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“We did, Mom. It was the best. Tomorrow, Mr. Sinclair said that if we come down to the park, he’ll teach us how to throw a knuckle ball.”
“That’s great, although I don’t exactly know what that is.”
Gavin takes a baseball out of his glove and shows me what a knuckle ball looks like. I have to say, it doesn’t look very comfortable, especially when you have the tiny hands of a ten-year-old.
“Wow, that’s amazing, Gavin!”
“I’m going to be a pitcher like Hawk.”
“Me, too” and “so am I” are echoed among the group. I tell Chase he has a little more time on his bike in case he and the boys want to ride around or go tell their moms about their exciting day and remind him to be home in time for dinner. He doesn’t give me a hug but does yell, “bye, Mom!” as he hops on his bike and peddles toward the street. I don’t know how long I stand there, watching as they ride away, but it’s long after they’ve disappeared around the corner. I can still hear them laughing and wonder what could be so funny. With boys, you never know. What I do know is that seeing him smile makes my heart happy. My son had a great day, but I’m worried about what tomorrow may bring.
Returning to the task at hand, I attempt to focus on the winter clean-up that must happen. My mind is elsewhere though, thinking about the man I met earlier and how he changed my son’s day. Of course, I hear Karter’s voice inside my head, telling me that he’s single, and that I should call him . . . which I absolutely shouldn’t do. However, I want to thank him for what he did.
I finally give up on the overgrown weeds and head into my house to clean up and make dinner. The options are limited and the longer I stand in my kitchen with the refrigerator door open, the more I realize that I need to spend some serious time walking the aisles of the grocery store to restock everything.
“Dinner out it is,” I say to myself. I think tonight calls for pizza. Downtown has a great place called The Depot. It’s family friendly and Chase loves their pizza because it’s not heavy on the sauce. I prefer their white pizza with pesto, chicken and broccoli, which I know Chase won’t touch. The Depot always has an arcade, all you can eat soft serve, and a great salad bar. It’s the perfect way to end the night.
When I hear Chase in the garage, I open the door and greet him. He’s still smiling and it’s the best sight ever. “Good day?”
“Great day,” he replies as he comes into the kitchen. He sets his glove down on the table and sighs happily. “I made friends today.”
“You certainly did, bud. Why don’t you go wash up and we’ll go out for pizza?” He nods in agreement and takes off down the hall. I will never understand why life has to be so hard. The boys he was with earlier are in his class, in our neighborhood. They see each other every day in school and on the playground. But, it’s people like Brett Larsen who put this divide between the kids and the adults, who makes it seem like if you don’t follow his path, you don’t belong.
I want to belong.
I want my son to belong.
I’m ready to go when Chase comes out of the bedroom with clean clothes on. The dirt smudges on his face were cute, but I’m happy he washed them off. All the way into town, he prattles on about Hawk and how cool he is and how he can’t wait to see him again tomorrow. Technically, I could see him to tomorrow too, or at least talk to him if I find out the asking price on the land. Surprisingly, the thought of speaking to him elates me, and I know it’s because I want to thank him for spending time with my son.
Once we’re parked, Chase is leading the way into the restaurant. He tells the hostess that we need a table for two and follows behind her to our seats. The confidence he’s showing is new, and I like it a lot.
“Hey, Mr. Sinclair!” Chase yells out as we’re making our way to our table. My steps falter as Hawk’s eyes meet mine. He smiles and my lady bits jump for freaking joy. I try to smile back, but by the look on his face, I guess I must be more grimacing than smiling because he looks embarrassed.
“Hi, Chase. It’s good to see you again.”
“This is my mom,” my son says, pointing toward me.
“Chase, I met Mr. Sinclair this morning. He was riding a horse.” He was riding a horse . . . What the hell is wrong with me? Did I suddenly turn into Baby from Dirty Dancing with her whole, “I carried a watermelon” line?
“You ride horses?” Hawk laughs and for the life me, I hope he’s laughing at my son’s excitement of the fact that his idol can not only pitch but also ride a horse, and not my ridiculous commentary.
“Yeah, I do. Have you ever been on one?”
Chase shakes his head so fast I fear he’s jarring his teeth loose. “Mom, can I ride a horse?”
“Sure, bud. Someday.”
The hostess taps her foot, getting my attention. She holds up the menus and then places them on the table, a few away from where Hawk is sitting. “Bud, our seats are over there.”
“You can join me if you want,” Hawk says and once again we’re making eye contact and my palms are sweating, my mouth is incredibly parched, and the devilish side of my conscious is saying things that aren’t acceptable for others to hear in public.
“Um . . .”
“My nephew is with me if that helps you make a decision.”
“Oh, you have a nephew?” I cringe. Of course, he does, and I know this. If the black hole of mortification could swallow me up, I’d appreciate the help in ending my awkwardness. It seems that’s the only way I know how to be around this man. “I’m sorry, I don’t know . . .”
He laughs but doesn’t miss a beat when he stands, comes over to the side where I’m standing, and pulls out the chair. “Nolan and I would really like it if you and Chase joined us for dinner.”
