Shelley Cooper - Dad In Blue

Warmth filled him as his heart swelled with pleasure. Then he remembered exactly why Jeffrey needed him, and the warmth was replaced by a sudden chill.

Carlo glanced at his watch. Jeffrey was taking his grand old time getting ready.

“Let me guess. He’s not any more anxious to see me today than he was last Saturday.”

“No,” she admitted. “But he’ll be down.”

“What did you bribe him with? A new toy?”

Her mouth curved. “I don’t believe in bribery, no matter how tempted I am to resort to it. Jeffrey is aware that he has a commitment to spend time with you each week, and that I expect him to honor it.”

The clump of feet slowly descending the staircase echoed into the room. A minute later, Jeffrey appeared in the doorway. His hair was still wet from his shower. When he glanced at Carlo, a wary light filled his eyes. It changed to worry when he caught sight of his mother on the sofa.

Somehow, Samantha managed to dredge up a brilliant smile. Carlo felt a spark of admiration for this spunky woman. Whatever her worries and fears were for her son, she wasn’t about to let the child see them. Nor was she about to let worry for her ruin what would hopefully be, for Jeffrey, a good time.

“Come here,” she beckoned to the boy. When he knelt by her side, she smoothed a hand back over his hair. “I want you to promise to be on your best behavior while you’re out with Carlo. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jeffrey nodded grudgingly.

“She’ll be just fine, sport,” Carlo reassured. “See? She’s all set. Water. Glass. Blanket. Pillow. The best medicine for your mom right now is for us to get out of her hair. Once she takes a nice long nap, she’ll be feeling much better.”

As he followed Jeffrey out of the room, Carlo couldn’t help tossing a worried glance over his shoulder. Samantha was already asleep.

It was the kind of Indian summer weather that, on a school day, inspired many a young boy to play hooky; the kind of weather Pittsburgh rarely saw in November. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the air was unseasonably warm. A light jacket or sweatshirt was all a person needed, and even that seemed too heavy when the sun blazed its brightest.

After closing the front door behind them, Carlo said, “Want to rake some leaves?”

Hands in his pants pockets, his gaze cast downward, Jeffrey toed the ground in front of him. “I guess so.”

Okay, Carlo reasoned. Put that way it did sound pretty much like a chore. He couldn’t blame Jeffrey for being less than enthusiastic.

“I was thinking of something along the lines of a race. I brought two rakes with me. What I thought we could do is see who has the biggest pile of leaves once the front yard is all raked up. Of course, after the winner is declared, we get to jump in those leaves before sweeping them into the street for the maintenance crew to pick up on Monday. You game?”

Carlo gazed at the child, expecting him to eagerly agree. After all, what red-blooded American boy could turn away from healthy competition?

Apparently Jeffrey could. His answer to Carlo’s challenge was an indifferent shrug.

“If you want.”

Strike one, Carlo thought wryly as he headed for the rakes he’d propped against the oak tree.

Twenty minutes later, he was lying face up in a pile of leaves. Ten feet away, Jeffrey stood playing with a yo-yo he’d pulled from his pants pocket.

To give the boy credit, he had tried. Well, he had pushed his rake around for ten minutes or so before abandoning both it and Carlo. Carlo had kept raking until he’d built a nice, high pile. He’d hoped to at least entice the boy into jumping into the leaves. So far, though, he’d had no luck.

Gazing up at the brilliance of the sun, Carlo felt its warmth caress his face. Despite his lack of success with Jeffrey, it felt wonderful, and he wished for nothing more than to lie there for a while longer. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much the guilt and regret he’d been carrying around had weighed him down; how it had dragged at his shoulders, his conscience and his heart as if an anvil had been hung around his neck. It felt good to let go of the load for a while.

He looked over to where Jeffrey was walking the dog with his yo-yo. “Neat trick. Could you show me how to do that?”

Jeffrey showed him his back.

Strike two. Carlo decided to try a different tack.

“When I was your age and my brothers and I raked leaves together, they would throw them at me. It always made me mad. There’s nothing I hate worse than a bunch of leaves in my face.”

Ignoring the blatant hint, Jeffrey sat down on the front steps and stared wistfully at the horizon.

Strike three. You’re out. Carlo sighed. He might have been able to pique Jeffrey’s interest a time or two last weekend, but so far today he was batting zero.

“Baby steps,” he muttered, remembering what Samantha had said to him. He’d measure each success in terms of baby steps, ignore the failures and refuse to look beyond that.

“I have that pocketknife I promised you. Want to do some whittling?”

“Some other time,” Jeffrey said.

Brushing the leaves from his clothing, Carlo sat up. “I’m pretty hot. I think I need an ice cream cone to cool me off. What about you?”

That, at least, got the boy’s attention, Carlo thought with satisfaction. Samantha Underwood might be above bribery, but Carlo Garibaldi wasn’t.

“Baby steps,” he murmured to himself as they set off down the street. “Baby steps.”

They were seated at the local Baskin-Robbins ice cream parlor, munching contentedly on a double scoop of Quarterback Crunch and Rocky Road, when Carlo felt Jeffrey’s gaze on him. More specifically, on his upper arms. When he glanced at the boy, Jeffrey quickly—almost guiltily—looked away. A minute later, though, Carlo felt the child’s gaze on him again.

He had a flash of understanding. “You want to know if I’ve always been this strong, don’t you?”

Jeffrey nodded.

“The answer is no. When I was your age, I was built just like you. I’ve been lifting weights since I was eighteen. It took a lot of work to get to the point where I am now.”

Carlo hadn’t been to the gym for his daily workout since he’d taken his leave of absence. Though he’d wanted to, he simply hadn’t been able to summon the energy to go. Surprisingly, given his idleness, he still had a good deal of muscle tone.

“Can I lift, too?” Jeffrey asked.

“Anyone can lift. You just have to make sure to use proper form so that you don’t injure yourself. When you’re old enough, you can join a gym.”

Jeffrey frowned. “I don’t want to wait till I’m older. I want to lift now.”

Why not? Carlo thought. The day was still young, and he wanted to give Samantha as much rest as possible. Besides, this was the most he’d heard Jeffrey speak. If this was what it took to reach him, Carlo was all for it.

“Would you like to see the gym where I work out?” he asked.

The light in Jeffrey’s eyes was all the answer he needed.

“Hey, Carlo,” Pete Loring, the owner of Fit Bodies, greeted when they walked through the door. “Long time no see.”

“I’ve been busy,” Carlo replied guardedly.

Typical of Pete, he didn’t pry any further. “Who’s your young friend?”

“A prospective client.”

Carlo watched Jeffrey’s eyes go round at the sight of the giant man who wrestled professionally under the name of Killer. Never had a title been a greater misnomer. Though fierce-looking, when not beating his competition to a pulp in the ring, Pete Loring was one of the gentlest men Carlo had ever met.

Pete’s smile broadened. “A prospective client, eh? Well, then, we’ll have to see that he receives the star treatment, won’t we?”