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  "I think that has a lot to do with you, not just Kyle. You're very patient with him, which most people aren't. You remind me of some of the teachers I used to work with."

  "You were a teacher?"

  "I taught for three years, right up until Kyle was born."

  "Did you like it?"

  "I loved it. I worked with second-graders, and that's just such a great age. Kids like their teachers and are still eager to learn. It makes you feel like you can really make a difference in their lives."

  Taylor took another sip, watching her closely over the rim of his glass. Sitting in the kitchen surrounded by her things, observing her expressions as she talked about the past--it all made her seem almost softer, somehow less guarded than she had been before. He also sensed that talking about herself wasn't something she was used to.

  "Are you going to go back to it?"

  "Someday," she answered. "Maybe in a few years. We'll have to see what happens in the future." She sat a little straighter in her seat. "But what about you? You said you were a contractor?"

  Taylor nodded. "Twelve years now."

  "And you build homes?"

  "I have in the past, but generally I focus on remodeling. When I first started, those were the only types of jobs I could get because no one else wanted them. I like it, too--to me, it's a little more challenging than building something new. You have to work with what's already there, and nothing is ever as easy as you suspected it would be. Plus, most people have a budget, and it's fun to try to figure out how to get them the most for their money."

  "Do you think you could do anything with this place?"

  "I could make it look brand-new if you wanted. It depends on how much you wanted to spend."

  "Well," she said gamely, "I just happen to have ten bucks burning a hole in my pocket."

  Taylor brought his hand to his chin. "Mmm." His face assumed a serious expression. "We might have to eliminate the Corian countertops and the Sub-Zero refrigerator," he said, and they both laughed.

  "So how do you like working at Eights?" he asked.

  "It's all right. It's what I need right now."

  "How's Ray?"

  "He's wonderful, actually. He lets Kyle sleep in the back while I work, and that takes care of a lot of problems."

  "Has he told you about his kids?"

  Denise raised her eyebrows slightly. "Your mother asked that exact same question."

  "Well, once you live here long enough, you'll find out that everyone knows everything about everyone, and in time, everyone's going to ask the same questions. It's a small town."

  "Hard to stay anonymous, huh?"

  "Impossible."

  "What if I keep to myself?"

  "Then people will talk about that, too. But it's not so bad, once you get used to it. Most people aren't mean, they're just curious. As long as you're not doing anything immoral or illegal, most people don't really care, and they certainly don't dwell on it. They're just passing the time because there's not much else to do around here."

  "So what do you like to do? In your spare time, I mean?"

  "My job and the fire department keep me fairly busy, but if I can get away, I go hunting."

  "That wouldn't be popular with some of my friends back in Atlanta."

  "What can I say? I'm just a good ol' boy from the South."

  Again Denise was struck by how different he was compared with the men she used to date. Not only in the obvious things--what he did and how he looked--but because he seemed content in the world he'd created for himself. He wasn't yearning for fame or glory, he wasn't striving to earn zillions of dollars, full of hungry plans to get ahead. In a way, he almost seemed to be a throwback to an earlier time, a time when the world didn't seem as complicated as it did now, when simple things were what mattered most.

  While she was thinking about him, Kyle called out from the bathroom, and Denise turned at the sound of his voice. Glancing at her watch, she saw that Rhonda would be by to pick her up in half an hour and she wasn't ready yet. Taylor knew what she was thinking, and he finished the last of his glass.

  "I should probably be going."

  Kyle called out again, and this time Denise answered.

  "I'll be there in a second, sweetie." Then to Taylor: "Are you going back to the barbecue?"

  Taylor nodded. "They're probably wondering where I am."

  She gave him a mischievous smile. "Do you think they're whispering about us?"

  "Probably."

  "I'm going to have to get used to this, I guess."

  "Don't worry. I'll make sure they know that it didn't mean anything."

  Her eyes leapt to his, and under his gaze she felt something stir inside, something sudden and unexpected. Before she could stop the words, they were already out.

  "It meant something to me."

  Taylor seemed to study her in silence, considering what she'd said, as an embarrassed blush began to surge through her cheeks and neck. He looked around the kitchen, then toward the floor, before finally focusing on her again.

  "Are you working tomorrow evening?" he finally asked.

  "No," she said a little breathlessly.

  Taylor took a deep breath. God, she was pretty.

  "Can I take you and Kyle to the carnival tomorrow? I'm sure Kyle would love the rides."

  Despite the fact that she'd suspected he would ask, she still felt a rush of relief when she heard the words aloud.

  "I'd like that," she said quietly.

  Later that night, unable to sleep, Taylor mused that what had started as simply an ordinary day had turned into something he hadn't anticipated. He didn't really understand how it had happened . . . the whole situation with Denise had just sort of snowballed, almost beyond his control.

  Sure, she was attractive and intelligent--he admitted that. But he'd met attractive and intelligent women before. There was just something about Denise, something about their relationship already, that had caused his normally tight control to slip just a notch. It was almost like comfort, for lack of a better word.

  Which didn't make any sense, not really, he told himself, flipping his pillow over and mashing it into shape. He barely knew her. He'd had only a few conversations with her, he'd seen her only a couple of times in his life. She probably wasn't anything he imagined her to be.

  Besides, he didn't want to get involved. He'd been down that road before.

  Taylor shook off his blanket in sudden irritation.

  Why on earth had he asked to drive her home? Why had he asked her out tomorrow?

  And more important, why did the answers to those questions leave him feeling so uneasy?

  Chapter 15

  Sunday was mercifully cooler than the day before. Hazy clouds had blown in that morning, keeping the sun from venting its full fury, and the evening breeze had picked up just as Taylor pulled up the driveway. It was a little before six when his truck bounced over the potholes, his wheels spinning gravel. Denise stepped out onto the porch, dressed in faded jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, just as he was climbing out of the truck.

  She hoped she didn't look as nervous as she felt. It was her first date in what seemed like forever. Okay, Kyle would be with them, and it wasn't technically a real date, but even so, it felt like one. She'd spent almost an hour trying to find something to wear before finally making her decision, and even then she questioned it. It wasn't until she saw that he was wearing jeans as well that she breathed a little easier.

  "Hey, there," he said. "I hope I'm not late."

  "No, not at all," she said. "You're right on time."

  Absently he scratched the side of his face. "Where's Kyle?"

  "He's still in the house. Let me go get him."

  It took only a minute before she was ready to go. As she locked the door on the way out, Kyle took off running across the yard.

  "Hewwo, Tayer," he called out.

  Taylor held the door open for him and helped Kyle up, just as he'd done the day before.

&n
bsp; "Hey, Kyle. Are you looking forward to the carnival?"

  "Ess a monstew twuck," he said happily.

  Immediately after scrambling onto the seat, he climbed behind the wheel again, trying unsuccessfully to turn it from side to side.

  Denise heard Kyle making engine sounds as she drew near. "He's been talking about your truck all day," she explained. "This morning, he found a Matchbox that looks like the truck you drive and he wouldn't put it down."

  "What about his airplane?"

  "That was yesterday's attraction. Today, it's the truck."

  He nodded toward the cab. "Should I let him drive again?"

  "I don't think he's going to give you the chance to say no."

  As Taylor made room for her to climb up, she caught the trace of his cologne. Nothing fancy, probably something from the local drugstore, but she was touched that he'd put it on. Kyle scooted over to make room for him, then immediately crawled into his lap once Taylor was situated.

  Denise shrugged, an "I told you so" expression on her face. Taylor grinned as he turned the key.

  "All right, little man, let's go."

  They did the big figure S again, taking their time, bumping haphazardly over the lawn and around the trees before finally reaching the road. At that point Kyle scooted off his lap, satisfied, and Taylor turned the wheel, heading into town.

  The ride to the carnival took only a few minutes. Taylor was busy explaining various items in the truck to Kyle--the CB, the radio, the knobs on the dash--and though it was clear her son didn't understand what was being said, Taylor just kept on trying anyway. She noticed, however, that Taylor seemed to be speaking more slowly than he had the day before and was using simpler words. Whether it was because of their conversation in the kitchen or whether he'd picked up on her own cadence, she wasn't sure, but she was gratified by his attentiveness.

  They pulled into downtown, then turned right onto one of the side streets to find a parking space. Even though it was the last night of the festival, the crowds were light, and they found a spot close to the main road. Walking toward the carnival, Denise noticed that the booths along the sidewalks were fairly well cleaned out and the people who ran them looked tired, as if they couldn't wait to finally close down. A few of them were already doing exactly that.

  The carnival was still going strong, however--mainly kids and their parents, hoping to enjoy the last couple of hours of entertainment that the carnival would provide. By tomorrow everything would be loaded up and on its way to the next town.

  "So, Kyle, what do you want to do?" Denise asked.

  He immediately pointed to the mechanical swing--a ride in which dozens of metal swings rotated in circles, first forward and then backward. Each child had his or her own seat--supported at each corner by a chain--and kids were screaming in terror and delight. Kyle watched it going round and round, transfixed.

  "It's a swing," he said. (Ess a sweeng)

  "Do you want to ride the swing?" Denise asked him.

  "Swing," he said with a nod.

  "Say, 'I want to ride the swing.' "

  "I want to ride the swing," he whispered. (Wonta wide ee sweeng)

  "Okay."

  Denise spotted the ticket booth--she'd saved a few dollars from her tips the evening before--and began to reach into her purse. Taylor, however, saw what she was doing and raised his hands to stop her.

  "My treat. I asked, remember?"

  "But Kyle . . ."

  "I asked him to come, too."

  After Taylor bought the tickets, they waited in line. The ride stopped and emptied, and Taylor handed over the tickets to a man who'd come straight from Central Casting. His hands were black with grease, his arms covered in tattoos, and one of his front teeth was missing. He tore the tickets before dropping them into a locked wooden box.

  "Is this ride safe?" she asked.

  "Passed inspection yesterday," he answered automatically. No doubt it was the same thing he said to every parent who asked, and it didn't do much to relieve her anxiety. Parts of the ride looked as if they were stapled together.

  Nervously Denise led Kyle to his seat. She lifted him up, then lowered the safety bar for him as Taylor stood outside the gate, waiting for them.

  "Ess a swing," Kyle said again, once he was ready to go.

  "Yes, it is." She put his hands on the bar. "Now hold on and don't let go."

  Kyle's only response was to laugh in delight.

  "Hold on," she said again, more seriously this time, and Kyle squeezed the bar.

  She walked back to Taylor's side and took her place, praying that Kyle would listen to her. A minute later it started, and the ride slowly began to pick up speed. By the second rotation the swings were beginning to fan out, carried by their momentum. Denise hadn't taken her eyes off Kyle, and as he swung by, it was impossible not to hear him laughing, a high-pitched giggle. As he came back around, she noticed that his hands were still right where they should be. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  "You seem surprised," Taylor said, leaning close so his voice could be heard over the noise of the ride.

  "I am," she said. "It's the first time he's ever been on a ride like this."

  "Haven't you ever taken him to a carnival?"

  "I didn't think he was ready for one before."

  "Because he has trouble talking?"

  "Partially." She glanced at him. "There's a lot about Kyle that even I don't understand."

  She hesitated under Taylor's serious gaze. Suddenly she wanted more than anything for Taylor to understand Kyle, she wanted him to understand what the last four years had been like. More than that, she wanted him to understand her.

  "I mean," she began softly, "imagine a world where nothing is explained, where everything has to be learned through trial and error. To me, that's what Kyle's world is like right now. People sometimes think that language is just about conversation, but for children, it's much more than that. It's how they learn about the world. It's how they learn that burners on the stove are hot, without having to touch them. It's how they know that crossing the street is dangerous, without having to be hit by a car. Without the ability to understand language, how can I teach him those things? If Kyle can't understand the concept of danger, how can I keep him safe? When he wandered away into the swamp that night . . . well, you yourself said he didn't seem to be frightened when you found him."

  She looked at Taylor earnestly. "Well, it makes perfect sense--to me, at least. I'd never walked him through the swamp, I'd never shown him snakes; I'd never shown him what might happen if he got stuck somewhere and couldn't get out. Because I hadn't shown him, he didn't know enough to be afraid. Of course, if you take that one step further and consider every possible danger and the fact that I have to literally show him what it means, instead of being able to tell him--sometimes it feels like I'm trying to swim across the ocean. I can't tell you how many close calls there have been. Climbing too high and wanting to jump, riding too close to the road, wandering away, walking up to growling dogs . . . it seems like every day there's something new."

  She closed her eyes for a moment, as if reliving each experience, before going on.

  "But believe it or not, those are only part of my worries. Most of the time, I worry about the obvious things. Whether he'll ever be able to talk normally, whether he'll go to a regular school, whether he'll ever make friends, whether people will accept him . . . whether I'll have to work with him forever. Those are the things that keep me awake at night."

  She paused then, the words coming slower, every syllable edged with pain.

  "I don't want you to think that I regret having Kyle, because I don't. I love him with all my heart. I'll always love him. But . . ."

  She stared at the revolving swings, her eyes blind, shuttered. "It's not exactly what I imagined raising children would be like."

  "I didn't realize," Taylor said gently.

  She didn't respond, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, with a sigh, she faced him again.
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br />   "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you those things."

  "No, don't be. I'm glad you did."

  As if suspecting that she'd confided too much, she offered a rueful smile. "I probably made it sound pretty hopeless, didn't I?"

  "Not really," he lied. In the waning sunlight she was strangely radiant. She reached over and touched his arm. Her hand was soft and warm.

  "You're not very good at that, you know. You should stick to telling the truth. I know I made it sound terrible, but that's just the dark side of my life. I didn't tell you about the good things."

  Taylor raised his eyebrows slightly. "There are good things, too?" he asked, prompting an embarrassed laugh from Denise.

  "Next time I need to pour my heart out, remind me to stop, okay?"

  Though she tried to pass off the comment, her voice betrayed her anxiety. Immediately Taylor suspected that he was the first person she'd ever really confided in this way and that it wasn't the time for jokes.

  The ride ended suddenly, the swing rotating three times before coming to a stop. Kyle called out from his seat, the same ecstatic expression on his face.

  "Sweeeng!" he called out, almost singing the word, his legs pumping back and forth.

  "Do you want to ride the swing again?" Denise shouted.

  "Yes," he answered, nodding.

  There weren't many people in line, and the man nodded that it was all right for Kyle to stay where he was. Taylor handed him the tickets, then returned to Denise's side.

  As the ride started up again, Taylor saw Denise staring at Kyle.

  "I think he likes it," Denise said almost proudly.

  "I think you're right."

  He leaned over, resting his elbows on the railings, still regretting his earlier joking.

  "So tell me about the good things," he said quietly.

  The ride circled twice, and she waved to Kyle each time before saying anything.

  "Do you really want to know?" she finally asked.

  "Yes, I do."

  Denise hesitated. What was she doing? Confiding about her son to a man she barely knew, giving voice to things she'd never said in the past--she felt unsteady, like a boulder inching over the edge of a cliff. Yet somehow she wanted to finish what she had started.

  She cleared her throat.

  "Okay, the good things . . ." She glanced briefly at Taylor and then away. "Kyle's getting better. Sometimes it may not seem like it and others may not notice it, but he is, slowly but surely. Last year, his vocabulary was only fifteen to twenty words. This year, it's in the hundreds, and at times he puts three and four words together in a single sentence. And for the most part, he makes most of his wishes known now. He tells me when he's hungry, when he's tired, what he wants to eat--all of that's new for him. He's only been doing that for the last few months."