“Ever shot a basketball?” He grabbed one off the rack at the side of the gym.
Again with the head shake.
Was Kurt too young for this? Bringing him here for some low-key b-ball was the only thing Tucker could think of to do on a weekday morning in August when it was hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. He needed the AC to ensure he was at least moderately presentable for Judge Carpenter later. Other than the two of them, the place was nearly deserted. A handful of blue-hairs moseyed on the second floor track surrounding the basketball court.
Taking his position at the free throw line, Tucker lined up the shot and tossed. The ball swished neatly through the net.
“Whoa.” Kurt dragged out the exclamation to three syllables, his eyes going gratifyingly wide. “I wanna learn how to do that.”
Tucker retrieved the ball and motioned for the boy to join him on the free throw line. He showed Kurt how to hold the ball and described the motion.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Kurt heaved the ball into the air. It fell short of the basket by at least ten feet.
“That’s okay,” Tucker said, jogging after the ball. “Everybody’s gotta start somewhere. You’ve got short people problems.”
“Mommy says I’m growing like a weed.”
“And one day you won’t be short. Meanwhile, let’s scoot a bit closer to the basket.” Tucker snagged the rack of balls and rolled it out onto the court. Might as well have a bunch to start with.
The kid threw himself into the process with little finesse and a lot of enthusiasm. Best Tucker could tell, he had as much fun chasing the balls as he did trying to hit the basket. But nothing beat the celebration dance when he managed to sink one by flinging it double-handed granny style up from his knees. Laughing, Tucker joined in the boogie, which they finished out with an epic, multi-step high five.
“That was fun!” Kurt declared.
“It was. Wanna do it again?”
“Yeah!”
Since the double handed had worked, Tucker helped him refine his method. Then even that degenerated into silly attempts at trick shots that mostly consisted of flinging the ball as high in the air as they could manage. Tucker had a blast.
Scooping his charge up, he made a sprint forward, boy, ball, and all, dancing around imaginary opponents. “He dodges left, dodges right, making it past the center.” He lifted Kurt high so the kid was only a few feet from the basket. “He shoots—” The ball swished through the hoop. “He scores! And the crowd goes wild!”
Tucker boosted him up on one shoulder and they both mimed cheering.
“That was awesome! I wish Mommy could have been here.”
Tucker checked his watch. “She ought to be back soon.”
“Yeah, but then it’ll be back to work.”
Not wanting Kurt to lose his happy mood, Tucker flipped him over and held him upside down, giggling.
“Put me down!” Kurt laughed.
Tucker righted him, tugging his t-shirt back in place. “Your mom works a lot, huh?”
Kurt looked at him with an air of imparting Very Serious Information. “A. Lot. I know it’s for me and stuff, so we don’t always have to live with Grandma, but I just wish she could have some fun.”
Out of the mouths of babes. “I’d like to help her with that.”
The big dark eyes turned on him like a laser beam. “Why?”
“Because I’ve seen how hard she works, too, and I think she deserves a chance to play.”
“Not everybody gets that luxury.”
They both turned to see Corinne in the doorway, subtle lines of strain bracketing her mouth.