Between Octobers Bk 1, Savor The Days Series Read Online Free PDF Page B

before.
    “For what?”
    “For being calm. It was kind of you to have
your friend stay with my boys.” It eased my troubled heart and
mind.
    “It was the only role left. You took ‘the
panicked woman’ without even asking if I wanted it.” A light
chuckle sounded.
    “Does your friend have children?”
    “ No, but he’s very
immature.”
    “That’s comforting.” The nerves came back,
settling in my stomach.
    “They’ll be fine, really.” His tone conveyed
a quiet assurance. It was all I had at the moment, so I clung to
it. “Everyone likes Marcus. How old are your boys?”
    “Five and fifteen.”
    The light he held, which was between us,
moved to train directly on me. “You’re not old enough to have a
teenager.”
    “I started early.”
    “When you were five?” He laughed, centering
the light between us again. “How old are you?”
    “Haven’t you ever heard it’s impolite to ask
a woman’s age?” I tried to put on like I was offended, but just
smiled.
    “Right. Sorry. So . . . why stop at two?
Didn’t you want a girl?”
    A lump tried to take up residence in my
throat. I held it off with a hard swallow. “Two’s enough.”
    “Do you plan to have more?”
    I guess we’d passed idle small talk.
    “We never planned; they were surprises.”
What surprised me was that I nearly mentioned how I suspected
Solomon had a high sperm count because all of my pregnancies
occurred while I was using at least one form of birth control. What
a strange thing to bring up in a dim conversation with a generous
stranger. Maybe it was easier to be open in the dark.
    “Sorry, it’s too personal.”
    I couldn’t make out his expression but knew
he saw mine. I wondered what he spotted that made him want to
apologize.
    “I’m not offended, but I am curious. Evan,
can I ask you something?”
    “Whatever you like.”
    “Do you really work in maintenance?”
    He drew a deep breath and let it out with a
quick raspberry. “No. I was, uh, visiting a friend,” he slightly
shifted his leg.
    The phone moved again, lighting the air
between us enough for me to see his sheepish grin.
    “It’s a little early for a social call.” I
heard my voice and it was patronizing.
    “Yeah, but I was away, out of state for a
few months and hoping to avoid the morning traffic. You know, I
knew a girl named Gracie in primary school. She used to hit me and
take my snack.”
    “She must have liked you,” I pretended not
to notice the sudden change of subject.
    “No, I’m pretty sure she hated me.” His
words, though they sounded offhand, carried an element of something
. . . truth, maybe? I wasn’t sure, but my heart filled with
compassion over the possibility. He was being so kind.
    “My dad used to call me Gracie.” Memories
sprang up. Me, bouncing on his knee playing Buck the Bronco. My dad
would twist his fingers around the back of my shirt—sending my
mother into a frenzy over the stretched fabric that she swore would
never go back into its correct shape—to keep me from falling to the
floor while he furiously shook his leg, launching me up and down.
I’d squeal, flailing, trying to hang on, and giggling the whole
time. Dad would yell, “Hang on, Gracie! Don’t fall, Gracie!” while
he did his best to knock me loose.
    “Did you have any nicknames growing up?” I
asked.
    “My mother’s husband used to call me
Shorty.” The reference sounded like a curse word. “I was a tall,
awkward child. That was his way of mocking me.”
    “That’s awful.” My own circumstances had
shown me, through two generations of personal experience, how
desperately a boy needs a father. My heart broke for him. Then, I
grasped the tone he used was distasteful, loathsome, and guarded.
The same way he referred to family as enemy.
    “You should forgive him,” I blurted, before
realizing what I was saying and how rude it must seem; but when I
felt the weight of the words, I knew I was right.
    His leg started to twitch, shaking the