Page 78 of Home Wrecker

Whatever, not every kid is going to win theLittle League World Series.

Bhodi is good at tinkering. We do cars in our house. He’s excited when a new model has the hood open in the service garage bay. I get to foster his interest. It’s called bonding. If William only takes the kid to do what he wants, they’re never going to have a decent relationship.

As soon as Willam pulls away, a glum Bhodi mentions a car show in Raleigh. I swear the kid can sniff them out since we’ve been to at least four since the summer. On Friday nights, when we’re at the dealership, he shows me the flyers for muscle car clubs that have monthly cruises in the area.

This is Bhodi’s idea of fun. It wouldn’t shock me in the least if it’s what he’d told William he wanted to do before getting locked into a batting cage, pelted by baseballs, and degraded by callous remarks of what he’s lacking instead of encouraging his skills.

We’re in my nondescript SUV on our way before Bhodi second-guesses suggesting it to me. He sticks close when we arrive, taking my cell to find out specs on vehicles he’s too shy to ask about.

One owner draws out his curiosity over a Shelby GT 3500. Didn’t take the kid for a Mustang enthusiast.

“Does your dad like cars?” The man regards me, standing to the side.

Bhodi turns his head but doesn’t take his eyes off the line of the white stripe lines and lettering near the wheelbase.

“He knows a lot about them.” Holly’s son says, almost inaudible. “He wanted a Cobra, but he got an MGB that he restored.”

“You help him with it?” He opens the door, letting Bhodi sit in the car and allowing him to explore the interior.

“No, he let me help with a Colony Park. It’s not his, though.” Bhodi smooths his hand across the worn leather the way he does with the cars we practice on.

“You do engine work on the side?” The Mustang owner eases me into the conversation.

Eventually, I admit who I am. He knows a guy who knows one of my service center guys.

“So your dad put a car you restored in the front window of his dealership. That’s a colossal achievement for someone your age. You’ve got to be awful proud.”

“Yeah.” Bhodi toes the asphalt, his sneaker circling out in shallow arcs, moving a loose black stone.

A few more minutes go by and the man shakes both our hands, encouraging Bhodi to keep up the good work, and saying he’s going to drive by to take a peek at the Mercury.

“Cary?” Bhodi tugs my elbow as we walk away.

I look down at him. My full-on fucking grin fades. Guilt radiates from his slumped shoulders.

“Don’t tell Mom I lied about who you were, okay?”

“I won’t.” Because he didn’t.

The moment Bhodi refused to explain to the man I wasn’t his dad was the moment I became his dad. I want this and it’s obvious Half-pint does too. I take Bhodi’s hand and don’t look back.

This afternoon it was me and my kid. Letting the limelight shine on him. Showing Bhodi how fucking proud I am to be the guy Holly trusted enough to bring into his life. With her by my side, nothing stops me from givingmy soneverything I didn’t get.

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“Did you have fun with your father?”

Asking Bhodi anything should be simple.

How was your day?shouldn’t have any underlying meaning. But confirming he’s okay spending time with a man whose trustworthiness I’m concerned about makes me squirm like a worm about to be plucked in two. I loathe every piece of me that needs to know beyond the broad generalization; the parent who can’t accept my son responding “good” at face value.

“I guess.” Bhodi stabs a trowel into the ground over and over again. Flicking small piles of dirt a few inches out. “Can I ask a question?”

“Sure thing.”

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