Page 17 of Come to Me

“I have a good teacher.”

Tate reached deep into the bucket. “We’re almost out of rocks.” He pulled one out, studying it. “Aunt Micki could make this one skip a lot.” He shoved it in his pocket presumably to give it to her. He pulled another rock from the bucket. “I hope I get five skips.”

He took his stance by the lake, pulled back his arm, flicked it and his wrist forward, and the rock rocketed out. It skimmed the water once, twice, thrice, and just barely four times before sinking.

He let out a frustrated growl.

“I’m impressed.” Patrick dug in the bucket for a rock.

“Do you have kids Dr. Patrick?”

Patrick straightened. “No.” He looked down on the boy. “Do you?”

Tate cracked up, covering his belly. “No silly. I’m too little.”

Patrick laughed, even as he wondered where his playful comment had come from. “I guess you are.” He took his rock to the edge of the lake.

“You were kissing Aunt Micki, so maybe you can be a daddy.”

Patrick jerked his arm mid-throw as Tate’s words ricocheted through his brain. His rock went up, and then arced straight down into the water.

“That wasn’t so good.” Tate’s eyes narrowed like a teacher assessing a student’s performance.

Knowing it was inappropriate to ask Tate about his comment, Patrick returned to the bucket. “Can I have a gimme?”

“What’s a gimme?”

“A do-over.”

Tate shrugged. “I guess.”

They emptied the bucket of rocks. “We can get some more if you want.” Tate pointed to an area around the lake. “The good ones are over there.”

“I think I need a break. I’ll probably be sore tomorrow.”

“Maybe tomorrow we can go fishing.”

Patrick smiled. He hoped that Tate’s eagerness to spend time with him meant he wouldn’t be throwing rocks in anger when his father dropped him off tomorrow.

“Sounds good.”

“Tate. Come on, son. Leave Dr. Andres alone.”

Patrick looked up at the deck where Mrs. Kincaid called Tate.

“I hope he hasn’t been too much trouble,” she said.

Patrick shielded his eyes from the mid-morning sun. “Are you talking to me or him?”

She pursed her lips.

Hmm. Maybe everyone was right about his humor; he didn’t have any. Weird that he was even attempting.

“Come on, Tate.”

Patrick sighed. Maybe what he said wasn’t funny because she wanted Tate away from him.

“I’ve gotta go. I’ll ask my Paw Paw if we can use his fishing gear.”

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