Right from the Start (22 page)

She didn’t have a response except that he clearly didn’t like
the turn this conversation was taking. She saw it in his expression. Heard it in
his tone. Sensed it in the way he sat a bit straighter. Maybe not such a
surprise given the situation he dealt with at work.

Or was that her rationalization?

He’d cautioned her against becoming interested in Will and yet
didn’t want to get
together
together.

Reaching for her hand, Nathanial twined their fingers together,
gave a contrite shrug. “Sorry. I really have my hands full.”

She felt selfish for burdening him. Why had she?

Because she wanted a distraction from Will. Definitely selfish.
And desperate. No missing that.

Okay, so now wasn’t a good time for Nathanial. That wasn’t a
crime. They’d been on and off for a long time, a comfortable relationship,
Kenzie and Nathanial, the best of friends. That much felt solid. Shouldn’t she
be grateful?
Patient?

They’d get around to them again.

Wouldn’t they?

For the first time ever, Kenzie didn’t really feel grateful or
patient. She was grateful for her friendships with Fiona and Jess, and Geri,
too, but that wasn’t the same thing as wanting more time with them, wanting to
be a priority in their lives.

Was she really being selfish, placing her wants and needs above
Nathanial’s? Or was she simply discontent because she was comparing her beloved
and ambitious friend, who wanted to become a partner, with a new and equally
ambitious acquaintance, who advocated for his son and all families challenged
with autism?

Because when she compared the two, her world shifted beneath
her feet, and suddenly Kenzie’s perfectly perfect day didn’t feel quite so
perfect anymore.

* * *

“S
OUNDS
GOOD
, M
ELINDA
,”
Will said over the Bluetooth in his truck,
although the outing with Sam she proposed left Will with a knot in the pit of
his stomach.

Wheeling into a parking space in the lot at Angel House, he
didn’t transfer the call to his cell. Melinda taking their son anywhere was an
occasion for a phone call with no distractions. So he sat in his truck with the
air blowing at full blast.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked.

“My parents’ fortieth anniversary. They want the family
together. We’ve hired a photographer to take a group shot.”

“Sounds like fun. I’m sure Sam will enjoy seeing them.”

“Will he be okay to swim?”

“Sure. I’ll bet he’ll really enjoy the pool because he’s been
swimming every day at camp.”

“Okay, good.” She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Who knew?”

“I know, right?” Will knew exactly what she referred to. When a
therapist had recommended swim lessons—an important precaution for any
kid—they’d both been skeptical. They could barely get Sam in a bathtub, let
alone a pool.

But with the proper instruction, Sam had not only learned to
swim, but taken to the water like a fish. The freedom of movement worked for
him, maybe, or perhaps it was the way water muted sensory input. Will only knew
that given his way Sam would stay in the water until he turned into a prune.

“You will send his swim bag, right, Will? I have summer things,
including trunks, but I’m not sure exactly what else he’ll need besides
sunscreen and a towel.”

The question was code for,
“Please send
whatever he needs to avoid a tantrum or a meltdown.”

Melinda would be at a big family party, and she got rattled as
much as Sam did when they ran into problems. If there were people around, then
the pressure was on to make good impressions, and that always escalated the
situation.

Which meant Will would have to be selective about what projects
he started at Angel House in case the day went south and he had to drop
everything to rescue his son.

“One packed swim bag with a spare mask coming up,” Will said,
because Sam wouldn’t go in the pool without a mask. He liked to see underwater,
and the rubber pinched his nose shut, which reminded him not to breathe until he
surfaced.

“Appreciate it.”

Of course, he would have to unpack Sam’s stuff the night he
returned from camp and do laundry to have everything ready to go in the morning.
He made a mental note to remember. Melinda may have swim trunks, but Will would
bet money she didn’t have the requisite Spiderman beach towel and matching deck
shoes.

“Heads up. I’ll send his stuff, but make sure you cut out the
tags in anything you want him to wear.”

“Got it,” she said.

While Sam had a bedroom in Melinda’s luxury condo in the south
end of town, he didn’t often spend the night there, and his interests could
change fast. Spiderman beach towel one day, and Batman the next. The whole
distaste for clothing tags had happened so suddenly Will had been forced to
bodily carry Sam from the store wearing only his undershirt, which had a tag. Go
figure.

For a change, Melinda accepted the information about Sam well,
for which Will was grateful. It didn’t always work that way. Most of the time
Melinda seemed to resent what he told her, seemed to interpret his instructions
to mean he knew more about their son than she did. Which he did, but that didn’t
mean he thought she was a crummy mother.

He knew how much Melinda loved Sam. He knew how she’d devoted
herself to Sam’s treatment, even working from home to care for him. But Melinda
also saw Sam as a reflection of herself, and the fact they couldn’t connect made
her question her ability as a mother. She couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that
not connecting had nothing to do with her and everything to do with autism.

“When does he get home from camp?” she asked.

“Friday night.”

“I’ll come get him in the morning, then. From the house, right?
He won’t be with Guadalupe?”

“Yeah.” Fresh in Will’s memory was the last time she’d dropped
in on Guadalupe without making the requisite phone call because that was too
much trouble. “What time’s the party?”

“Early. Mom wants to make the most of the day.”

Early wasn’t a time, and Will was about to open his mouth and
remind Melinda about the importance of phone calls and reliability, fundamental
considerations that he resented having to explain yet again.

Will didn’t doubt that she loved Sam, so why couldn’t she
trouble herself to do something so simple—make a phone call, commit to a
time—that was so important?

Normally, the answer to that question was that Melinda was
self-absorbed, which explained Will’s resentment toward her. Especially when, in
addition to unsettling Sam, Melinda inconvenienced others with her
thoughtlessness.

But another answer popped into his head, an answer he had never
considered before, delivered in a gentle voice.

“Successful parenting partners respect
limitations,”
Kenzie had said during her class.

That reminder stopped Will dead in his tracks. He shut his
mouth and quickly reevaluated.

Melinda clearly had a problem with calling before she arrived.
Will didn’t know why. Selfishness. Denial. Thoughtlessness. He wasn’t sure it
mattered. What did matter was how he handled the situation. He could introduce
tension into this conversation that had been going along well by taking her to
task, which would only make her defensive. That much he knew. Or he could offer
a solution. “How about I bring Sam to your place? Save you the trip. Just tell
me what time you want him.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. “Sure, Will.
That’ll work. Thanks. How about nine? Sound good?”

“He’ll be there with his swim bag packed.”

“Great. See you then.”

“Take it easy, Melinda.” Will disconnected the call. Then he
paused a moment, making sense of how quickly and easily he’d been able to get
off the phone.

“Sure, Will. That’ll work.
Thanks.”

And a thanks. He didn’t usually get those. Not when Melinda
vacillated between resentment that he’d stolen their son and denial about Sam’s
circumstances and the required parenting skills necessary to fit the
situation.

Skills that had to be learned and applied.

And to Will’s complete surprise, he didn’t feel irritated the
way he usually did after dealing with Melinda. He only hoped the day she and Sam
spent together would be problem free.

* * *

K
ENZIE
GENUINELY
BELIEVED
she’d had choices in dealing with her reaction to
Will. She genuinely believed she could ride out her inner child until the
renovations were complete and then get on with her life. Of course, she might
occasionally see him dropping Sam off, but Will would officially be out of her
side of the building, leaving her with a newly remodeled agency and a bright
future that didn’t involve seeing him everywhere.

Where he’d left her a beautiful floral
arrangement on the reception counter to welcome her.

Where he’d hung her shingle the day she’d
officially met Sam for the first time.

Where he’d popped through the ceiling to
campaign with her students in the middle of a class.

Where he’d stood in a doorway and watched
her until she’d awakened from a snooze at her desk.

Where he’d rescued her from exposed wires,
kneeling so close she could feel the warmth of his skin radiating from
him.

But now Kenzie had to question whether or not she was being
realistic or if she was simply adding a windowsill to the list of places she’d
continue to see this man.

At the moment, he crouched in front of the window, and the way
the muscles of his shoulders and back were on display as he worked the palm
sander over the wood would be embedded in her memory.

He was dressed as the contractor again, in work boots and
jeans. He wore a tool belt, too, slung low on his hips, making it impossible not
to notice the way his body came together in that area, strong thighs, tight
butt, trim waist expanding upward in a V toward those broad, broad
shoulders.

The very sight of him proved that Kenzie had been so wrong
about having choices. So, so wrong.

Right from the start she’d been attracted to this man, against
her will, against her wishes. And she certainly hadn’t wanted this unexpected
attraction to color her feelings about Nathanial. The latest eye-opener in a
string of them.

Her perfectly perfect yesterday had degenerated in a big way.
She’d lost an entire night’s sleep to answering some hard questions, and she
couldn’t get past the realization this situation had slipped beyond her control.
Her day at work today had been plagued by distraction and an annoying lack of
focus on everything she should have been focusing on—like her sessions. Then
there had been all the muffled yawning in front of her clients.

Will had walked through the door on time as promised, and in
that very moment, all the expectation and edginess, all the interest and
impatience had vanished beneath an awareness that made the moment come alive, a
feeling so utterly real that she practically hummed from the inside out.

This had definitely gone beyond her control.

The whine of the sander stopped abruptly, and Will sliced a
curious gaze her way. “You are ready for this woodworking lesson, right?”

Kenzie stared stupidly for a throbbing heartbeat, as stupid as
she’d always been around him.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Truer words had not been spoken.
Not by her at least, but she sounded normal. That much at least was a
success.

“It might be a good idea to come closer, so you can actually
see what I’m showing you.”

There was just enough humor in that suggestion to propel her
into motion. Covering the distance, she knelt beside him, so close her first
breath was laced with a very male scent made up of sawdust and motor, of
him.

He held up the sander. Their gazes met. “Okay, not hard.”

But wouldn’t she like him to be?

The breath stalled in her chest at the sheer audacity of
that
thought, at her inner child for dragging Will
into bed.

Oh, this was way,
way
beyond her
control.

If the man had any clue what was going on inside her head right
now, he’d run fast and far. No question.

“I figured I’d show you what to do in here.” He seemed
oblivious to her turmoil. “It’ll be easy to work since you don’t have much
furniture and just as easy to clean up. And it’s the first place people will
see.”

“Makes sense.” What didn’t make sense was Kenzie’s complete
inability to stop reacting to him.

Why had she failed to ignore her inner child so completely?

“First thing you do is put on that mask and those gloves.” The
mask was an industrial-grade construction type meant to protect her face and
lungs from harmful debris as opposed to the medical-type mask meant to contain
the spread of airborne germs.

He helped her position the ventilator over her nose. His warm
fingers brushed her cheek perfunctorily yet left her skin tingling in the wake
of his touch.

Good, at least she could hide her face. She pulled on the
gloves, another layer of protection. Now, if only she had a tarp to throw over
her head and block out the sight of him.

“Those gloves going to work?” he asked.

She spread her fingers to display the fit. “A little big but
fine.”

He inclined his head while reaching for a piece of equipment on
a metal tray that looked like a trivet. “This is a heat stripper, Kenzie, and it
is really hot. I mean seriously hot. You’ll do a lot of damage to yourself if
you’re not very careful. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“All we’re trying to do here is strip away the paint then sand
what’s left so you have a smooth surface.”