All That You Are (10 page)

She should have called Leo to climb up and yank Mark down, but it would be so nice not to have the roof leak.

“Why?” she called to him, not understanding the motivation for such generosity.

Hammer in hand, he paused, rain running off his slicker and the bill of his cap. His eyes were dark, unfath
omable. “Why didn't you tell me that was your son's toothbrush?”

Caught off guard, she said nothing. She didn't owe him any explanations about her life, now or ever. How he'd found out was not her concern. Easy information. But the notion that he'd been asking, or making inquiries, did somewhat affect her balance.

“Go inside, Dana. Grab a cup of coffee and warm up. I'll be done here soon enough.”

C
OOPER
B
OYD'S BLACK
Jeep Wrangler parked next to the curb, and Dana stepped away from her lookout spot at her home's picture window. Her ex-boyfriend being fifteen minutes late didn't ruin her elation. Filled with smiles, she looked forward to Sunday evenings when she got her son back for her week.

Opening the front door, she breathed in the air's clean scent, thankful no rain had fallen today. She'd been able to wash off the layers of grime from her Chevy S-10—which had been running great ever since Mark fixed the battery terminals.

She wouldn't spare a moment now to think about him. She'd done enough of that last night after he'd been on her bar's roof and taken care of that for her, as well. While her many questions about his motives had been parked, she did plan on revisiting them later.

Walking down the steep front steps toward the street, she went to the picket fence to wait for Terran.

“Hey, Terran!” she greeted, happiness in her heart.

“Hi, Momma.” His voice was slightly sullen, as if he were in a pout over something.

Cooper opened the Jeep door, and a big brown Lab stuck his face out from the backseat. The dog gave a
reverberating
woof,
its body shaking from an enthusiastic tail wag.

“Riley. Quit,” Cooper said, ruffling the dog's head. “You gotta stay here.”

Terran sniffed, the kind of nose-wrinkling sniff belonging to a crabby little boy. Through rubber lips, he murmured, “How come I can't borrow him, Daddy?”

“Because Riley lives at my house, buddy.”

“How come I can't live at your house?”

That innocent-enough question caused Cooper's hazel eyes to lift and lock onto Dana's.

Gone were any emotions that she'd felt for this man, but she could still catch herself falling victim to anxiety when around him. She'd reconciled to sharing her son, but aside from that, she'd never—
ever
—relinquish her parental joy at having him with her half of the time.

Terran's question threw Dana off-kilter, and she wondered if Cooper had been putting the thought in her son's head.

Giving Cooper a warning glare, she had to restrain herself from asking him about what Terran meant. The court-appointed parenting class cautioned both sides to never interrogate the other in the child's presence.

But still…why had Terran asked such a thing?

Keeping her wits about her, Dana remarked in an upbeat tone, “Terran, Grandma cut you some celery sticks with peanut butter.”

“How come?”

“Because you love them.”

“I love dogs better, Mommy.” His frowning eyes pleaded with her. “Can't we
please
get one?
Please?”

So that's what this was about. Terran wanted to live with Riley the dog.

They'd been down this road before in the past. Terran would get his mind wrapped around something he had to have, and he'd be relentless in asking for it, hoping she'd cave. Depending on what it was, sometimes he could wear her down. Other times she kept her heels dug in. Just like she'd do on this issue.

Not only was she not home enough to take care of a pet, she couldn't handle getting attached to one. A dog could develop a fatal tumor or get run over. She couldn't lose another thing she loved. It was far better to keep her life as uncomplicated as possible.

At least Cooper didn't tell Dana to get a dog, too. Instead, he lifted the window hatch on the Jeep's rear door, gathering Terran's belongings into a pile.

Dana left the picket gate to help him with her son's stuff.

It always felt awkward to stand near Cooper and remember the past, and the role he'd played in her life. His presence now was nothing more than a court-ordered arrangement each Sunday. There were the generic hellos on the phone before Cooper handed the receiver to Terran so she could check on him during the week and ask him how his day had gone.

Cooper smelled like nice aftershave, but she hardly took note. Too much had changed. When she'd dated Cooper, his physique had leaned toward the stocky side. But years of regularly playing on ice hockey teams had firmed his body into a more muscular build.

He kept his sandy-blond hair short and trimmed at the ears, but with longer-than-average sideburns. She didn't
think she'd ever seen him with stubble. He shaved twice a day, morning and night. He had a more refined appearance to him now, dressing clean-cut and neat—probably due to his day job at GCI Cellular as their store manager.

Many women would think Cooper was quite good-looking.

Standing beside her ex-boyfriend brought no more memories of what had been, only what was. Things had changed between them. It had taken a long time, but she could honestly say a neutral feeling was the best way to describe her reaction toward the man who'd fathered her son.

“What's all this?” Dana queried, taking out a small box with two jars, and three plastic bags that hid mysterious contents.

“He collected a couple of things, and I bought him treats he wanted to take to your house.”

Treats aka candy to make him hyper and not want to go to bed at a reasonable time. Cooper knew she didn't let Terran eat a ton of sugar, yet he always did this to her: overrode her authority at her house, on her time.

She'd have to handle it the way she always did—get rid of the offending things little by little and Terran would eventually forget he had the junk.

Dana strapped Terran's hockey bag over her shoulder and held on to his stick while managing the small box.

“That's all.” Cooper shut the Jeep's rear door to come around and say goodbye to Terran.

Terran hooked his backpack through his arms and stood with his chin tucked to his chest, staring at his white-and-black-striped tennis shoes.

Laying a hand on Terran's shoulder, Cooper said in an upbeat tone, “Hey, buddy, see you at hockey practice this week.”

Terran didn't reply.

Cooper gazed at Dana and shrugged, almost like giving her the same pouting look as Terran.

No,
Dana mouthed firmly. Then once more when Cooper kept on with the shrug:
No!
She would not be coerced into getting a dog.

“Sorry, bud, that's a negative from the mommy.”

Dana's blood boiled. She hated when Cooper called her “the mommy” as if she were the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Let's go, Terran,” she said, giving Cooper the evil eye. “Say goodbye to your dad.”

Only marginally lifting his chin to address his father, Terran's parting words bore the world's heaviness on his tiny shoulders. “Bye, Daddy.”

A person would think the sun would set today without another tomorrow from the sigh in her son's voice.

Damn Cooper for even remotely getting their son hopeful about a pet.

She ushered Terran up the steps and into the house, relieved to get him to herself. Once in the cozy living room, she set his goody box on the coffee table and deposited his hockey gear on the floor.

Terran stood in the middle of the room, the backpack sliding off his shoulders with a light thump onto the hardwood. He made no effort to pick it up.

Suni came cheerfully into the room. “There's grandma's little boy.” She gave him a big squeeze. “How are you—”

Dana mimed her finger slicing her neck, the gesture
speaking volumes.
Cut the dialogue.
Her mother took the hint and quit her question.

“So what do you have in here?” Dana asked with enthusiasm, digging into the box. She needed to take Terran's mind off the dog, and if that meant letting him have a piece of his candy, she'd do it.

She opened one of the GCI bags and rooted around inside, but as she touched something suspicious, she smothered a scream. The squishy object flew from her hand and hit the television screen.

Terran's soft boy chortle filled the room. “Momma, what are you doing?”

Hand over her heart, she swallowed. “What was that?”

Running to the offending thing, Terran grabbed it. The icky object was roundish and totally gross-looking. Her son wadded it in his hand, then doubled over and made a vile regurgitating sound. He plopped the blob on the area rug.

“Doncha know what fake barf is?” Terran asked. “There's chunks of corn and ham'bugger in it. Dad got it for me.”

“Gosh, Terran. That's sick.”

Terran merely smiled, the gap where his missing tooth was an endearing hole in his mouth.

Dana shook her head, smiling back at him. “You're a funny guy, you know that?”

“No—
you're
a funny guy!” he said back at her, giggling.

For now, the battle of wills about getting a dog seemed to have run its course. Thank goodness.

Rummaging through the rest of the things, Dana examined the jars and discovered three flies bonking
around the glass in one, and a hairy spider in the other. “You can't keep these in your room.”

“Are you going to keep them in yours?”

“No, Grandma is.”

Suni stuck her nose up. “I am not.”

“Hey, Mommy, you ever see a wallop sock?” Terran reached into the last bag and came out with his father's crew sock stuffed with something. Fine white particles rained onto the coffee table.

“What's in there?”

“Dad and me made it,” Terran proudly proclaimed, waving the ribbed white sock and depositing a talclike dust cloud in the air. “We smashed a whole bunch of chalks and now I can give people wallops. You want to see?”

“Uh, no—not in the house.”

“What you do is swing it round and round and you
wallop!
” He swung at the air, pretending he was hitting something.

Dana jolted backward as Suni reached in for the sock. “You let Grandma hold on to this for you, baby. We'll wallop the weeds in the garden.”

“Okay.” He stuffed his hand into his small jeans pocket, came out with an unwrapped Tootsie Roll and was about to pop it into his mouth.

Suni came to the rescue, removing it from his hand. “Terran, come with Grandma and let's have some peanut butter and celery.”

“Then can I have my candy?” he asked. “Daddy said I could have it for later.”

“We'll see.”

Dana gathered Terran's belongings as her mother took her son into the kitchen for snacks. She'd let him keep
the rubber barf and wallop sock, but the flies and the spider would have to go.

As she climbed the stairs with boy things in her arms, she had a vague wondering about what it would have been like to have had a little girl…and would she ever have the opportunity.

At twenty-nine, the chances were slim. While many women were having babies in their thirties and forties, she didn't have the husband needed to make this happen.

It would take a miracle to meet the right man, someone who would accept her for who she was, and that she came as a package deal with her son. She had no delusions about finding a wonderful guy who could work around her routines and be there for her in every way.

Besides, beyond Terran and her mother, her heart had no more room for love. Those empty spaces within her kept the spirit of her brother close, and her father's dreams alive. She was too busy, too focused, to put her life out of order.

With a resigned sigh, she continued to her son's room. No pink blankets, baby dollies and little girl's dresses. This was it for her. The last stop on the motherhood train.

She'd remain single all the rest of her days.

 

“D
E
V
ILLAGE
P
EOPLE BROKE UP,
mon. Disco is dead.”

“Is that right?” Mark replied, the handle of his clawhammer hitting his thigh as he walked toward the bar. He wore his new tool belt, a T-shirt and stone-washed jeans—not a shirt with the sleeves torn out, ropes of gold chains and a prop hard hat. “Here's another news flash, Marley. The Jamaicans have never medaled in Olympic bobsledding.”

Cardelle laughed, a Jamaican melody. “All right, mon.
You got me. And de name is Cardelle, not Marley. Dat be de guy who sang with de Wailers.”

“I knew your name.”

“I'm t'inking you did, mon.” Cardelle extended his chocolate-brown hand from his bar-stool perch. “Even d'ough you not be on de cruise ship—I give you twenty percent discount on all bling.”

Grasping the man's pale palm, Mark gave his arm a friendly pump. “I'll take that into consideration.”

“If not for you, mon. For de gal of your heart.”

Mark didn't have a girl of his heart, but he did have a woman who got to another part of his anatomy.