Several times he touched the back of her leg through her jeans or rubbed her bare ankle.

“When are you leaving, Dad?” Conner asked as he flexed his writing hand.

“In the morning.”

“Oh.” Conner’s brows lowered, and he cracked his knuckles. “When are you coming back?”

“Saturday, but then I’m gone again Tuesday.”

“Please don’t crack your knuckles,” she reminded him.

He stopped and picked up his pencil. “You’l miss my school holiday program”

“I’l be home for Christmas though. And your mom can tape your program for me.”

On the surface, it looked like a nice family scene. Like Moclips. Mother, father, and child, and Autumn got that uncomfortably anxious feeling in her stomach again. Like the nice picture wouldn’t last. That at some point it would crumble at her feet. She was no longer afraid that Sam would backslide and put his son on hold while he lived the hard-partying life of a popular athlete. Some switch had flipped in Sam, and he truly wanted to be the father Conner needed. But that didn’t make them a family. It never would, and she worried that Conner might get the wrong idea. That he might start to hope for things that just weren’t going to happen. So far, he seemed okay. He hadn’t mentioned Sam moving in for a while.

“Your h is backward,” Sam pointed out to Conner, then he glanced at the screen and jumped up again. “Control the damn puck, Logan. Settle down and control the damn puck. Pass it!”

“Language, Dad.”

He glanced down at Conner. “What did I say now?”

“Damn.”

“Oh. I don’t think damn real y counts.”

At nine o’clock, Sam put Conner to bed, and Autumn moved into the kitchen to answer the telephone hooked to the wal next to the refrigerator.

“Hey, sis.”

She walked to the sliding glass door, stretching the long cord. “Hi, Vince.”

“Are you busy?”

It was definitely not a good time for a visit. “Yeah. I’m putting Conner to bed,” she lied. “And then I think I’l hit the sheets myself.” With Sam.

“At nine?”

“Yeah. It’s been a busy day.” She looked out onto the dark deck and the yard beyond. “What’s up?”

“I’m on a break and just wanted to ask you what to get Conner for Christmas.”

She smiled. “Wel , he told me he wants Santa to bring him a Harley like yours.”

Vince laughed, something she didn’t hear often enough.

“I told him he wasn’t big enough, and he said I could ride on the back and put my legs down to hold us up.”

“Maybe someday, but in the meantime, anything else he wants?”

Even though he’d never admit it to himself, Vince was lonely. Why else would a thirty-five-year-old man cal his sister at 9:00 P.M. to ask what his nephew wanted for Christmas? “He has his eyes on some Lego race cars.”

“That’l be fun. Do you have to share him this year with the idiot?”

“The idiot” chose that moment to walk into the kitchen. Autumn spun around and put a finger to her lips. “Yeah. I think Sam has him in the morning this year.”


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