Small-Town Dad Page 13

  “I think I can restrain myself.”

  Neal resumed his raking. Maybe he’d pick up a little toy for Ian, too. A truck or tractor. He could mail it to Margaret. She wouldn’t have to tell Ian it was from him. He didn’t want to confuse the little guy since it wasn’t like he was going to have any part in the boy’s life.

  * * *

  “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Anne glanced over at Ian seated on the floor behind Jamie stacking wood blocks, aided by Jamie’s seven-year-old daughter, Rose.

  “He’ll be fine with the other kids,” Jamie said. “You’ll only be gone a minute or two. And I do have some experience with toddlers.”

  “I know.” Anne checked on Ian again. He wasn’t paying a bit of attention to her.

  “If you want, I’ll run over to your house and get the napkins and you can supervise the melee here. I was the one who forgot to pick them up when I was getting the party stuff in Ticonderoga. Where are they?”

  Anne surveyed the roomful of kids. Jamie’s three and most of Opal’s preschool class. “No. You’re not escaping that easily. And you’re right. I should be able to leave him long enough to go next door and back. The last thing I want to be is a helicopter parent.”

  To Anne’s surprise, the word parent rolled off her tongue easily.

  “I don’t think you need to worry about that yet. Ian is only three. Kids that age need quite a bit of hovering.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Thanks again for picking up the napkins.”

  “No problem. I was birthday present shopping anyway.”

  Anne hurried out of the house and across the yard to her place. She and Ian had had a great time at the supercenter in Ticonderoga yesterday. He seemed to understand that the toys she bought were for the birthday party and seemed perfectly content with the crayons and paper she’d gotten him. After a kid’s meal from the fast-food restaurant, he’d fallen asleep in the car and she’d been able to get him changed into his pajamas and into bed without him fully waking up.

  Day one as a single parent done.

  She gave her door a push with her shoulder. The damp fall weather was making it stick. As she picked up the napkins from the kitchen counter, the house phone rang. For a moment, she weighed whether to answer it. No one called her on that phone. Except Mr. Stowe, and he knew she was going to be at Opal’s party. She’d told him yesterday morning when he’d stopped by to look at her sticky door and proclaimed it would contract as soon as the temperature dropped a few more degrees and be fine.

  She couldn’t ignore the insistent ring. “Hello,” she answered.

  “May I speak with Anne Howard?”

  “This is she.”

  The woman at the other end of the line identified herself as the assistant manager at the supercenter. “You left your debit card at the checkout yesterday. Since there was only one Anne Howard listed in the local online white pages, I took the chance that this was your number.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t realize I hadn’t put it back in my wallet.” She was never that careless. But Ian had been fussy waiting on line to check out and that must have distracted her.

  “You’re welcome. You can pick it up at the customer service desk.”

  “I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  “Have a nice day.” The store manager hung up.

  How nice of the manager to call. Back home in Boston—no, this was home, hers and Ian’s, for now—once, she’d discovered the card missing, she would have had to retrace her steps to try to locate it.

  Anne grabbed the napkins and walked back to Jamie’s house. An unfamiliar car was parked in the driveway. Must be another one of Opal’s school friends had arrived. She let herself in the kitchen door and followed the cacophony of voices through the dining room to the living room, anxious to check on Ian. Jamie had said he’d be fine, and she was sure he was, but all of the kids were older, and they were pretty noisy.

  The scene in the living room stopped her dead in the doorway. Opal had Neal by the hand and was dragging him around the room to meet all of her friends. He must have come with whomever had driven the car she’d seen in the driveway. A date? Anne squeezed the napkins she should have left in the kitchen. What did it matter? They weren’t anything more than friends. If even that anymore. No! He was her student. She didn’t know or care who her other students were dating.

  “And this is my new friend Ian. He lives with Anne now. I think she’s his aunt or something.”

  Anne held her breath, waiting for Neal’s reaction. She was allowing the situation to affect her far more than she should.

  Ian looked up at the sound of his name.

  A muscle worked in Neal’s jaw.

  The toddler stood and studied Neal. “I know who you are. You’re Nal.” He grinned up at Neal.

  “No, he’s not,” Opal corrected. “He’s Neal.”

  Ian scrunched his face. “N...N...Ne-al.” He clapped his hands.

  Neal grinned. “That’s right, buddy. How’s my guy?” He picked Ian up and raised him above his head.

  “Nee Nee,” Ian called across the room.

  Neal jerked his head toward her and he drilled her with his gaze. She released her breath and gulped another.

  He lowered Ian to the floor, keeping his eyes on her the entire time.

  Ian said something to Neal and grabbed his hand. They were crossing the room. To her. Anne looked around for Jamie. She hadn’t said anything about Neal coming to the party. Of course, why would she have? Anne hadn’t said anything to her about what had happened in Boston. It was Anne who’d assumed the party was only for kids.

  “Dr. Howard. I didn’t know you were back.” Autumn came up beside her a second before Neal and Ian reached her.

  Call her a coward, but Anne was glad she wasn’t facing Neal alone.

  “You’re not the only one.”

  His harsh tone grated on every raw nerve in her body.

  “Nee Nee.” Ian vied for her attention.

  She dragged her gaze from Neal’s and focused on the little boy.

  “Ne-al. At the party.”

  “Yes. I see.”

  “Who’s that?” Ian pointed at Autumn.

  Neal spoke first. “That’s my big girl, Autumn.”

  “And who are you?” Autumn glanced from Neal to Anne to Ian, her expression open with question.

  “Ian,” he answered as if that said it all.

  Autumn and Neal turned to Anne in a synchronized movement.

  Her mouth went dry. She swallowed and tried to find her voice. “Ian is my, my—”

  The set of Neal’s jaw challenged her to finish her sentence.

  “Ian is my ward.”

  Neal’s countenance darkened and Autumn looked puzzled.

  “My friend Reenie’s son. My godchild. He’s living with me now.”

  Neal raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m so sorry.” Autumn wound a strand of her long blond hair around her finger. “About your friend, I mean. Not about Ian. Dad didn’t say anything.”

  And he still wasn’t saying anything. Neal stood expressionless, his hands jammed in the front pockets of his jeans.

  Autumn released her hair. “I’m going to go see if Jamie needs any help in the kitchen. I think it’s cake time.”

  She disappeared into the other room, leaving Anne alone with Neal and ten or twelve kids.

  “Cake. Ian likes cake.”

  Anne wasn’t a big fan of cake, but she liked this cake if it was going to be served right now and help her avoid a face-to-face with Neal.

  “Good. What do you say we go see if Jamie needs more help?”

  Ian nodded. “Ne-al help?”

  “No, bud. Not this time. You and Aunt Annie can handle it all
on your own.”

  He was dismissing her. Not that she wanted to stick around and talk with him. But who did he think he was, after his assurances that she had people in Paradox to help her with Ian? People who included him. She grabbed Ian’s hand. She was in control. Hadn’t her parents taught her to be self-sufficient so they could spend as little time as possible with her? And Michael had groomed her to be in charge.

  Ian yanked his hand back. “No.” He stomped his foot. “Ne-al help.”

  “No, I’m sorry, but Neal said he can’t help this time.” She looked directly at Neal, challenging him to try to say differently.

  He matched her stare, but said nothing.

  She took Ian’s hand again. His face crumpled and he threw himself on the floor, screaming and kicking. The other kids circled around.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Opal asked.

  Anne spared the birthday girl a glance.

  “He’s having a temper tantrum,” her older sister, Rose, answered. “Like you used to when you were a baby.”

  “I did not. Mommy!” Opal added her scream to Ian’s. “Rose is being mean to me. On my birthday.”

  Any thread of control Anne had, or thought she’d had, was frayed to the breaking point. She had no trouble managing a multinational corporation. But two preschoolers had her paralyzed.

  “Rose Elizabeth.” Jamie stormed into the living room. “Are you picking on your sister?”

  “No,” Rose said from her lofty two-years-older position. “I just said that she used to have temper tantrums like Ian when she was a baby.”

  “Go and help Autumn with the birthday cake in the kitchen.” Jamie pointed toward the doorway. “Opal, tell your friends that it’s time to have cake.”

  Opal started to open her mouth to shout over Ian’s continuing screams.

  Jamie shook her head no. “Walk around and tell them.”

  Opal pushed out her lower lip, but did as her mother had told her, rounding up her friends and leading them to the dining room.

  Jamie looked down at Ian, who was still screaming and flailing, and then over at Anne and Neal. “I guess Ian’s not having cake. I only give cake to little boys who aren’t crying.”

  When Ian screamed louder, Anne bent to pick him up. Ian slapped her hand and Anne stepped back.

  “Are you having cake, Neal?” Jamie asked in a sugar-sweet voice.

  Neal smirked. He smirked! And stepped over Ian. “I sure am. I’m not crying.”

  Anne couldn’t believe the two of them.

  “How about you, Aunt Annie?”

  Was Neal mocking her or was she being overly sensitive? Whatever, she’d certainly lost any control she might have had over the situation.

  “You’re not crying,” Jamie added.

  Ian stopped kicking his feet. He sat up and sniffled. “Ian not crying.” He hiccupped and raised his watery gaze to Neal.

  Defeat engulfed Anne. She’d been right. She didn’t know anything about being a parent.

  Jamie went ahead into the dining room as Ian slid his warm little hand in Anne’s.

  “Autumn used to have terrible tantrums when she was Ian’s age,” Neal said as if sharing a great confidence. “But we both got over them. Mom set me straight. As soon as I stopped paying attention to them, she stopped. Like Ian did.”

  His earnest reassurance relieved some of her self-doubt. “But how do you know when to ignore a behavior?” And when you’re ignoring the child, as her parents had too often ignored her.

  Neal placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’ll come with time.”

  His touch and words calmed the butterflies of self-doubt in her stomach. But now it churned with another more disturbing feeling.

  “Or you can ask me.” He flashed her a grin that wrapped around her heart.

  A much more disturbing feeling.

  * * *

  “Lose your way?” Jamie asked as Neal and Anne entered the dining room with Ian.

  The other children were all seated around the table. A double layer chocolate cake blazing with five candles sat in front of Opal.

  “We were ready to start singing without you,” Rose informed them.

  Anne helped Ian into the booster seat Jamie had put in one of the chairs. Her obvious concern about Ian when he’d thrown his tantrum and the loving expression on her face now drove out the last bit of anger Neal had felt toward her. She’d be a good mother to Ian, like he and Margaret had agreed. All she’d needed was some encouragement. Encouragement she must have gotten from Margaret, since he’d fallen a little short in that area.

  Neal hung back by the doorway, reluctant to join the group in their boisterous, if off-key, rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Jamie’s teasing and the enjoyment he’d gotten from watching Anne get Ian situated made him stop and put some distance between him and them. Had he just offered to help Anne with Ian? He looked around the table at the kids wriggling and fidgeting in anticipation of having cake and opening Opal’s gifts.

  His gaze passed over Anne and settled on Autumn standing next to the birthday girl. He’d already done preschool and birthday parties. It was time for him to start living his life for himself. Wasn’t it?

  “Make a wish and blow out the candles,” Jamie said.

  Opal puffed out her cheeks and blew. When the last candle sputtered out, everyone clapped. Neal loudest of all.

  Jamie helped Opal cut the cake and Autumn passed the pieces out to everyone.

  “Ne-al. Ne-al.” Ian patted the table next to him. “Cake.”

  Autumn raised a plate to him. “We can squeeze you in here.”

  Neal walked around the table to Autumn and took the piece of cake she’d offered.

  “Do you want a chair?” Jamie asked.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Choc-it cake.” Ian raised his frosting-smeared face to him.

  Who was he kidding? He wasn’t fine. And if he didn’t keep his distance from Ian and Anne, he might never be fine again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Neal sat alone at the far left end of the polished maple pew lost in thoughts that didn’t exactly put him in the frame of mind for worship. He was almost glad that Autumn had pulled a Sunday morning shift at the nursing home and couldn’t come to church with him and Mom and Dad. He glanced over his shoulder to the vestibule where they were cheerfully fulfilling their duties as this morning’s greeters and hoped they didn’t point his sister and Drew in his direction when they arrived. If they came. Isabelle had been sick yesterday. So maybe they’d stay home with her.

  He didn’t know why he’d turned so antisocial. He hadn’t had a bad week. In the larger scheme of things, it had been a good week. With no classes, he’d had time to catch up on several wiring jobs he’d lined up. But it gnawed at him that Anne had “reassigned” his work study supervision to Gary Speer, as the project manager had put it to Neal in his email. Neal rested his head in his hands. And that gnawing bothered him. He’d decided at Opal’s party that he needed to keep his distance from Anne. He should be glad she was obliging him.

  “It’s so good to see you again.” His mother’s greeting carried into the sanctuary. He heard a soft murmur of a reply that sounded a lot like Anne. But Anne hadn’t attended Community Church in several weeks.

  “Ne-al!” Ian’s exclamation echoed off the sanctuary’s vaulted wood ceiling.

  Neal snapped his head up to see Ian charging down the center aisle with Anne close on his heels. Most of the congregation looked their way, more than a few of them smiling. He could see the local grapevine sending out its tentacles already.

  She caught up with Ian at the other end of Neal’s pew. “We’re in church,” Anne admonished him in a loud whisper.

  “I know,” he said, eluding her grasp and making a beelin
e down the pew to Neal. “Sit with Ne-al.”

  Ian scrambled up on Neal’s lap and gave Anne a beatific smile that challenged her to say otherwise.

  She stood rigid, hands on hips and glared at the toddler. It took everything Neal had not to laugh at the standoff.

  “Sit,” Ian said. “Peese.”

  Anne’s demeanor softened. “Do you mind?”

  “No.” Despite the stares of the congregation and intentions to keep his distance from Anne and Ian, he didn’t mind at all.

  * * *

  Anne sat and placed her handbag on the pew between her and Neal. She’d decided to make Community Church her home church before she and Neal had gone to Margaret’s. Pastor Joel’s sympathy call early last week when she was still in Sudbury had chipped away at the foolish change of mind she’d contemplated after her and Neal’s argument. The pastor’s wife’s warm welcoming of Ian into the day care/preschool program she directed at the church had clinched her return to Community. No reason to let her and Neal’s relationship or, more precisely, nonrelationship, stop her and Ian from being part of the church community she felt most comfortable with.

  She glanced at Ian snuggled against Neal’s chest sucking his thumb and resisted both the impulse to gently pull Ian’s thumb from his mouth and to look directly at Neal.

  Ian caught her look and pulled his thumb out himself. “Sing book.”

  “He means the hymnal.” Neal pointed at the book rack on the back of the pew in front of them.

  She knew that. So far, the only communication problem she and Ian had had was the tantrum at Opal’s party last Saturday. Anne lifted a hymnal from the rack.

  “Ribbons. Ian show you.” He climbed from Neal’s lap to the floor, opened the hymnal and started putting the place marker ribbons on random pages.

  “Whoa.” Neal reached over and stopped. “How about you let Aunt Annie turn to the right song page and then you can mark them with the ribbons?”

  “Okay.”

  Anne’s heart softened. Neal hadn’t been criticizing her lack of experience with children. She had to stop being defensive. Raising Ian wasn’t a competition.