He cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. I’m not usually that rude.”
“I don’t remember you ever being rude.”
He smiled, forcing himself to relax. No, he hadn’t been. Not up until the very end. More like he’d always been unsuspecting. Until he’d snapped. “Oh, I’m sure I had my moments. You probably weren’t there to see them, though.”
“We all have our moments, don’t we? Good, bad, somewhere in between, all subject to rising up and taking over without notice.”
Caleb laughed. “Some of us more than others.”
“Well, it’s forgotten. Or, better, you owe me one. Next time I have my moment, you’ll be cordial about it and maybe invite me to a fish fry.”
She reached out and laid her hand on his arm, a simple, casual gesture that caused a spark to run the whole way up to his shoulder. “Maybe we will stop by for a little while after all,” he said, wondering why the tingle was still lingering. Wondering why he liked her, even though he didn’t want to. Liked her sensibilities. Saw a depth in her he’d never seen before. “So, what time do you want us?”
“About seven. Will that give Matthew enough time to get some practicing in? I figured that by the time you picked him up and got him home...”
He was pleased that she’d thought to schedule around his son’s habits. It improved her status with him a little more. Something else he didn’t want to happen. But, despite it all, Leanne was happening to him. Again. Only this time he was older. And warned. “That’ll give him an hour and a half, which isn’t enough, but he’ll have to deal with it.”
“Then we’ll see you at seven,” she said, giving his arm a final squeeze before she trotted off to her car.
He watched her for a moment, still curious about the tingle she’d caused in him. He remembered it from all those years ago—every time she’d touched him...although always casually. “Damn,” he muttered, willing himself not to watch her. Not to take in her curves, notice her gentle bounce as she walked. But he couldn’t. She’d always been the prettiest girl in Marrell. And now she was stunning. Something way beyond pretty. Yet something he wasn’t going to get caught up in, again. He’d done that once and, and no matter what your age—young, old, somewhere in between—being played with hurt. Leanne had played hard with his life once, and he wasn’t going to let her get close enough to do it again.
* * *
“It’s so nice meeting you, Matthew,” Leanne said, bending down to greet the boy. He looked just like Caleb, except where Caleb’s hair was more of a sandy blond, Matthew was a definite towhead. But they had the same blue eyes, and Matthew especially had the same shy smile she remembered on Caleb years ago.
“Do you have a piano here?” the boy responded, looking around to see if he could spot one.
Caleb stepped up and put his arm around Matthew’s shoulder. “When he gets fixed on something, he has a one-track mind. Right now, he’s fixed on learning that Chopin piece I mentioned. It’s a little above his skill level just yet, but he’s working hard on it.”
“The ‘Fantaisie-Impromptu,’” Matthew said in a little-boy, matter-of-fact voice. “Do you know it?” he asked Leanne.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” she said, smiling. “But I’d love to hear you play it sometime.”
“Maybe. But it’s not ready yet,” Matthew went on to explain. “That’s why I needed to practice more tonight.”
She noticed how serious he was, particularly for his young age, and wondered if he ever let himself be just a child. Go outside and play. Go wading in the creek. Play video games. Or even talk like a boy his age would talk instead of trying to sound like an adult. The way Caleb had when he was that age. “Well, I’m glad you were able to take a little time off, because we have lots of rainbow trout frying, and we’re going to need help eating it all.”
“Broiled is better,” Matthew informed her, folding his arms across his chest and looking up at her. “Healthier.”
Caleb cleared his throat. “Matthew,” he said, “watch your manners.”
“I will,” the child murmured, taking a step back from Leanne. “Sorry.”
“That’s OK,” Leanne said. “Broiled is healthier, but sometimes fried is just plain good.” She smiled at Caleb. “But if Matthew would prefer I broil him a piece, I can do that.”
Caleb shook his head. “Part of the burden of being Matthew is knowing when to be part of the crowd. Isn’t that right, son?”
Matthew nodded reluctantly. “Sorry,” he conceded again, looking up at his dad and frowning. “I like fried, too.”
“Would you like to go out back and watch my dad do the cooking?” she asked Matthew, realizing he was probably bored to death. He was a little boy with a lot on his mind, and it showed on his face. Same serious expression she remembered on Caleb’s face back in the day.
“I’m sure my dad would like the company.”
After Matthew scampered off, she turned to Caleb, led him through the cabin to the porch and said, “He’s a genius like you were at that age, isn’t he?”
“Prodigy and genius...sometimes I think it’s too much intellect for someone so young to handle,” he replied. “Because he doesn’t find much joy in being a little boy.”
“Did you? Because you were that way, too,” she said. “I always remember being in awe of how smart you were. It was like there wasn’t anything you didn’t know.” They took a seat side by side on the porch swing, the way they’d sat when they’d been kids. Same memory almost. Same swing. Except they weren’t swinging, and Caleb looked pathetically uncomfortable. A leftover from the past, she supposed, thinking back to that night he’d been arrested, and the look on his face when he’d been taken away. A look that had broken her heart then, and still did now when she recalled it.
“I had fun. Maybe not the way most people would define fun, especially when you’re that age, but it was OK. Although that level of intellect has its burdens, which is why I worry so much about Matthew. I want him to learn from what I went through, so it doesn’t have to be so rough on him. But there’s that part of me that keeps saying experience is the best teacher, so I’m always walking a fine line with him.” His hand accidentally brushed against her and he immediately recoiled, then moved as far away from her as he could, until he was pressed tight to the side of the swing. “So far, it’s working pretty well.”
“He seems happy and well-adjusted,” Leanne added, wondering if Caleb would be more comfortable if she sat on the chair across from the swing. Also wondering why he didn’t make that move himself since he obviously didn’t want to be so close to her. But she wasn’t going to say anything. Wasn’t going to make the suggestion. It was Caleb’s problem to deal with, if he wanted to. “So, is it tough raising him alone?”
“Sometimes. He really doesn’t demand much, but there are so many times I just want him to be a little boy. I’d love to play ball with him or the two of us go for a hike in the woods. But he’s never interested. Always refuses when I ask, and I won’t argue with him about it or force him to do something he doesn’t want to, as there’s no balance in that, and all I want to do for him is give him a balanced life. One where he knows his choices count, too. I’m sure some parents might force the issue, but I have to take particular care to nurture his abilities, and if he’s happiest practicing or reading—another favorite activity of his—then I support him in that.”
“Which means no baseball?”
“Not for now,” Caleb said, his face so serious it looked almost ominous. “But, as staunch as he is in his likes and dislikes, he’s also flexible, if I can convince him there’s a reason to be. So, I keep my fingers