Captured(40)

He sits in his little booster that’s strapped to the kitchen chair, wiggling his little butt. I spy a cookbook on a shelf above the stove, and flip through it. I find a recipe for pancakes and discover that, amazingly, and perhaps not surprisingly, the kitchen is stocked with all of the ingredients. Plus coffee, which allows me to actually function on three hours of sleep.

And, amazingly, I actually manage to get the batter put together, a griddle heated, and some pancakes made. They’re about two inches thick, just this side of burnt, and enormous. Tommy doesn’t seem to care, though. I slather the flapjack liberally with butter and syrup, cut it up in pieces, and hand him a fork.

Holy shit, that kid can eat. And holy shit, that kid can make a godawful mess.

He’s got butter in his hair, all over his PJs, on his hands…syrup is literally everywhere. I suppose, in retrospect, I probably should’ve helped him eat it, but I didn’t think of it. Besides, I was hungry too.

I find a box of wipes under the sink in the half bath, and I use at least half of the box cleaning him up, and another half of a roll of paper towels and a bottle of Windex cleaning the mess off the table, the chair, the booster seat, the floor. Eventually, things are clean…ish.

I look at Tommy, who is sitting on the floor smashing a Tonka truck into a white, red, and green airplane that has eyes and a mouth and is wearing a cape. Weird.

“Okay, dude. Now what?”

He hands the plane to me. “Play.”

So I sit and play. And you know what? It’s kinda fun. I make airplane noises, fly it around. I make it do Cuban eights and make machine-gun noises. Tommy giggles, so I do it again. And damn, the sound of that kid laughing hits me in some part of my heart that I didn’t know I had.





REAGAN





I wake up smelling pancakes and coffee, and the sound of Tommy giggling hysterically. I get out of bed, change clothes, tie my hair back, and put on some deodorant. As I head downstairs, I stop halfway down, before I’m easily visible. I see something that brings tears in my eyes, and leaves my heart clenching in a really, really weird and scary way.

Derek is sitting on the floor, a cup of coffee within reach. He’s got Tommy’s El Chupacabra toy, and he’s pretending it’s a dog, barking at Tommy, chasing him around the kitchen.

Tommy has butter in his hair.

His pull-up is on backward.

He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him.

The front door is open, and Ida is standing on the porch, watching, and she seems as stunned as I am, her hand across her mouth, eyes wide. Her gaze meets mine, and we exchange stupefied, emotional expressions.

This just made everything that much more impossible to figure out.





CHAPTER 12





DEREK





Late one night I’m working on the tractor, replacing the starter. I’m no mechanic, but I can figure shit out with enough time and cursing. Three days have gone by since that night at the pond—and behind the barn. Jesus, I can’t get that out of my head. The sounds she made as she came. The feel of her fist around my dick….

I get hard just thinking about it.

But there haven’t been any repeats since then. We’ve been…not quite avoiding each other, but taking a little time and space. It’s remained unspoken, but we both needed it. We also both need time and space to absorb what happened, and to understand what it could mean. What’s going to happen in the future.

All I know for sure is, I can’t stop thinking about her. Not just about her naked, f*cking glorious body, or about making her come. Yeah, I think about that nonstop, ’cause, duh. But about what she said that night. How she wants something for her. And I want to do something for her — something to make her happy, just for her.

So after the tractor is fixed, I walk over to Hank’s. He’s sitting on his porch, sipping at a Natty Ice, reading a battered, dog-eared Tom Clancy novel.

“Hank?”

He looks up, nods at me. “Derek. What can I do for you, son?”

“Reagan. She’s here all the time. I thought…I wondered if you think she might want to take a day off. Do some sort of girly day-out kinda shit.” I swallow hard and shift from foot to foot. I’m playing my hand here. I look him straight in the eye and let him read me. “I don’t know anything about that shit. So, I kinda need help, I guess.”

Hank just stares at me for a long time. “Growin’ a heart in there, are ya?” He chuckles. “About damn time.”

I shrug. “Guess so. Any ideas?”

“Women, they like to get their hair done. Manicures, pedicures. That kinda thing.”

The screen door squeaks and bangs, open and closed, and Ida comes through with two beers. She hands one to me, but I wave it off. After the incident at the barn, I haven’t wanted to drink again. That scared me.

“Linda from church,” Ida says, “her daughter owns a day spa up to Brenham. I can ask about a gift certificate for a pampering package.”

“How much?” I ask.

Hank and Ida exchange looks, and Hank nods. Ida smiles, saying, “Don’t worry about that.”

“I couldn’t ask you to—”

“You ain’t askin’, son. We’re offering. Just say thanks and get on with you.”