Page 79 of Small Town Frenzy
Looking up at me, Griffin says, “It’s just an old undershirt.” But he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than me. He moves next to Jacob again and says, “This time, paint the wood. Not your da. . . not your friends.”
“Not my friends.” I don’t like the devious look I get from Jacob before he puts both hands on the lever again. “Not your friends. Not your Mommy.”Oh no.I grab his hat, not wanting it ruined by paint, and rush to the porch to set it down. I don’t mind the distance when paint is involved. He squeezes, spraying orange paint exactly where it should go—on the wood.
“Good job, buddy,” I say, moving in a little closer again. He doesn’t stop, now getting the hang of it and letting his creativity flow.
Griffin joins him with royal blue on his side of the wood, but instead of a design, he writes Jacob’s name. The paint sputters on the C and sprays air after he gets a barely readable O. He stands and steps back next to me. “It’s old paint. I’ll just use another . . .”
I watch as he walks up to the wood again, standing with his hands planted on his sides. Jacob’s having way more fun, especially since no one is monitoring the situation. He’s doing just fine, so why ruin the good time?
But Griffin, on the other hand, dips his head down and rubs the bridge of his nose. I move in behind him to rub his back with my hand and quickly place a kiss there. “What’s wrong?”
“His name.” He turns back to face me.
Jacob drops the can. “I want a new color.”
Griffin’s eyes are set on mine when he replies, “Pick any color you want, Champ.”
“You named him Jacob.”
I don’t get it. The question is lost in translation between us. “Yes.”Ohhhh. My eyes dart to the wood where his name remains unfinished. JACO.
When I look back at him, he says, “You named him Jacob for Jaco Beach.”
“The details sometimes slip away from me.” It’s not a reason to be upset, and he’s not, but I do feel the need to explain myself. “I was . . . alone. I felt so alone. Even with my cousin by my side at the hospital, I wanted you there. I was running every moment we shared, every word you said through my mind. I had your hat sitting on my belly when they were wheeling me to the birthing room. When they asked me what his name was, I said Jaco but corrected myself. His name is Jacob. Jacob Justin.”
Jacob is tugging on Griffin’s jeans so he’ll put the lever on the can of yellow paint. He bends down and swaps out the contraption, but I see him stop to look at Jacob, to really look into his son’s eyes. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” His voice is sweet, but it was how he looked at Griffin, a bond already formed, that has my heart racing. I love them together.
“You should tell him, Griffin.”
He stands, the minutest shake of his head backs the confusion populating his eyes. “Tell him what?”
“Who you really are.”
His gaze whips back to our son before it meets mine again. “Are you sure?”
“It’s not up to me anymore. If it feels like the right time to you, I support you.”
Searching my eyes for any doubt comes up empty for him. Reaching out to take my hand in his, he kisses my palm, and with glossy eyes, he whispers, “Thank you.”
The feel of his lips lingering on my skin causes goose bumps to ripple up my arm. “You don’t need to thank me for you telling him what he should have known all along.”
“I was thanking you for giving me a child. It’s not something I envisioned ever having, but now that I do, I can’t imagine life without him.”
His realization is one I had a long time ago. My life is better because Jacob is in it. Now I get to spend time with his father. Life is good. “It’s funny how that works.”
Not bothering to hide us anymore, he kisses my cheek, then turns back around. “Hey, Champ, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes.”
“Sure.” He’s squeezing the lever so hard, but nothing is coming out. “It’s broken.”
“We have more, but how about we go talk on the porch?” Jacob takes his offered hand, and the two of them walk to the back of the house. Griffin holds the hat so Jacob can sit next to him.
I wait for it because I know it’s coming. Like everything else, one thing leads to another, and secrets don’t stay buried forever. His gaze slides up from the hat. He says, “Jacob Justin.”
Cutting through the grass, I think back to so many moments when that hat kept me company and filled in for the partner I didn’t have. I wore it in the middle of the night while feeding my baby. I took photos of him on his first birthday wearing it. “I looked at that label more times than I can remember. Justin. The brand just came to mind when I needed a name that meant something. That hat was the only tangible thing I had from our night together, the only souvenir I got.” I laugh. “Other than Jacob.”
“I not souvenir,” he states defiantly even if not saidperfectly. He doesn’t even know what a souvenir is, which makes me laugh a little louder.
