He increases the heat on the stove when the oil doesn’t heat up right away — because he used so much of it. “Gina, his mother, wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship with a navy man.” He tears open a bag of mixed vegetables and dumps them in the pan. Oil splatters out around the edges and sticks to his stove top. “Understandably, she wanted someone around more, but she never denied my desire to see Liam when I was in town.”
Bennett stabs at the lump of vegetables with a plastic green spatula, splashing the oil all over the sides of the stove. “What are you doing?” I’ve watched him murder the poor broccoli long enough.
“Making veggies,” he says, lifting the spatula in the air like there’s nothing wrong with his method. The movement splatters small drops of oil on the front of his refrigerator, and I cringe, leaning back to get away from the damage.
Sliding off the stool I walk around the counter. “By hitting them? Are you trying to beat them into cooking? Move over.”
He pulls his hand back when I reach for the spatula. “What?”
“I’ll cook. You talk.” It will save the veggies a torture session and give me something to do to keep myself calm.
“Anyway,” Bennett sits on the other side of the counter on the same stool I left. “Gina was a great mom and I did my best to be a good dad. We’d make videos, Skype chat, send letters, and I spent every second with him when I was home.”
His story sounds perfect. Like two people working together to raise their son, but the heavy tone Bennett tells it with hints at a not-so-pleasant ending.
“So what happened?” It could be Liam is here for the summer, but there’s something off. It doesn’t feel like that’s the case. With my eyes cast down to the pan, I secretively slide as much of the oil as possible to one side and use the rest of the pan to finish cooking the vegetables.
When Bennett doesn’t start talking again, I give him a pointed look until he takes a deep breath and resumes.
“On my last leave in the states, I stopped by to pick up Liam and found her curled in a ball on her bathroom floor.” He stops, taps the counter twice and with another deep breath continues, “I was horrible to her. Accused her of being on drugs and finally after a lot of yelling she admitted,” he rubs his hand against his forehead creating red lines from the hardness, “she had cancer.”
“Oh no.” I wish there was something better I could say, but nothing articulate comes to mind. The oil hisses and pops as I spread the veggies around, tossing them with the spatula.
“The doctors caught it too late. Gina went through a round of chemo but it wasn’t enough. She died a few months later.”
“Bennett, I’m so sorry.” With the vegetable done, I remove the pan from the heat and turn off the stove while keeping my eyes on his.
He shrugs — getting a handle on his emotions quickly — and stands from the stool to retrieve three plates from the cupboard. “I couldn’t get out of the military right away so Liam stayed with my mother in Florida. Gina had no family who wanted to be involved. Ridge offered me a job in his nice quiet family-oriented community and I jumped on a chance to move us here.”
“And you don’t tell anyone about Liam?”
Bennett laughs. “No. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure how you felt about kids.”
I laugh under my breath. “Yeah, you’re totally wrong on that one.” Using the spatula, I drop a few vegetables on everyone’s plate making sure to leave one with significantly less.
A buzzer sounds and I step back to let Bennett turn it off and retrieve his casserole from the oven. He adds a large slice to everyone’s plate. From the look of the noodles in red sauce, I’d say lasagna.
“Liam!” Bennett yells from the kitchen. “Dinner time.”
Bennett carries Liam’s plate to a dining room set off the kitchen. Plain white walls with a short Berber carpet match the basic wooden table sitting in the middle with four chairs surrounding it.
Liam doesn’t spare me a second glance as he takes a seat next to his dad, and I’m almost disappointed he doesn’t seem to care at all about the new girl eating dinner with them. Is this something Bennett does often?
The feeling lasts less than a minute before he wrinkles up his nose at a piece of broccoli perched beside a lasagna noodle and looks to his dad asking, “Who’s the girl?”
Bennett’s eyes widen. “Liam, that’s not something we say.”
“What? You didn’t introduce me,” he counters.
I turn up a shoulder and smile. The kid has a point. “My name is Anessa. And I’m a friend of your daddy’s.”
“Okay.” He states it like it is no big deal and goes back to licking the sauce off his fork.
“Why don’t you tell us about your day.” Bennett leans over and cuts Liam’s lasagna into a few small pieces. It’s such a simple gesture, but an adorable one. Watching Bennett look after his child brings a smile to my tired features, and some of the frustrations from the day drain away.
“Miss D. and I colored and then we went to the park by the big school.”
“Did she push you on the swings?” Bennett asks.
