Olivia
"Higher, Mom!"
I give Ethan another push and the swing arcs up into the shade of the big oaks that line the playground at the community park. He kicks his legs out and laughs when the chains go slack for a second at the top.
"That's about as high as my arms can go, buddy." And it's about as high as I feel safe letting him go. This kid has a death wish or something. I'm lucky he's not trying to ramp his bike off the garage roof. He loves risk taking and I'm terrified he's going to hurt himself one day.
"No it's not. You're not even trying." He twists around on the seat to look at me with that grin that makes it impossible to say no to him despite my reservations.
Oh, to be young and fearless again. I just want him to be cautious.
But I don't want to steal his security right out of his heart.
I know how that feels, and it's wrecked me as an adult.
"I'm trying. You're just getting too heavy for me." I push him again and put my back into it this time. The swing sails higher, and he whoops so loudly, a couple of kids on the climbing structure look over. They want to see what Ethan can do and he eats it up.
"Did you see that? I almost went over the bar!"
"You did not almost go over the bar." I'm chuckling, but I admire his gusto.
"I was close."
"You weren't close." I catch the swing on the backswing and push him again. I'm beginning to sweat, but the shade and the breeze make this day pleasant. For late April, it's already warm enough that my T-shirt is sticking to my back, but this is exactly where I want to be on a Saturday afternoon.
"Mom, do you think I could do a backflip off the swing if I jumped?"
"Absolutely not."
"But what if I practiced first?"
"Still no. You'd land on your head and I'd have to explain it to the doctor." He has no idea his words give my heart a jolt of panic, and I feel like stopping the swing so he doesn't impulsively try to do it on his own. That's just what I need, some catastrophic injury to back up Derek's claims.
He thinks about that for a second while he swings. "What if I landed on my feet?"
"Then I'd be very impressed and also very upset with you." I push him one more time and step to the side to catch my breath. My arms are burning and he's got enough momentum to keep going on his own for a while. "I want you to be safe, okay?"
I drop onto the bench a few feet away and grab my water bottle from the cooler. The park has a good crowd today and kids are everywhere—running across the grass, hanging off the monkey bars, chasing each other around the pavilion. It's such a beautiful day, it feels like everyone is out and about.
"Mom, watch this!" Ethan drags his feet to slow down, then jumps off the swing and sticks the landing with both arms out like a gymnast. It's not the way I'd prefer him to dismount, but at least he slowed himself so he didn't launch twenty feet in the air first.
"Nine out of ten," I tell him. His face beams with pride, but I cringe at encouraging it.
I remember being a kid doing this stuff, but I also had two parents who remained married and loved me dearly.
If I made a silly choice and got hurt, it would never have been held against me.
I can't say that for Ethan and his father's choice to berate me.
"What? That was a perfect ten."
"Your left foot wobbled," I say, pointing.
"It did not!" He runs back to the swing and climbs on again, pumping his legs hard. "Push me again when you come back."
"Give me one minute. My arms need a break." I flex my fingers and shake them out. "I think you actually gave me a cramp."
"That's because you don't work out, Mom." He's so matter of fact, just like his father. In fact, he probably got that line from his father who likes to talk crap about me behind my back. I don't have time to go to a gym. I barely have time to remember to shower and brush my teeth every day.
"Excuse me? I mow the lawn with a push mower." I wink at him and he grins.
"That's not working out, Mom. Dad goes to the gym."
Insert sarcastic, snarky comment about Derek here—but in reality, I can't. I won't be the one who bashes his father to him.
One day, Ethan will grow up and make assessments on his own and when he does, I want him to know I only spoke good of Derek because a boy needs his father.
What Derek is doing to degrade my relationship with my son now will only come back and bite him later.
"It felt like working out." I walk back over and give him another push, lighter this time so he doesn’t scare me to death. He groans at the difference and kicks his legs harder to compensate. "Don't give me that look. I'm doing my best."
"Your best is medium," he says, and I gasp loud enough that he cackles.
I take a long drink of water and watch him swing, letting the breeze cool the sweat on my neck. Days like this are the ones I hold onto—no drama, no arguments, no custody paperwork sitting on my kitchen table. Just my kid laughing in the sunshine and the sound of the trees moving above us.
Then I hear heavy footsteps on the trail behind us that leads past the river and I turn to see Caleb jogging past. Sweat darkens his shirt along his chest and under his armpits, and his face is flushed from the heat. He spots me and slows to a stop, giving me a short nod.
"Hey there," I say, holding up my water bottle. "Didn't know you were a runner."
"Trying to be." He pulls the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face and I see a flash of his stomach that I absolutely do not need to be noticing right now.
Corded muscles are glistening with sweat again just like last week when he fixed the fence, and the trail of hair that leads lower makes my belly flutter.
"You picked a good park for it. The trail loops all the way around if you go far enough."
He nods and glances toward the swings where Ethan has already spotted him.
"Caleb! Hey, Caleb!" Ethan drags his feet to stop and jumps off the swing again. "Will you push me? Mom's arms are tired and her pushes aren't even that good." He's so energetic and full of life, and as he races toward Caleb, the dark glower on the man's face lightens a little.
"Thank you for that, Ethan. Very kind." I'm sure my son didn't hear me, but kids are so honest. He hasn't realized how words can affect people yet. I guess it's something I still need to teach him.
Caleb looks at my son and then over at me with an expression that sits right between reluctance and mild irritation. "Oh, I don't know. I'm just out for my run."
"Please? Just for a little bit. I want to go really, really high."
Caleb exhales through his nose, and I watch him wrestle with it for about two seconds before he walks over to the swings.
For all his rugged tough guy antics, he seems like a decent man.
He's good with Ethan even though he's mildly grumpy at times.
He plants himself behind Ethan and shoves the swing with one arm, and it arcs so much higher than anything I've ever managed that Ethan shrieks.
"Higher!"
"That's high enough," Caleb mutters, but he keeps pushing. He seems to be loosening up a little the longer he interacts, though if I read him correctly, he didn't intend to bump into us.
I walk over and stand a few feet to the side, watching them.
"You know, most people smile when they play with kids at the park," I whisper to him as Ethan is at the top of his arc.
He glances at me. "I'm not playing. I'm just pushing him.
" He seems more rigid today than normal.
It makes me wonder what's going on in his head.
An ex-serviceman surely has a lot of stories, and if he was in the service for a long time, he probably has scary ones.
I've known a few men with severe PTSD, though Caleb doesn't strike me as the type, but sometimes, you can never tell.
"Right. Well, your cheerful disposition is really making the other parents feel welcome. I think that mom over there might come ask if you do birthday parties." I chuckle, and he looks over at me, then glances around.
The scowl doesn't disappear entirely, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward into a smirk.
God, he's handsome when he smiles, even if it's only halfway.
I'm torturing myself, just like I thought I would.
It's obvious this man isn't interested in a relationship, either.
He's been a friendly neighbor and nothing more, and I've been reading into it.
And besides, I can't get into something.
I already know that and I've told myself a dozen times.
"Alright, kid, you're on your own," Caleb says, stepping back. "My hand's still messed up."
Ethan pumps his legs and keeps the momentum going. "Thanks, Caleb! That was awesome. You push way harder than Mom."
"Everyone pushes harder than me, apparently," I say. "My ego is taking a real beating today."
Caleb examines the scab on his hand then runs it through his hair as he scans the park. "You come here a lot?" he asks, turning back to look at me. His eyes are so brown and warm, I'd think he enjoyed spending time with me if I weren't more clued in.
"When Ethan's been cooped up too long and starts attacking my doorframes with pool noodles, this is where we end up."
"Yeah… I used to be the same way when I was a kid. Boys are so rough and tumble." There's a hint of nostalgia in his tone, but we're not really having a getting to know you conversation. Otherwise, I'd ask about his childhood.
"Do you have experience with kids? Because for someone who claims not to enjoy this, you're pretty good at it."
"No." He says it with zero elaboration, which is becoming a pattern with him. It feels almost robotic, like the military stripped him of his ability to even try to relate. It makes me feel a little sad for him.
"Well, you're a natural. Very nurturing energy."
He looks at me, and I honestly can't tell whether he's annoyed or amused, but he doesn't say a word.
I don't think anyone's ever accused Caleb Ward of being nurturing.
I'm enjoying watching him have absolutely no idea what to do with the compliment.
I swear his cheeks tinge pink and his ears are red.
"I should finish my run," he says after a while.
"Thanks for pushing him. He'll talk about it for the rest of the day, and you're officially his favorite person on the street."
"Great," he says, dry as dust. Then he nods and darts off down the path again like he had never stopped.
I watch him go for a second, then sit back on the bench and shake my head. Ethan runs over from the climbing structure where he migrated while Caleb and I were talking.
"Mom, can we come back tomorrow?"
"We'll see. Let's head home and get you cleaned up. You're drenched."
"I'm not drenched. I'm just a little sweaty."
"Buddy, your shirt is see-through right now."
He looks down at himself and shrugs like that's perfectly acceptable. I hand him a juice box from the cooler, and he drains the whole thing in one gulp, then wipes his mouth with the back of his arm. We walk to the car together and he climbs into the back seat still buzzing.
He talks the entire drive about how high Caleb pushed him and how it was way higher than the swings at school and how Caleb is probably the strongest man on the whole planet.
I'd have to concur that the man is very strong, so strong, I lose my mind a little when I see his muscles, which isn’t a good thing for me, but I nod along and let Ethan go on, pulling into the driveway just as my phone buzzes in the cup holder.
Derek's name lights up the screen. I don't want to talk to him, but I don’t have a choice. If I ignore him, I start getting messages from the mediators about my responsibility to communicate.
"Ethan, go inside, honey. I have to take this call." He's such a good boy. He climbs out of the car and races up the driveway to the front door where he vanishes before I swipe to answer the phone. Derek starts talking before I've even greeted him.
"Hey, I need to talk to you about next week," he says abruptly.
"Go ahead."
"I want to take Ethan out of school Thursday and Friday and drive up to the lake house for a long weekend. My parents will be there and they haven't seen him in months."
"Derek, he can't miss school. He has a math test on Friday and his teacher already sent a note home about attendance after you picked him up early two weeks ago."
"It's two days, Olivia. He's eight years old. He's not going to flunk third grade over one math test." He's so annoyed so easily and he gets hostile quickly, too. Sometimes, I wonder if he's impatient and upset with Ethan like this when I'm not around.
"The answer is no. He can go to the lake house on a weekend when it doesn't conflict with school.
You'd have to pick him up after school is over on Friday.
" I'm not a fan of pissing Derek off, but this time, I have to draw the line.
Ethan is struggling in math at times. He can't miss a test for a trip that's not necessary.
Derek could do this on Saturday and Sunday.
It's just a power move bent on making me look too controlling.
"This is exactly what you do," Derek snarls. "You hold him hostage with rules and technicalities so I can't have any real time with him. It's controlling and the mediator's going to hear about it."
"Then the mediator can hear about it, but Ethan's not missing school."
"You're unbelievable. My parents are asking to see their grandson and you won't budge on two days. What kind of mother does that?"
"I'm happy to plan something for a weekend, Derek. That's my offer." After the morning I've had, I refuse to let Derek rain on my parade. I'm pleasant and happy and I want to stay that way.
But Derek hangs up angrily and I know I'm going to hear about this in the future too.
I just wish I had someone to talk to about this, someone who could tell me I'm not a lunatic and Derek really is being absurd.
Derek stripped everything from me, even my friends.
When we split, they all took his side, leaving me with no one but my manager at work, and I can't really tell her much either. She's my boss, not my buddy.
At some point, this has to break and Derek has to realize I'm not going to be bullied around.
When he does, hopefully, life will return to normal, and I'll be able to have a social life again.
For now, however, I have to be more careful and watchful.
I'm walking a fine line, and I can't afford any mistakes or Derek will use them against me.
Which means I can't afford to let little casual interactions with Mr. Ward affect me. My head's in the clouds over that man, and Ethan needs me more present so his dad doesn't pull crap.