Summer Son (7 page)

Still, the doctor hadn’t found anything physically wrong with him, so all I could do was not give up and continue to push him to try things. In three days I’d added watermelon, rice pudding, and a new brand of cracker to the things he’d try. That was a lot, for my kid.

Before we left the house, I tried to get him to eat something—anything—knowing that a hungry baby was a grouchy baby. After nearly thirty minutes of my begging, he finished the jar of baby food and I sighed in relief, then took some Tylenol for my headache.

Zane had warned me to put him in “old clothes,” or play clothes at the very least, for their afternoon together. Since I had no idea what sort of mess Harrison would be in when he was finished with Zane, I put him in the stroller for the walk up to the arts center.

I’d looked up the program online that Zane was a part of, and had been surprised and impressed at the work they were doing. It seemed like the perfect balance of child-led and organized activities and covered a broad range of artistic disciplines. They had connections to local schools too, and I made a mental note to ask Zane if he ever worked with school-age kids.

From the outside, the building still looked like the old church it had been in years past. It had been through several different refurbishments, and I could still remember when it had been a library, when Leo and I were kids.

There was a stroller parking area set up just inside the door, and I quickly folded mine down to take up less space before wandering through to find Zane.

There was security—of a type—waiting just inside the main door.

“Um, I’m not sure if I’m on your list,” I said to the girl, who had long blue hair and a nose ring. “Zane told me to stop by….”

“Ellis?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Cool, yeah, he told me. Do you want to grab a coffee or something, and he’ll come find you as soon as he’s done?”

“Great,” I said with a smile and wandered into the melee.

The main room of the center was in the sanctuary of the old church. It had huge high ceilings and wooden beams that caused the noise to echo. Someone had set up a clever pulley system to dry paintings on, and they hung on strings that reminded me of old photos of New York, where women would dry laundry between apartment buildings.

There was a kitchen set off to the side, and I hoisted Harrison higher on my hip as I wandered through, trying not to seek Zane out and desperately failing. There were many different groups huddled together around tables, or on the floor in places, or building something huge in one corner.

The smell of paint and clay and crayons took me right back to my childhood.

In the kitchen a group of mothers gathered together, mugs clasped in hand as they gossiped. I’d seen this before, and it had always terrified me. I immediately stood out as a man, as a single father, as a big, built guy looking after someone tiny and delicate.

“Hey,” one of the women said as I walked in.

“Hi. The girl—um, at the desk—she said I could get coffee….”

“Sure. Just help yourself. I’m pretty sure they get the good stuff on purpose.”

I chuckled and tried to stop Harrison from squirming. He wanted to be put down, but until I knew what they used to clean the floors, I wasn’t letting him go.

“Let me get it for you, honey,” the lady said. “I’m Jenna.”

“Ellis,” I said. “This is Harrison.”

“Milk and sugar?”

“No, black is fine.”

I slowly became aware that the other women had stopped their conversation and were now watching me with barely disguised interest. It wasn’t the first time. Apparently the single-dad thing brought out some kind of instinct.

“Are you here for a group?” Jenna asked. “He looks a little small for most of the kids who come here.”

“I’m Zane’s friend,” I offered by way of an explanation. “I have no idea what he’s going to do. I just had to turn up.”

She smiled. “Zane’s wonderful. He takes Poppy for a one-to-one every week.”

I was wondering how long I had to stay and make small talk with the mommies when the man himself stuck his head around the door.

“Hey, El,” he said. “Ready?”

“I think so.”

He held his arms out for Harrison, and I handed him over. He seemed to know something was going on—I could see him practically thrumming with excitement.

“Okay, I’ve set up over on the dais,” Zane said as he wandered off. I waved to Jenna and followed. “I’ve never worked with a kid this young before, so we’re going to make it up as we go along.”

I nodded and sipped my coffee. It really was good.

There was a big pile of cushions on the floor, some pots of paint, and a large sheet of paper attached to a board. A projector was set up, and a red light was shining on the paper.

“So, this is an activity I do with children who need to work on their hand-eye coordination, or even just basic cerebral development.”

“Did you ever take classes in that? Child development, I mean.”

Zane shook his head. “Not yet. If I go into this as a career, I might, though. Does he mind getting his hands dirty?”

“Nope,” I said, thinking about how he liked to turn most food to pulp.

“Excellent.”

Zane sat down in the middle of the pile of cushions and offered me the beanbag just off to the side. It took a few minutes to get Harrison settled facing the board—he seemed much more interested in looking around at Zane. Secretly, I didn’t blame him.

Paying no attention to me, Zane dipped the palms of Harrison’s hands in the paint, one red, one yellow, and pointed to the board.

“Red, Harrison,” he said. “Look.”

I noticed the long lead from the projector, ending with a small button that Zane kept to his side. He carefully guided Harrison’s hand to the red light on the board, transferring his handprint to the paper.

Harrison seemed unimpressed.

When Zane pushed the button, the light on the projector moved and changed color, and they repeated the action, putting another print down. I almost saw the moment it clicked and Harrison got the game. Every time the light changed, he patted the paper.

I wanted to ask how they’d discovered this game and how the hell my baby was getting it. I would have thought it was way too advanced for his skills.

Zane topped up the paint on Harrison’s hands from time to time and laughed when Harrison clapped, making a nice orange mess.

“Good job,” Zane told him. “Orange.”

The game ended by slowing down the time in between changing the light, and the last one gently faded away. It left the paper covered in handprints and spatters and smeared paint—a strange, abstract first piece of art.

Zane kept a packet of baby wipes close by and wiped the worst of the paint from Harrison’s hands. The whole session took about thirty minutes, and I was shocked at just how engaging the process was.

“You’re my last team of the day,” Zane said. “I just need to put all this away. Then I can leave with you, if you like.”

I nodded. “I’ll finish getting him cleaned up and get rid of my mug.”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Harrison whimpered a little as Zane walked away, but I distracted him with a more thorough cleaning and a rice cake. As promised, there was paint everywhere: in his hair, all over his T-shirt, there was even a little orange smudge on the end of his nose.

We wandered back to the now-empty kitchen, and I quickly washed up my mug in the sink while Harrison sat on the counter next to me, amusing himself with his rice cake. When I was done I turned the mug over on the rack to dry and pressed a soft, instinctive kiss to the crown of his head. Sometimes it was overwhelming how much I loved him.

“Come on, trouble,” I murmured and scooped him back up into my arms again.

Zane was back in the main room, still moving things around. I wasn’t sure it could actually be called tidying up, since it wasn’t any tidier than when we’d walked in. The mess had just been moved to the sides of the room.

There were two women who seemed to be on cleanup duty, wiping down surfaces and mopping the floor. Zane danced around them, blew a kiss, then jogged over to us, laughing when one woman flipped him the bird.

“Hi,” he said, a little breathlessly. “I’ve hung the painting up to dry. I’ll bring it over next time I see you.”

“Okay. Thanks. That was—I’ve never seen anything like that before. It was incredible.”

He beamed, showing rows of straight white teeth and one wonky incisor.

“Thank you,” he said. “I love working here.”

“How long have you been doing it?” I asked as we headed for the door.

“About six months. One of my professors suggested I might be interested in the program since he knew I liked kids.”

He chatted to me about how he’d gotten started as I unfolded the stroller and got Harrison settled in it again. My son seemed to be in a rare, agreeable mood, so I took the time to give Zane a thorough thank-you kiss before we left the center.

“Are you busy this afternoon?” I asked as we headed out.

He nodded. “Yeah. I need to get the bus to campus. I’ve got work I really should get on with.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll call you soon, though?”

“Yeah,” I said, and I walked him to the bus stop, even though it was a detour from my route home.

Chapter 5

“B
USINESS
MEETING
,”
Meg declared, and I was powerless to fight her. Whether we’d actually get round to discussing business was anyone’s guess.

I got my mom to watch Harrison for a couple of hours and took both my notebook and sketchbook to meet her at the cafe. Nae wasn’t working, but Lupe was, and I wondered when she’d started waitressing.

“About two nights ago,” she said when I asked, sounding thoroughly unhappy about it. She pushed her long, dark hair back from her face and scowled. “Nae called in a favor since Levon has gone all Mr. Darcy on her and whisked her off to Rome.”

“Rome? Are you serious?” Meg demanded.

“Yeah. Apparently he’s there on business and got to take a plus one. Nae couldn’t get anyone to cover her shifts, so here I am.”

“You’re a wonderful friend,” I said, reaching across the counter to pat her arm. “I’ll have a latte and a piece of that carrot cake, please.”

She snarled at me before complying.

“I hope she doesn’t start working here all the time,” Meg said as we sat down at one of the tables by the window. “Her customer service skills suck.”

“Her personal skills suck in general,” I said, laughing. “That’s why we love her.”

Meg sipped at her coffee, then leaned back in her chair, the mug cradled to her chest. “So, tell me about Zane.”

“You know about Zane. You knew him before I did.”

“I don’t know him in the Biblical sense, though.”

“What makes you think I do?”

“El, you’re my best friend, right?”

“No,” I said, loading the word with disdain.

“Bastard,” she said affably. “You’re walking around with a permanent sex glow. What am I supposed to think?”

“Think whatever you like. I’m not telling you anything.” I sipped my coffee and gave her some pointed looks.

“You’ve got to admit, you must be at least a little bit into all that,” Meg said.

“Into what?”

“The reformed bad boy thing.”

I snorted. “You’re talking shit.”

“I’m not!” she insisted. “I mean, look at him. He’s hot and mysterious, and he used to be in a street gang, and now he’s an artist who works with kids. Kids with learning difficulties or special needs. I mean, talk about polar opposites.”

“Street gang?” I asked.

Meg’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit,” she said. “You didn’t know? It’s not a secret. He’s usually really open about it.”

“Do you want me to ask him?”

She fidgeted for a moment, her nose twitching. “I don’t know much,” she said eventually. “He was involved in some shit when he was younger, before his mom shipped them all out to Vermont. He was never, you know, shooting up grocery stores and robbing senior citizens.”

“I thought he was still fairly young when they moved.” That was the impression I’d gotten, anyway.

“Exactly. I’ll let him tell you about it. It’s sexy, though, right?”

I laughed at her. “He turned his life around. I admire him for that. But I don’t find it hot.”

Meg raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me. “No? I do.”

“You’re impossible,” I stated. “And keep your hands off. He’s mine.”

“Are you official now, then? Have you had the boyfriend talk?”

“Not yet,” I told her. “But it’s not far off. Anyway, I thought we were here to talk business?”

“We are,” she said.

“So talk.”

It was a sweet deal. She had a client who was expanding their business, and they needed the whole shebang. The contract would keep me busy for a few months designing logos, an interactive website, and a whole suite of branded stationary. The only catch was they wanted to meet me in person to go through my portfolio. That wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It just meant I’d have to organize childcare ahead of time.

Meg was always animated when she was talking about work, gesticulating with whatever was at hand—knives, pens, toothpicks. At one point she was twisting one piece of her hair around her finger so hard I was worried she was going to pull it out.