Jack Who? (Book 1 Draft Version)

CHAPTER 23

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Not knowing how to field that one, Jack looked to me. Tristan's rapt gaze did not waver, so I gave it a go. “Well, she knows your--” Quickly, I clamped my mouth closed before resuming, “Jack. She knows Jack. And, I guess she thought it would be funny. But don't you write on anybody's shirt!” With a wink and a warning, I looked to Jack to see if he noticed the slip I had almost made.

'...she knows your father,' had been the near slip.

Jack swooped in to the rescue, changing the subject before the tot could ask anymore questions. “I was thinking you and I would go out today and look at guitars. Did you still want to learn to play?”

Tristan bobbed his head eagerly, rattling off enthusiastic words, and I skeptically entered the conversation. “A guitar? Isn't he young yet?”

“What?” Jack teased, and I grew warm and fuzzy when those dark eyes held mine with something other than anger. “Old enough for drums and the karaoke machine but not guitar?”

It did sound silly, and I curved a relenting smile as I wondered, “How old were you when you got your first guitar?”

Tristan babbled continuously about what he wanted to wear to the 'song store,' and we quietly spoke between ourselves as we traipsed behind him to his room.

Jack shrugged. “No idea. I was too young to have a memory of it. It was probably in my crib. A short laugh and the dimple punctuated this remark. “My dad is a musician, too. So, I guess, that's why.” Lingering in the doorway to the race car themed room, he turned, concerned. “Do you think it is pushing him? I mean, I just wanted to show him some easy songs. Not force him into anything.”

A little surprised that we were having a normal conversation when my vow just yesterday was silence for the rest of his stay, I curiously inquired, “Did you feel pushed?”

“No. As far back as I do remember, I loved it.”

“There you go then. Get him a guitar.” Looking to Tristan, I saw him dressed in his red guitar shirt, and I frowned, sure that I had not done a load of wash since grabbing the item in a dirty laundry sweep just yesterday.

While they went, I stayed at the house, unable to commit to a day with Jack—not that he invited me. There was still an underlying tension between us, despite the relaxed conversation. I cleaned the house, and called work, making arrangements to take two weeks personal leave. My vacation time would end at the end of this week, and, although Tristan was getting around better than ever, I did not want to miss seeing the progress he was making. The extra days would not be paid leave, but I had a feeling my money problems were over when it concerned Tristan.

Olivia came by, and abandoning the vacuum cleaner in the middle of the den, I shared Tristan's milestone. In her excitement, she was all but bouncing up and down while unpacking two chef salad's from a takeout bag. An order of chicken strips and fries, Tristan's favorite, she set aside. Tristan being away from the house, without one or both of us, was an oddity and she had not known he would be absent from the meal.

“So, he just showed up this morning, like nothing happened?” Squeezing a packet of ranch dressing, Olivia drizzled her salad as she spoke.

Picking up one of the packets, I did the same. “No. It's definitely like something happened. He barely looks at me, and when something does get us talking it's awkward.”

“Here's what I think. And I spent a long time thinking on it after you called.” Waving her plastic fork around, she stared into space, and I knew that she was such a good friend that my problems had kept her awake. “I think there is a good possibility that you took everything he said wrong.”