A Son's Tale

Maybe tomorrow she’d be ready to have friends again. Tonight she was a mother. And she had to tend to her son.

With that sole thought in mind, she put the car in gear the second Sammie came running down the drive.

He was wearing new basketball shorts that matched his new shoes. Shorts she hadn’t purchased. Tonight, those shorts were another sign to her of what she must do.

“You coming in, Mom?”

“Not tonight, sweetie. Tell Frank thank-you and jump in. I’ve already called in our pizza order and it’s going to be ready in five. Traffic was kind of bad so it took me a while to get here.”

With a grin and a nod, her son did as she bid.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

TUESDAY NIGHT CAL FOUGHT a good fight. But he came out of it uncertain whether he’d won or lost. Since he was fighting with himself, either way he came up a winner. And a loser, too.

At five, when Morgan drove off with Sammie without so much as a hello, let alone a rundown of what had happened in court, he was peeved. How dare she involve him in her crisis and then just leave him hanging like he didn’t deserve to know the outcome?

By six he remembered that she hadn’t involved him. He’d involved himself. On more than one occasion. He was the one who’d pushed. Not Morgan. She’d never onc

e called him. Never come to him at all.

And he wanted her to.

With that realization he took himself out for a beer, leaving his father to fend for himself for dinner—something that Frank seemed better able to do now that he had a reason to need his strength. After one beer, he went to his monthly junior arts league meeting, listened to the items on the agenda, voted and left without taking the time to socialize with anyone. Tonight he only had the wherewithal to find out how Morgan Lowen was doing.

Tonight, for the first time in his adult life, he wanted to be needed by a woman.

Pulling into a bar not far from the arts center, he determined that one more beer would wash away the unfamiliar desires that were trying to hijack his life and then he’d head home to bed. An early night wouldn’t be remiss.

He missed the parking spot he’d claimed as his. And missed his turnaround to take a second shot at it. He was out on the road again instead, heading toward Morgan’s duplex. It wasn’t far.

He considered making a ten o’clock call. They’d kind of established a pattern. He’d just see if her lights were still on and then call her from the car.

One light was on. The small one in the living room, on the end table at the far end of the couch. The end by the archway that led into her dining room. The shades were drawn, but he could tell by the glow of the light, and by its placement on the curtains, which lamp she’d left burning.

Pulling his phone out of its pouch, he held it up. Looked at it and then at the house.

If she wanted to speak with him, she knew how to reach him.

He was her professor. Maybe she didn’t feel right coming to him with personal problems. Maybe that was why she always left the pursuit up to him.

Not sure how clear his thinking was at that point, Cal didn’t analyze any further. He’d found a valid reason to call.

She’d failed to pick up two other calls from him that day. He looked away from the window, not wanting to see if her shadow appeared on the other side of the shade. If she was even in the living room.

Or home at all.

“Hello?”

He slid down in the seat to a more comfortable position. “Hi.” He gave her a chance to take control of the conversation. To tell him why she hadn’t answered his calls. Or returned them. To tell him she couldn’t talk. To give him any indication of what was going on with her. Silence hung on the line.

“How are you?”

“Okay.” And then, “Fine.”

“How did it go today?”

“Good. I guess. The judge took the matter under advisement. He set another hearing two weeks from today, at which time he might or might not call on further testimony and he might or might not render his decision.”