The New Baby. Brenda Mott
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beard had its head down in a perpetual grazing position.
“Tacky thing, isn’t it?” Amanda said. “I guess I ought to have it removed along with the others.” She waved her hand at an assortment of ceramic statues. “It would make things easier for the boy who mows my lawn.”
Ian hid a grin. “It might at that.” He looked around. The grass wasn’t knee-deep anymore, the way it had been after Olivia’s passing, but it was still a few inches tall. He knew that Rachel Fultz had kept an eye on the house for the past couple of years, but apparently her neighborly duties hadn’t included caring for the yard.
“I can’t believe how fast the grass grows out here,” Amanda went on, climbing the porch steps. “I had it mowed less than a week ago.”
“It’s the humidity,” he said. He paused at the bottom of the steps. “I’ll wait here. Just in case.” He motioned toward the woods and his scout troop.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” She hurried inside and returned with two cans of Coke. She handed one to him, then sat on the edge of the porch rail. Her body posture seemed tense, and somehow vulnerable, as though she wanted to trust him but still wasn’t completely sure she could. Something about Amanda compelled him to reach out to her.
He settled on the steps, where he could keep an eye out for his boys. A protective feeling rose inside of him, the way it often did, with sudden gusto. He never saw it coming. It was simply there. One minute he’d be minding his own business, walking along with the Cumberland Cubs, or maybe passing by a group of kids at the little mall in the next town. And there it would be. The need to watch over and protect. The way a father would.
How many kids ran around out there in the world, unsupervised, with nobody to care for them? The thought made him furious, and he prayed on a regular basis that his own son had gotten better than that in the way of parents.
“Ian?” Amanda spoke his name as if she’d repeated it.
“Sorry.” He took a sip of his pop. “Just woolgathering. Guess I’m more tired than I’d thought.”
“We don’t have to do this,” she said. Her features closed over once more, as though she were blocking out her emotions, ready to backpedal on spending social time with him. “I mean if you’d rather take the Coke with you…”
“No.” He shook his head, not willing to let her pull away so quickly, just when he was getting to know her a little better. “I like talking to you. It’s nice to have someone around that’s above the age of ten and only has two legs.”
“Excuse me?”
“My dog.” He pursed his lips, teasing Amanda, enjoying it. “She’s over the age of ten, in dog years anyway. But friends of the four-legged variety don’t say much.”
Amanda laughed softly, the sound dropping over him like a rush of warm air. “What kind of dog is she?”
“Rottweiler.”
“A Rottie? Oo-oh.” She shivered.
“No, she’s not mean.” Ian twirled the Coke can. “As a matter of fact, she’s a big old baby. Three years old and a hundred and five pounds. And all she wants is to have anyone and everyone rub her belly.”
“Now that’s my kind of dog. Granny used to have a bloodhound that was the same way.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “She might not talk, but she’s a good listener. Guess it’s true what they say about dogs being man’s best friend. Or woman’s.” He raised his can in a toast to Amanda, then took a swallow.
“Animals are good for telling your secrets to.” She gazed into the distance, her eyes not focused on anything in particular. “There’s a little gray squirrel that comes up here on the porch sometimes. I call him Skippy. He loves croutons, and I feed him and talk to him.”
Ian sobered, his humor fading as he watched her. The wistful expression in her eyes moved him. It was similar to what he’d seen reflected in his own mirror, and instantly he thought about what had happened the other day at the nursing home, and how it had made him feel. Like he could relate to Amanda in some way.
“It’s nice of you to let the boys stay here.”
“Like I said, I don’t mind once in a while.”
He hesitated, still studying her, and told himself to tread with care. He didn’t want to scare her away or seem overly pushy. “Do you like kids?”
“Sure.” Her answer came out a little too quickly. “Why do you ask? Am I being too mean in not inviting your scout troop over more often?”
“No, not at all. I just…” He let the words trail away. Maybe he was getting too personal. Scratch the “maybe.” He was being nosy and he mentally chastised himself for behaving rudely. It wasn’t like him, which only showed him that Amanda had him rattled. “Forget it. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No—what were you going to say?” Amanda persisted. “What did you notice?”
He focused on the look in her eyes. Her expression had shifted, changed, enough for him to see that whether Amanda realized it or not, she was reaching out to him. His curiosity overcame what was left of his hesitation. He lifted a shoulder. “The other day at the nursing home—when you saw the baby that young couple brought in.” He halted, at a loss for words. He was making a mess out of this, when all he’d meant to do was reach out to her. “Is there something about kids that bothers you?” he asked.
Amanda’s face paled in the moonlight. “You’re very observant,” she said quietly. “I’m surprised you noticed my reaction.”
Immediately, he felt like an oaf. “Forgive me. It was rude of me to bring it up. I didn’t ask you to be nosy, it’s just that—”
She cut him off. “Speaking of children, maybe you’d better go check on your scouts.”
He grimaced, then panicked as Amanda’s lower lashes suddenly glistened with unshed tears. She held them back, her jaw set, her body tense. Lord, he’d made her cry.
His decision was instant, one he wouldn’t later be able to explain.
“Amanda, the reason I asked was because I thought we might have something in common.” He hurried on before she could interrupt. “Something that hurts so deeply it cuts like a knife.” He clenched his fist and brought it up against his heart. “Right here.”
She said nothing, but the expression on her face softened.
“They say it’s sometimes easier to talk to a stranger about your troubles than a friend,” he went on. He took a deep breath and went for broke, knowing this wasn’t just about her anymore. He needed someone to talk to. Someone who might truly understand. “I have a son out there, Amanda. Not in the woods. Not in my scout troop.”
She stared at him, her mouth partially open as if she thought he was crazy.
He probably was. “I have a son,” he repeated, “who I gave up a long time ago. A boy I can’t get off my mind, no matter how much time passes. And I can tell you right now that hiding doesn’t help. And sometimes talking to your family doesn’t either, because they’re too close to the matter. But talking to someone sure beats the hell out of the alternative.” He stood. “I am rightly sorry for intruding on your privacy. I’ll have the kids packed up and out of here first thing in the morning.” Coke in hand, he turned to go.
“Ian.” She spoke his name quietly, but her voice snagged him as if she’d shouted. “What’s the alternative?”
He kept his back to her, briefly squeezing his eyes shut. “Getting lost in your own sorrow. Drinking.” He turned to face her once more. “Working sixteen-hour days. There’s a dozen different poisons.” He shrugged. “You can name your own. I’ve tried most of them.” He held her gaze. “I hate seeing people in pain. And I think something’s eating