Jamie nods, not looking at me. “I get it.”
“If it was just me…”
He shakes his head, pushing away from the fence. “You don’t need to qualify it, Elyse. I really do understand.”
“MOM!” Aiden calls. “Grandma probably has dinner waiting. Come on!”
I laugh. “Bottomless pit, that boy.”
“All boys are bottomless pits. Just wait till he’s a teenager lifting weights and practicing for two hours a day.”
I fake a whole-body shudder. “God help me. He already eats me out of house and home.”
“Start saving now, Elyse. It’ll be like feeding an army. And if he brings over his football buddies, you reallywillbe feeding an army.”
“Are you trying to scare me? I just want him to stay this age forever.”
He laughs. “I think I’ve heard parents say that at every age.”
“Because we never want our kids to grow up, and it just keeps happening faster and faster.”
“That’s definitely how it seems to go.” He’s quiet as he says this, and there’s a distance in his eyes, in his voice.
I want to ask about it. He obviously loves kids, but yet he’s divorced with no kids of his own. There’s a story there, but I dare not ask. I dare not get that close.
“I’m gonna go. Aiden will start eating the car if I don’t get him dinner soon.”
“Okay. I’ll see you around.”
He turns away first, striding easily across the field toward the administrative building. I watch him longer than I should.
We’re in the car heading for my parents’ when Aiden pipes up. “Hey, Mama?”
“Yeah, buddy.”
“Can we invite Coach Trent over to Grandma and Papa’s for dinner sometime?”
I swallow hard. “Um…I don’t know about that, kiddo.”
“But he’s so cool, and you guys are friends, right? Andeverybodylikes Grandma and Papa.”
I have a vision: Jamie at the table at my parents’ house, laughing as he passes a dish, talking football with Dad, him and Aiden tag-teaming the dishes.
I shake my head to clear the vision. That’s not happening. “We’ll see, Aiden.”
Aiden sighs disgustedly. “I know whatthatmeans.”
I laugh. “Grandma made chicken pot pie,” I tell him, in a blatant attempt to distract him. “Are you looking forward to that?”
“Heck yeah! I love Grandma’s chicken pot pie.” He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “You know who else would love it? Coach Trent.”
“Aiden, let it go, okay? Please?”
His eyes search mine, and I’m afraid he’ll see through me, that he’ll see how much I’d like that too. “Okay, Mama.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
I’m distracted at dinner, that fleeting vision of Jamie is stuck in my head—him, here, in my parents’ house, eating with us.
