Her Son's Hero. Vicki Essex

She unlocked the car doors. “Let’s go get some ice cream.” She couldn’t be his best friend, but she could at least try to cheer him up.

      THE FAINT NOTES of the local rock station played in the background on the radio as they drove home, both thoroughly depressed. A trip to the park and a plain vanilla cone hadn’t cheered Sean up. He’d sat on a swing, grinding his shoes into the sand while kids played around him. Alone on a bench, Fiona could see mothers at the other end of the park glancing her way. And she’d wondered for a brief moment if worrying about her son’s isolation distracted her from thinking about her own.

      A thin layer of cloud obscured the sun now, casting a wan silver light. The wind picked up as they drove.

      When they crossed the bridge over the river, Sean sat up. “Look, it’s Dom!” It was the first time all day he’d appeared bright and alert.

      Fiona saw her new neighbor jogging along the paved shoulder in a gray hoodie and sweat-pants. A mixture of anxiety and pleasure tumbled through her. She was still agitated by yesterday’s encounter, and didn’t really want to face him.

      “Stop the car, Mom! Let’s offer him a ride.”

      “Oh, Sean, I’m sure he…”

      Sean rolled down his window as they approached, and stuck his head out, forcing Fiona to slow down. “Hi, Dom!”

      “Hey, there, Sean.” Dom kept pace with the car, jogging backward. She struggled with the impulse to floor it and leave him in the dust.

      “You want a ride home?” her son asked.

      Dominic glanced past him to Fiona. “Climb in,” she said, wishing she could sound more enthusiastic as she pulled onto the shoulder.

      Sean unbuckled his seat belt and got out, then climbed into the backseat. “You have long legs,” he said as Dom raised an eyebrow. “The front is better for tall people.” His legs were long. He wasn’t that tall, but in combination with everything else she’d seen, the proportions were perfect.

      “Thanks, Sean,” he said. He climbed in and buckled up, then turned to her with another heart-melting smile. He smelled…clean. Mixed with the fresh air and vanilla ice cream, it was just a little intoxicating.

      Fiona squirmed in her seat. What did she think she was doing, sniffing her neighbor?

      “You raised him well, Mrs. MacAvery,” he said.

      “It’s Miz, actually. Or, um, Fiona,” she offered after a moment. “Mrs. MacAvery” was what people called her mom, and it sounded way too formal.

      “Fiona.” Dom flashed her another grin. “Funny, you look like a Fiona.”

      Was he flirting with her? She concentrated on her driving instead of on the irregular pulse fluttering at her throat.

      “I saw you head into the bookshop across the street from the dojo this morning,” he said. “Do you work there?”

      “Oh, yeah, Mom loves it,” Sean answered before she could say anything. “And she gets me all kinds of stuff to read, too.”

      “And how was your day?” Dom asked him.

      “Oh. It was…” He trailed off into silence.

      Fiona sensed Dom looking at her.

      “Sean was kicked out of fun camp for getting into a fight,” she explained quietly.

      “I’m sorry,” Sean said. It was the first time today he’d offered an apology or any kind of admission that he’d been at fault. “I didn’t mean it to happen.”

      “It’s not your fault. You didn’t start anything.”

      “Wait. Sean, did you start that fight?”

      “Of course he didn’t.” Fiona couldn’t believe he’d even suggest her sweet, innocent son had instigated any kind of violence. “He wouldn’t—”

      Dom placed a firm hand on her shoulder. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Let him answer.”

      “He called Mom a dirty word,” Sean said.

      Fiona flinched. “You mean Rene? What did he call me?”

      “I don’t want to say it, Mom.”

      “Are you telling me you started that fight?”

      “He called you a dirty word!” Sean argued hotly. “He called you a—”

      “You’re right,” Dom interjected, “we don’t need to hear the word, Sean.” Fiona’s grip on the wheel tightened as her temper ratcheted up at this man’s nerve. Dom went on, “I think it was honorable of you to defend your mother.”

      “No, it wasn’t,” she snapped, and suddenly the day’s stress and frustration cascaded over her. “He got kicked out of camp because of his fighting. He didn’t have to let Rene bait him, but he did. Fun camp was the only place I could send him on Saturdays. What am I supposed to do now? Who’s going to take care of Sean while I go to work?”

      Silence descended. Fiona glanced in her rearview mirror and saw Sean staring down at his hands, humiliated. Her heart sank.

      “He fought for you,” Dom said quietly. “Aren’t you proud of him for defending you, even if he won’t defend himself?”

      She’d had just about enough of Dominic Payette. “I’m his mother. I can take a little abuse from the Rene Kirkpatricks of the world. I don’t need anyone to tell me or my son how to behave.”

      She felt her neighbor’s steely gaze on her, felt the intense pity there, and she hated it. She couldn’t pull onto their street soon enough.

      “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you later,” Dom said as he got out of the car. Sean waved and watched him walk up the steps and into his house, even as Fiona jerked the car back onto the road and drove the last few yards up to their home.

      Any distance that she could put between herself and her neighbor was welcome.

      LATER THAT EVENING, the doorbell rang. Fiona was in the middle of preparing Sean’s favorite meal. When they’d returned home, her son had gone straight to his room and slammed the door behind him—again—telling her exactly how he felt.

      “Dominic.” Her breath caught as she took in the figure filling the doorway. He’d changed out of his jogging clothes into jeans. A thin gray T-shirt stretched across his broad, muscled chest, tapering to his narrow hips and flat stomach. She stiffly asked, “Can I help you?”

      “I really hate to bother you,” he said, “but I just blew a fuse and I can’t find the fuse box, or even a flashlight.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I tried calling my landlord, Mr. Patterson, but he’s not answering. Do you suppose I could borrow a flashlight, or a candle and some matches or something?”

      Finally. An opportunity to make amends for her poor behavior. She wasn’t setting a good example for Sean. She needed to make things right between them…for her son’s sake.

      “The layout of your house is a lot like mine, actually,” she said. “Give me a minute and I can show you exactly where the fuse box is.”

      He seemed surprised by her offer. “I…yeah, okay, thanks.”

      Gail was lounging on her front porch, so Fiona asked her to keep an eye on Sean for the few minutes she’d be away. She grabbed a pair of flashlights and walked across the street with Dom. “So what happened?”

      “I plugged in my stereo and laptop, then went to boil some water for tea, and the power went out.”

      Fiona nodded sympathetically. “My aunt Penelope, who owned the house before I moved in, put in all kinds of extraneous switches. To this day, I can’t use my toaster if the porch light is on, and there hasn’t been a single electrician who can figure out why without tearing