Chapter 27

After dinner is over and Josh has brought his plate to the sink, he turns to Tim: “Can we toss around the ball in the backyard?”

I’m relieved that Josh still seems to like Tim, even though he isn’t his father. But as much as I want them to bond, I need to intervene. “Did you do your homework?”

Josh averts his eyes. “No…”

“Well, that’s your answer then.”

Josh groans, but Tim confirms my verdict—I love having another adult on my side. “Get your homework done,” Tim says, “and tomorrow we can go to the park with your bat. We can get in some real practice without breaking any windows.”

Josh nods eagerly and hurries up the stairs to his room. Tim has taken him to the park a few times, in between their home-improvement projects. I feel kind of guilty that my family is eating up his entire social life. I mean, he is a single guy. It’s not like we are in a relationship. He shouldn’t be stuck with us every single weekend, fixing stuff around my house and taking my kid to the park.

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him after Josh’s door slams shut. Even though if he says he’s not going to take Josh to the park tomorrow, I might cry. I’ve gone to the park to let Josh practice batting, and I am epically bad at it. I couldn’t catch the ball if my life depended on it, so I spend most of the afternoon either ducking to keep the ball from hitting me in the head or chasing down the ball while Josh stands there.

“It’s fun for me too.” He lifts a shoulder. “You know, he’s a really strong hitter. He can hit that ball further than I can.”

“He had the most home runs on his Little League team last year,” I say proudly.

“I believe it. He’s a natural athlete.”

Even though it’s a compliment, Tim’s comment sits heavy in my stomach. Because Shane was a natural athlete as well. Star quarterback and all that. If Josh ever asks to join the football team, I’m going to try my best to talk him out of it.

Tim gathers the remaining dishes from the table and brings them over to the sink. He turns on the hot water and grabs the bottle of dishwashing soap.

“I can handle it,” I insist. “There are only a few dishes.”

“I want to help.” He tugs the pan from the stove right out of my hands and dips it in the sud-filled sink. “Come on, what kind of jerk would I be if I came here, got a free dinner, and then took off?”

“To be fair, you did like six figures worth of repair work in this house.”