It was the perfect place for me to get lost. Alone. And not miss a single soul.
This was such a Jack move. As long as I’d known him, he excelled in the sweet, romantic gestures department. If only you could build a marriage on those.
But still. I had to stop ugly crying in order to drive.
FORTY-ONE
Jack
“Okay, bud, cone or cup?”
“Cone! Cone!”
“Good choice.” We ordered two vanilla cones. Not that Kacey needed the sugar. After running himself into the ground at the park for two hours, he pigged out on chicken nuggets and waffle fries then ran on the indoor playground. Kid had some energy.
Only way I’d been able to call him off the playground was to say it was time for us to eat some ice cream. Miranda was right. It was the trump card.
We settled at an outdoor table. After a few quiet minutes of ice cream, he smacked his lips. “Dack?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Mommy said you awe my daddy.”
“She’s right. How do you feel about that?” He frowned, not catching my meaning. I changed tactics, which I’d had to do repeatedly all day. Major learning curve. “Are you happy I’myour daddy?”
He smacked again, a white beard forming on his face and dripping onto his shirt. “Yes, I so happy.”
“Yeah?” I smiled. “I’m happy too. I like you.”
He frowned again. “Chwis is not my daddy.”
“Yep.” Hated that man’s name. His mere existence. But I’d heard it a few times from Kacey that day. Learned my son was a bit of a verbal processor.
“Chwis made mommy cwy.”
I felt like my heart stopped for a second. Did I hear him right? “What was that?”
“Chwis made mommycwy.” He emphasized the last word like I was dumb for not understanding in the first place.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Hm. Why is that?”
Kacey shrugged, which was really cute to watch a three-year-old do. “What’s a daddy?”
Oh boy. “You know what? You better ask your mom that one. She’s better at explaining things.” I reached up and touched his soft curls the breeze kept lifting. He was so like Miranda. Big brown eyes, blonde to the roots, a gentle spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Absolutely adorable.
I didn’t see me at all.
Miranda was clearly a wonderful mom. Even if she cried enough for him to notice, she shielded him. He was centered, happy, undisturbed. I had no doubt he was blissfully unaware of whatever went on in that home.
“You know, you can call me ‘daddy’ if you want to.”
“Okay.”
Five minutes later, Kacey started crying because there was ice cream all over him. We dumped the shell of his cone, and I picked him up, holding him at arm’s length. We hustled to thebathroom. Kacey stopped crying and split his gut in laughter when I held him up to the bathroom mirror. He said he looked like an “ice cweam monstah.”
