soil
compositions of the area and the best remedies.
Kit’s lawn could do with some serious TLC.
Eventual y, however, the crowd and the chatter grew too much. He eased himself out of the hal and found a quiet spot in the garden, lowered himself to a rock that bordered a flower bed. The sun beat down overhead. Kit was right, the day would be warm, but a nearby tree fern provided filtered shade and kept him cool.
‘Hel o.’
Alex’s gut clenched. He swal owed and turned.
Davey stood nearby. He moistened suddenly dry lips. ‘Hel o,’ he croaked back.
The little boy took a step closer and frowned.
‘Don’t you like me?’
Heck, where had that come from? Then he remembered his abrupt departure earlier in the week when he’d thrust the little kid into Kit’s arms and had bolted. He hadn’t meant to hurt the little guy’s feelings. ‘Sure I do.’ He held out his stil half-ful plate as a peace offering. ‘Want a cake?’
Davey’s eyes brightened in an instant. He raced over and promptly settled himself on Alex’s left thigh and helped himself to a cupcake. Alex clenched his jaw at the child’s warm weight, the smel of him. He beat back the panic that threatened to rise up and smother him. Panic he couldn’t explain.
Chad. His hand tightened around the plate until he thought it might break as he fought the urge to remove the child from his lap.
He fought for control, fought to find his voice.
‘Comfortable?’ he drawled.
Davey nodded, oblivious to Alex’s discomfort. ‘I’m not supposed to get dirty,’ he confided. ‘If I sit on the ground I’l get dirty.’
Fair enough. He held the plate out to Davey again once the cupcake was gone. ‘I hear the caramel slice is very good.’
Davey ignored him and reached for a piece of coconut ice instead. Alex considered eating the caramel slice himself—to give him something to do with his hands, in an attempt to occupy his mind with something other than the smel and feel of warm child—but he doubted his stomach would deal with food at the moment.
Given the choice, what would Chad have chosen
—caramel slice or coconut ice? Grief as raw and hard as it had been two years ago sliced through him now. He set the plate on the ground, aghast at how his hand shook.
‘Can I tel you a secret?’
Alex nodded. It was al he was capable of.
‘Auntie Kit is having a baby. Did you know?’
‘Yes.’ The word croaked out of him.
‘Wel , I heard her and Mum talking and if she has a boy she wants to cal him Jacob and Mum thinks that’s a great name but there’s a Jacob at my pre-school and he picks his nose and…’
The rest of the childish patter was lost to him.
The day darkened. He clenched his fingers into the soil of the garden, held on tight with both hands as the earth turned al the way over. He dragged in a breath and fought to remain upright. He would not be sick!
sick!
It came to him then, the answers to the questions he’d so desperately put off answering.
He wanted to get up and run. Who was he trying to kid? He couldn’t do any of this. He could not be the father Kit so desperately wanted for her child.
Any child, every child, reminded him of Chad, had memories threatening to burst forth—memories and pain. Davey, here, and…and Kit’s baby, would act as constant reminders of his loss, would have panic rising through him…and grief.
Not to mention anger. How could he be a proper father to Kit’s child when he couldn’t see past Chad?
Ice trickled across his scalp and down his spine.
He couldn’t. The bottom line was that he couldn’t.
Was this how his grandfather had felt when Alex’s mother had left? Was that why he hadn’t been able to show softness and love to his grandson? The way Alex now knew he couldn’t show softness and love to his own child?
It would’ve been better for al of them—but especial y for Kit—if he’d left that first day when she’d told him to. It would’ve been better for her if she’d never clapped eyes on him.
‘…anyway, I think it’s a dumb name, don’t you?’
