A Son's Tale

“The school district is pay-to-play and he knows his mom can’t afford it. And practices are after school every day at the junior high. He’d need a ride and his mom has to work.”

Cal was beginning to see the problem. He just wasn’t sure what the solution would be. Was the boy angling to live with his grandfather so he could play basketball?

“What was he hoping to accomplish by telling you?” he asked, no longer hungry.

Frank, for once, didn’t seem to have any lack of appetite.

“Truth is, I think he was trying to impress me with the idea that the coach thought he was good enough.”

“Did he say anything to you about living with his grandfather?”

Frank frowned. “Not a word. But I got the feeling that if I offered to take him to practice, he’d be willing to work off the pay-to-play fee just like he’s going to work off those new shoes of his. He asked if we needed the fence painted before winter. And wondered if we ever cleaned our windows, too.”

Relaxing, Cal’s mind raced with jobs, with solutions, with ways he could continue to help Morgan.

And then he stopped and stared.

His father, eyes trained on the television set in front of them, was grinning.

* * *

MORGAN WAS NOT WATCHING the clock. She just happened to notice when it was eight o’clock because that meant Sammie had an hour before his nine o’clock school-night bedtime. Eight-thirty was a checkpoint because that meant if Sammie was going to have a bedtime snack he had to be eating it. And eight forty-five was time to brush teeth, wash and change into

pajamas. Nine o’clock was a given. Prayers and kisses good-night.

Nine-fifteen. She noticed just so she could check that Sammie had turned off his light as promised. Nine-thirty, make sure her son was asleep. Nine thirty-five was to check on the battery in the clock on the living room wall. It seemed to be running a minute or two slow. Ditto, nine forty-five and she was happy to note that the clock was keeping time just fine.

By nine-fifty she told herself to find something to do. There was no point in having a jittery stomach. She should make a cup of chamomile tea and take a hot bath.

At ten o’clock she poured the tea. And ran the bath.

At five minutes past ten she swallowed disappointment and started to undress.

Just because he’d been on the phone when she’d picked up Sammie that evening was no reason for Cal to make one of his ten o’clock calls. They had nothing to discuss. Nothing that needed to be said to each other, which was the usual point in a phone call.

He probably had a date with Kelsey tonight. Maybe at her place. Another dinner. Italian. With wine and…maybe even a bedcap.

Stripped to her panties, Morgan glanced at herself in the mirror. Her breasts weren’t overly large, but they were sizable enough to get noticed. And give her some cleavage.

There’d been a day, before Sammie came along, that she’d despaired over ever having cleavage. In those days she’d been certain that if cleavage ever arrived, she’d live happily ever after.

Tonight she was just glad that her breasts weren’t sagging yet.

She touched her nipples. They were okay. They hardened under her touch and she let them go. It had been so long…

And it would be longer, she admonished herself, slipping her panties down her thighs. She’d get in the bath. Drink her tea. And when she was relaxed enough to sleep she’d…

Her cell phone rang. She’d turned the volume down so it wouldn’t wake Sammie and she’d brought it into the bathroom with her.

Pulling her panties back up, she grabbed the thing before it could vibrate off the counter.

“Hello?”

“Were you asleep?”

He always asked. Kind of silly. But she liked that he did. “Of course not.”

“You busy?”