A Mother's Wish

Jeff was sitting on the bench while his team was up at bat. Suddenly he leapt to his feet and waved energetically, as though he was flagging down a rescue vehicle. His face broke into a wide, eager smile. His coach must have said something to him because Jeff nodded and took off running toward the parking area.



Robin’s gaze followed her son. Cole had indeed arrived. The tension eased out of her in a single breath. She hadn’t realized how edgy she’d been. In her heart she knew Cole would never purposely disappoint Jeff, but her son’s anxiety had been as acute as her own.



“Listen,” Heather said, standing, “I’ll talk to you later.”



“Thanks for stopping by.”



“Glad to.” Heather climbed down the bleachers. She paused when she got to the ground and wiggled her eyebrows expressively, then laughed merrily at Robin’s frown.



Heather must have passed Cole on her way out, but Robin lost sight of them as Jeff raced on to the pitcher’s mound for the bottom of the second inning. Even from this distance Robin could see that his eyes were full of happy excitement. He discreetly shot her a look and Robin made a V-for-victory sign, smiling broadly.



Cole vaulted up the bleachers and sat down beside her. “Sorry I’m late. I was trapped in a meeting, and by the time I could get out to phone you I knew you’d already left for the field. I would’ve called your cell,” he added, “but I didn’t have the number.”



“Jeff and I figured it had to be something like that.”



“So he’s pitching!” Cole’s voice rang with pride.



“He claims it’s all thanks to you.”



“I’ll let him believe that,” Cole said, grinning, “but he’s a natural athlete. All I did was teach him a little discipline and give him a means of practicing on his own.”



“Well, according to Jeff you taught him everything he knows.”



He shook his head. “I’m glad I didn’t miss the whole game.”



“There’ll be others,” she said, but she was grateful he’d come when he had. From the time they’d left the house, Robin had been tense and guarded. Cole could stand her up for any date, but disappointing Jeff was more than she could bear. Rarely had she felt this emotionally unsettled. And all because Cole had been late for a Balboa Park Baseball League game. It frightened her to realize how much Jeff was beginning to depend on him. And not just Jeff, either ….



“This is important to Jeff,” Cole said as if reading her mind, “and I couldn’t disappoint him. If it had been anyone else it wouldn’t have been as important. But Jeff matters—” his eyes locked with hers “—and so do you.”



Robin felt giddy with relief. For the first time since Lenny’s tragic death, she understood how carefully, how completely, she’d anesthetized her life, refusing to let in anyone or anything that might cause her or Jeff more pain. For years she’d been drifting in a haze of denial and grief, refusing to acknowledge or deal with either. What Angela had said was true. Robin had dated infrequently and haphazardly, and kept any suitors at a safe distance.



For some reason, she hadn’t been able to do that with Cole. Robin couldn’t understand what was different or why; all she knew was that she was in serious danger of falling for this man, and falling hard. It terrified her ….



“Have you and Jeff had dinner?” Cole asked.



Robin turned to face him, but it was a long moment before she grasped that he’d asked her a question. He repeated it and she shook her head. “Jeff was too excited to eat.”



“Good. There’s an excellent Chinese restaurant close by. The three of us can celebrate after the game.”



“That’d be nice,” she whispered, thinking she should make some excuse to avoid this, and accepting almost immediately that she didn’t want to avoid it at all.



“Can I have some more pork-fried rice?” Jeff asked.



Cole passed him the dish and Robin watched as her son heaped his plate high with a third helping.



“You won,” she said wistfully.



“Mom, I wish you’d stop saying that. It’s the fourth time you’ve said it. I know we won,” Jeff muttered, glancing at Cole as if to beg forgiveness for his mother, who was obviously suffering from an overdose of maternal pride.



“But Jeff, you were fantastic,” she couldn’t resist telling him.



“The whole team was fantastic.” Jeff reached for what was left of the egg rolls and added a dollop of plum sauce to his plate.



“I had no idea you were such a good hitter,” Robin said, still impressed with her son’s athletic ability. “I knew you could pitch—but two home runs! Oh, Jeff, I’m so proud of you—and everyone else.” It was difficult to remember that Jeff was only one member of a team, and that his success was part of a larger effort.



“I wanted to make sure I played well, especially ‘cause you were there, Cole.” Jeff stretched his arm across the table again, this time reaching for the nearly empty platter of almond chicken.



As for herself, Robin couldn’t down another bite. Cole had said the food at the Golden Wok was good, and he hadn’t exaggerated. It was probably the best Chinese meal she’d ever tasted. Jeff apparently thought so, too. The boy couldn’t seem to stop eating.



It was while they were laughing over their fortune cookies that Robin heard bits and pieces of the conversation from the booth behind them.



“I bet they’re celebrating something special,” an elderly gentleman remarked.



“I think their little boy must have done well at the baseball game,” his wife said.



Their little boy, Robin mused. The older couple dining directly behind them thought Cole and Jeff were father and son.



Robin’s eyes flew to Cole, but if he had heard the comment he didn’t give any sign.



“His mother and father are certainly proud of him.”



“It’s such a delight to see these young people so happy. A family should spend time together.”



A family. The three of them looked like a family.



Once more Robin turned to Cole, but once more he seemed not to hear the comments. Or if he had, he ignored them.



But Cole must have sensed her scrutiny because his gaze found hers just then. Their eyes lingered without a hint of the awkwardness Robin had felt so often before.



Jeff chatted constantly on the ride home with Robin. Since she and Cole had both brought their cars, they drove home separately. They exchanged good-nights in the driveway and entered their own houses.



Jeff had some homework to finish and Robin ran a load of clothes through the washing machine. An hour later, after a little television and quick baths, they were both ready for bed. Robin tucked the blankets around Jeff’s shoulders, although he protested that he was much too old for her to do that. But he didn’t complain too loudly or too long.



“Night, Jeff.”



“Night, Mom. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”



“Don’t go all sentimental on me, okay?” she teased as she turned off his light. He seemed to fall asleep the instant she left the room. She went downstairs to secure the house for the night, then headed up to her own bedroom. Once upstairs, she paused in her son’s doorway and smiled gently. They’d both had quite a day.



At about ten o’clock, she was sitting up in bed reading a mystery when the phone rang. She answered quickly, always anxious about late calls. “Hello.”



“You’re still awake.” It was Cole, and his voice affected her like a surge of electricity.



“I … was reading,” she said.



“It suddenly occurred to me that we never had the chance to finish our conversation the other night.”



“What conversation?” Robin asked.



“The one at the front door … that Jeff interrupted. Remind me to give that boy lessons in timing, by the way.”



“I don’t even remember what we were talking about.” She settled back against the pillows, savoring the sound of his voice, enjoying the small intimacy of lying in bed, listening to him. Her eyes drifted shut.



“As I recall, you’d just said something about how it isn’t any of your business who I lunch with or spend my weekends with. I assume you think I’m with a woman.”



Robin’s eyes shot open. “I can assure you, I don’t think anything of the sort.”



“I guess I should explain about the weekends.”



“No. I mean, Cole, it really isn’t my business. It doesn’t matter. Really.”



“I have some property north of here, about forty acres,” he said gently, despite her protests. “The land once belonged to my grandfather, and he willed it to me when he passed away a couple of years back. This house was part of the estate, as well. My father was born and raised here. I’ve been spending a lot of my free time remodeling the old farmhouse. Sometime in the future I might move out there.”



“I see.” She didn’t want to think about Cole leaving the neighborhood, ever.



“The place still needs a lot of work, and I’ve enjoyed doing it on my own. It’s coming along well.”



She nodded and a second later realized he couldn’t see her action. “It sounds lovely.”



“Are there any other questions you’d like to ask me?” His voice was low and teasing.



“Of course not,” she denied immediately.



“Then would you be willing to admit you enjoy it when I kiss you? A high seven? Really? I think Jeff’s right—we need more practice.”



“Uh …” Robin didn’t know how to answer that.



“I’m willing,” he said, and she could almost hear him smile.



Robin lifted the hair from her forehead with one hand. “I can’t believe we’re having this discussion.”



“Would it help if I told you how much I enjoy kissing you?”



“Please … don’t,” she whispered. She didn’t want him to tell her that. Every time he kissed her, it confused her more. Despite the sheltered feeling she experienced in his arms, something deep and fundamental inside her was afraid of loving again. No, terrified. She was terrified of falling in love with Cole. Terrified of what the future might hold.



“The first time shook me more than I care to admit,” he said. “Remember that Friday night we rented the movie?”



“I remember.”



“I tried to stay away from you afterward. For an entire week I avoided you.”



Robin didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Lying back against the pillows, she stared at the ceiling as a sense of warmth enveloped her. A feeling of comfort … of happiness.



There was a short silence, and in an effort to bring their discussion back to a less intimate—less risky—level, she said, “Thank you for dinner. Jeff had the time of his life.” She had, too, but she couldn’t find the courage to acknowledge it.



“You’re welcome.”



“Are you going away this weekend to work on the property?”



She had no right to ask him that, and was shocked at how easily the question emerged.