Ellen Marsh - For His Son's Sake

“Do you think she reminds him of his mother?”

Ross tucked the receiver under his chin and pulled the pizza from the oven. Setting it on the counter, he envisioned Penelope, tall and darkly elegant, accompanying him to the opening night of the London symphony in a clinging Halston dress. Then Kenzie Daniels in shorts and a T-shirt, pulling dead fish out of a freezer. If he wasn’t so busy brooding, he would have smiled at the comparison.

“Not a chance.”

“Maybe she reminds him of somebody else. A housekeeper or nanny?”

Ross had met both women at Penelope’s funeral. One had been extremely old, the other dumpy and dark. “No way.”

“Maybe she just has a natural way with kids.”

“Meaning I don’t?”

He could actually hear Delia hesitating over the phone line. He gripped the receiver hard, dreading her answer. Bad enough that Delia had taken it upon herself to call and check up on them, and even worse that Angus had told her all about Kenzie the moment he’d answered the phone. Gushed on and on about her, actually, so that Delia had asked Ross for clarification when it was his turn to talk.

Now he was going to have to listen to things he didn’t want to hear and to admit things he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“He misses his mother, Ross. And maybe, in a way, he’s blaming you for her loss.”

His heart cramped. “Now wait a minute—”

“It’s totally unfounded, I know. But he’s a little boy, Ross. Kids tend to look at things differently. They really don’t know how to weigh what’s fair and what’s not. And you took him away from his home, his grandparents—”

“Who are even more cold and unloving than I am.” He tried to sound as if he was making fun of himself, but his voice was flat. He’d never felt less like joking.

“Give him time, Ross. And you, too. It’s only been a few months! He’ll warm up to you once he gets to know you better. After all, you’ve been a stranger to him all his life, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Penelope said unkind things about you to him when you first sued for visitation rights.”

Which had happened just before she’d died. Did Angus blame him in some way for that? Ross wondered suddenly. But who could have known that Penelope would be killed in a plane crash while locked in a bitter legal dispute over the son she had never acknowledged to Ross?

For God’s sake, some strange lump was forming in Ross’s throat as he wondered if his chances with Angus were doomed. He closed his eyes only to feel them stinging. Were those tears? It was definitely time to get a grip.

“Is that your closing statement, counselor?”

But Delia wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “Please, Ross.”

“Okay, okay.” Damn! Now he’d burned himself on the pizza tray. Cursing inwardly, he held his thumb under the faucet. “Look, gotta run. Supper’s ready.”

“Just remember what I said. And relax, will you? Stop trying so hard.”

“Always have to get in the last word, don’t you?” he countered, but this time he succeeded in sounding as though he didn’t mind.

Delia chuckled. No doubt she was relieved that he’d chosen to lighten up—though in reality Ross’s heart couldn’t have been heavier. He wished she’d never called him, wished she’d refrained from overstepping professional lines to discuss such personal matters with him. “Gotta run,” he said again, and was relieved that this time his voice didn’t waver. “I’ll check in with you at the office tomorrow.”

“Not until Thursday, Ross. You promised.”

“Okay, okay.”

He hung up to find Angus lying on his stomach in front of the TV watching cartoons. Handing him a slice of pizza, Ross gestured toward the characters cavorting on the screen. “Who are they?”

“That’s Johnny Savage and his friend, Major Stanton.”

“Oh? What do they do?”

“Fight aliens. Most of the time they’re humanoid. But that one’s an octopus. He’s a bad guy. His men squirt ink on people to capture them.”

“I see,” said Ross, who didn’t. What had happened to the simple cartoons of his childhood? Elmer Fudd hunting wascally wabbits? The Road Runner foiling Wile E. Coyote?

His brother’s words came back to haunt him. What makes you think you can raise a seven-year-old?

Ignorance, obviously. Would he ever get the hang of this parenting thing? Not just learning how to look after a kid, feed him, clothe him, keep him from harm, but find common ground for a relationship? And did he have it in him after all this time to embrace a whole new culture?

Ross wasn’t sure.

And at the moment he felt very much alone.

“So,” he said with forced gaiety when the cartoon ended. “Given some thought to what you’d like for your birthday? I need ideas, you know.”

Angus’s eyes widened. “Is it Wednesday already?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“And you—you want to give me a present?”

“Why not?”

“I heard you telling someone on the phone that you’d already gotten me something.”

“When was that?”

“The morning we left to come here.”

That must have been Delia, calling to remind Ross about Angus’s birthday; offering to buy a gift and send it to their beach house in the event he had forgotten.

But Ross had already bought the model train set Angus had fallen in love with at the toy store last month. Because of its size he’d brought along only the engine for Angus to unwrap on Wednesday, plus a few other things he hoped the boy would like.

Now he frowned, wondering if he should remind Angus not to eavesdrop on telephone calls between grown-ups. Surely this was a good time to drive the message home?

But the memory of how the boy had withdrawn from him in Kenzie Daniels’s aviary earlier that day stopped him cold. Back then he’d only mentioned his dislike of pelicans, not chastised the boy for bad behavior. Still, he didn’t want to be the cause of the boy’s frustrated tears again. The thought made him ache inside.

“So obviously you know you’ll be getting presents on Wednesday,” he said instead. “So much for a surprise. But you also get one birthday wish.”

“A wish? What kind of wish?”

“The best kind. You can ask for anything you like. Within reason, of course. Something special you’ve been wanting very badly.”

“For real?”

The boy’s eagerness tore at Ross’s heart. If only it was always this easy. “Sure. My mother started the tradition when I was just a bit younger than you. Each year my brother Alex and I were allowed to make one birthday wish, which Mom did her best to fulfill. She always said it was better than blowing out candles and just hoping it’d come true.”

“That never happens,” Angus agreed.

“I know.”

“Did your dad help make those wishes come true?”

My dad was the wish, Ross thought, then cleared his throat. “He sure did. So go ahead and tell me. What would you like?”

Angus’s eyes widened. “I can wish for anything?”

“As I said, within reason.”

“Can we go out to dinner?”

“On Wednesday night? Is that your wish?”

Angus nodded.

“Sure we can. Is that all you want?”

“Um, well…” Angus looked down at his sneakers. “Can we take Kenzie along?”

“What?”

He must have spoken sharply, because Angus’s face fell.

“You said I could have a wish,” he mumbled. “And I want to have dinner with Kenzie.”

Ross set his plate aside and drew in a deep breath. The last thing he wanted was to encourage further contact with a beautiful-but-lawyer-hating woman his son seemed to be unnaturally drawn to. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Angus nodded.