Valerie Taylor - The World's Best Dad

“I’m his father. I know what’s best for him.” He took a breath to calm himself and made a conscious effort to lower the tone of his voice. “Maggie, you know I’ve always loved and respected you. I understand you think Joe needs something different than I’m giving him. I respect your opinion, but I think you’re wrong. I understand you’re saying these things out of love for Joe. But I can’t put this any other way—back off.”

She gasped, probably at the dead-serious tone of his voice as much as the words themselves, and he felt another stab of guilt for hurting her. Then she gave an offended huff. “I am the child’s grandparent. The only living representative of his mother’s family. I have a responsibility to make sure he is being cared for properly.”

“Then I can assure you, Joe is being very well cared for. Unless you think I’m incapable of doing a good job, you’re just going to have to accept that.” He took another deep breath and tried a warmer tone. “Look, I know you only want what’s best for Joe. That’s the same thing I want. Trust me. You must know I’m doing my level best here. Do you believe that?” He paused, waiting for her response.

“Of course, Ben.” Her voice sounded muffled, flat.

“And if you believe I’m doing my best, can’t you give me enough credit to believe my best is good enough?” He hated the hint of pleading he heard in his own voice, the implication that he didn’t believe it himself.

She sighed, sounding resigned for now. “I believe you believe it.”

He shook his head. There was no winning. “Maggie, listen, I have to go. Joe’s in the tub, and it’s way too quiet in there.” At her disapproving gasp, he closed his eyes in disgust at his own stupidity. Why had he told her Joe was unsupervised in the tub?

He knew he’d never manage to keep his tongue through one more lecture on parenting practices. “Look, Maggie, we’ll talk more later.” He hung up before she could protest.

He hadn’t heard the end of it, but at least it was the end for tonight. Maybe next time he talked to her he’d have more patience.

He headed back toward the bathroom, deliberately willing himself to calm down before he walked in on his son. Joe didn’t deserve the remnants of Ben’s irritation with Maggie.

He looked at his watch. Only four o’clock, but after a full day on the site and only a half hour with his son, he was beat. Maybe he could get Joe down to bed early tonight.

He’d get Joe bathed and fed and played with and read to and put to bed and put to bed again and put to bed sternly and put to bed with dire threats. Then Ben could start mentally recharging himself for the next day. When had he gotten so old?

He stepped into the bathroom.

No Joe.

JULIE STOOD STARING at the dead phone stupidly.

In the open doorway, one of the movers grunted as all three tried to maneuver her wet living room couch through the opening.

Mrs. Malloy walked past her and into the living room with yet another body for her collection.

Julie felt like throwing the dead cell phone on the floor and stomping on it. With an effort, she controlled herself. She was a mom now, she had to be mature. All the parenting books emphasized the importance of the role model she played for her daughter. Especially since she was the female parent. Especially since she was the only parent. She had to be practically perfect. The knowledge settled like a familiar weight on her shoulders.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. It didn’t really work but she did manage to keep from doing violence to the phone.

She peered out the dining room window at the house next door. Maybe the neighbor had a cordless. Or even a phone with a long cord. There was only a slim strip of driveway between the two houses—the two identical tiny bungalows had obviously been shoehorned in on what had originally been a single lot long after the rest of the neighborhood had already been built.

Fine, she’d go meet her new neighbor.

She called up the stairs. “Marisa? I’m going next door for a minute. Carla’s here.”

“Take me with you!” Marisa ran from her bedroom into the small hall at the top of the stairs. Her nervous glance shot to Carla and back to Julie. Carla gave Marisa an encouraging smile, but Marisa was having none of it. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Carla. She just couldn’t seem to let Julie out of her sight.

Julie looked out the door as the movers tried again with the couch. “But it’s raining, honey.”

Marisa ran down the stairs. “That’s okay.”

Julie shrugged at Carla. “Okay, we’ll both get wet.”

Carla was watching Marisa. “Can I come, too?”

Marisa nodded, and Carla mouthed “progress” at Julie.

Julie laughed. “I think you’re both nuts. But, okay, we’ll all three get wet.”

The movers set the couch down half in, half out of the living room door. “Lady, I think this door is going to have to come off.”

Of course it was. Julie gave them a resigned nod.

Carla looked at her with a wide-eyed gaze. “For free? Boy, are you lucky! Is this place ever going to be nice and aired out! No better smell than a nice spring rain, I always say.”

Julie gave a helpless laugh. What would she do without Carla? Feeling quite lucky, indeed, Julie led Carla and Marisa out the back door.

It was dim under the overhang of the awning, the early March sun already setting behind the rain clouds.

“Should we just run over to their back door? It’s closer.” Carla nodded across the yard.

“Yeah, but I hate to introduce myself that way. Let’s go around to the front like civilized people. It’s not much farther, and we’re going to be wet anyway.”

She held out her hand to Marisa, but before the three of them could dash out into the drizzle, the back door of the neighboring house swung open, and a naked child streaked across the two small backyards to Julie’s sandbox.

Into which he promptly peed.

“Oh, my,” Carla said.

Next door, the back door swung open again, and out ran a tallish man with short dark hair wearing jeans and pulling a faded T-shirt over his head.

“Oh, my,” Carla said.

The man stopped and scanned the yards. “Joe?” His gaze lit on the boy. “Joe! No!”

He sprinted across the yard and grabbed the child, lifting him off the ground and onto his hip. He shook his head. “Joe! What in the world are you doing?”

“I’m a cat! I need to use the litter box!” The boy struggled within the man’s bare arms. The man had no trouble maintaining his grasp, but the muscles in his shoulders shifted with the child’s movements, straining just enough to bring them into sharper focus. The misting rain added a sheen to his tan, and Julie found herself staring.

He looked up at that moment, to where Julie stood under the tattered awning. She blushed, though she doubted he could have noticed more than that she was watching him with the struggling child, who by now was shrieking in frustrated protest.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He pulled the shirt back over his head and dropped it over that of the child, walked the few steps from the sandbox and ducked under the awning. He set the boy down, but he kept a firm grasp on the child’s wrist. “My son. He’s a cat, you know. Last week he was a turtle. Apparently turtles can use toilets.” He looked from her to Carla to Marisa, who was staring at Joe with her mouth open, and gave Julie an amused grin. “Ben Harbison.”

“Julie Miles.” She held out her hand.

He took it, enveloping it in his own large one. His palm felt warm and slightly rough on hers, a little damp from the rain, and she was suddenly very aware of his nearness, as if his presence was somehow more profound than normal.