Minor Adjustments (2 page)

Offering Ryan a gentle smile, Stella said, “This is the man I’ve been telling you about. He was one of your mum’s friends, and you get to stay with him for a few weeks. Will that be okay with you?”

“I want to stay with you,” Ryan said, gripping Stella’s hand.

She took a breath and let it out slowly. “I know. But I’m going to be very busy and you’d be bored. If you stay with Devon, he’ll take you to lots of fun places, and he might even buy you custard.”

Big brown eyes peered up at Devon. “You’ll buy me custard? With mangos and strawberries?”

Devon had to laugh. As the oldest of three kids, all close in age, he’d never spent much time around children—especially small ones. By the time he became an uncle, Devon had already moved away and rarely saw them, which was fine with him. He never knew what to say to someone who was too shy or too little to carry on a conversation. But this boy seemed different.

“Do you mean frozen custard? Sort of like soft ice cream?” Devon asked.

Stella shook her head. “No. Custard is more like a thick pudding. It’s Ryan’s favorite dessert.”

“Thick pudding, huh? Well, I’m still not sure what it is, but it sounds good to me. How about after we get some dinner we can try and track down some custard?”

“You talk funny.”

Stella laughed. “That’s because he’s from America, and I’m sure he can teach you some neat new words.”

Ryan looked skeptical. “What words?”

Good question. Didn’t both countries speak the same language? Maybe Ryan had a fetish about learning new words. Hmm . . . what’s a cool word a child wouldn’t know? Devon said the first thing that came to mind. “Onomatopoeia.”

“Ono-what?” Ryan giggled and Stella laughed.

“I meant some American slang words, not middle-grade vocabulary words,” she said.

“Oh.”

“You’re weird!” Ryan said.

“It’s nice to meet you too, kid.” Devon turned to Stella. “So we’re free to go now?”

She nodded, her expression resigned and almost sad. Devon didn’t know what else to say, so he picked up Ryan’s two faded blue duffle bags while Stella reached for the boy and easily lifted him into her arms, hugging him to her.

“I’ll follow you out,” she said.

When Devon pressed the button in the elevator for the parking garage, Stella said, “You have a car?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You found this building on your own?”

Was she really questioning his navigation skills? “Not exactly. It’s called a GPS. You know, one of those modern-day wonders.”

“Oh. Well, just so you know, it’s usually easier to take the train around Sydney. There are a couple of stops near the hotel where you’re staying, and you can go pretty much anywhere you want, so long as you don’t mind a little walking.”

“I’m not much of a train or subway person. I like my privacy and freedom, and I don’t like to wait.”

Stella shrugged. “Your decision.”

Devon waited while she settled Ryan into the backseat. When Stella faced him again, tears glistened in her eyes, which made no sense. Devon was going out of his way to do exactly what she wanted him to do, and yet she was crying. Women.

“I guess we’ll see you later?”

“Definitely.” Stella blew Ryan a kiss and strode away, the clack of her heeled shoes echoing off the concrete walls of the parking garage.

Taking a deep breath, Devon slid into the driver’s seat, put the hotel’s address into the GPS, and turned up the radio. It took most of his concentration to remember to drive on the wrong side of the road, or at least it was wrong to him. Steering from the passenger seat was at odds with his universe. Why did the difference even exist? Were countries not able to communicate when roads were designed?

Through the rearview mirror, Devon saw Ryan staring out the window. Was he hungry, tired, bored? All of the above? Devon shifted in his seat and raised his voice above the sound of the radio. “You hungry?”

Ryan’s eyes met Devon’s in the mirror, and he nodded once before returning his attention to the passing buildings.

Devon tried again. “Pizza? Hamburgers? What do you like?” The boy’s lips moved, but Devon heard nothing, so he sighed and turned off the radio. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“I like pizza, but not with pepperonis on it—just with cheese,” Ryan said.

“Cheese pizza, huh? You sure you don’t want pepperoni, sausage, ham, peppers, olives, onions, and tomatoes?”

“No. I just like cheese.”

“How about a compromise? We’ll get half with what you like and half with what I like. Will that work?”

“Okay.”

“Now we just need to find a pizza place,” Devon said.

“You can call someone and they will bring it to your house and ring the doorbell.”

“Good idea,” Devon said as he came to an intersection. The computer voice said nothing, so he continued straight, which was strange because the road curved to the left, and downtown Sydney was in the opposite direction. Or was it? Devon didn’t know anymore. A roundabout came into view, and Devon glanced at the GPS screen for direction. It was blank.

“What?” He tapped the screen. Nothing. A horn blared from behind, so Devon veered to the right and searched for a place to make a U-turn. Maybe he should stop and call Stella for directions. No, bad idea. His pride could take a beating only so many times in a day. Instead, Devon merged onto Liverpool Road and then veered east on The Great Highway, reasoning that he couldn’t go wrong with a highway.

A few miles later, a sign for Pizza Hut winked at him from the side of the road. Devon grinned. Who needed a train? Not him. He didn’t even need a map.

“Ryan, I’ve changed my mind. What do you say we go out for pizza?”

“Okay.”

They ordered a half-supreme, half cheese pizza and ate while a nice waitress drew a map for Devon on a napkin. Then they returned to the car, and Devon whistled as he followed the directions, or at least tried to. The makeshift map depicted only straight streets, but after he turned off the highway all the roads wound this way and that, with cross streets coming at him like ties on a railroad track.

When the road dead-ended at a park, Devon tossed the napkin aside and pulled out his phone.

“Well, Ryan, we are officially lost. Any suggestions?” Devon said as he searched Google for a map.

“Mum says if you’re lost to find a policeman.”

“And what if there are no policemen around?”

“Mmm,” Ryan said. “You should go to where they live and ask them.”

Devon smiled as he typed in the nearest cross streets. The map was loading when an incoming call erased it from the screen.
Oh, for crying out loud.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Stella. I just wanted to make sure you found your hotel okay and see how Ryan is settling in.”

“We’re almost there now. Ryan was hungry so we stopped for dinner.”

“Oh. Is he doing okay?”

“He downed two slices of pizza and two glasses of soda. Now he’s wondering when he’ll get his custard.”

Stella chuckled. “Well, at least I know he’s not starving. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” Devon ended the call and loaded the maps application again, calculating the quickest way to the hotel. He threw the car into gear and made a U-turn, heading south. But navigating all the winding roads and one-way streets turned out to be a bigger problem than he’d anticipated, and before long, he was traveling through a long underground tunnel.

When the car resurfaced on the north side of Sydney, Devon felt like cursing—at least until the light turned red and a taxi pulled to a stop beside him.

Devon was quick to roll down his window. “Hey!” Thank goodness the taxi’s windows were open.

The driver looked over and raised an eyebrow.

“Can you lead the way to the downtown Hylton Hotel on the south side?”

The guy smirked. “Lost?”

“You could say that,” Devon admitted. “I’ll pay you double.”

The light changed and the guy nodded. “Sure, follow me.”

Twenty minutes later, Devon followed the taxi into the underground parking and gladly paid the driver.

Stella,

I know you’re angry with me, and you have every right to be, but you stormed out without letting me explain, and I need you to understand my reasons.

Ryan needs a father. A good, solid, honest, and hardworking man. It’s pathetic that I only know one man like that, and his name is Devon Pierce. I know it’s been a long time, but if you only knew him, you’d understand. Not only will he give Ryan grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, but he’s kind, caring, humble, and will make a wonderful father. He will teach Ryan how to swim, shoot a basket, throw a ball, and surf (at least I think he knows how to surf). He will teach him how to open doors for the girls and treat them with kindness and respect. He will teach a son how a father is supposed to care for his child.

And he will teach him about God.

Are you shocked I just wrote that? I’m as surprised as you, believe me.

Please don’t think I’ve made this decision lightly, that I’m giving my son to an old crush I had over a decade ago. I know I’ve never been much for religion, but when death is glaring at you, taunting you to defy it when you know you can’t, it makes you wonder. Even hope. So I finally took your advice and started praying, hard and long, hoping that there was a God and that maybe, just maybe, He might point me in the right direction. One night, I was going through an old scrapbook and found some pictures of me with the Pierce family. It’s hard to explain, but Devon’s face seemed to rise out of the picture, like a 3-D image, and I knew he was the one I should choose.

I know that you love Ryan like he’s your own, but you and I both know that you’re not in a position to care for him. Nor do you have any family to rely on like Devon does. I also know that you’re stubborn and willful enough to remain a part of his life. Please do! Although he’ll be living in America, I want you to keep in touch. I need you to keep in touch. Teach my son about his roots, his history, his homeland.

And teach him about me. You’re the only one who can tell him what his mother was truly like. Just don’t make me out to be perfect, because we both know that’s not true. Tell him it’s okay to make mistakes, tell him he doesn’t have to be perfect, and tell him that I love him so much and hope to be watching over him throughout his life. Tell him I want him to talk to me as if I’m still there. That when he’s scared, lonely, sad, hurt, or happy, I want to know about it. I want to know everything.

Stella, you are the best friend I could have ever hoped to find, and I want you to know that I now thank God every day for your presence in my life. Please trust me in this.

Love,

Linds

Stella clutched the letter against her chest as tears seeped down her face. She had no idea why she’d reread the letter when she already had the words memorized. Maybe she liked to torture herself—or maybe, after her encounter with Devon, she needed to see Lindsay’s words again, assuring her that she was doing the right thing by practically forcing Devon to take Ryan.

Forcing Devon to take him away.

Stella missed Ryan already. How would she be able to stand it? There was an emptiness in her apartment that hadn’t existed until Ryan had come and gone. Even the couch seemed to miss him—it felt lumpier than usual, no doubt punishing her for letting him go.

And Stella deserved every lump.

⇐ ⇑ ⇒

Devon found the number and waited for his call to go through. Ryan had fallen asleep in the middle of the king-sized bed, looking so small curled up into a ball. Tiny, innocent, helpless—and completely unrepentant about stealing the only bed. Now where would Devon sleep? His gaze rested on the black contemporary sofa with metal armrests. Great.

First thing in the morning, he’d call the hotel about a room change. But right now, he had a different call to make.

A sleepy, grumpy voice groaned in Devon’s ear. “Dev, I’m going to kill you.”

“You never were much of a morning person, were you, Brady?” Devon kept his voice hushed as he made a beeline for the bathroom. He wasn’t about to wake Ryan.

“The fact that you already know that and still called at six in the morning makes you the world’s most pathetic friend. You know that, right?”

“Sorry. I guess I miscalculated the time change.”

“Liar. Admit it—you didn’t even think about the time change.” Brady yawned. “I should be lucky it’s six and not three in the morning.”

“Come on, I’m not that inconsiderate.”

“You’ve got three seconds to tell me what you want before I hang up on you.”

Devon sat down on the closed toilet seat and rested his elbows on his knees. “I need you to hold down the fort at the office for a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks?” Brady suddenly sounded more alert. “Am I talking to Devon Pierce? The Devon Pierce who hasn’t taken a day off work since I’ve known him? Don’t tell me you’ve actually decided to take a vacation.”

Devon stifled a yawn. “Think you can handle it?”

“I know I can handle it,” Brady said. “The question is, can you? I give you two days before you die of boredom and come back.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen. Things have gotten complicated here, and I’ve agreed to stay for two more weeks.”

“Why?”

Devon rubbed his forehead. How much should he tell his friend, the VP of his company? Answering a slew of questions wasn’t what he wanted to do right now, but Brady deserved to know something. “I’ve somehow agreed to look after the boy for a couple of weeks.”

“You’re joking.”

“Afraid not.”

Brady’s laugh pounded through Devon’s aching head. “How is it you can start a company from scratch, make it successful, and still be such a pushover? I can’t figure it out.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Devon said. “Just keep me updated and call if you need me.”

“Pushover,” Brady repeated before Devon hit the button to end the call.

Devon picked up his toothbrush and vented on his teeth and gums. Brady was right. He was a pushover. Not only had Stella managed to get him on a plane to Australia, but she’d also manipulated him into babysitting for two weeks. He was an idiot for falling prey to such tactics. Devon should be on a flight back to the States, not stuck on the other side of the world with a four-year-old child.

He put down the toothbrush and another thought entered his mind. What in the world was he supposed to do with Ryan for two weeks in a country he knew nothing about?

No inspiration. No answers. No ideas. Nada.

He really was a pushover.