Child of Mine by Beverly Lewis

Author:Beverly Lewis [Lewis, David and Beverly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC042000, FIC053000, FIC026000, Mothers of kidnapped children—Fiction, Adopted children—Fiction, Identity (Psychology)—Fiction, Amish—Fiction, Ohio—Fiction
ISBN: 9781441264541
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2014-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Jack left his car at home, then walked to the park, hoping to meet up with Laura and Nattie. He found them sitting on the bench, watching the action, a small group of kids unafraid of wet surfaces. It had rained last night, and the park was still damp. Nattie was refining her yo-yo skills, holding her mouth just right, and Laura was back to crocheting.

Laura spotted him first, shielding the sun with her hand, then waving. “We’re taking a breather,” she told him when he sat down. She pointed to the umbrella beside her. “Nattie wanted me to bring it so it wouldn’t rain again.”

Good plan. Jack smiled.

Nattie smirked and popped up, tossing her yo-yo into Laura’s bag. “That’s enough sittin’ still for me.”

Jack laughed, watching Nattie launch herself into the fray again, trying to remember if he’d ever had that much energy. Nattie’s playground routine was reminiscent of how a bee flits from flower to flower. She’d practically sprint to the swings, and once she was high enough, she’d jump at exactly the correct moment, only to sprint back to the slide and begin again.

Moments later, she came prancing over, planting her hands on his knees. “Did you buy any pixie dust?”

It was a running joke between them—Nattie’s desire to fly without wings. He grimaced as if he’d forgotten.

“Wanna teeter-totter with me instead?” Nattie asked. He readily agreed. It took them a moment to find the right leverage for a hundred-and-eighty-pound man to teeter with a sixty-pound nine-year-old, but they experimented until Jack was sitting halfway up on his side.

A few years and she won’t want to hang out with dear ol’ Dad, he thought. Strike while the iron is hot.

Afterward, the three of them walked home together, and Nattie came upon a perfectly innocent puddle, a remnant from yesterday’s downpour. Before Jack could protest, she beat it into submission, sending spikes of muddy water into the air, splattering her legs and arms and spotting her face. She stood there, paralyzed, shocked by the results, her face frozen with an oops expression. “I imagined that differently.”

I should hope so, Jack thought. He could also imagine what San might have said: “Now that you’re nine, isn’t it about time to put on your big-girl pants?”—an expression that annoyed Nattie to no end.

He was encouraged, however, by Nattie’s shame. Normally, she was unconcerned with seeming childish; she was that confident.

Laura, apron splattered and shoes speckled, was obviously chagrined, but she forced a helpless oh well smile. Jack pulled Nattie into a hug. “I’m all muddy, Dad!” she said. But he kissed her mud-dotted hair anyway, wishing he could have pulled Laura into a group hug. “Now we’re the three mudskateers.”

Nattie giggled, and they walked the remaining block to their house. Nattie scampered up the stairs while Laura tossed her apron into the washer and tried to wipe off her tennis shoes with a rag. “You look lost in thought.”

He shrugged.

Laura went to the sink, washing her hands, looking up to Nattie’s room.

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