Page 55 of My Song for You
I rolled my eyes and signed to Logan to check he was okay.
“Oh God, he’s sooooo adorable,” the shrieker said. At first I thought she was talking about Jared, because he certainly was adorable, especially with his son on his shoulders. But then I realized she meant Logan.
“You guys look like you could be brothers.” She raised her smartphone to take a photo.
A bad feeling rushed me at the realization that it wasn’t only Jared’s face she was planning to shoot a picture of. I stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Logan.
“What the fuck?” she said.
“Language.” I scowled at her.
“That’s a dollar,” Logan said, holding out his hand.
Jared chuckled and patted his son’s leg. “Sorry, buddy, but that only applies to Mason.”
“No pictures,” I said, pointing to Logan. “I don’t want his picture to end up on the Internet.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like it isn’t already up there. You post it on Facebook, right?”
What, was she studying pre-law? “No, I don’t. My son’s safety is my number one priority.”
She mumbled something that could have been sorry.
“You’re more than welcome to take photos of Jared.” Because that was part of his job, even if this was his day off.
Jared removed Logan from his shoulders and posed with each girl separately. I even took a group shot of them with the girl’s phone, with Logan holding my leg so he didn’t inadvertently wander off.
While Jared signed their Disney books, Logan and I joined the long line for the Haunted Mansion. He had decided he wanted to go there before seeing Winnie-the-Pooh. Jared sidled up to us five minutes later.
“Are monsters in there?” Logan asked his father, eyes wide.
“No. But don’t worry—if there are, your mom will protect you.” Jared winked at me.
This time it wasmyeyes that widened, but for a different reason: Jared was still calling me Logan’s mom. But then, what did I expect? He would hardly call me Logan’s mom one day and then suddenly refer to me as just Callie or Aunt Callie the next. But eventually that day would come. I’d been Logan’s mom for so long that once he stopped calling me that, it would feel like hot iron stakes being hammered into every inch of my body.
“You better believe it,” I said. “It’s in my job description to tickle all monsters until they surrender.” I tickled Logan. He giggled and squirmed. Jared grinned at us, as did the much older couple behind him.
“What an adorable family,” the woman murmured to her husband. My face heated and I turned away.
While we waited, Jared quizzed us on different ASL signs, inspired by the graveyard-themed decorations. Ghost. Monster. Grave. You know, all those useful terms for everyday conversation. Jared had to Google some of them. Then he invented a game where we told a story with them, each of us saying a sentence before it was the next person’s turn.
“The ghost was hungry,” Logan said, signing the sentence. Jared only had to sign the words he knew, which was more than I realized. The man had been practicing.
A newfound warmth directed at him bubbled inside me, but his actions shouldn’t have surprised me. This was the Jared I’d always known and looked up to.
Jared leaned toward me. “Ghosts can get hungry?”
I giggled. “Apparently so.”
“The ghost wandered through the house, searching for marshmallows.” Jared signed “ghost” and “house.”
“Ghosts eat marshmallows?” I asked, somewhat doubtful of this unknown fact.
With a straight face, Jared replied, “Of course they do. Why do you think ghosts are white?”
“Ghosts eat lots and lots of marshmallows,” Logan said, giggling.
Jared gestured at his son. “See?”
