Cat’s family hovered, as fixated on the boy as on Law’s car. Law realized the village was extremely proud of Mike. Their support came in the form of additional questions and lots of praise.
“Speed?” from an elderly man on Mike’s right.
The kid looked up and grinned. “Zero to one hundred in two-point-five seconds,” he said admiringly. “There’s four banks of four-turbo cylinders and a second key required for the Bugatti to reach maximum racing mode. The belly of the beast has a seven-gear ratio and all-wheel drive. The car is so aerodynamic, give it wings, and the fucker could fly.”
Mike’s curse was overlooked as the village nodded in unison. Law caught tears in the eyes of a woman he determined was Mike’s mother. Several older men slapped Mike on the back. The kid knew his cars, Law realized. He could easily be a candidate for Prosper someday.
“How about that beer?” Cat found her way to his side. “Paul,” she called to a tall man with curly blond hair. “Corona longneck for Law.”
Paul circumvented the crowd and returned with an iced bottle. No one rushed Law; all eyes remained on Mike and his ongoing discussion of the sports car.
Law found his way to the least populated driveway. Once there, he drew a deep breath. He scanned the yard and bushes, and soon found a pair of beady eyes on him. A black fox? He looked closer. No, a puppy. Its muzzle punched the air and its hackles rose. There was growling.
“That’s Foxie So Fine,” Cat said as she came to stand beside him. “She’s a six-month-old schipperke.” Hearing her name, the tailless dog with the foxlike face trotted out. Her ears twitched, alert and curious, and her little black eyes stared a hole in Law.
Cat lifted the dog against her chest. Foxie licked her chin. “She likes to hide in the hedges.”
“She was lying in wait.”
“Foxie doesn’t bite. Much.”
Law reached out to pet the pup, only to have her chomp down on his little finger. He felt no pain, but the schipperke wouldn’t release him.
“Foxie likes you.” Cat seemed surprised. “She’s claiming you as one of her humans.”
“How many humans does she own?” He tried to ease his finger from Foxie’s mouth, but the pup held fast.
“She’s my girl, although she favors men,” Cat said. “Foxie adores my dad, my nephew Mike, and now you.”
“When will she give me back?” Law asked.
“Say ‘I’m yours.’”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Law was certain Foxie’s spiky teeth had now broken skin.
“Say it or stay attached.”
Law’s jaw worked. He felt damn silly responding to a dog’s whim. He swore Cat was playing him. “I’m yours,” he finally managed. Foxie unlatched.
“She’s small and it’s dark,” said Cat. “I’m going to put her inside.”
She left Law rubbing his little finger.
Eventually, a woman crossed the street to meet him. She introduced herself as Cavanaugh May, Cat’s mother. Cavanaugh was as beautiful as her daughter. She could’ve easily been taken for Cat’s older sister. Law’s throat closed as he wondered what his own mother would have looked like at Cavanaugh’s age, had she survived the limo accident.
“That’s quite a bump on your forehead.” Cavanaugh brushed her fingers across his brow, a motherly touch.
“Kiss his boo-boo, Grandma,” said the little girl who owned the cocker spaniel.
“Not necessary.” Law stiffened, suddenly feeling eight and very much alone. Once, at age six, his mother had kissed his forehead when he’d banged his brow on the monkey bars; and again at seven, when he’d slid headfirst into a tree while tobogganing. He didn’t need another woman mothering him. “I’ll be fine,” he assured the young girl.
Cavanaugh studied him for a long moment, as a mother would her child. But Law wasn’t her child.
Most mothers were mind readers. Law didn’t need her inside his head.
“Make the introductions,” Cavanaugh said to Cat on her daughter’s return. “Let the family meet James.”
Catherine took Law by the arm and made the rounds. Law met everyone from the two twin toddlers, Amelia and Angela, to their great-grandmother, Eloise. A woman whose name escaped Law asked him to hold her infant son for just a second while she dashed to the bathroom. That second stretched to several minutes. The blanketed bundle squirmed and grunted. Law was relieved when the mother returned.
Between names, Law took long pulls on his beer. He didn’t want to be rude, but the welcoming crush from the village felt like an enormous hug. Law didn’t do hugs. The May family took caring and sharing to a whole new level.
Their warmth skated along his skin and sought an opening to his heart. His chest compressed and closed off his windpipe. He battled for breath.
Throughout his visit, no one asked him about baseball or the Richmond Grace. They treated him like a regular guy. All conversation centered on Mike and his C in algebra. The boy was the hero of the night.
The focus on Mike drew memories of Law’s own parents as they’d fostered his education and love of sports. He might have been born into money, but he hadn’t been spoiled. He’d had chores and earned an allowance, which his dad presented at Sunday dinner.
His father would make a big deal over Law’s accomplishments, however small. Law could still hear the pride in his father’s voice and feel the weight of his dad’s hand on his shoulder—
The sudden pressure on his bicep jerked him back to the village. A big man with a hard face and direct stare offered Law a three-fingered handshake. “My father, Roger,” Cat said, introducing the two men.
“Table-saw accident.” Roger flexed his hand. “I’ve been a carpenter for thirty-seven years.”
“Last month, a nail gun misfired and four framing nails shot through Granddad’s wrist. He got stitches,” a wide-eyed young boy told Law. “He lived to tell about it.”
“Impressive,” Law managed. These days, he had no such shared family experiences. A dull ache struck, intense and unexpected, and he was suddenly winded.
“Roger fell off a ladder last week.” Cavanaugh eyed her husband with concern. “I’m pushing the old man to retire—”
“I still have houses to build,” Roger stated.