“In the shed.” His voice was guarded. “In the garden.”

“Should we go and get it then?” Josh extended his hand. I expected Lucas to clam up again. Instead he placed his little hand in Josh’s and, without a word, followed his lead into the backyard. If there was ever anything to say about sports as therapy, it was right now.

I headed toward the garden to join them but stopped at the glass door. They were stepping out from the shed, Lucas running with the ball. His arm was arched above his head preparing to throw it. His face was still empty of any expression, but he was moving, exercising, working some of the grief out of his system. It was good. It was healthy, wasn’t it?

“I’d planned to make some chocolate chip cookies.”

I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone. I looked over my shoulder at Mrs. Loretti. She had one of those kind chubby faces that warm you.

“I guess nothing beats football when it comes to guys.” I wanted to make her feel better because she’d tried to help Lucas.

She kept on mixing the batter like there was no tomorrow. The woman was nervous. Was it because of me?

“It’s very sweet of you, Mrs. Loretti. Each time I come around you’re baking something nice for my—for Lucas.”

“Please call me Andrea.” She dismissed my comment with a shrug. “Baking is pretty much the only thing I do properly.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true. And besides, it takes a lot of skill to bake. I couldn’t even do that to save my life.”

I take it Andrea was a card-carrying member of the Fragile Ego Club. I had a lifetime membership too. I made my way back to the rectangular table next to which she stood.

“I have some housework to do. Andrea, you can stay if you want,” Mrs. Sorenson offered. “I wouldn’t say no to one of your chocolate chip cookies.” The woman left the room with what could almost be a smile.

“You’ve got to share your secret with me,” I said, while my eyes welcomed the sight of Sharon Sorenson walking away.

“What secret?”

“You made her smile.”

Andrea covered a chuckle with her hand. “She’s not that bad,” she whispered as if we were naughty schoolgirls winging about their teacher. “Maybe not affectionate enough, but she takes good care of him. Good food, good routine.”

“You know a lot about kids. I mean, what’s a good routine, baking….”

“I come from a big family. Two brothers, three sisters. I’m the oldest. So I’ve changed my share of diapers.”

I’d been my mom’s only child, but I’d often wondered if the man who’d fathered me had other kids too. Maybe I had a large family somewhere. I kicked that thought in the butt: The only family I had—and would ever have—was playing ball in the backyard. “Will you go to the funeral?”

Andrea shuddered. “Mr. Guidi’s?” I nodded. “I’m not sure. I never had the chance to meet him.”

“You should come. He’d have loved you. He was crazy about Lucas and anyone who was nice to his grandson would earn serious brownie points.” My voice struggled over the last words. My teary gaze hunted some invisible stain on the stark white of the kitchen wall. Damn, I was going to miss him.

“Then if you think it’s fine for me to attend, I will. I’m sure my husband would like to be there too. He’s fond of Lucas.”

“Sure.” I waved at the ingredients spread over the kitchen table. “So can you show me how to make these chocolate chip cookies of yours?”

Over the next fifteen minutes, Andrea taught me how to whisk eggs, mix the creamiest batter, and all that without wasting a drop of mixture. When she left me in charge of overseeing the cookies as they baked in the oven, I did it as if my life depended on it. During the ten minute cooking time, I thought about Alfredo and Andrea Loretti. About Shawn and Will, who’d been in Vegas last night. About Andrea Loretti again. Hearing Sharon Sorenson in the background reminded me of how she’d managed to give Lucas a ‘routine’—some stability—throughout the shittiest times.

When I took the cookies out of the oven and laid the tray on the stove to cool down, I’d made up my mind. I grabbed my phone and began dialing. This was going to be a short conversation. While on the phone, I drank in the sight of Lucas and Josh playing ball outside. Josh threw quick glances at me. He smiled because Lucas was giving everything to the game. He could have been training for the NFL.

I hung up and stepped out onto the deck.

“Dude, I need a break. You’re too good.” Josh faked falling over. “Why don’t you practice your kicking while I talk to Cassie?”

Lucas was eager to please. He grabbed the ball from the grass and started kicking it against the garden fence. He did it with so much heart that I guess he was working out some of the anger Josh had seen in him.

Josh joined me on the deck. His hair was a mess. When he checked back on Lucas and clapped his hands again in encouragement, his dimples had never been so deep in his cheeks.

“Well done, Champ. You broke through his defenses. Lucas needed some ‘guy’ time.”

Josh shrugged at my praise but pride made his dark eyes brighter. “Where is Mrs. Loretti?”

“She had to get back to her place. She left me in charge of the cookies. You’ll be happy to know they haven’t burnt or anything.”

Josh didn’t pick on my lame joke. “I called Curtis this morning. We’re scheduled to see him tomorrow afternoon after the funeral. That way we might be able to fly you back to Santa Fe and the tour late afternoon. It won’t be a direct flight so you’ll be wiped out by the end of it.” He stepped closer to pull me against him. “I’ll fly to D.C. tomorrow night. I have to get back to work.”

“Of course you do,” I answered against his chest. “What do you want to discuss with Curtis? You told me the application had been filed.”

“I have some questions about the next steps. Just want to make sure we’re doing things right. I’m keen on moving the process as fast as we can.”

“Because of Alfredo’s death?”

Josh left my question unanswered, then said, “Yes, because of Alfredo’s death.”

I knew my man well enough to know he wasn’t telling me the truth. Or the whole of it.

Josh

Lucas shouldn’t be here.

Sharon Sorenson had been in favor of it. Trisha, his caseworker, had given him the choice. He’d said he wanted to go, but what does a five-year-old really know about funerals? I’d been left watching him in his Sunday best, his eyes glued on the coffin, his hand tight within Cassie’s.

My own hands had hung loosely at my sides. I was powerless. Playing ball wasn’t going to cut it this time.

“He’s been strong.” Cassie watched Lucas getting into Mrs. Sorenson’s car. When it disappeared around the corner outside the cemetery gate, I expected her to break into a sprint and chase after him.

My fists clenched in frustration. “Trisha should never have given him the choice. I should have stayed at home with him.”

“I disagree.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s already experienced so much grief. Maybe being here today will help him deal with Alfredo’s death, his parents’ deaths. I don’t know much but we should trust and respect Lucas’s choices.”

“Do you think seeing your own mother’s coffin would have made things any easier?”

“I don’t know.” She gave a shake of her head. “I had nothing left to grieve when she died.”

The breeze played with the wisps of her hair. September had come. Alfredo Guidi had gone and I’d barely had time to get to know him.

“Mr. and Mrs. MacBride?” A baritone voice cut through my thoughts.

It belonged to a man in his mid-forties whose shoulders were as bulky as a fridge. He could easily have been a bouncer at one of Cassie’s concerts. Next to him stood Andrea Loretti.

“I’m Andrea’s husband, Vince.” he introduced himself while extending his hand. I shook it. So did Cassie.