Straight from his confrontation with John, Mitch set out for Lafayette. He didn’t call ahead so as not to give his mother-in-law an opportunity to tell him that now wasn’t a good time for a visit. He wanted to see his son, dammit.
The Duvalls lived in a middle-class neighborhood in the same house they’d occupied their entire married life. Angela had grown up in it. Her girlhood bedroom was still preserved. For the first year after she died, he’d spent time alone in that room on each and every visit to see Andrew. He no longer paid that maudlin homage to her.
His method of mourning had become much more proactive.
His in-laws’ car was in the driveway; they were home from Mass. Mitch opened the front door and called out, “Knock, knock.”
From the back of the house, he heard a commotion, then, “Daddy!” Andrew came chugging into the living room andlaunched himself into Mitch’s arms. He lifted the boy against his chest and hugged him tightly, loving the feel of his solid body, his milky smell, the wet smear of his kiss on his cheek. “Miss me?”
After giving an affirmative nod, the boy said, “I wanna play cars.”
“Absolutely. We will.”
“Not until after lunch.” Mary entered the room with a dish towel over her shoulder and a perturbed expression on her face. “We were just sitting down to eat.”
Mitch had broken the rule of not calling ahead, but he didn’t apologize, nor did he let her irritation provoke him. He sniffed the air. “Stewed chicken and dirty rice if I’m not mistaken. Is there enough for one more?”
“Always,” said his father-in-law, Hank, who greeted him with a handshake and a slap on the back.
During the meal, they stuck to neutral subjects, and snarky comments were kept to a minimum. When Hank asked how work was going, he said, “Busy. The bad guys always seem to outnumber us.” He quickly changed the subject before they could inquire after John and Beth.
Mary declined his offer to help clean up the kitchen. “Go play with Andrew’s cars. He’s about to bust.”
“Thanks, Mary.”
She gave him a rare smile. “I’m glad you came, although you could have let me know.”
Ah. A dig. But a small one.
Hank excused himself to watch a baseball game on television, allowing Mitch cherished time alone with his son. They got down on the floor of Andrew’s bedroom and played with the fleet of Matchbox cars and trucks Mitch had brought him on his last visit.
They then went out to the backyard to play on the elaborate playground set that Santa had brought him the previous Christmas. That was followed by a game of catch with a plastic ball and miniature glove.
When it came time for Mitch to leave, the tired little boy became cranky and whiny. He clung to Mitch when he hugged him goodbye. Mitch rubbed his back soothingly. “We had fun today, didn’t we, buddy?”
Andrew gave a sullen nod and pressed his face deeper into Mitch’s neck.
“If you play your cards right, I’ll bet Grandpa will watch a video with you. And then you’ll go to sleep, and before you know it, it’ll be tomorrow, and I’ll call you. Okay? Sound like a plan?”
Andrew whimpered and clutched him tighter. Mitch held him close and whispered, “Next time you come spend the night with me, we’ll sleep together in my big bed. And guess what we’re gonna have for breakfast.”
“Fwoot roops,” came the muffled reply.
Mitch smiled and nuzzled the crown of Andrew’s head. “You got it. Froot Loops are our favorite, right?”
Mary disallowed sugary cereals, but she didn’t comment as she reached for Andrew. “Time for Daddy to go.”
Speaking as an obstinate two-going-on-three-year-old, Andrew said, “No.”
“Come on now, Andrew. Say goodbye.”
Against his neck, Mitch could feel Andrew’s inhalations escalating, signaling that a squall was brewing. To head it off, he said softly, “Hey there, who’s my rock star?”
“Me.”
“Who’s your biggest fan?”
“You.”
