Chapter 6
"Love you, too, Mom. Happy Mother's Day. Bye." Kara clicked her phone off and set it on the kitchen counter. After church and lunch, she and Craig had gone through their annual Mother's Day ritual, each calling the other's mother to offer greetings and then trading the phone off to the other for the second half of the call.
The boy sat on the dining table, dangling his legs and reading another book he had pulled off the shelf in the den. He would read anything, it seemed; after playing with Paws, and besides anything relating to baseball, reading was his preferred pastime.
"Off the table, Zach," Kara instructed him. "That's what chairs are for."
He glanced up at her just long enough to give her that falsely penitent look that reminded her of Craig, then jumped from the table, plopped into the nearest chair, and returned to his book.
His own clothes were back on him again, having been washed and dried last night after his tumble into the Sound. Kara had sent him to warm up in the bath while she washed them, then had made him wrap himself in her robe until they were dry—he could have borrowed her clothes again, but the underwear was a problem. It had only been washed once since he had arrived. Strange, the things you had to think of as a substitute parent, particularly if the child had arrived with only one set of clothes.
She walked down the hall to the laundry room and moved some of her own clothes from the washer to the dryer. Returning to the hall, she opened a cabinet and searched for an extra towel to add to the bathroom. She heard the boy's voice from the den. "Dad?"
Craig was probably still reclining in the armchair, reading his novel—getting toward the climactic ending, Kara thought. "More questions, Zach?" she heard Craig groan. The boy had been asking questions all day, ranging from how Seattle got its name to whether Paws had fleas. Craig and Kara were both ready for a break, Sunday afternoons being an ideal time for sitting around doing nothing. Apparently, the boy didn't see it that way.
"Zach, this will be the twenty-third question you've asked me since we got home," she heard Craig say. "I've kept count."
Having set the extra towel in the bathroom, Kara slipped into the kitchen and put away a couple of utensils left out from lunch. The boy, speaking to Craig at the armchair, noticed her and immediately dropped his voice so she wouldn't hear. He and Craig seemed to disagree for a moment, and then Craig shot a quick glance at her, looking away immediately. They resumed whispering. What were they plotting? It probably had to do with baseball, or with sneaking off to play golf.
Leaving them to their scheming, Kara exited through the side door, took a minute to visit with Paws, and strode with him to the garden. She scanned the young tomatoes and the beans that had sprouted; with some trepidation, she had let the boy weed around them last week, and he had done surprisingly well. Now, more weeds had grown up alongside lettuce, radishes, early carrots, cabbage, beets, broccoli, and cauliflower. She bent down and scooped up a handful of soil. It hadn't rained for a few days, but the soil beneath the surface still felt moist. She would not need to water today.
The boy stepped out of the house. Paws abandoned Kara to run over and greet him. "What are you doing?" he asked as he came to her through the vegetable rows. So much for her quiet break.
"The beans need to be weeded again," she told him. "The greens, too. And I thought I might plant some corn."
"I planted some flowers once," the boy said.
"Did you? What kind?" This was curious; the boy, as he described it, hadn't done much in his ten years except stay inside.
"I don't remember their name." He looked around the yard, checking the varieties of flowers that had begun to bloom. "Like those." He pointed toward a small patch of yellow flowers next to the house. "Only dark red, with black on them."
"Pansies," she said. "We sell a lot of those at Grover's, where I work."
"You like to grow things, don't you?"
She nodded. "I do. That's something Craig and I have in common. He's more into trees and landscaping, but we both like to grow things."
"I wish I could grow stuff," the boy said, "but my first nanny was the only one who let me plant things. After that, they always made me stay inside."
He followed Kara for a minute as she stepped carefully through the garden. "Do you mind if I help you?"
Kara took a deep breath. Was this what bona fide parents had to endure—constant questions just when they needed an hour of peace and quiet? They had spent the entire day with the boy yesterday, a wonderful day to be sure; did he now expect the same attention every day?
"Sure, Cousin's Son, you can help," she answered finally, with only a touch of weariness. "Want to plant the corn with me?"
"Okay," he agreed eagerly.
At least Craig will be able to finish his book now, she thought.
They worked together for over an hour, the boy helping her with the corn, then pulling weeds, and then listening as she taught him how to identify the sprouts of basil, dill, and oregano that had achieved their first inch of height. He took in everything she told him as if it were the most important thing he had ever heard, as if she were the most important person in the world to him as this moment. He really believed he was home.
After a while he began to ask about the flowers, too, so she took him around the yard to see the varieties she and Craig had planted: pansies, roses, buttercups that grew where they willed. Several of the flowers they saw were new to the boy, and he asked about them all. Curiously, she found these questions not cumbersome, but pleasant.
They were transitioning to trees in the farthest corner of the yard when Craig poked his head out of the laundry room door and announced that dinner was ready. "Dinner?" Kara called back to him. "You didn't tell me you were making dinner." It's a good thing he did, though, she thought, noting the time. It was later than she had realized.
She and the boy went inside and washed up together in the larger bathroom. Zach finished first and stepped out to the kitchen. As Kara followed him a minute later, she froze. Twin candles lit the table. Craig had set out the lace tablecloth, and he had broiled fish, spread French bread with garlic butter, and prepared a salad. He and the boy stood beside the table, awaiting her.
Kara looked at them suspiciously. "My birthday was in February, guys. What's the occasion?"
"Happy Mother's Day, Mom," the boy answered her.
Craig shrugged sheepishly. "He insisted."
Kara's throat tightened; she bit her lip. No, this isn't right. She shook her head. "This is really kind of you guys, but I'm not comfortable—"
"You said mom with a small 'm,'" the boy reminded her.
Craig chimed in. "He wanted to take you to dinner and a movie, but since it's Mother's Day with a small 'm,' we decided to do both at home." He scratched his nose nervously—with his thumb, of course. "Well, and because we were out all day yesterday."
It was impossible to argue with eyes like those—the hopeful eyes of both boys, seeking her favor; one pair brown, the other blue. Kara grinned in spite of herself. There was something funny about both guys standing there beside the fancied-up table, looking awkward as they waited for her. And there was something special about this whole scene, even if it was only substitute mom for a few days, with a small "m."
Still with some reluctance, she gave in at last and stepped to the table. Craig motioned to the boy with his hand, and the boy jumped and pulled her chair out for her. "Thank you, Zechariah," she said formally as he seated her.
He ran around the table to the chair opposite her. Craig offered a brief prayer, and they began to eat. The food was good, the boy didn't ask too many questions, and the guys were happy. All in all, it turned out to be a very pleasant evening.
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