Second Time's the Charm. Tara Taylor Quinn

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      * * *

      “THROW THE BALL, son.” Kneeling next to Abe, Jon showed the toddler how to give the plastic orb an underhanded toss. And with a sprint, he made it in front of the ball to grab it as it fell and toss it back toward the little boy. Abraham followed the ball and, tripping over Jon’s feet, fell against him. Standing immediately, Abe reached for the ball with both hands and placed them just as Jon had demonstrated, tossed the ball and went running after it again.

      “Wait, son,” Jon said. “Stay right there and Daddy will throw it back to you.” For two Saturdays now he’d been trying to teach the boy the concept of playing catch. Trying to get Abe to wait for the ball to come back to him. And just as Jon was determined to teach him, Abe was determined to play the game his own way.

      Still, Jon continued to try. He waited while Abe tossed the ball and then went after it, trying to get the ball heading back to the toddler before Abe’s small legs got to it.

      “Watch,” he said. “Daddy will throw the ball and then you catch it,” he said. Backing up, he tossed the cheap dollar-store toy gently in Abe’s direction. The boy ran toward it, waited while it dropped and then grabbed it with a laugh.

      “Now throw it to me,” Jon said. Abraham tossed. And ran. Jon reached the ball first and, scooping it up with one hand, tossed the ball back in his son’s direction. Again. And again.

      “I’m going to back up farther now,” he said as Abe once more picked up the ball. Turning, he hurried a few steps away before Abe had time to straighten. “Nooo!” His heart in his throat, Jon swung back around at the sound of his son’s terrified scream.

      If...

      Abraham stood there, right where he’d been, screaming his head off. No one was around. The ball was still in the boy’s hands.

      “Abe?” He ran forward. Grabbed the boy’s hands, letting the ball drop to the ground as he checked for bee stings. Abe’s legs were next, and Jon scrutinized them fully while the toddler gained the attention of everyone else in the park with his full-bodied screams.

      Jon glanced quickly around, fearing that Lillie Henderson would observe this latest display, but only saw unfamiliar faces staring back at them. Some were tinged with curiosity. An older woman on a bench several yards away was frowning.

      But there was no sign of Ms. Henderson.

      Jon picked the boy up and Abe quieted almost immediately.

      “Put him back down,” a soft voice said from directly behind him.

      His first instinct—a strong one—was to ignore the child-life-whatever-she-was. He wanted nothing more than to avoid another screaming match in public. He also wasn’t completely convinced that Abe was okay. Something had clearly upset him.

      And then he thought about losing Abe. Because the woman who’d just directed him to put his son down might be a spy—someone employed by Abe’s maternal grandmother to observe Jon’s parenting skills.

      And even if Lillie wasn’t a spy, she was clearly someone who knew a lot about raising children. He wanted whatever help he could get. He set the boy back on his feet.

      Before his feet had even touched the ground, Abe opened his mouth and started to cry again.

      And Lillie Henderson was down on her knees in front of him, shaking her head. Abe, apparently startled to see her, quieted enough to hiccup through his sobs. Lillie put a finger on his lips.

      “No more screaming, Abe,” she said. “Remember what we talked about? Use your words.”

      Abe only had four words. Jon started to tell her so, but figured he’d let her find that out on her own.

      The boy studied Lillie’s mouth. His lower lip was still jutting out and quivering, but he wasn’t crying.

      “Your Daddy and I—” she turned and smiled up at Jon “—can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

      Yes. That was completely true. And as soon as Abe got old enough to comprehend the concept they’d be home free.

      “Instead of screaming, use your words to tell us what’s upset you,” Lillie said. “Okay?”

      Abraham nodded. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t give Jon a clue as to what had caused his distress, but the tantrum had apparently passed.

      Jon wasn’t as confident that he’d passed the parenting test.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      THEY SPENT AN hour at the park. Abe tripped over a root and fell and started to cry. Jon picked him up and faced the woman who’d just given up an hour of her day to explain various coping skills to him.

      Things he hadn’t found in any of the numerous child-rearing books he’d read. Things like encouraging Abe to use his words, even though he didn’t verbalize any yet. According to Lillie, the boy had a full understanding of language, and they had to give him a reason to vocalize his thoughts.

      “Time to go,” he said, looking at Lillie, hoping to hell that she wasn’t a spy. He was grateful to her. “That particular whine means he’s hungry.”

      She looked at Abe. “All you had to do was tell Daddy that you want to eat,” she said simply. “Eat.” She drew the word out. Said it again. Abe watched her mouth.

      He grinned.

      And shoved his fist in his mouth.

      “Would you like to join us for a hamburger?” Jon asked, and was shocked when she nodded.

      “I’d like that, thanks.”

      Twenty minutes later, after a quick diaper change in the front passenger seat of Jon’s small, four-door truck, they were seated across from each other in a booth at the fast-food hamburger place just outside of town. Lillie, who’d followed behind them in her car, had insisted on paying for her own grilled chicken sandwich.

      Abe, in a booster seat next to him, was happily shoving French fries in his mouth.

      Lillie made a face at the boy. He laughed out loud. She chuckled.

      And Jon was struck by how much he was enjoying himself.

      Which posed a major problem.

      “I have a question,” he said, leaning forward over his opened container with a quarter-pound burger inside.

      “Ask anything. That’s what I’m here for.”

      “You married?” Not the question he’d meant to ask.

      She blinked. “No.”

      “You said, the other day, that your life was an open book. I’m apparently not much of a reader. You know about me. I know virtually nothing about you.”

      And he wanted to know. Which was why he had to ask her.

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