The Doctor's Secret Son

But she wasn’t like her father. No matter how strong that urge inside her was, she knew she wasn’t.

* * *

Not quite understanding what had just happened, Trace watched Chrissie practically freeze next to a book display.

His gaze dropped down to where Chrissie clinched Joss’s little hand in a death grip.

Obviously confused, Joss kept turning to look at him expectantly, waiting for him to respond.

Because he was the adult here. Not that he had any clue what had just happened.

He wanted to give Joss things, for Joss to have something physical that he’d given him. A stuffed manta ray was as good a place to start as any.

“I’ll get the manta ray and meet you two out front,” he offered.

“Fine,” Chrissie agreed, keeping her back to him.

Too bad, because he’d really like to see what was in those expressive eyes of hers right now.

Joss was looking at him though. And not in a good way. His little face squished up, his eyes watered, then he shook his head. “I don’t need a manta ray.”

His tone sounded almost identical to what Chrissie’s had earlier, only with a big heap of sadness.

Good grief. More was going on here than whether or not a stuffed toy was going to be bought. Way more. Not that Trace understood what was running through Chrissie’s head, but something sure was.

“I’d like to buy you one, but if you want to wait until next time, we can.”

The tears welling in his eyes threatened to spill down his cheeks. “Can we go home?”

All kinds of heartstrings were pulling in dozens of directions as he looked into his son’s sorrowful eyes.

“Yes, we can.”

Only Joss had to go to the bathroom. When Chrissie started to take him into the women’s room, which was what he guessed she usually did rather than let Joss go into a bathroom alone, Trace had to speak up.

“I’ll take him with me into the men’s room.”

Fear lit her eyes. Real, no-holds-barred fear. Which confused Trace every bit as much as her behavior over his buying the kid a stuffed manta ray.

“It’s really no bother,” she protested. “It’s what we usually do.”

“Chrissie, it’s ridiculous for him to go into the ladies’ room when I’m right here and can take him to the men’s room.”

“But...”

He watched the very real struggle on her face, watched the physical effort she had to exert for her to let go of the boy’s hand.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting.” She glanced around, through the glass. “There. On that bench. I’ll be waiting right there. Don’t take too long. Please.”

Trace really wanted to question her on the stress in her voice. It was only a trip to the bathroom. Was it a trust thing? Did she think he wouldn’t keep an eye on their son? That he’d scold him if he had an accident? That he’d forget to make him wash his hands? What?

Although Chrissie’s saying no had robbed him of the chance of giving his son a present, Joss’s need for the bathroom had given him the gift of holding Joss’s hand without the boy pulling away, whether that was out of courtesy or out of knowledge that they were in a public place and he needed to be holding an adult’s hand. Either way, Trace was grateful for the tiny hand clasped inside his.

Trace stayed right with Joss, talked to him, and was proud of the way the three-year-old, who was in such a hurry to get back to his mother, managed himself in the bathroom, including automatically wanting to wash his hands afterward. Chrissie had taught their son well.

When they exited the bathroom, Joss spotted Chrissie immediately, even prior to Trace doing so.

“There she is!” he called, sounding relieved she was there. Had he thought she was leaving them despite her saying she’d be waiting?