The Second Coming by John Heubusch

Author:John Heubusch
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Howard Books

Chapter 27

Dickerson, Maryland

Domenika was concerned that it was far too early to remove the training wheels from Christopher’s tiny red bike, but Bondurant had assured her the right time had arrived.

“Chris, if you feel yourself falling over,” Domenika told the boy, who was all of “almost six years old,” “then you just put your feet down to stop. You hear?”

“I know, Mommy,” Christopher responded as he stared down the street outside their home. He had a slight look of trepidation about him, not nearly matched by his mother’s angst. “But when I stop, I use the brake.”

“He’ll be fine,” Bondurant said.

They’d moved to a quiet street in Dickerson, a tiny hamlet on the banks of the Potomac River just off rural Maryland Route 28. The charming town of fewer than 2,500 inhabitants was home to White’s Ferry, which operated daily near the small town as it had since the late 1700s. It was the only such outfit left on the river. Its modest platform, topped by a tiny pilothouse, carried a handful of passengers, bicyclists, and cars back and forth at a point in the wide green stream where the muddy waters ran still. An idyllic village in which to raise a family, Dickerson had one other advantage that Bondurant and Domenika appreciated. Like Coos Bay in Oregon before it, Dickerson was a small haven where strangers stood out quickly and—also important—could be seen coming from far away.

Bondurant steadied Christopher on the bike and grasped the edge of the seat as he prepared to push the boy forward in a straight line down the middle of the street. Several vehicles were parked on the side of the road, but there wasn’t a moving car in sight.

It was at moments like this when Domenika felt she could strangle her husband for his stubbornness. His confidence in Christopher’s abilities wasn’t unfounded. The boy had done well in kindergarten. Reading was his first love, particularly stories that involved animals. He was smart and athletic and had demonstrated excellent coordination in just about everything he tried. With some loving coaching from Bondurant, he’d caught his first fish and learned to tie his own shoes, and with a little supervision on the water temperature, could even draw his own bath. Domenika had gotten him over the challenge of zippers, buttons, and clasps and taught him how to fix himself cold cereal and juice before Bondurant dropped him off at school each day.

There were some spills and challenging moments when it came time to pick up his toys, make his bed, or tidy up his room. There was an occasional tantrum over not getting what he wanted. He wasn’t perfect by any means. But in Domenika’s eyes, with every such wonderful advance as riding a bike or brushing his teeth came a fear that her son, the precious child she’d given birth to what seemed like only days ago, had suddenly, truly begun to grow up. Christopher was doing “grown-up” things, and with such things came a mother’s concern.

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