scored a goal. Evidently delighted by the timing, Jane clapped and whistled. Her sidelong glance met a glower. Duncan clenched his jaw.
“Haven’t you been playing soccer with him?” she said cheerfully. “You should be proud of him. Why aren’t you cheering, too?”
Because I should be playing with him, not his father. Duncan believed that, but was also discomposed by the realization that he was feeling a pang of jealousy. He sure as hell wasn’t admitting that to Jane Brooks.
“How often are we going to be doing this?” he asked, sounding grumpy even to his own ears.
“We? I will be doing this as often as I can. We’ve agreed to aim for twice a week, and Hector will be having dinner with Tito, Lupe and her kids a couple of additional evenings. I understand Tito’s big brother, Diego, is around for a few weeks, too.”
Duncan grunted. Tito had told him as much. The boy had sounded…wistful. He loved Diego and perhaps felt slightly in awe of him, but had said enough for Duncan, reading between the lines, to guess that Tito was also disappointed that his brother wasn’t making more money or doing something important. Duncan had let the conversation drift so that the connection wasn’t obvious before talking about how important Tito’s grades in school were.
“You’ll never get a really good job without going to college or getting training in a trade,” he’d said with a shrug. “No employer wants to hire a screwup. Someone who can’t finish what they start.”
Tito had looked thoughtful, for what that was worth. He was only twelve, not an age when he was likely to deeply contemplate life choices. Duncan knew that he was unusual in having set his eyes on his goal by the time he was ten or eleven. He had known he wanted success, respect, authority. He’d been determined to make good money so life wasn’t uncertain. He’d been willing to sacrifice to get where he wanted. So it was possible. Tito probably didn’t like feeling insecure, not knowing what the future would bring, any more than Duncan had at that age.
“I should have brought a lawn chair,” Jane remarked. “I’ll have to think of myself as a soccer mom. Snacks wouldn’t be a bad thing, would they?” She pursed her lips. “A book, maybe.”
She couldn’t seem to resist needling him. Duncan said sardonically, “I thought you were being paid to keep your eyes on the father/son bonding process.”
“I try to keep some distance when I do this kind of court-ordered supervision. I’m here, but not intruding on their time together. Fortunately, I’m really good at doing two things at once.” Her smile was like a glint of sunlight catching a gun sight, serving as the same kind of warning. “I’ve been known to do three or four things at a time. I’ve read that women tend to be better at that. Probably because we’re biologically programmed to watch the kids even while we’ve got dinner simmering on the fire and we’re hanging the laundry out on the bushes to dry. Men, apparently, have tunnel vision in comparison. The studies are interesting, don’t you think?”
“I can chew gum and walk at the same time, Ms. Brooks.”
“Do you?”
At his fulminating stare, she widened her eyes innocently. “Chew gum, I mean. I hardly ever see adults chewing on gum.”
What an unbelievably aggravating woman. “No,” he said. “I admit I don’t. I was speaking metaphorically.”
“Oh.” This smile was even sunnier. “And I had the loveliest picture of you in your uniform blowing a great big pink bubble.”
He actually wanted to laugh. Duncan managed to focus instead on the soccer players; at the very moment Hector swept his laughing son into a hug. Any desire to laugh died.
“I’m going to sit,” Jane announced, and lowered herself gracefully to the ground. She crossed her legs and bent to pluck blades of grass.
Duncan found himself wondering if she
“Haven’t you been playing soccer with him?” she said cheerfully. “You should be proud of him. Why aren’t you cheering, too?”
Because I should be playing with him, not his father. Duncan believed that, but was also discomposed by the realization that he was feeling a pang of jealousy. He sure as hell wasn’t admitting that to Jane Brooks.
“How often are we going to be doing this?” he asked, sounding grumpy even to his own ears.
“We? I will be doing this as often as I can. We’ve agreed to aim for twice a week, and Hector will be having dinner with Tito, Lupe and her kids a couple of additional evenings. I understand Tito’s big brother, Diego, is around for a few weeks, too.”
Duncan grunted. Tito had told him as much. The boy had sounded…wistful. He loved Diego and perhaps felt slightly in awe of him, but had said enough for Duncan, reading between the lines, to guess that Tito was also disappointed that his brother wasn’t making more money or doing something important. Duncan had let the conversation drift so that the connection wasn’t obvious before talking about how important Tito’s grades in school were.
“You’ll never get a really good job without going to college or getting training in a trade,” he’d said with a shrug. “No employer wants to hire a screwup. Someone who can’t finish what they start.”
Tito had looked thoughtful, for what that was worth. He was only twelve, not an age when he was likely to deeply contemplate life choices. Duncan knew that he was unusual in having set his eyes on his goal by the time he was ten or eleven. He had known he wanted success, respect, authority. He’d been determined to make good money so life wasn’t uncertain. He’d been willing to sacrifice to get where he wanted. So it was possible. Tito probably didn’t like feeling insecure, not knowing what the future would bring, any more than Duncan had at that age.
“I should have brought a lawn chair,” Jane remarked. “I’ll have to think of myself as a soccer mom. Snacks wouldn’t be a bad thing, would they?” She pursed her lips. “A book, maybe.”
She couldn’t seem to resist needling him. Duncan said sardonically, “I thought you were being paid to keep your eyes on the father/son bonding process.”
“I try to keep some distance when I do this kind of court-ordered supervision. I’m here, but not intruding on their time together. Fortunately, I’m really good at doing two things at once.” Her smile was like a glint of sunlight catching a gun sight, serving as the same kind of warning. “I’ve been known to do three or four things at a time. I’ve read that women tend to be better at that. Probably because we’re biologically programmed to watch the kids even while we’ve got dinner simmering on the fire and we’re hanging the laundry out on the bushes to dry. Men, apparently, have tunnel vision in comparison. The studies are interesting, don’t you think?”
“I can chew gum and walk at the same time, Ms. Brooks.”
“Do you?”
At his fulminating stare, she widened her eyes innocently. “Chew gum, I mean. I hardly ever see adults chewing on gum.”
What an unbelievably aggravating woman. “No,” he said. “I admit I don’t. I was speaking metaphorically.”
“Oh.” This smile was even sunnier. “And I had the loveliest picture of you in your uniform blowing a great big pink bubble.”
He actually wanted to laugh. Duncan managed to focus instead on the soccer players; at the very moment Hector swept his laughing son into a hug. Any desire to laugh died.
“I’m going to sit,” Jane announced, and lowered herself gracefully to the ground. She crossed her legs and bent to pluck blades of grass.
Duncan found himself wondering if she
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