The Soldier's Forever Family. Gina Wilkins

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      “This is great, Simon. I’m glad you had a good time.”

      “We had a wonderful time,” Miss Molly volunteered, overhearing the comment as she mingled among the reunited kids and parents. “You have a very bright and well-behaved son. He asked such smart questions that I can tell Deborah and I will have to stay well prepared for each day’s lessons.”

      Joanna was pleased that Molly seemed more impressed than impatient with Simon’s endless questions. That wasn’t always the case.

      “See you tomorrow, Simon, when we’ll go to the maritime museum.”

      “’Bye, Miss Molly.” Falling into step beside Joanna, Simon continued to recap his field trip, barely pausing to take a breath as he leaped nimbly from one sandy stepping stone to the next.

      She tried to interject the occasional response or question, just to let him know she was paying attention. It was difficult to focus on anything other than her dilemma with Adam. “What was your favorite exhibit?”

      He puckered his lips in thought for a moment, then said, “The archer fish! They shoot water out of their mouths at insects sitting on branches above them. The bugs fall in the lake and then the fish eat them. We saw them when the aquarium people put bugs in the tank.”

      “That’s a very clever fish.”

      Simon grinned up at her. “Bet the bugs wish they were dumber.”

      She chuckled. “I’m sure you’re right.”

      She loved teasing with her bright little boy, making each other laugh with silly jokes. His laughter could make her smile even after the hardest day. Just standing beside his bed and watching him sleep brought her a deep sense of joy she could never have imagined before she’d had him. They’d been happy in their tidy house in a suburb of Atlanta, their own small refuge.

      The idea of sharing him with someone else made her stomach tighten in rejection. Because she recognized the selfishness of that reaction, she shoved it away, assuring herself she wanted only what was best for Simon, whatever that might mean for his future. Of course, she would protect him fiercely from being hurt if she suspected that might happen, but there was no need to borrow trouble. For all she knew, Adam had no interest in fatherhood, no desire to have his bachelor life complicated by a five-year-old.

      She wouldn’t be surprised if he offered financial assistance, regardless of how involved he wanted to be in Simon’s life. Granted, she didn’t know Adam well, but she’d pegged him as a man of honor. She wouldn’t accept a dime for herself, of course, but she supposed it would be only fair to allow Adam to open a trust account or make some other financial arrangements for the boy. She couldn’t let her own pride interfere with her son’s best interest, as grating as it would be to surrender even that modicum of parental control. As for any other interaction...she swallowed hard, telling herself again to take it one step at a time.

      “I’m sure you’re a little tired after your busy afternoon,” she told Simon. “Would you like to rest awhile before dinner?”

      As she expected, Simon shook his head. “I’m not tired. But maybe we could go to the beach and I could build a sand castle?”

      “We could absolutely do that.”

      Fifteen minutes later, she reclined on a low beach chair with her bare legs stretched in front of her, reading a book on her tablet, and with an insulated tumbler of ice-cold water beside her. Above her, a blue umbrella fluttered in the steady breeze, shading her from the late afternoon sun. Only a few people milled on the beach and in the waves. Others were out on the fishing pier many yards to the south.

      With the beach relatively empty, Simon had plenty of room to play. He sat cross-legged on the damp sand near Joanna’s chair, his sunscreen-shiny face creased in concentration. He’d dumped a bag of brightly colored beach toys around him—shovels and pails, sand molds, a plastic bulldozer and a construction vehicle with a scoop bucket on a bendable arm. Imitating the beeps and other mechanical noises he’d heard on his favorite construction-themed videos, he focused on building a road to the sand mound he’d already prepared for his planned castle.

      Joanna divided her attention between her busy son, the gripping novel and the natural beauty surrounding her. She thought wistfully that this was exactly what she’d envisioned when she’d booked this vacation. She’d known there would be bittersweet moments, of course, but she’d been prepared to deal with them. This was all she’d wanted—quiet time together outdoors in the sun and surf.

      Another young boy ran up to watch what Simon was doing. The child immediately grabbed one of Simon’s plastic shovels and plopped down to dig with it.

      “Cody!” a male voice called out. “That doesn’t belong to you.”

      Noting that the boy, who looked to be close to Simon’s own age, had Down syndrome, Joanna prepared to caution her son to be patient, but she should have known it wouldn’t be necessary.

      “It’s okay,” Simon told the boy’s father, who was hurrying over. “He can play with me.”

      The dad looked at Joanna, the expression on his broad, ruddy face questioning. She smiled and nodded. “Let him play for a few minutes if he wants to.”

      Accepting that his son had settled in, the man chuckled wryly. “Thanks. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind sitting a bit to catch my breath. Cody insisted I carry him on my shoulders all the way down the beach and back while my wife takes a nap. I’m Ken McGee, by the way, and this is my son, Cody.”

      “I’m Joanna Zielinski, and this is Simon.” Setting her tablet aside, Joanna motioned for Ken to sit on a towel she’d spread nearby for Simon.

      He accepted the invitation, settling on the towel with his legs folded beneath him. “You can play just for a few minutes, Cody, but then we have to go join Mommy for dinner, okay?”

      Engrossed in a lesson from Simon on how to pack damp sand into a mold, Cody gave no sign that he’d heard his father, though Joanna believed he had. She and Ken exchanged a few remarks about the beautiful weather and the resort facilities. Standard stranger small talk.

      Ken glanced toward the boys. “Your son is good with Cody.”

      Watching as Simon helped the other child dump the mold and tap out the sand, Joanna smiled. “One of Simon’s friends at our church back in Georgia is a little girl with Down syndrome. He’s very fond of Michaela. She’s a sweetheart.”

      Cody scooped a shovelful of sand and tossed it in the air, giggling when the sand rained down on him. Leaning back to avoid having a face full of grit, Simon looked wryly at his mother. “I think Cody likes demolition better than construction.”

      Ken’s laugh sounded a bit weary. “You can say that again.”

      As if he realized how his words could be interpreted, he added quickly, “Cody’s a great kid. I—my wife and I don’t mind the challenges. Wouldn’t trade him for the world.”

      “Of course not,” Joanna replied gently, trying to avoid the psychologist’s penchant of reading more into statements and expressions than the speaker had intended. “It’s obvious he’s a precious little boy.”

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