Read Online Finding Jake by Bryan Reardon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bryan Reardon
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intensified.
The other kids parted around Laney, barely giving her notice. One girl, Regina’s daughter, patted her on the head. Then her brother appeared. She rushed to him and Jake picked her up off her feet. I sighed. Everything was right in the world, even if Laney had a playdate.
Jake sat at the counter, doing his homework. Laney sat beside him, drawing a picture with crayons and a number 2 pencil. I watched them, unloading the dishwasher as I did so. Laney, her brow slightly furrowed, glanced on occasion at her brother, emulating his grip on the pencil.
Suddenly, he looked up.
“Hey, Dad,” he blurted out.
“Yes, son,” I responded with mock gravity.
“I did what you told me.”
“And what’s that?” I asked.
“I was nice to this kid, because you told me.”
At first, I did not understand. He stared at me while I thought, and I suddenly understood that if I didn’t get this right, I would undermine some lesson I had thought important. That is when it dawned on me—baseball.
I lifted an eyebrow. “Like Carter.”
He beamed. “Yup.”
“Well, tell me about it.”
Laney stopped drawing, listening intently as Jake began his story.
“Well, you see, this kid at school, Doug, always gets in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” I interjected.
Rachel told me I needed to learn to listen without interjection,yet I thought asking pertinent questions displayed interest. Plus, Jake never minded.
“Like, he doesn’t always act nice to the other kids. This one time, he pushed Katie B. into the water fountain.”
“That’s not good,” I said.
He shook his head. “She was okay. And she is a little mean sometimes, too. But Doug should not have done that.”
“But you let the teacher handle it?”
“I guess. But that’s not what I’m talking about. See, the other kids really don’t like Doug. He’s . . . they call him weird. Well, today we had indoor recess.”
“Why?”
“Too muddy from the rain.”
“Oh.”
“Well, I decided I would play checkers with Doug.”
“That’s nice of you,” I said. “What did Max do?”
Max was Jake’s best buddy in the second grade. For a moment, I wondered if I should ask that question, but I wanted to make sure that Max and Jake stayed friends. I liked that kid.
“He was okay, I think. He played with Kevin and Kent.”
“Excellent. Like I said, though, I’m not telling you who to be friends with. I’m just saying that you never have to be mean to anyone, even if everyone else is.”
“That’s what I did,” he insisted.
“I know. And I’m proud of you, buddy.”
Laney leaned her head on his shoulder. “Me, too,” she added in her adorable little voice.
Jake beamed, as did I. It was one of those rare moments that I assume most stay-at-home dads have. I basked in the fleeting glory, feeling like I might actually be okay at this.
CHAPTER 8
DAY ONE
The police cruiser banks a slow turn onto our street. I immediately see why. The calm, residential oasis that is our neighborhood has erupted. Layers of haunting activity radiate out from our home. Men in dark uniforms form the center as they scurry in and out of the front door like worker ants. Yellow caution tape cordons off a ragged, trapezoidal area. I cannot tell if it is a safety issue, or if it designates a crime scene.
Beyond the tape, dozens of vehicles, mostly white-and-black cruisers, form a jagged barrier. Six white news vans troll, some parked, some inching forward, looking for a crack in the defense. Women in awkwardly colorful outfits clash with the grass and trees lining our neighbors’ houses. They speak into overly large microphones as giant cameras glow green. A man in a red golf shirt spots the car in which I sit. He looks around, his expression strangely blank, and locks in on us. I watch in a detached void. Everything takes on a surreal calm, an empty veneer over a scene that my psyche cannot survive intact.
The man in the golf shirt appears within a foot
The other kids parted around Laney, barely giving her notice. One girl, Regina’s daughter, patted her on the head. Then her brother appeared. She rushed to him and Jake picked her up off her feet. I sighed. Everything was right in the world, even if Laney had a playdate.
Jake sat at the counter, doing his homework. Laney sat beside him, drawing a picture with crayons and a number 2 pencil. I watched them, unloading the dishwasher as I did so. Laney, her brow slightly furrowed, glanced on occasion at her brother, emulating his grip on the pencil.
Suddenly, he looked up.
“Hey, Dad,” he blurted out.
“Yes, son,” I responded with mock gravity.
“I did what you told me.”
“And what’s that?” I asked.
“I was nice to this kid, because you told me.”
At first, I did not understand. He stared at me while I thought, and I suddenly understood that if I didn’t get this right, I would undermine some lesson I had thought important. That is when it dawned on me—baseball.
I lifted an eyebrow. “Like Carter.”
He beamed. “Yup.”
“Well, tell me about it.”
Laney stopped drawing, listening intently as Jake began his story.
“Well, you see, this kid at school, Doug, always gets in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” I interjected.
Rachel told me I needed to learn to listen without interjection,yet I thought asking pertinent questions displayed interest. Plus, Jake never minded.
“Like, he doesn’t always act nice to the other kids. This one time, he pushed Katie B. into the water fountain.”
“That’s not good,” I said.
He shook his head. “She was okay. And she is a little mean sometimes, too. But Doug should not have done that.”
“But you let the teacher handle it?”
“I guess. But that’s not what I’m talking about. See, the other kids really don’t like Doug. He’s . . . they call him weird. Well, today we had indoor recess.”
“Why?”
“Too muddy from the rain.”
“Oh.”
“Well, I decided I would play checkers with Doug.”
“That’s nice of you,” I said. “What did Max do?”
Max was Jake’s best buddy in the second grade. For a moment, I wondered if I should ask that question, but I wanted to make sure that Max and Jake stayed friends. I liked that kid.
“He was okay, I think. He played with Kevin and Kent.”
“Excellent. Like I said, though, I’m not telling you who to be friends with. I’m just saying that you never have to be mean to anyone, even if everyone else is.”
“That’s what I did,” he insisted.
“I know. And I’m proud of you, buddy.”
Laney leaned her head on his shoulder. “Me, too,” she added in her adorable little voice.
Jake beamed, as did I. It was one of those rare moments that I assume most stay-at-home dads have. I basked in the fleeting glory, feeling like I might actually be okay at this.
CHAPTER 8
DAY ONE
The police cruiser banks a slow turn onto our street. I immediately see why. The calm, residential oasis that is our neighborhood has erupted. Layers of haunting activity radiate out from our home. Men in dark uniforms form the center as they scurry in and out of the front door like worker ants. Yellow caution tape cordons off a ragged, trapezoidal area. I cannot tell if it is a safety issue, or if it designates a crime scene.
Beyond the tape, dozens of vehicles, mostly white-and-black cruisers, form a jagged barrier. Six white news vans troll, some parked, some inching forward, looking for a crack in the defense. Women in awkwardly colorful outfits clash with the grass and trees lining our neighbors’ houses. They speak into overly large microphones as giant cameras glow green. A man in a red golf shirt spots the car in which I sit. He looks around, his expression strangely blank, and locks in on us. I watch in a detached void. Everything takes on a surreal calm, an empty veneer over a scene that my psyche cannot survive intact.
The man in the golf shirt appears within a foot
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