Page 134 of The Homemaker

“Cameron,” I murmur softly.

Tears burn my eyes, so I slip on my sunglasses. This is awful. It’s also wonderful. I’m freaking out, fighting back tears.

Happy tears.

Fearful tears.

What is happening?

“So Murphy told us you’re an executive assistant for some wealthy businessman. Do you get to take lots of trips around the world?” Rose asks.

“Um,” I clear my throat, keeping my focus on the players and their coach, “not usually. My job involves more mundane tasks at his residence. The Paris trip was a surprise.”

“Do you speak French?” she asks.

“No. Not really.” A nervous laugh escapes. “Not at all actually.”

“Well, if you ever need help, Jonathan speaks fluent French. Right, babe?” She rests her hand on his knee.

He keeps his focus on the field. “Oui.”

I feel my first genuine smile. She’s the golden retriever in their relationship and he’s the black cat.

“He’s taught all the kids to speak French, but I’m the worst. We’ve been married for fifteen years, and I think I’ve learned less than ten words.” She laughs.

A new round of tears pool in my eyes. I like hersomuch. And my son speaks French?

The game begins, and my heart can’t keep up with so much emotion. I don’t know what Murphy’s been up to forthe past two months, but somewhere along the way he decided Cameron is his son, something we will never know for sure.

I don’t know if that makes him delusional or the best man who ever lived.

After the win, all the parents clap and cheer, and so do I because I have a boy on the field too. The teams line up to shake hands, fist bumps, really.

Cameron runs toward Rose and Jonathan. Thank god for my sunglasses. I wipe my tears before they slip into view. My heart might burst. Aside from the day I gave birth to him, the day I let him go, this is the closest I’ve been to my son.

“Good game, baby.” Rose hugs him.

My heart is in my throat.

“Nice job, champ,” Jonathan says when Cameron gives him a hug.

“Cam, this is Coach Paddon’s wife, Alice.” Rose introduces me to my son.

I can’t speak, no matter how hard I try to swallow past the lump in my throat. So I smile, and I hope that says it all.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, holding out his hand.

Gah!

They’ve raised such a polite young man. I’m grateful and proud, and a million other things that I can’t articulate yet.

I shake his hand, holding it a little too long, but I can’t help myself. Then I manage a quick, “You too,” without completely falling apart.

He’s even more beautiful, handsome, cute, just everything more than I’ve been able to capture from a distance. His eyes are hazel.

Mine are blue.

Chris’s were blue.