Chapter Seventeen
Aaron
I watched from the doorway as Patience finished up the night’s reading with Kennedy. I’d just put Kyle down to bed after we finished up a round of video games and some drawing. I could hardly believe that this is what my nights had become. Playing video games and drawing before watching my wife complete up her nightly routine with the children. I was also beginning to realize that there was absolutely no place I’d rather be. I was starting to loathe the idea that I had a business trip the following week, even though it was only for two nights.
Patience’s lips turned upward as she shut off Kennedy’s light and passed me, closing the door. I barely moved, instead forcing her body to brush up against mine. I grinned inwardly when I saw the vein in her neck kick up in its beating rate. I followed her into our bedroom, shutting the door behind us. As she went to wash her face and brush her teeth for the evening, I changed into my pair of pajama bottoms and remained shirtless, per usual. I’d gotten in the habit of sleeping without a shirt, even though the idea had always made me cringe as a child and young man. The thought of someone seeing my scars and daring to ask about them always made me agitated. But ever since our very first time together, when she kissed my scars, that agitation went away. It was why I had no problem when Kyle asked about them. The tattoo, on the other hand…
“What are you thinking about?”
I lifted my gaze to see sepia eyes staring at me.
“Kyle.”
“What about him?”
I folded my arms across my chest, tilting my head but remained silent.
Patience sighed, moving to sit on the bed, cross legged. “Ask me.”
“Does he–”
“I think so.”
Everything in my body clenched. My hands tightened into fists and my lips balled up.
“Aaron.”
I shook my head, unable to answer her.
“Aaron!”
I turned my back.
Patience came to stand in front of me, hands at my sides.
“I did this.”
“Stop it! Kyle being teased by another little boy is not your fault. It’s that boy’s parents for not raising him better.”
“But his dyslexia is my fault.”
There it was. My dirty little secret. One of them at least.
“It’s no one’s fault.”
“It’s why he hates reading.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. He’s never been diagnosed because he’s still so young. Most of the professionals say to wait until at least the second half of first grade to actually diagnose dyslexia.”
“Meanwhile he remains picked on by shithead kids at school.”
“Meanwhile, his father can help him.”
“How?” I demanded, feeling hopeless.
“Aaron, Kyle’s not broken. And neither were you,” she affirmed, her grip tightening around my sides. “Y-your father was a jackass, and made you feel ashamed of being a poor reader. You weren’t even diagnosed until after his death. You were a child. He was the adult. It was his responsibility to take care of you. Do that for your son. Show him how you learned to read.” She got on her tiptoes and pulled my face between her hands. I stared down at her. “You run one of the most successful businesses in this country. And you didn’t learn to read until you were eight years old. You don’t think that’s something to be proud of? Show our son what he’s capable of because you’ve already done it. He’ll listen to you.”
I lowered my forehead to hers, wrapping my arm around her waist, pulling her to me.
“How do you always do that?” I asked, nuzzling her neck and pressing a kiss there.
She shivered. “Do what?”
“Make me feel like I’m ten feet tall.”
“You are ten feet tall. To me.”
I groaned and spun us both, moving us to the bed, while tearing at the short, silk gown she wore. I loved the way the silk laid against her walnut skin. I made a mental note to order some silk scarves the following day.
“Ah!” she yelped as I pushed her down onto the bed. “You’re so damn rough!”
A devious smile spread over my lips. “Just the way you like it.”
“Hmph!” came her response. “You know,” she began, breathless as I ran my teeth along the column of her neck, “it’s not nice to call eight year olds, shitheads.”
I paused, then remembered calling the boy who’d picked on Kyle those words. “He is a shithead. And so is his father,” I answered in between kisses to her breasts and belly.
Patience snickered. “You called him that the first time we ever met.”
I stopped, moving over her to peer down into her face.
“You don’t remember. Dinner at my father’s. Wallace stole my Harry Potter book and when I kicked him you grabbed him by the throat much like you did today. You’d think he would’ve learned back then.”
“He’s not particularly smart. His company has shrunk in value by nearly half since he took over. And he is a shithead, just like his father and just like his son is destined to be. And you got saucy with me after I kicked Wallace out.”
Her eyelids sprang wide.
“I remember.”
“You called me a little girl! That pissed me off.”
“I’ve pissed you off a lot more since then,” I retorted at the same time I eased my pajamas down and slipped inside of her. I covered her mouth with mine. That was enough talking for one night.
****
“Kyle, wake up,” I whispered, lightly shaking him by the shoulder.
It was four-thirty in the morning, and I had barely gotten an hour of sleep. But it was worth it for what I had planned. Ever since that first day, Kyle came down with me for my early morning workouts. Most times he would fall back asleep while in the basement, but others he stayed up with me throughout the entire workout.
“Morning, Daddy,” he said groggily.
“Morning, son. Let’s go.” I picked him up out of bed and led him by the hand down the stairs, reminding him to keep his voice down so his mother and sister could still sleep. The lights in the den sprang on once we entered the room.
“Whoa!” Kyle exclaimed.
I looked around at the walls.
“What happened?” he questioned, confused.
“I made some changes.” During the night, I’d done some work in my office, researching techniques on helping young children with dyslexia. I printed out tons of charts and graphs that had phonetic alphabet on them, basic words, and more. After laminating the charts, I did some rearranging of the gym equipment, clearing a space to hang the charts on the wall, creating a small reading nook, complete with a child-sized table and chair.
“This is for you,” I explained.
Kyle’s face scrunched up. “I don’t like reading, Daddy.”
I squatted low next to him and turned him to face me. “I know. I hated reading when I was your age.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “It was hard. I got made fun of a lot so I stopped even trying for a long time. Got into lots of trouble at school, beating up kids, yelling at teachers.”
“You yelled at your teacher?” His eyebrows rose high.
“I did. All because I didn’t want them to make fun of me.”
“You still don’t know how to read?”
“I know how to read today. When I was eight, I came to live with your grandma and grandpa Townsend. They took me to some special people who told me the problem wasn’t that I was stupid but I had a learning disability. They promised me that if I worked really hard, I could learn to read like everybody else.”
“Did you do it?”
“Yup. I still have trouble sometimes but I’m a much better reader.” I sighed, feeling a relief having explained all of this to my son. I never wanted him to feel like I had as a child. To that day, only a handful of people in the world knew about my dyslexia. I’d thought I’d moved past the shame my father had drilled into me as a kid but not until Patience told me about Kyle’s condition did I understand that I still carried some of it with me.
“You think I can learn to read, Daddy?” Kyle looked from the wall to me, turning those hazel eyes that were the spitting image of my own on me. “Like Kennedy and Mommy?”
“Not only can you, but you will because I’m going to help you. You’re a Townsend. We don’t give up…on anything.” I held his chin in my hand to keep his gaze on me. “Understood?”
He nodded.
“Good. Let’s start with a workout.” I had Kyle assist me in a series of exercises. Some of them were designed to help stabilize and strengthen the core. Those I had him do along side of me. I’d learned years prior that strange as it may sound, a strong core was great for balance and coordination, which aided eye muscles to work in sync. That was important for tracking, or reading in a much more fluid manner. I’d never shared that one of the reasons I was so rigorous about my daily workouts was to assist in my overall reading ability, among other things.
After the workout, Kyle and I moved to the area that I’d set up for him. We began with the basics, starting at the alphabet and identifying each letter and their sounds. I lost track of time until Patience came down stairs and saw us in the middle of me reading out loud to Kyle. The expression on her face alone was worth every lost minute of sleep the previous night.