Dr. Daddy's Virgin

We walked next door and found Allie in the side yard by the shed, engaged in a serious battle of wills with a rather decrepit-looking lawn mower. She had on a pair of cut-offs and a black tank top, and her dark brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, little wisps plastered to her sweaty forehead. She didn’t see us approach, and she gave the lawn mower a little kick.

“Fucker,” she said.

Declan’s eyes widened, and he clapped his hand over his mouth. His movement must have caught Allie’s eye because she looked up, a horrified expression crossing her face when she saw that it was us.

“Oh my God,” she said. “I didn’t realize that you guys were there. I totally didn’t just say that.”

“Say what?” I asked, even though it was clear that we had both heard her.

“Dad tells me to say mothertrucker,” Declan said.

I nudged him. “Hey now. We’ve actually both been working on not using language that we shouldn’t, right?” I nodded toward the lawn mower. “You need any help with that?”

She gave me a sheepish look. “Well... I had these grand visions of getting up and mowing the lawn and then maybe pruning some

of those bushes, but... I seem to have run into a bit of a road block.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead,” she said, brushing the wisps of hair back from her forehead.

“Oh, we brought you this,” I said, handing her the orange poppy seed bread. “It’s a belated housewarming gift.”

Declan looked up at me as Allie took it. “I thought you said it was a re-gift.”

I ignored him and went over to the lawn mower, though I could see that Allie was trying to hide her smile. “It’s got fuel in it?” I asked.

“I do know enough to do that,” she said.

I looked down at the front of the lawn mower. “It’s probably the spark plug,” I said. I disconnected the spark plug wire and examined it. “The wire hood looks okay. Let me just run back to the house and get a wrench. Come on, Declan.”

“He can hang out here with me,” Allie said. “If he wants. It’s the least I can do if you’re going to be able to get this lawn mower started for me.”

“I wanna stay with Miss Allie!” Declan said.

“Should we go have a slice of this bread?” she asked.

“Okay.” He grinned. “Harper’s mom said it was orange poppy seed bread when she dropped it off.”

I went back over to my house and into the garage and found my spark plug wrench. I was willing to bet it was old and she’d probably need to replace it, but maybe I could get it started by adjusting the gap.

I found myself actually hoping that it would need to be replaced, because then maybe we could all take a trip into town to go to the hardware store, but after I closed the gap a little and reconnected it, it started just fine.

“My hero,” Allie said, a dry note in her voice. She smiled. “Thank you. I really mean that.”

“If you need help with anything else, just ask,” I said. “You know where we live.”

Most Sundays, my parents made the drive west for a visit and to take Declan out for the afternoon. Sometimes I’d go with them, but more often than not, I’d either hang out with Ben or have some time alone, which I had never realized was such a commodity until I became a father.

Declan sat on the front steps, eagerly waiting my parents’ arrival. When their sleek black Range Rover pulled in, he let out a joyous yelp, but waited until the car came to a complete stop before he went caterwauling over to them.

My father, a retired physician, and my mother, who had stayed at home with the kids, stepped out of the vehicle, my mom holding her arms open for Declan to jump into. As she stood up, wrapping her arms around her grandson, I could tell that she was trying to hold back tears. It was early June, normally a time when people in New England rejoice, the brief respite between the unrelenting cold of winter and the brutal heat of summer, but for the Beckers, forever tainted since my little sister Marissa died four years ago, on June 17th. She’d just come back home, and it was supposed to be a happy time. Everyone had been looking forward to it.

We were not a family who was used to having bad things happen.

Sure, life wasn’t perfect growing up, but it was pretty damn close. A large house on a hill, with a spectacular view of the Atlantic, a neighborhood full of friends, vacations to Vail, Paris, Milan, Tokyo. Marissa had liked Tokyo best. I liked them all—the novelty of going somewhere new. I was vaguely aware how much better off we were than most of my peers, but my parents never acted like it made us better than anyone else, so my sister and I didn’t, either. We went to public school. We didn’t have a housekeeper or personal chef or anything. My mother didn’t carry designer handbags or wear $900 shoes. My father was a popular family physician, who sometimes still made house calls. His one vice was luxury cars, which he’d always had, though he never made a big deal about it.

I visited with my parents for a little while, and then Declan said he was hungry, so they were going to take him out for lunch and then to a playground, giving me a couple hours to myself to do what I pleased.