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And since I missed them with the recent sequestering, I said, “We need to get out on the course soon. My swing has probably gone to pot since I’ve been tucked away here.”
“How’s Wednesday afternoon? The rain’s supposed to let up.”
“Perfect. Dane will get a kick out of being on his own with Amsel. Though Rosa will likely only be a soft shout-out away. She’s not big on letting the baby out of her sight for long. Same with Kyle and Amano. It’s really very endearing.”
“In a few more years, we can start him on the putting green and driving range.”
“He ought to be a natural, what with the golfing genes I might have passed on and the fact that his father is so dexterous. If Amsel takes to this sport, he might actually give you a run for your money.”
I winked. My dad laughed heartily.
“I wouldn’t mind,” he said. “Your son can school me on the course—just not your husband.”
With a smile, I told him, “Dane knows that. If you were anyone else, he would have dedicated sufficient time to improving his already great game, given his competitive nature. But beating his father-in-law … No, not a smart move.”
We headed toward the great room, but I sent my dad ahead of me when the chimes went off again. He knew his way around the house, so I left him in order to greet our next guests. Jackson and his very lovely wife, Eleanor, joined the festivities. Then Ethan appeared, bearing gifts.
“Holy cow,” I said as I eyed the enormous basket he carted in both hands. I had him set it on a foyer table with the other presents. “This is so gracious—but so not necessary.”
“I’m the godfather,” Ethan declared, his now-empty arms spread wide, in magnanimous fashion. “You think I’m not going to spoil this child?”
I laughed. “The very reason we chose you.”
“Smart alec.”
Dane had phoned him after our decision had been made to go through with the baptism. Ethan was a natural selection for godfather, a total no-brainer. Easier to peg than how we’d let Mikaela in on the mystery of our family.
Ethan kissed me on both cheeks, then handed over a sealed envelope.
I gave him a piercing look. “Let’s not get carried away.”
“My dear Mrs. Bax,” he said, knowing how much I loved hearing that moniker—and how infrequently it was ever used, given our circumstances. “I only have one godchild. Don’t ruin my fun. This is mad money for when he wants to buy a Harley before he’s old enough to access his trust fund and you say no.”
I playfully squeezed Ethan’s arm. “You’re so bad.”
Of course, I considered the “joyride” story Dane had told me. But I honestly didn’t feel our son would have any reason to feel rebellious at that same age; he wouldn’t have anything to rebel against. We weren’t in danger, and our little
blackbird wasn’t an orphaned billionaire. There wouldn’t be any wolves to keep at bay while Dane and Amano were around.
Ethan’s tone turned serious as he said, “Amsel is going to be an amazing kid, Ari, and I’m both honored and humbled to be such an important part of his life.”
“We’re the ones who are honored, Ethan.” Myriad feelings overcame me. I supposed I’d have to get used to this aspect of my life that I hadn’t experienced growing up—or within my first year of marriage. More and more people around me who cared for me, whom I cared for in return.
What I focused on was how incredible it felt to have all this warmth filling the hallways of our home.
This wasn’t like my dad and me being on our own after the divorce, when he’d struggled to pay the bills because his PGA career was over and he hadn’t quite had the wherewithal at the time to admit it, especially with my mother taking him to the cleaners, both financially and emotionally.
This was friendship—family—rooted deep.
And I loved it.
With a smile, I told Ethan, “Everyone’s in the great room. Dane will pour you fifty-year-old scotch or eighteen-hundred-dollar champagne. Take your pick.” I winked.
“Always the overachiever,” Ethan quipped of my husband.
“And never one to do anything half-assed.”
“Agreed. I’ve never heard of a baptism over cocktails.”
