Page 96 of Long Time Coming

“Ah.” She looks out past the porch. “Lauralee knows.”

“I think your dad does as well.” Her mouth is hanging wide open, implanting thoughts inappropriate for the situation.

“He hasn’t said anything to me.”

“He hinted at it when I came by yesterday.”

She takes a sobering breath and angles toward me on the swing. “So what you’re saying is that everyone knows, but we’re still pretending they don’t?”

“Seems that way. So what if we were a couple like any other instead of hiding?”

I see the joy in the blue of her eyes as potential fills them, but she bites her bottom lip and gnaws before licking it. “How do you feel about a hard launch at the Peach Festival?”

“Two days? That will give me time to talk to Beckett.” I look up at the corners of the cream-painted ceiling, analyzing the work required for this part of the house. When I look at her, I say, “And to get this house painted. Can I pick you up on Thursday at five?”

“I’d like that. The three of us can go together.”

“It’s a date.” A hard launch is the same as a soft launch when it comes to small towns. Go big or go home, as they say.I’m ready.

Shortly after she takes off, I get my son to help me clear off the porch of all the junk that’s collected over the years: an old bike tire that never got patched that might be from my brother’s bike back in high school, two stacks of cracked clay and ceramic pots never glued back together, and even an old stove that outdates me turned into another dumping spot. My dad helps me move that to a pile of garbage we need to deliver to the dump.

When it’s just me and the kid again, I spray the ceiling and upper corners and let him power wash the lower parts. “Hey buddy, I wanted to talk to you about Miss Christine.”

He only glances at me before aiming at a hole where a lizard just disappeared. “She said I can name the next colt that’s born on the farm.”

“Oh yeah? That’s a big responsibility.”

“She said I’m old enough.”

“You are. Almost seven in July.” I try for casual. I don’t need to make this bigger than it is. She is my girlfriend. I could just say it or do it the hard way, which is what I’m leaning toward right now. “I know you like her a lot.” He nods but pays no real mind to me as I nervously stumble through this awkward conversation. What am I looking to get from it? His approval like her dad’s? I could disregard Thomas Greene’s opinion, then work on winning him over in time. That’s not the case with Beckett. If he doesn’t want her in my life on a larger level, that will be a problem I’m not sure we’ll be able to solve.

Will I give up Pris if my son wants me to?

I don’t owe my happiness in exchange for his well-being. It’s not one or the other. They can exist in the same universe. But it will make it more challenging and probably put an end to moving to Texas. Not that I’m moving here only for her, but she’s a big part of the pull I’ve been feeling to be back here.

When he messes around with the washer, I say, “Let’s take a walk and dry off.”

He drops the wand like a hot potato. I shut it down, and we start for the pasture to lean against the rails under a big tree-shaded spot. He squats and draws in the dirt with a stick. “She’s nice to you.”

The stick stops, and he looks back up at me as if he knows where this is leading before continuing his art. He’s six. No way he knows. I’m not even sure he’ll understand after we discuss it.

He says, “She’s nice to you, too.”

“She is.”

Looking at me once more, he squints with the sun in his eyes. “She likes you.” He stands and drags the stick around on the ground a few times, causing a mini dust storm. “You like her.”

I try to tamp down the surprise in my tone when I ask, “Why do you say that?”

“Because of how you look at her.”

“How’s that, buddy?”

“She’s your secret ingredient.”

Damn.The kid has a way with words and gets straight to the point.

He comes to lean against my leg and looks up at me. “It’s okay if you want to marry her.” I’m glad he can’t feel the way my heart beats harder, but I wish he knew how he eased the clenching in my chest, the tightness with something newer.The secret ingredient.

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