For the Children

Blake stayed with her for another half hour, sometimes talking, lying on the side of her bed. And when he was finally sleepy enough, he got up and stumbled across the hall to the room he shared with his brother.

Valerie went with him, tucked him in. Both boys insisted they were too old for the nightly ritual, but they always let her do it, anyway. Kissing him on the cheek, she whispered a promise that she’d take care of everything, and watched his eyes drift shut.

When she’d repeated the motions with his twin—including the quiet promise she had no idea how to keep—Valerie returned to her room.

Judging by her twelve-year-old kids, she wasn’t doing such a hot job of single parenting.

AT NINE-THIRTY on Monday night, the first of December, Kirk’s phone rang.

“Want some coffee?”

He liked the fact that she didn’t feel a need to introduce herself. And then refused to like it.

“I was just heading over to The Coffee House. Meet me there?”

“Yeah.”

Something was wrong. She wouldn’t be calling him otherwise.

Kirk just hoped it was something he could help her with. If she was planning to try again to get Brian on the basketball team, she was going to be disappointed.

Because he wasn’t letting her son on his team until Brian gained at least one pound. He’d made a deal with the boy.

Kirk arrived before she did, ordered for both of them and chose a table outside on the patio. Only in places like Arizona could you enjoy a balmy evening warm enough to be out without even a sweater on a December night.

“What’s up?” he asked as soon as she sat down.

“I couldn’t just want coffee with a friend?”

Dressed in a black blouse tucked into jeans, with black high-heeled suede boots, she was every man’s dream of a “friend.” And more.

“Are we friends?” he asked, sliding down in his seat at a sideways angle to the little glass-topped table, his jean-clad legs crossed in front of him.

She blinked, tilted her head to look at him. “I guess I don’t know.”

Because he didn’t know either, he let her off the hook. “Blake told me he talked to you about his stomachaches.”

She stirred the whipped cream in her hot chocolate. “Yeah. I called his doctor today.”

“And?”

“He prescribed antacids, an ulcer diet and another round of counseling. He’s sure, as I am, that Blake is worrying himself sick about Brian.”

“And about you.”

She’d obviously freshened her makeup before she’d come, because he couldn’t see the freckles that were always so prominent after she’d been sweating it out on the tennis court.

“About me? I’m doing fine.”

“Boys worry about their mothers. Especially when there isn’t a dad around,” he told her. Unless they were self-centered like Kirk. Then they just didn’t see when their mothers’ hearts were breaking.

Head slightly bowed, he looked over at her. “Blake also said that you’d promised Brian a spot on the team, at least for one game. He seems to think you have more power over things than I do.”

With a deep breath and closed eyes, she appeared to be considering her response. Her tension made the cords in her neck stand out.

“I promised him I’d take care of the things he spoke to me about,” she finally said, so gently her words were like a brush against his skin. “He just assumed that meant Brian could be on the team. And I’m his mother, Kirk. Mothers are gods and have the power of gods, didn’t you know that?”

“Mine didn’t.” His mother, a rich socialite, had been a servant. His servant.