from the deck steps to stand up, and start for home. She stood up at the same time, thinking it was time to turn in. Screen doors were open; it’s not as if they couldn’t hear their kids, but it had been a long day. She suspected he was as ready for an early night as she was, and started to say so.
Only, their shoulders accidentally grazed again, when they were both in motion. And because it was dark, she stumbled on the bottom step. He caught her, kept her from falling. They were still laughing…but then she lifted her laughing face up to his, intending to say something warm and friendly.
Suddenly there was a second of silence. As magical as the firefly night. As compelling as water and food and shelter. As restlessly disturbing as the air just before a thunderstorm.
And then the storm hit.
These weren’t like the kisses before. This was Gorilla Glue. Once he pulled her into his arms, she couldn’t pull free. Once her mouth found his, he either couldn’t or wouldn’t let go.
He spun her-possibly just an instinctive moment to protect them both from falling. Whatever the reason, he whirled her down the step, into the grass, into the dark shadows of the yard. A simple turn somehow escalated into
