“Fuck.”
“Why? You would’ve pawned them?”
“Hell yeah, I would’ve. I’ve got a guy.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do.” I laughed.
He smiled, his gaze lingering for a moment. The glint I’d seen in him the other night was gone.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” he said, wiping grass off his jeans and standing up. Scott tipped the baby upside-down to a chorus of laughter. “Thanks for bringing my vest. You should probably get back to your castle now.”
I nodded, but didn’t move. Something kept me rooted; the sense that whatever tethered us wasn’t finished.
“What’s his name?”
“Mitchell. But I call him MGM.”
“MGM? Like the movie studio?”
“After his initials, actually. His mother doesn’t like it either. Insists I call him Mitchell, so I do… when she’s around.”
“You rebel,” I teased. “Do you often take your son to the graveyard?”
“As often as I can. It’s way better than the playground. Lots of grass. No bullies. And he learns the fine art of not stepping on someone’s grandma.”
Scott had a way of drawing me in with his offbeat answers. I was never quite sure what would come out of his mouth, and that, I thought, was his most charming quality. It made me realize that the way I—and all the kids I’d grown up with—had been raised didn’t allow for much creativity. We’d been taught to control ourselves, to tamp down our personalities, and to refrain from expressing what we really thought, all under the guise of exceptional manners. But that approach didn’t produce sharp-witted people like Scott.
I gestured toward MGM. “He’s cute.”
Scott nodded. “Like his father.”
The baby twisted in Scott’s arms and smacked him with a flower… which he’d quite obviously swiped off the burial ground.
“And like his father,” I said, “desecrating graves.”
Scott gently pried the stems from the baby’s grip and bent down to place them back in the vase. My breath caught as recognition hit, and it clicked. The shooting star. The fresh flowers. He wasn’t disturbing this grave. He was visiting it.
Our eyes met, and the sadness in his instantly made my own vision blur.
“Michelle,” he said softly, his voice breaking just a little. “Meet my mom. Joey.”
No words were exchangedafter Scott’s introduction. He settled Mitchell onto his hip and headed for the truck. I trailed behind, more rattled by the truth about his mother than by the whole surprise baby twist. Honestly, I didn’t know what to think about any of it, but that didn’t stop me from following him out to the parking lot… or from climbing into the passenger seat of his truck without an invitation.
I sat quietly while Scott strapped Mitchell into his car seat. We drove aimlessly until the baby finally drifted off, and then Scott pulled onto a shady side street and cut the engine. We ended up sitting on the curb.
“Is he always this easy?” I asked.
“Uh… no.” Scott laughed softly. “But he’s being raised by teenagers, so he’s learned to go with the flow.”
“Do you get along with his mom?”
“Barely.”
“So how are you working this all out?”
“April is finishing her senior year. I’m working to pay the bills. Her mother watches him until she’s back from school.”
