Next Door Daddy (12 page)

“H
e's here!” Gil whooped as he slid down the banister and landed at Polly's feet.

Gil had about driven her crazy over the past couple of days talking about the camping trip.

“Stop right there, young man,” she commanded as he dodged her and scrambled toward the front door. His sleeping bag and backpack had long since been set on the porch waiting for this moment when Nate would come to pick him up. “I need a hug before you go off into the wild blue yonder.”

He slid to a halt. “But, Mom, he's here.”

Polly chuckled as she crossed to where he stood and engulfed him in a bear hug. Despite his hurry he hugged her back. Probably because he realized humoring her would be the quickest way to get out the door.

Releasing him, she followed him onto the porch and watched Nate climbing out of his truck. Her nerves kicked in as he strode up the walk looking handsome and fully capable of taking care of her son for the night. The man was totally male, strong and…capable. Her son would be safe.

“I'm ready, Nate,” Gil said, scrambling off the porch loaded down with all his camping paraphernalia. Bogie followed him, prancing happily since they'd finally freed him of his clown collar.

“Okay, buddy, load up and I'll be right there.” Nate smiled at her as he came to a halt at the bottom of the steps. “You doing okay?”

Polly nodded. “You'll take good care of him?”

His eyes held hers, steady and reassuring. “Like he was my own.”

She flinched inwardly at that but hid it. At least she hoped so, but the shadow that crossed his face made her think maybe he'd seen it. “Good” was all she could say. She knew he would take care of Gil. Like his own. She took a deep breath. What more could she ask than that?

“Relax, Pollyanna,” Nate urged gently, then surprised her when he took her hand. His touch sent a shock wave up her arm and she tried to pull away, but he held firm, looking at her intently. It was almost as if he could read her mind.

“Have a nice relaxing evening and I'll have him back by lunch tomorrow. I promise.”

She nodded, then tugged her hand out of his, relieved when he let go. She fought the need to tell him again to keep him safe but knew she had to let go a little. “I'll be here,” she said instead, and smiled. She knew he could see how tight it was, but he didn't say anything, just nodded and headed down the path. Gil was chattering away as they waved and drove off, leaving her and Bogie behind.

Polly watched until the truck disappeared from view, then she wrapped her arms across each other and stood there a little longer. She glanced down at the tulips that were almost ready to bloom and her heart skipped a beat as she looked back to the empty spot from which the truck had long ago disappeared.

Then finally, fighting off the uncalled-for unease pricking at her, she turned and went inside. She had work to do. Time was zipping by and there was still a lot to be done, painting especially, before she opened. Her son was in capable hands.

Very capable hands.

 

The following Saturday morning, Polly had her living room finished. The walls were a soft buttercup-yellow. Hands on hips, she admired the look of it. Bogie sat on the back of the sofa and appeared to be studying the effects right along with her.

“What do you think, buddy?” she asked, glancing at him. He wagged his curlicue tail and turned his deep chocolate eyes to look at her. Polly sighed. “I think that if you could talk you would tell me that you really like the effect of the glaze on the paint. Good, huh?”

Pepper was perched on the stair railing. “Pepper, what do you think?” she asked, sidestepping Bo and Sylvie as they crawled from beneath the sofa. Bo was pulling a Twizzler, teasing Sylvie with it. Boys would be boys.

“What do you think, Pepper?” Pepper mimicked.

Polly began humming “Old McDonald Had a Farm” and headed to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of iced tea. She'd awakened to the sunlight streaming into her window and the sound of Gil singing.

Gil singing.

Gil did not sing.

At least he hadn't for a very long time. His singing again was music to her heart. The camping trip the week before had been a full-fledged turning point for him. And much of that was due to Nate.

Nate.

Listening to her hum, Bogie padded into the kitchen behind her and flopped down, all four legs sprawled out, his belly flat against the varnished wood floor. He looked like he'd been squashed. Pepper flew into the room, landed on Bogie's back and watched her pour the tea over her glass of ice. It still amazed her that the dog hadn't tried to eat the bird the first time Pepper had used him as a perch. But he hadn't, instead he seemed to like it.

Taking her tea, she walked outside leaving Bogie and Pepper standing at the screen door watching her.

“Catch ya later, gator,” Pepper called.

Polly's steps faltered. It was Marc's catchphrase, and though it wasn't something Pepper said often, when he did it always gave Polly's heartstrings a tug. It was as if the little bird knew the words were important.

Catch ya later, gator,
Marc would whisper in her ear after kissing her goodbye and heading to work.

Polly took a sip of her tea, swallowing the lump in her throat. She set the cup on the porch banister, her thoughts going to Marc. Happy thoughts. Still, her hand trembled as she picked up the watering pitcher, then walked out to the water spigot beside the shed. The niggling prick of worry that had stealthily hovered at the back of her mind for days tried to blossom. She ignored it as she'd been doing, humming instead as she waited for the pitcher to fill. Things were good.

Gil was singing. Gil was happy. She was good.

Bert came up to the fence, sticking his boney little head through the gate and watching her with alert eyes. He had settled into his area nicely as he happily devoured every bush and barb he could find. They'd replaced the rope latch with a chain that he couldn't eat. Still, Bogie kept his distance from the fence when he was outside.

“Bad Bert,” Polly teased, When the pitcher was full she picked up her tea glass and carried it and the watering pitcher to the front of the house to water her precious tulips.

She was so thankful Bert hadn't eaten them before they'd banished him to his own yard. Soon they would be bursting with color and hope.

And a promise.

Marc's promise. Crazy guy, he'd always sent her tulips. They always arrived as soon as he and his friends left for an event, a race, a skydive…whatever it was they were doing that Saturday that he knew she was worried would put him at risk. The planter of not-yet-budding tulips was a symbol to her from him.

“Life is for living,” he would say. “The coming blossoms promise that my love is always with you,” the card would always read. Even if something should happen and he wasn't, it would imply.

In some ways she'd always hated those tulips. But she'd loved Marc with all her heart, and though she'd always thought his love of extreme sports was selfish on some levels, it was also part of his personality that she loved. Because of that she'd endured it and he'd loved her for it.

And now she didn't have him, through no fault of any stupid sport. But she had his tulips and his promise.

And they actually did give her hope. That was why she kept the bulbs each year and continued to add to them.

She'd come to look at them not only as a symbol of Marc's ongoing love, but as a symbol of God's promise to her, too. That He would always be there for her.

Today was a sparkling April day, and feeling the hope that the flowers always brought her, Polly lifted her face to the mild warmth of the sun. The faint sound of Gil's laughter surprised her and she opened her eyes, immediately spotting Nate and her son. After he'd come down for breakfast he'd raced over to Nate's early because he was going to help Nate fix fences. She hadn't realized they would be so close. They were down the hill working on Nate's front fence. As she watched, Nate placed his hand on Gil's shoulder and pointed something out to him with his other hand. The gesture sent Polly's heart spiraling.

They looked like father and son.

When Gil looked up at Nate she didn't have to be close enough to see his eyes to know that adoration filled them.

Polly couldn't breathe.

Her son had a major case of hero worship. And it was growing by the moment. All he talked about was Nate.

It was Nate this and Nate that.

Nate made him sing. Nate made him happy.

Gil laughed again and Polly felt like the sun grew brighter with the sound. Instinctively, she let her hand graze the tips of Marc's tulips, then her legs gave out and she sank to the steps, her heart suddenly breaking into tiny pieces. Her son was happy and it was because of Nate. But her heart ached for Marc. Someone else was getting the adoration that should have been his.

And that was the unreasonable thing that had been hammering at her for days.

Marc was gone. Marc couldn't teach his son to feed cows, or ride a horse. Marc couldn't watch his son grow….

Let it go, Pollyanna. Let it go.

It wasn't as if she weren't trying. It was odd, this protective thing she felt for guarding Marc's place in her son's heart.

It wasn't easy watching her son move further away from memories of his dad. She had to, though. She had to. She'd been praying about it. Praying hard.

Prayer could do miraculous things.

Well, almost.

Prayer wouldn't turn back the clock and make her family whole again…and she had to come to terms with that.

For Gil's sake and her own.

 

“Nate.”

Nate watched the boy as he tapped the dirt around the base of the post exactly the way Nate had shown him. He smiled, waiting to see what kind of off-the-wall question the boy was going to come out with this time.

After the fun they'd had at the campout he'd felt extra protective of Gil. Nate had promised Polly that he would watch over Gil as if he were his own. And he had. Pushing the guilt away, knowing it was unreasonable to feel like he was stealing Marc McDonald's blessings, he gave Gil his full attention. “What's on your mind, pardner?”

“Do you think my mom's pretty?”

Nate's hands stilled on the cedar post he'd been setting in the hole next to Gil. This was the last question he'd expected. “Your mom is very pretty,” he answered honestly, picturing her sparkling green eyes and cinnamon hair. “Why?”

Gil glanced at him, then back to the ground he was stomping with his boots. “My mom's great. The best mom in the world.”

Nate grinned at that. “You're a smart guy, even if you are a half pint. She loves you very much.”

“I know. When my daddy died…” Gil stopped working and looked straight at Nate. His eyes, eyes that had been so full of excitement all day, were weighted with serious intensity. “My mom cried. She cried at night in her room when I was supposed to be asleep. But I sneaked to her door and heard her…and sometimes I still hear her.”

Nate didn't feel comfortable talking about Pollyanna like this. But he also knew that Gil trusted him or he wouldn't be sharing this with him. “Have you talked with her about it?”

Gil shook his head. “I'm eight, but my mom thinks she'll make me sadder about my daddy dying if she cries around me.”

Nate decided the fence could wait. He removed his gloves, pushed his hat back on his head and gave Gil his full attention. “Look, Gil. When you lose someone you love deeply, you don't ever stop missing them. Sometimes that means you need to cry. Even guys like us. How are you doing on missing your dad?”

Gil looked thoughtful. “I miss him…but…” His eyes misted. “My mom says he's in Heaven and he's watching me and that he would want me to be happy.”

“And that's true. If you were my little boy I would want you to be happy.”

Gil's forehead crinkled at that. “I think my dad wants my mom to be happy, too.”

Nate was treading on swampy ground and he was ready to backtrack and run. But he wasn't about to leave the kid hanging on something he so obviously needed to talk about with someone other than his mom. And Nate did know more than he wanted to about what it felt like to be left behind.

“Gil, listen, son.” He crouched down in front of Gil and placed his hands on his shoulders. “I'm speaking from experience here. You just have to give your mom time. But I'm sure your dad wants her to be happy, too. I would if she were my wife. That's what you want for someone you love.”

Gil's eyes grew serious, his jaw locked and his lips slowly lifted into a smile. “I'm glad we moved next door to you.”

Nate's heart, which only a few short weeks ago had been as dead and unresponsive as a rock, thudded in his chest and ached for this child. God have given him something to care about. “I'm glad you moved next door to me, too. Now, how about we finish this fence?”