Owen's Best Intentions. Anna Adams

Owen said absently. Vermont had goats and chickens, but he’d bet Ben had never been near anything as fraught with danger as a petting zoo.

      He backed himself up. He couldn’t second-guess the way Lilah was raising their son. Lots of kids Ben’s age didn’t associate regularly with farm animals.

      “Don’t know if I like ’em,” Ben said.

      “We’ll cross that farm when we come to it. Hold on a sec.” He got into the car and started the engine. On the screen in the console, he found the navigation system. He hit the icon for voice commands. “Scholar’s Lady, Barnesville, Vermont,” he said.

      A male voice with a New Zealand accent responded. “I will navigate you to the Scholar’s Lady in Barnesville, Vermont,” the man said.

      Owen laughed, and Ben giggled.

      “That man talks funny,” Ben said. “Why did you pick him?”

      “I didn’t. The man or woman who rented this car before us chose him,” Owen said. “He startled me.”

      “Me, too. Our car has a lady’s voice, but the lady gets mad a lot. Mommy tries out different voices.”

      “The lady on my car gets mad at me, too. Maybe I’ll switch to New Zealand guy.”

      “What’s New Zealand?”

      “A country way far from here, where people talk like this guy.”

      Ben just giggled. Owen pulled away from the curb. Lilah was still glued to the last step on her porch.

      He ignored a pang of guilt. For a moment, he saw himself through her eyes, and the self-awareness was unpleasant.

      “What do you want to do after we eat?” Owen asked his son, as if he got to hang out with his child all the time.

      “Duck bowling.”

      “Duck bowling?” He made a wild guess. “There’s a place called Duckpins across from my hotel. I walked in there last night.” And out again when the beer taps began to sing his name.

      “Did you practice?” Ben asked.

      “I didn’t know you’d want to play. I got a hamburger to go.”

      “I love duck bowling.” Kicking his feet, Ben lifted an ecstatic gaze upward and pumped both fists. Then he drooped a little. “Sometimes, the ball goes too far.”

      “Too far?”

      “When I throw the ball, it flies away and hits other people’s balls. Or the floor. Really hard.”

      “Good tip, buddy. Thanks. Maybe we should stop for helmets.”

      Ben laughed. “Mommy says that, too.”

      * * *

      BEN WAS AIMING in the wrong direction, so Owen sprang to catch the ball. Fortunately, his boy always missed to the left, so he’d moved them to the last lane on the end. So far, Ben’s throws hadn’t been strong enough to bust out the wall.

      “You’re good at catching,” Ben said. “I hit Mommy in the head once. She didn’t even cry.”

      “I might have.” Owen could imagine Lilah pretending everything was okay. “These balls are heavy and fast.”

      “If I practice, they’ll go toward the little pins,” Ben said. “Mommy knows things like that.”

      “Mommy’s pretty smart.”

      “Smartest ever.” Ben threw one fist in the air.

      His four-year-old pride got to Owen. The little boy clearly considered his mom heroic, and his attachment to her touched Owen. He had to make sure Lilah didn’t change her mind about coming to Tennessee because how could he tear these two apart?

      “Ben, would you like to visit me at my house?”

      “All by myself?” Anxiety pinched his small nose. “Like today?”

      “No. Your mom would come with you.”

      The little boy tossed another ball that veered unexpectedly to the right, but landed in a chair without injuring anyone.

      “Do you have toys?” Ben scrambled over a bench to grab the ball back and tried again. It went straight this time and didn’t gouge a hole in the floor, despite landing with a heavy thud.

      “We could take your toys,” Owen said. “And maybe pick up a few more for you to play with while you’re there.”

      “You got those chickens and goats, too?”

      “And cows. They’re fun to hang out with. But you can only visit the animals when an adult is with you.”

      “Adults are big people.”

      “And a lot of them live near my house. My mom. My sister and one of my brothers. His name is Chad, and he can play football with you.”

      “Football?” Ben’s eyes gleamed as he whispered the word. He looked so happy, he didn’t have to say what he was thinking; but then he looked down, clenching his hands together.

      “Do you play football, Ben?”

      “Mommy doesn’t let me.”

      Owen found it hard to imagine how Lilah could risk her life with Duckpins, and be afraid Ben might get hurt at football.

      “If you come visit me with your mom, I can talk to her about football.”

      “Football,” Ben said in another reverent whisper.

      There it was. The key to Ben’s heart.

      Owen scooped the next ball off the return and sent it down the lane, but he wasn’t a whole lot better at Duckpins than his boy, and the ball slid off into the gutter. Ben, clearly a fighter, waited no time to make his next competitive throw. Three more tries, and they’d both managed to head a ball and their scores in the right direction.

      “Own, can we have a hot dog to celebrate?”

      “A hot dog?”

      “They’d make us bowl better. I know.”

      He looked so wise, Owen laughed and gave in. Maybe not the most nutritious lunch, but a celebration indeed. The Duckpins kitchen made great hot dogs.

      After they ate, they headed to the day care Ben usually attended while his mom worked. The little boy seemed more comfortable with Owen. He said he wanted to introduce him to everyone, and Owen was even more eager to meet the people who’d be caring for his son during working hours when he was back here with Lilah. Because Owen had to face facts. Ben would spend substantial parts of his life back here with Lilah.

      They parked in front of a small Federal-style house, but Owen had to ring a doorbell before a woman in a dark blue dress came to let them in. Smiling at Ben, she held the door.

      “Ms. Bantry mentioned you’d be dropping by,” she said. “Ben, will you introduce me to your friend?”

      “This is Own. He knows my mommy. Own, this lady is in charge of my school.”

      “Thanks, little buddy.” She planted her hands on Ben’s shoulders. “I’m Tina Matthews. I run the day care. You’d like to see Ben’s class?”

      “Owen Gage.” He shook the woman’s hand. “If you don’t mind.”

      “Ms. Bantry explained.” She started down the hall, pulling a set of keys from her pocket. “This house belonged to my great-grandparents. My mother started a school here when I was a child. Sort of homeschooling to an extreme. She had small classes, from K to eighth grade. You know, restrictions and rules are tighter than they used to be, and we’ve had an influx of families with young children, so I reorganized several years ago and turned the school into a day-care center.”

      Each room had a half wall of plaster