Dad In Blue. Shelley Cooper
He and I will be just fine. I thought, since it was such a nice day, we’d rake some leaves and jump in them.”
“I love jumping in leaves,” Samantha said wistfully.
“Unfortunately for you, the only jumping you’ll be doing today will be in your dreams.”
“In that case, will you take a flying leap for me?”
He laughed. It was a good sign that she was still able to joke with him. Yes, he decided, there was definitely a mischievous light gleaming in those big, brown eyes of hers. Maybe she was getting better.
“You’re teasing me again, right?” he asked.
“You catch on fast.”
“I try.”
“You should do that more often,” she said.
“Catch on to things?”
“Laugh. It makes you look more human.”
It came to him then that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed out loud. It felt good.
“What did I look like before?” he asked, still smiling. “Godzilla?”
“You know what I mean.”
He sobered, and the good feeling faded. “I guess I haven’t had much to laugh about lately.”
Her sigh was low and heartfelt. “Boy, can I relate.”
“Yes,” he said carefully, mindful that she’d had even less to laugh about in the past year than he had. “I suppose you can.”
“Thanks, Carlo,” she said.
He blinked. “For what?”
“For the aspirin and the water. For coming back today. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
Warmth filled him as his heart swelled with pleasure. Then he remembered exactly why Jeffrey needed him, and the warmth was replaced by a sudden chill.
Carlo glanced at his watch. Jeffrey was taking his grand old time getting ready.
“Let me guess. He’s not any more anxious to see me today than he was last Saturday.”
“No,” she admitted. “But he’ll be down.”
“What did you bribe him with? A new toy?”
Her mouth curved. “I don’t believe in bribery, no matter how tempted I am to resort to it. Jeffrey is aware that he has a commitment to spend time with you each week, and that I expect him to honor it.”
The clump of feet slowly descending the staircase echoed into the room. A minute later, Jeffrey appeared in the doorway. His hair was still wet from his shower. When he glanced at Carlo, a wary light filled his eyes. It changed to worry when he caught sight of his mother on the sofa.
Somehow, Samantha managed to dredge up a brilliant smile. Carlo felt a spark of admiration for this spunky woman. Whatever her worries and fears were for her son, she wasn’t about to let the child see them. Nor was she about to let worry for her ruin what would hopefully be, for Jeffrey, a good time.
“Come here,” she beckoned to the boy. When he knelt by her side, she smoothed a hand back over his hair. “I want you to promise to be on your best behavior while you’re out with Carlo. Okay?”
“Okay.” Jeffrey nodded grudgingly.
“She’ll be just fine, sport,” Carlo reassured. “See? She’s all set. Water. Glass. Blanket. Pillow. The best medicine for your mom right now is for us to get out of her hair. Once she takes a nice long nap, she’ll be feeling much better.”
As he followed Jeffrey out of the room, Carlo couldn’t help tossing a worried glance over his shoulder. Samantha was already asleep.
It was the kind of Indian summer weather that, on a school day, inspired many a young boy to play hooky; the kind of weather Pittsburgh rarely saw in November. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the air was unseasonably warm. A light jacket or sweatshirt was all a person needed, and even that seemed too heavy when the sun blazed its brightest.
After closing the front door behind them, Carlo said, “Want to rake some leaves?”
Hands in his pants pockets, his gaze cast downward, Jeffrey toed the ground in front of him. “I guess so.”
Okay, Carlo reasoned. Put that way it did sound pretty much like a chore. He couldn’t blame Jeffrey for being less than enthusiastic.
“I was thinking of something along the lines of a race. I brought two rakes with me. What I thought we could do is see who has the biggest pile of leaves once the front yard is all raked up. Of course, after the winner is declared, we get to jump in those leaves before sweeping them into the street for the maintenance crew to pick up on Monday. You game?”
Carlo gazed at the child, expecting him to eagerly agree. After all, what red-blooded American boy could turn away from healthy competition?
Apparently Jeffrey could. His answer to Carlo’s challenge was an indifferent shrug.
“If you want.”
Strike one, Carlo thought wryly as he headed for the rakes he’d propped against the oak tree.
Twenty minutes later, he was lying face up in a pile of leaves. Ten feet away, Jeffrey stood playing with a yo-yo he’d pulled from his pants pocket.
To give the boy credit, he had tried. Well, he had pushed his rake around for ten minutes or so before abandoning both it and Carlo. Carlo had kept raking until he’d built a nice, high pile. He’d hoped to at least entice the boy into jumping into the leaves. So far, though, he’d had no luck.
Gazing up at the brilliance of the sun, Carlo felt its warmth caress his face. Despite his lack of success with Jeffrey, it felt wonderful, and he wished for nothing more than to lie there for a while longer. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much the guilt and regret he’d been carrying around had weighed him down; how it had dragged at his shoulders, his conscience and his heart as if an anvil had been hung around his neck. It felt good to let go of the load for a while.
He looked over to where Jeffrey was walking the dog with his yo-yo. “Neat trick. Could you show me how to do that?”
Jeffrey showed him his back.
Strike two. Carlo decided to try a different tack.
“When I was your age and my brothers and I raked leaves together, they would throw them at me. It always made me mad. There’s nothing I hate worse than a bunch of leaves in my face.”
Ignoring the blatant hint, Jeffrey sat down on the front steps and stared wistfully at the horizon.
Strike three. You’re out. Carlo sighed. He might have been able to pique Jeffrey’s interest a time or two last weekend, but so far today he was batting zero.
“Baby steps,” he muttered, remembering what Samantha had said to him. He’d measure each success in terms of baby steps, ignore the failures and refuse to look beyond that.
“I have that pocketknife I promised you. Want to do some whittling?”
“Some other time,” Jeffrey said.
Brushing the leaves from his clothing, Carlo sat up. “I’m pretty hot. I think I need an ice cream cone to cool me off. What about you?”
That, at least, got the boy’s attention, Carlo thought with satisfaction. Samantha Underwood might be above bribery, but Carlo Garibaldi wasn’t.
“Baby steps,” he murmured to himself as they set off down the street. “Baby steps.”
They were seated at the local Baskin-Robbins ice cream parlor, munching contentedly on a double scoop of Quarterback Crunch and Rocky Road, when Carlo felt Jeffrey’s gaze on him. More specifically, on his upper