My Son's Father Is the Wrong Brother novel · Chapter 12 of 24

Chapter 12: The Rule That Broke

Timothy came up the steps and stood between his mother and me.

"Mother."

"A surname, dear," Eleanor said pleasantly. "It's the first thing anyone will ask. The baby will be a Hargrove, of course. And I think Milo should be one before his birthday party."

"That's for Rosemary to decide."

"Of course it is."

She set the white box in my hands. Inside were four little iced cakes, each one with a sugar rose.

"Walnut-free," she said. "I had them check."

Then she patted my arm and went back down to her car.

Timothy watched her all the way to the street.

"She sits on the board," I said.

"She sits on forty boards." He turned to me. "She has never once come here without calling first."

I didn't answer, because I had no answer.

We ate dinner with Milo, and we were very polite again.

At eleven I went to bed in the guest room with my hand on my stomach, and at one in the morning the thunder woke Milo.

He screamed.

I had him in my arms before I was awake, rocking him against my shoulder, saying it's only noise, baby, it's only noise.

"Tim," he sobbed. "Want Tim."

"Tim's asleep, sweetheart."

"I'm here."

Timothy stood in the doorway in a gray T-shirt and sweatpants.

He took Milo from me without asking, carried him to the window, and showed him the lightning over the lake.

"See that? That's far away. It can't come in."

"It's loud."

"It is loud. We'll count."

Milo hiccupped.

"One," Timothy said, as the thunder rolled. "Two. Three. Four."

Somewhere past two, Milo was asleep on his shoulder.

Timothy laid him in the bed and tucked Biscuit under his chin.

Then he sat down on the floor with his back against the frame.

I sat on the other side.

Neither of us said anything for a while.

The rain ran down the glass. The nightlight turned the room amber.

"You shut your door before the test had dried," I said, very low. "Rule three."

"You agreed to it."

"I did."

"Then what's the matter?"

"I don't know." I picked at a thread in the rug. "I thought I was a day on a calendar for you."

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