Chapter 10

We were sitting side by side on the couch when Kasey and Mark arrived. I was on my second cup of coffee and Carrie was sipping a cup of tea when the duo came tromping in.

Mark had barely shucked out of his snowsuit before he ran into the living room.

"Daddy," he said excitedly.

"Hey, Champ," I said. "I've sure missed you."

I can't begin to explain the feelings I get when I see my son. He looks so much like me that it is scary. I wish my mother were still alive to see it. You can put my pictures from the same age beside his and — aside from the fact I'm dressed in the height of 1970's fashion — you can barely tell a difference.

If I could get Mark to dress in a mustard yellow shirt, a hunter green V-neck sweater and a white flowered tie (an ensemble that I wore in at least two sets of pictures from my 5th year) the photos might come out identical.

My son is guileless. He has no agenda. He loves me unequivocally. He never questions my motives and he hasn't learned the eye roll or the sarcastic voice that Kasey has perfected. He loves me not because I provide him with food and clothing and transportation but because I am his father.

To him, that is enough. To me, that is the world.

I cried the very first time he told me he loved me. Perhaps I was feeling unloved that day but I don't think so.

We were in the park playing on the swings. His smile was golden and his laughter was sweeter than the sweetest melody. I was pushing him on the swings and he kept chanting "higher, higher."

I was feigning big pushes — more pressure on his back but toning down the actual arm velocity — because I thought he was going plenty high enough. But he loved it. He was relating a story about rocket ships, dragons, dinosaurs and haunted houses.

I was doing my best to follow along and prompting him to add more to the story. I wanted to freeze that perfect day — my son's smiling face, laughter and imagination — in my mind forever.

As I put him on my shoulders to for our trip home, he said it.

I tell Mark I love him often. I want him to know it and I don't care who else knows it. I tell him I love him when he's being a pain at the grocery store. I tell him I love him when we're sitting on the couch watching a movie. I tell him I love him when I tuck him in at night and when he wakes up in the morning.

I asked him that day if he had fun and he said it.

He was midway twisted around my neck and holding on to my hair when he said it.

"I love you, Daddy."

I had my hands steadying Mark on my shoulders so my tears flowed freely. I couldn't even use my shoulder to dry them because he was on my shoulders. I didn't have a care in the world and the whole world could see me crying if they wanted.

My son loves me.

Mark was talking a mile a minute relating the past few days and his program at church the night before — but his eyes would shift from me to Carrie about every other sentence.

It was only a passing glance, like he wanted to make sure he wasn't imagining the person in Daddy's house. There was never anyone new at Daddy's house.

As his story wound down I introduced him.

"Mark, this is my friend Carrie," I told him. He accepted it as if I had just told him water was wet.

"Carrie, this is my other pride and joy," I said. "My son, Mark."

Carrie leaned forward on the couch.

"I've heard a lot of great things about you from your Daddy and your Sissy," Carrie said. "They love you a lot."

Mark tucked his chin on his chest in what appeared to me for all the world as a gesture of humility. But he stepped forward and extended his hand.

"It's nice to meet you," he said. I thought Carrie's cheeks were going to split from the smile his introduction produced.

"You too, Mark," she said as she took his tiny hand in hers.

Kasey had been standing in the doorway — acting the part of neutral observer. But she was fighting with her emotions. She wanted to smile. I could see one battling to get there. Her eyes were smiling.

I winked at her and she gave in. Suddenly all four of us were smiling.

Mark crawled up on my lap and started talking about Christmas and playing in the snow.

"Kasey, can you run me to the bank?" Carrie asked. "My insurance check came in yesterday but I was too busy to get it taken care of. The banks are closed Monday and I have some shopping I still need to do."

Kasey glanced at me. Once again I need to get a primer on teenage glances. I had no idea what that glance meant.

"We can all go," I said. "It's only 10 a.m. The bank will be open until noon. Is that OK?"

"Sure," Carrie said.

When I came back from getting another cup of coffee, Mark was on Carrie's lap. I sat down and Kasey sat down on mine.

"This is nice, Daddy," she said.

It was nice. I hated to ruin it but I knew I had to.

"Kasey, can you help me in the kitchen?" I asked.

Unlike my limited knowledge of glances, Kasey has my lexicon down pat.

"What's up?" she asked when we turned the corner.

I glanced furtively back into the living room.

"Hon, we need to watch how close you and Mark get to Carrie," I cautioned.

Anger spread across Kasey's face. It wasn't what I expected.

"What did you do?" she asked hotly. "What did you say to her? Is she leaving?"

I held up my hands to stem the flow of accusations.

"I didn't do anything," I said. "I didn't say anything. And I hope she's not leaving. Why do you think that?"

"I figured you were a dick to her," Kasey said.

"Hey," I said angrily. I hated to lose my temper but I was on the verge.

"Well, Dad," Kasey said smugly. "You can be a dick."

"That is enough," I said. "You're not too big for me to wash your mouth out with soap and you're not too big for me to turn over my knee."

Kasey took a small step backward.

"This has nothing to do with where Carrie may or may not be going," I stated. "That decisions is hers to make and ours to make. It has nothing to do with you. Are we clear on that?"

Kasey nodded and mumbled something unintelligible. It was probably just as well I didn't understand it.

"I don't want your mother to feel as though you and Mark have found a replacement for her," I said. "I don't want hard feelings to crop up because she thinks you would rather spend time with Carrie than with her."

"I would rather spend time with Carrie," Kasey said. "I would rather spend time with you too. She knows that and has accepted it."

I sighed. For all her maturity there were portions of being an adult that Kasey still didn't get — such as the ability to view things from someone else's perspective.

"Hon, how would you feel if your mom started to date a guy who had a teenage daughter?" I said softly. "And how you feel if your mom started to spend all her time doing things with this new girl instead of doing them with you?"

"Relieved," Kasey muttered.

I lowered my head.

"OK, let's try this," I said. "How would you like it if Carrie had a teenage daughter and I started to spend all my time with her?"

Kasey turned her eyes to me as if I were relating a real scenario.

"Look at yesterday," I continued. "Carrie calls and you rush over. You spend all day here and the first thing this morning you come back. If I were here alone you might have done that one day but not both. I'm not saying that I don't want you to be friendly to and close to Carrie — or anyone else. I'm certainly not saying that I don't want you here — anytime you want to be here. I'm only asking that you take your mother's feelings into consideration when you're making decisions."