Page 134 of Confessions

They ate at a little table by the sliding door and the food was delicious: steak, baked potatoes and steamed broccoli smothered in a packaged cheese sauce. She poured them each a glass of wine and made sure that Randy’s manners were impeccable. Ben had the feeling that the kid had been coached for hours. “No elbows,” she said when Randy set his arm on the table. “What did I say about your hat?” she asked, noticing the fact that Randy’s Giants’ cap was resting on his head. “Oh, Randy, you know better! Please...use the butter knife. That’s what it’s there for.”

When Randy finally asked to be excused, Ben let out a silent sigh of relief. “He really is a good boy,” she said as Randy ambled down the hall.

“Of course he is.”

“Straight A’s and pitcher for his Little League team. They won the pennant last year.” She smiled, all filled with pride and Ben got an uneasy feeling that she was trying to sell the kid to him. “He’s in the school choir, too. Last year he had the lead in their little play. It wasn’t much, you understand, only third graders, but he was the one they chose. Probably because of his voice and the fact that he’s smart as a whip. I’ve been into that school five times this year already, asking them to move him up a grade or two in math. He’s bored with what they’re teaching.”

Ben shoved his chair from the table. “Ever thought of private school?”

She sighed. “All the time. But that takes money and, well, being a single mother, we don’t have a lot of extra cash.” She picked up her plate and when Ben tried to carry his to the sink, she waved him back in his chair. “Sit, sit. I can handle this.”

“So can I.”

“But you’ve been working all day.”

“Haven’t you?”

She smiled and seemed flustered. “Just let me do it, all right? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man to pamper.”

Warning bells went off in his head, but he ignored them. She was just trying to be nice. Nothing to worry about. She stacked the dishes in the sink and cut him a thick slab of chocolate cake.

“Won’t Randy want some of this?” he asked, when she sliced a sliver for herself and sat back down at the table.

“He’s in training. No sweets.”

“But—”

She shook her head and took a bite. “Baseball starts in a few weeks and tryouts are just around the corner. He’s got to be in shape. He’s lucky I let him have a soft drink tonight.”

“He’s barely ten.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, that underlying hardness surfacing in her eyes. “You, of all people, should understand. It’s kind of like being in the military. Randy wants to be the ace pitcher again this year and I told him that I’ll support him in that goal, but only if he works hard for it. No junk food. Lots of rest. Exercise. And he’s got to keep his grades up.”

“And sing in the choir and do higher-level math,” Ben added, unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

“Why not? He can do it all.”

“When does he have a chance to be a little kid?”

She sat on the couch and frowned when he slid into a white chair in the corner of the living room. “He is a little kid. A disciplined little kid.”

“But when does he build forts and play in the woods and ride his bike and swim and—”

“When he trains, he swims on the weekends in the Coleville pool and there are no woods right around here. Riding his bike is dangerous—too much traffic. Besides we have a stationary bike in my room. If he wants to work out—”

“I’m not talking about working out. I’m talking about just hanging around,” Ben said, his insides clenching when he considered how much pressure the kid had to live up to.

She

was about to argue, thought better of it and kicked off her high heels. Tucking her feet beneath her on the couch, she sipped her wine slowly. “I suppose it does look like Randy’s on a pretty tough regimen, doesn’t it?” Sighing, she ran the fingers of one hand through her hair. “And part of the reason is that it’s easier for me to have him on a schedule. I work two jobs and don’t have a lot of free time so I have to depend on other people to give him rides. I don’t want him to spend too much time alone—that’s not good—so I encourage him to participate and be with kids his own age.”

“And win.”

She smiled. “Because he can, Ben. He’s got so much potential.” Her eyes glazed for a second, she licked her lips, and she whispered, “Just like Kevin.”

Ben’s stomach turned to stone. He suddenly realized why Tracy had never married; no one could compare to his brother. She didn’t give another man a chance. And over the years she’d created a myth about Kevin, the myth being that he was perfect.

“Kevin was an average student, Tracy.”