Both of them had, in different ways.
I was still digesting the idea that my father had known my son, held him if even for a few brief moments.
I had to bite back the resentment. But, in other ways, I think it made sense why he kept the things he kept. Maybe he thought he’d tell me someday how everything had happened.
Or maybe he even felt some remorse.
I had to believe he did, the mystery of why he’d left Fallon our family house not quite so startling.
I had to believe that my dad regretted how so many things were handled. Maybe he just didn’t have the words to express that regret.
How easy was it, after all, to say sorry for stealing someone’s life?
I wiped emotional tears from my eyelashes as Fallon and Jack paused at the edge of the yard, Fallon pointing up into the sky as a jet tracked across the puffy white clouds.
“We’d love it if you’d stay for dinner,” Calvin said, standing up from his place in the lounge chair and hovering at the French doors separating us from the large kitchen.
I swallowed the ball of emotion in my throat and turned, eyes glimmering up at this man I’d only just met. “Yes, we would love that. Thank you so much. I can’t even begin to express what you’ve given me today.” Emotion crawled out of my throat, threatening to choke my words, but I pushed on. “You’ve given me life.”
His soft smile turned up, a gentle nod before he pinched his own tears away. “I think you came just in time, Augusta. We need you more than you know.”
I had to contain myself then, swallowing and covering my eyes as I held it together, not wanting to present the image of a crying lunatic on the very first day I met my son and his family for the first time.
I turned, eyes focusing back on my boys, now walking back slowly, lost in conversation as Jack began asking Fallon every question under the sun about playing guitar, writing songs, singing onstage, and making music.
“I’ll teach ya, if you’d like.” Fallon bent down to his level, one broad, tattooed hand resting on his little shoulder.
I wanted a snapshot of this movement, wanted to capture it in my mind and relive it a thousand times over, relishing in the happiness.
“I would love that.” Jack’s toothy grin stole my heart.
I stepped up to their tight little circle, bending to find myself at Jack’s level, his warm bronze eyes smiling back at me. “If it’s okay with you, we’re gonna stay for dinner.”
Jack nodded fiercely, blond locks of hair falling across his forehead. On instinct, I reached out, pushing it behind his ear before catching myself.
The sweet little boy was smiling back at me, innocent wonder as he took in everything.
This morning, he’d gone to school with a single dad. This afternoon, he came home to Fallon and me.
While it felt confusing and amazing to Fallon and me, Jack seemed to take it all in stride, his grin popping when his dad told him exactly who we were. He first asked where we lived, and then a cascade of questions had ensued as he’d sat riveted at the kitchen table.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s go help your dad make dinner.” Fallon patted our son on the back.
Jack scrunched up his face. “Dad doesn’t make dinner. He’ll probably just order pizza.”
I raised an eyebrow, grinning as I found one more way I could be of use. “Well, let’s change that. We can make dinner, can’t we? What are you in the mood for?”
“Really?” Jack ran up the steps of the porch, waiting for us at the door. “Let’s make cake!”
He launched into the kitchen, circling his arms around his dad’s leg and announcing that I’d promised him we were makin’ cake. “How ’bout we save that for after we make dinner?”
Calvin laughed, waving me off. “I’ll just order in. Don’t wanna waste your time.”
“It’s not a waste of time at all.” I rubbed at Jack’s back, savoring even the tiniest touch. “I’d love to make dinner for you, and I’d love it even more if you helped me, Jack.”
He nodded, happy to help, before sliding across the floor in his socks to snag a barstool, then pushing it back across the floor to prop next to the stove. “I’m ready to chef.”
Fallon stifled a laugh, my own smile stretching the boundaries of my face.
