I Walked Into My Son's Father's Engagement Party With Our Four-Year-Old, and His Mother Wasn't Surprised novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Medium Amount

Kent shows up with a bag of bottle caps, Carrie sets her rules, and a privacy complaint with Joyce's name lands on her phone.

Rhonda Hornback poured coffee into my mug at seven the next morning and listened to the whole story without saying a word.

She was fifty-eight, a retired school bus driver who watched Eli three afternoons a week and called me "kid."

When I finished, she put down the pot.

"The cookie lady," she said. "Big flower. Window chair."

"You know her?"

"I take him to story hour every Wednesday. She's been there since spring." Rhonda's face went still. "I thought she was somebody's grandmother. She always asked me what time we'd be back."

I felt sick.

"Come to the park with me," I said.

"Kid, I was going to come anyway. I brought a thermos."

Delafield Park had a rusty rocket slide, a sandbox, and a set of monkey bars that Eli had not yet conquered.

Kent was already there.

I knew because his truck sat alone in the lot at ten to ten, and he stood by the swings.

He was holding a grocery bag.

"I got here at eight," he said. "I'm sorry. I couldn't stay in the house."

"What's in the bag?"

He opened it.

It was full of bottle caps.

Pepsi, Dr Pepper, Cheerwine, three kinds of root beer I'd never heard of, and a gold one that said Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale.

"I stopped at four gas stations," he said. "I didn't know what he liked."

Eli took the bag and looked inside for a very long time.

"These are good ones," he told Kent. "Where did you get the gold one?"

"A man in Smiths Grove gave it to me."

"Was he nice?"

"He thought I was crazy. But yeah."

Eli nodded.

Then he took Kent's hand without asking and pulled him toward the sandbox.

I stayed by the bench with my coffee, and Rhonda unscrewed her thermos beside me and watched the two of them.

They sorted caps for forty minutes.

Eli explained the system, which was by color and then by how much he liked them.

Kent asked good questions.

He didn't say anything big or sad or sorry.

Once, when Eli went to dig for a lost cap, Kent covered his eyes with both hands and breathed for a while.

Then he went right back to sorting.

"He's got his daddy's jaw," Rhonda said.

"He's got his own jaw."

"He's got your mouth and Kent's jaw, kid. That's how it's supposed to work."

I watched Kent lift Eli to the first rung of the monkey bars and hold his waist.

"Don't let go," Eli said.

"I'm not letting go."

"You can't promise that."

"I'm holding you right now. That's the promise I've got."

Eli made it to the third bar before he dropped.

Kent caught him.

Eli laughed so hard that he hiccuped.

I got up and walked over.

"Eli, baby, go see if Miss Rhonda has a muffin."

He ran.

Kent stood up slowly, brushing sand off his knees.

"I want to say something and I want you to let me finish," he said. "I don't expect you to forgive me, because I haven't done anything yet. I didn't look hard enough. I should have driven up here that first month. I let her tell me you'd moved on because it was easier than finding out I'd been wrong about us."

"You were twenty-seven."

"I was old enough to pick up a phone and call your aunt."

I looked at the sandbox.

"What do you want, Kent?"

"Saturdays," he said. "Whatever you'll give me. And I'll sign whatever you put in front of me. Child support from the day he was born. Five years back."

"I don't want your money."

"Then I'll put it in an account with his name on it. You won't touch a cent."

I could hear Eli arguing with Rhonda about the blueberry muffin.

"Rules," I said.

"Anything."

"Saturdays, and I'm there. No overnights. Nothing he can't take back out of his head later."

"Okay."

"And your mother doesn't come within a hundred yards of him. Not at a game. Not at the library. Not at church."

Kent stared at me.

"The library?"

I told him about the cookie.

He didn't say a word.

He turned, walked over to the trash can, and put his hand flat on the lid.

"She told him she'd pick him up from kindergarten," I said.

"I'll talk to her."

"No, you won't. You'll talk to her after I know what she's planning."

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was an email from the hospital's compliance office, sent at 9:42 on a Saturday morning.

Subject: Formal complaint, Patient Privacy. Meeting Monday, 8:00 a.m.

I opened it and read the first line twice.

An allegation has been filed against you for improperly accessing the medical billing record of a patient named Joyce Irwin.

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