“If you don’t like the food that your Uncle Marcus offers you, what wouldyou like to eat?”
“Nothing.”
Progress. He had actually answered a question.
“Oh, I doubt that. There must be something you like. It can be anything you want.”
I waited, and after almost a minute, he said in a small voice, “Ice cream.”
“Ice cream. I like ice cream too. Do you want any particular flavor?”
He shrugged.
“I have an idea. Why don’t we tell your Uncle Marcus that you want to have some ice cream? The good news is, there’s an ice cream truck right here in the park, and you can have some right now.”
He lifted his gaze, and my heart cracked a little at the sadness in his eyes. But I saw a little hope too.
Without saying a word, I stood and extended my hand to him. He took it, and we walked over to Marcus.
“Noah,” I said gently, “can you tell Uncle Marcus what you told me you’d like to eat?”
He stared at his own feet. “Ice cream.”
Marcus stared blankly at me. “Ice cream?”
“I told him he could have anything he wanted, and that’s what he said,” I explained. “There’s an ice cream truck on the other side of the park. They’re here every afternoon to capitalize on all the kids and parents hanging out after school.”
Marcus looked at his godson. “If that’s what he wants, that’s what he’ll get.”
Marcus Hayes was wearing a light blue dress shirt, tie, and slacks. No ring, which meant he was a man taking on the responsibility of a child on his own—essentially becoming a single dad.
His face was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why. Had we met before? If we had, I felt as if I would haveremembered meeting such a striking man. He was a couple of inches over six feet, with golden brown skin and a neat, trim beard that framed thick, juicy-looking lips. As we strolled through the park, I noticed how the eyes of several women followed him when we walked past. I understood, but I also couldn’t let his appearance influence my assessment of him.
Noah held onto my hand the entire time until we arrived at Something Sweet, a purple truck with its name written in cheerful yellow and orange letters on the side. There were a few people ahead of us, so we waited in line until it was our turn.
Once we arrived at the window, a twenty-something woman with curly brown hair greeted us with a smile. “What can I get for you folks?”
“I’ll take a vanilla ice cream. What about you, Marcus?”
He seemed bewildered by the question. I could tell he hadn’t intended to eat any ice cream, but I sent him a message with my eyes.Follow my lead. This is for Noah. Fortunately, he understood.
“Coffee flavor for me,” he said.
“And you, Noah?” I asked.
He finally lifted his head. “I don’t know.” His voice shook.
“What flavors do you have?” I asked the vendor.
She went through a short list, and when she finished, I looked down at the little boy. “Chocolate sounds pretty good,” I said.
He nodded. “Chocolate.”
“That’s one vanilla, one coffee, and one chocolate, coming right up,” the woman said in a cheery voice. “Cones?”
I glanced at Marcus, and he nodded.
“Yes,” I replied.
