18. Alana
ALANA
Three weeks later...
T he sound of Kyra's giggle reaches my ears as Sam chases her around the wooden fort.
"Pirates!" she yells, clambering up to the top level and making a spy glass with her hands.
He replies with something about giant crabs before swinging up after her. The wide grin on his face matches my own.
For the past three weeks, we've been coming to the playground a couple of times a week so Kyra and Sam can play together. They were cautious of each other at first, but now, as they chase each other around the fort in an imaginary game of their own, you wouldn't know it.
"I found something in Bridgett's diary."
Amos jerks his head around to face me. "Something about Jake?"
"I think so."
He looks at me expectantly, and when I don't say anything, he raises his eyebrows. "Well...?"
"I can't tell you here." I glance over at the kids, but they've oblivious to us.
"They can't hear us here." Amos takes a seat on the far side of the picnic table.
I pull out the worn exercise book from my purse and sit down next to Amos. I flip the book open to the page I marked.
"From what I've learned, Bridgett worked at a diner, and she sometimes hooked up with customers. She states how she didn't want a man in her life, but she enjoyed male company from time to time."
I glance at Amos, and he's peering intently at the page.
"There's an entry about seven years ago. She mentions meeting a guy who was in the military. He started coming to the diner, and they got friendly."
I point to a line in the diary. "She refers to him as JM."
"Jake Monroe," Amos says softly.
I turn the page and pause, not sure how to say the next part. "She describes him as a troubled soul."
Amos frowns. "He could be a grumpy ass sometimes. Does she say anything else?"
I take a long breath. "She does, but it's a little graphic."
Amos raises an eyebrow. "Just give me the highlights."
I glance at the kids who are taking turns on the slide and lower my voice. "I'm going to read this bit directly.” My finger traces the lines of Bridgett's words. "There's darkness in that one. He fucked me so hard the condom broke."
I glance at Amos, and he's staring at the page intently. "Is there more?"
"They spent a few days together. Then he was deployed. She switched jobs and never gave him her number. But then she realizes she's pregnant."
"But why didn't she try to find him, if she knew his name?"
"She says she didn't want a military man in her life coming and going. She didn't want him to think she had scammed him, and she didn't want a guy in her baby’s life who was deployed for most of the time and obviously had PTSD. Her words."
Amos frowns. "Jake never had PTSD." But he doesn't sound sure.
He sighs. "I can understand. It's hard being with someone in the military, especially special forces. I've seen girlfriends end it because they can't hack the uncertainty, marriages fall apart, kids who don't recognize their dads. I can understand her reasoning."
I close the journal. "Does that give you some clarity?"
He grunts. "A little. I'll give my family the sanitized version. And don't mention the darkness if anyone asks."
"Of course not."
I slip the diary back into my bag and we sit quietly, watching the kids play.
"How's he getting on at school?" I ask Amos.
We're standing back from the playground by a picnic bench to give them space. It's a chilly fall afternoon, and I have my coat wrapped tightly around me.
Amos shifts his weight between his feet, unable to stay still for long.
"Good, I think. He's behind in reading, so we're working on that every night. But he's where he should be in math."
"Is he making any friends?"
Amos frowns. "He doesn't talk about anybody. And whenever I ask him, he closes up."
I've reassured Amos a hundred times that it's going to take time, so I don't say it again.
"I spoke to his old teacher." He stuffs his hands in his pockets. "She said he was quiet and thoughtful."
"So it's not just the trauma that's keeping him quiet."
Although there's nothing quiet about the boy currently chasing Kyra down the slide. I'm happy they feel relaxed around each other.
"He's making good progress with the therapist," Amos says. "She's using art therapy. I thought it sounded a bit... hippy."
I smile at his choice of words. "Art therapy can be great for children," I reassure him. "They don't always have the words to talk about their feelings. It's amazing what they can express with a few colors."
"How long do you think it will take?"
Amos wants a solution. He's a man who solves problems. It's not the first time he's asked this question.
"It takes as long as it takes. Some kids are able to work through their trauma; others will have it follow them around their entire lives."
Amos wraps his arms around himself. "Shit. I hope that's not the case for this little guy."
The genuine concern he has for Sam is heartbreaking. I put my hand on his arm.
"He's got a great support network now. I'm sure he'll be fine."
Amos glances at my hand and then my lips.
His gaze drags to my eyes, and our gazes lock.
It's the most contact we've had since that night he made me come undone, and the reaction is the same one I felt then.
Even through the layers of my fall coat, my skin prickles and a wave of heat courses through my body.
I snatch my hand away and look toward the fort. There's danger in being friends with Amos.
"How's the cooking going?" I change the subject to safer territory.
"I made spaghetti Bolognese last night," he says proudly.
"You've really gotten into this guardian thing, haven't you?"
He shrugs as if it's no big deal. "When I commit to something, Alana, I go all in."
The way he looks at me when he says it makes me think he's not just talking about the cooking class. I swallow hard and look up just in time to see Kyra scoot down the slide.
On days like this, when we're hanging out, talking comfortably and watching the kids play, it's easy to imagine what a life with Amos would be like. And there's a yearning inside me that I've never felt before.
Previously, it's been easy to deny myself male companionship and to put the kids first. But now I realize it was just because I hadn't met anyone I really wanted. Denying myself Amos is the hardest thing I've ever done.
Amos grabs a container out of his bag, and before he's got it open the kids are running over.
"Can I have a cookie?" Kyra's eyes go wide at the chocolate chip cookies in Amos's container.
"Did you make those?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "This is all Mom. I can cook Bolognese, but baking? No. I'm not even going to attempt it."
I nod to Kyra, and she snatches a cookie from the container. Sam follows her over, and his face tightens as he reaches us. The carefree expression of a few moments ago is replaced by a cautious look.
"You want a cookie, buddy?" Amos holds out the container.
Sam takes one but doesn't say anything.
"Excuse me. Where are your manners?" says Amos.
The boy's eyes go wide for a moment. Then he mumbles a "thank you" before taking his cookie and running off with Kyra to sit in the fort and eat them.
"You want a cookie?" Amos offers them to me, and I grab one.
I bite into the chocolate and there are chocolate chips inside, soft and melting. I close my eyes as the flavors hits my tastebuds and let out a soft moan.
When I look up, Amos is staring at me with a choked expression on his face.
"You need to stop making those noises," he says in a lowered voice, "if you don't want me to repeat what we did that one time."
"Oh my God, sorry! I didn't mean to..." Heat inflames my cheeks, and I turn away.
"I made too much Bolognese," Amos says. "You should come over and have some with us."
I give him a wary look.
"With Kyra, obviously," he adds.
I'd love to come over to Amos's place and eat bolognaise all together, like a family. Then put the kids to bed and...
I stop my fantasy right there. I haven't been given a date yet for the adoption board. I just need to hold it together a little longer.
"Thanks for the invite, but I promised Kyra pizza tonight."
"Okay." Disappointment flashes across Amos's face, but he hides it well. "I'll see you next Tuesday at the park again?"
"Sure will."
As he and Sam head off to the car, I can't help watching Amos's butt in his tight jeans. Sam walks next to him, and with their blonde hair, they could be any father and son.
Not for the first time, I wonder what I'm missing out on.
"Can we go home now?"
Kyra peers up at me as her little hand slips into mine. I look into the face of the daughter of my heart, hopeful, smiling, carefree, and I remember that it's all worth it.