If I Didn't Know Better (The Callaways #9)(25)

He stopped in front of one of those benches and pointed to the gold placard on the back of the bench. "This is my mom's bench."

"In honor of Tracy Holt, inspiring teacher, loving mother and wife," Mia read. "Did your family donate the bench to the park?"

"No, the families of her first grade class the year she died took up donations and put the bench in. She used to bring her kids here on field trips. At the time, there were no benches at all. She'd sit on the grass and read the kids stories. She always said that children needed to be outside to play, to explore the world, so she took them outdoors whenever she could."

"She sounds like a fantastic teacher."

"I think she was good." He looked at Ashlyn. "Tracy Holt is your grandmother—my mother. She would have loved to meet you. But she's in heaven now. She's an angel, just like your mom."

Ashlyn stared back at him with her big, dark eyes, and he wished he could read what she was thinking, but he couldn't.

"Can we sit?" Mia asked.

"Of course."

Mia took a seat with Ashlyn sliding in next to her and then he sat down. It felt both odd and kind of wonderful. He felt a connection to his mother he hadn't felt in a very long time.

For a few moments they sat in silence, the only sounds coming from the laughter of kids in the playground. As two little girls ran past them, their high-pitched voices squealing about who was going to get to the slide first, he looked down at Ashlyn and saw something that looked like yearning in her eyes.

"Would you like to play, Ash?" he asked.

She refused with a shake of her head, but it wasn't as emphatic a refusal as he was used to getting from her.

"What about the swings?" Mia put in, tipping her head to the nearby swing structure that was empty. "Looks like you'll have the swing all to yourself."

Ashlyn's little mouth twisted as she debated the suggestion. She gave him a questioning look.

"Go ahead. We'll watch you," he said. "We'll be right here when you're done."

Ashlyn got up and walked across the path as slowly as she possibly could, stopping every now and then to cast a look back at them. Finally, she made it to the swing. She sat down, digging her toes into the sand, but she didn't push off.

"Do you think I should offer to push her?" Jeremy asked.

"I don't know," Mia said. "Maybe give her a few minutes."

"I can't believe she actually went to the swing. I thought she'd say no, the way she always does." He blew out a breath. "Isn't this ridiculous? I'm worrying about whether or not I should push an eight-year-old on a swing. I was solving much bigger problems than this a few months ago."

"I don’t know about that, Jeremy. Ashlyn's problems seem rather large to me, and having your complete attention is going to be necessary to get her better. What you're doing here and now is important."

"But my attention doesn't seem to be producing any results. I feel helpless. I don't even know if I'm doing the right thing half the time. You met my old man. That's my role model. That's all I know about being a father."

"Then it seems like you have nowhere to go but up," she said lightly.

He glanced over at her. "He was always a son of a bitch. People told me my mom's death changed him, but I don't remember him being any different than he is now, except maybe with her. He was softer when she was around, but he was still blustery and cranky when she was out, and he always thought he knew better than anyone else, especially after several cocktails. He's an alcoholic, but no one would dare say that to his face."

"Was he abusive?"

"Not in a physical way. He never hit me, but his words could cut like a knife."

"I'm sorry he wasn't a good dad, but you're not your father. And Ashlyn isn't you."

He shifted in his seat, and the creak of the bench made him feel as if his mother was listening in and telling him to wake up and listen to the woman by his side.

"My mom would have liked you, Mia."

"I hope so," she said with a smile. "But why do you say that?"

"Because you're kind and generous. My mother respected those traits more than any others."

"Thanks," she said, moisture filling her eyes. "That's a nice thing to say."

He was surprised by her emotional reaction. "If it was so nice, why do you look like you're about to cry?"

She dabbed at her eyes with her fingers. "I'm just coming off a rough couple of weeks, nothing close to what you've been through. In fact, after meeting you and Ashlyn, I realize how self-absorbed I've been, how I got caught up in things and people that were just not that important."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't want to hear about it."

"Actually, I'd love to talk about someone other than myself. What happened? I assume this has something to do with why you're unemployed."

"It does. Okay, here goes. I have to warn you that it's kind of embarrassing."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"I told you that I was sick as a child and that I spent a lot of time with books and paints. I excelled in school, so that was my comfort place. I couldn't compete with most of my siblings in any other area but grades, although my brother Ian is a freaking genius, so I couldn't beat him, but I was head and shoulders above the rest of them."