But with our week coming to an end tomorrow, he’d been quiet all afternoon, his usual chatter conspicuously absent. Now he sat hugging his knees, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
“Sunny?”
I smiled at the nickname. He’d given it to me himself, back when he was barely two. We were facepainting on the kitchen floor when I drew a crooked sunbeam on my cheek and said, “Look, I’m sunny.”
He’d stared at me, blinked once, and said, “You sunny.”
Mitchell called me You Sunny for months, until one day theyoufell away and Sunny stuck.
“Yes,” I said, letting sand fall through my fingers onto his leg.
“Is… is the baby coming out soon?” he asked.
“Ten more weeks,” I smiled, placing a hand over the firm swell of my stomach.
Mitchell didn’t look at me. He just kept staring at the ocean. “Are you… are you gonna like him more than me?”
I didn’t know what broke my heart more—the question or that he felt the need to ask it. I wrapped an arm around his thin shoulders and pulled him close. “Oh, honey, no. It doesn’t work like that. Hearts just get bigger to fit you all.”
He leaned into me, but his small body was rigid with tension. “I think I’m moving away,” he said, his eyes swimming with tears. “To Arizona.”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard Mom and Tony talking. He got a job there.”
My eyes widened. This was news to me, and it would definitely be news to Scott. “When did you hear this?”
“Just before the wedding.” That was all it took. The dam broke. A sob tore from his throat, and he buried his face in my side. “I don’t want to go. Can I stay with you and Dad?” He choked between gasps. “Please, Sunny? I know you like me. You do, right? I’ll be really good. I can help with Jake. I won’t be any trouble, I promise. Please don’t make me go.”
I held him tighter, smoothing his hair, whispering nonsense reassurances, though the truth was if April wanted to move him to Arizona, there wasn’t much Scott or I could do to stop it.
Mitchell wiped the tears away with the hem of his shirt. “I’m trying not to cry,” he said.
“It’s okay to cry.”
“Tony says if I don’t toughen up, I’ll never be a baseball star.”
I winced. Mitchell was sensitive, yes—but he was strong where it mattered. He didn’t need Tony telling him what kind of boy he should be. Scott would hate this. As much as I didn’t want this news to mar our last day with Mitchell, Scott was his father. And fathers needed to know these things. I tried to wavehim over without making a scene, but he was splashing in the water with Keith and Emma, completely oblivious to what was unfolding behind him.
I squeezed Mitchell’s shoulder and smiled down at him. “I think you’re the toughest kid I know.”
And I meant it. Mitchell handled the disruption in his life like a pro. He never complained about the long car rides or the things he missed moving between houses. And while he and Keith fought sometimes, he rarely—if ever—started it. I often wondered where he got his strength, how a boy raised by teenage parents had his maturity and naturally sweet disposition.
Scott returned with the kids just as the sun began to set. He dropped down beside me and brushed sand off his legs, his eyes going immediately to Mitch’s puffy face.
“You good, bud?”
Mitchell nodded, but stayed silent. Scott looked to me for answers, but I shook my head. This wasn’t the time. The news of April’s move would gut him, and he deserved this last, beautiful moment of peace.
“It’s time,” Scott said, as the sun slowly disappeared behind the ocean. He pulled Mitch closer and held all three kids in his arms. God, he was such a good dad. If what Mitchell said was true, he didn’t deserve this devastation.
Scott’s eyes were on the horizon. “You know what?” he said, voice soft with a wistful edge. “I wish the Shaggin’ Wagon was here to see this.”
“Pretty sure your truck is enjoying life as a golf cart somewhere.”
“According to Tom, he plays in tournaments every weekend. I should stalk every golf course in the Glendale and Pasadena area until I find him, and demand my truck back.”
The idea hit me like a spark. “Scott! We have the spare key. It’s in the junk drawer.”
