For Love Or Money

“Eee, eee, eee,” he grunted in his husky voice.

“You know you have to brush your teeth and get dressed and have breakfast before you’re allowed to see,” she said, pulling him up beside her on the bed as she struggled to get her eyes fully opened.

“Eee, eee,” he said, resisting her hug to hold the plastic cover an inch from her face.

It wasn’t unusual for the boy to ask to watch his favorite movie the second he got out of bed. The highly unusual part came when, that morning, Janie let him.

* * *

DAWSON’S POTTY-TRAINING UNDERWEAR had leaked during the night. Not only were his sheets soaked but his blanket was, too. Stripping the bed down to the plastic cover that protected the mattress, Janie thought about the shower she’d intended to take while Dawson’s movie kept him occupied.

She’d hoped to wash her hair. Maybe put on a little makeup. Not as much as she’d had on the day before. She wasn’t going on television.

But neither did she want to treat her afternoon guests to the shock of her bare, dull, worried-looking face.

She’d hoped to find something halfway cute to wear.

Instead she’d climbed into the first handy thing—a pair of old jeans and a sweatshirt she’d had on the night before to ward off the chill—and used the limited hot water to wash her son’s bedding. Made some of her campaign calls. And felt guilty for bothering people on Sunday morning.

* * *

AT NOON, HAVING watched his movie twice, Dawson left his seat on the carpeted floor, came over to the linoleum, opened the pantry door and pulled peanut butter off the shelf. Bending down, he flipped the latch on the shelf below and took bread out of the box. On tiptoe, he slid both up onto the kitchen counter. Right next to where Janie was sitting at the Formica-topped table.

“Eee,” he said, looking at the ingredients of his sandwich, not at her.

She grinned. Wanting to call Cor and Joe. She’d been certain he was making choices when, the week before, he’d opened the pantry door and brought her a can of tuna. Every day since, whenever they were home, she’d waited as mealtime approached to see if he’d know he was hungry and tell her what he wanted to eat. Dinner the previous night had been SpaghettiOs. Breakfast that morning, frozen waffles he’d pulled from the side-by-side refrigerator that had come with their small rental home.

Just as she was about to get up from the lists of numbers and pre-scripted phone messages she’d been hired to deliver, the four-year-old turned and headed back for the pantry door on his short legs. Inside, he pulled out a can of peaches. Tiptoed up to shove them on the counter. And then crossed his arms and looked at her.

Janie laughed.

He laughed, too. A full-bodied, husky sound that filled her heart to its brim.

“Eee!” he screamed, jumping from foot to foot as quickly as he could and then dropping down to his butt to stare up at her.

“Let’s get you to the potty first,” she told him. And had to hurry to keep up as he ran to the bathroom, yanked a new pair of potty-training underwear from the cupboard and proceeded to take off his sweatpants. He knew what it was all about. Knew the point. Was even, according to his doctor, feeling the sensations.

His muscles just weren’t developed enough yet to give him the control necessary to be able to “hold it” for any length of time.

They’d get there eventually. And until then, potty-training underwear were an easy fix. Easy...and expensive. Insurance didn’t cover them. And neither did Dillon.

* * *

KELSEY WANTED HIM to make her mother’s bourbon pork twice on Sunday. It had turned out great the first time. She’d just wanted him to work a little faster. And to make certain he could prepare it perfectly twice in a row. The first official competition was being taped the following Saturday and his schedule was completely full this coming week.

His first entry was the pork dish. The ingredients would be in his kitchen on set. He couldn’t take in any notes, let alone a written recipe.

Kelsey had her counter filled with notes. Gave him a critique after each session. And never mentioned the little boy they were going to see that afternoon.

The unease that had settled upon him sometime during the night came back to haunt him. He knew his daughter. Knew her heart and soul. Even if he didn’t always understand her thoughts. Even if her emotions weren’t always clear to him these days. He knew her.

Yet...

“Kels?” They were on their way to Janie Young’s house. Her neighborhood was across town from theirs. The houses were smaller. No gated communities with private pools and other amenities.

“Yeah?”

She’d changed from the flannel pants and tank top she’d had on at the house into jeans and a T-shirt with her favorite pony character on it. Her hair was in a ponytail. And her sweetness nearly choked him up.

“Why did you push so hard to spend time with Dawson Young?”

He didn’t want to doubt her. Hated that he was doing so. Felt like total crap. And yet...there was so much he wasn’t getting about her these days. Like, what he could and could not call her. Was this a “squirt” day or a no-“squirt” day?

“I didn’t.”

When he glanced over, hoping her expression would tell him something, all he had was a glimpse of her ponytail. Her face was turned toward her window.

“Yes, you did.” He pulled out the firm tone. If there was any chance she was... Well, he would not be a party to it. Or enable her to be a party to it, either.

He’d drop out of the competition immediately.

There were worse things than watching your child suffer from clinical depression. Like watching her sell her soul, for instance.

She shrugged. “I just wanted to meet him. That’s all.”

“Kelsey...”

“What?”

“Are you...?” He couldn’t even get the words out. His heart told him he was wrong. Emphatically.

But it made sense.

“Am I what?”

She was staring at him now. All wide-eyed. Stopped at a light, he studied her.

“Are you hoping that by becoming friendly with Dawson you can somehow find out the secrets to his mother’s—”

“What!” Her shriek filled the car. And then some. “I can’t believe you’d even think such a thing! Oh, my gosh!”

She sounded like he’d just accused her of murder. He felt as though he had.

They rode in silence for a few blocks. The rift between them deepening, becoming a chasm, a sinkhole he could lose her in...

Reparation was up to him and he panicked as he scrambled for answers.

“For the record, I never felt like you’d do such a thing.”

“Then why ask?” Her accusatory tone reminded him of her mother. Not that he’d tell her that. Ever.

Lil had had her issues, sure, but she’d been a great mother. And a good wife, too. He’d loved her. Truly loved her. He’d never missed her more than he did in that minute.

“Because I don’t understand why, after months of not caring about anything, you suddenly care so much about this kid.” That didn’t come out right. “I get that he’s cute,” he added. Even he’d felt something when the mother and son duo had lit up the television screen on a rather dreary Thanksgiving day. “But he’s not the only cute child we’ve run across in the past year.”

“She’s a single mom trying really hard.”

“She’s not the only single mother we’ve come across, either.”

“He’s special, Daddy. You can tell that just by looking at him...”

He understood that. Somewhat. And liked it a whole lot better than his sabotage theory.

“And the way she looks at him. The way he seems to matter more than even winning a spot on the show...”

He remembered that Thanksgiving Day show—the way the boy had been the one to notice that Janie Young had won...

“He’s lucky that he has her,” Kelsey was saying, her voice soft. “That she loves him so much. And I just...”

He was really starting to get it now. The boy had his mother’s love. Totally. Completely. Something that Kelsey was drawn to be a part of. If she could.

“I feel guilty,” she continued. Blowing his newest theory.

“Guilty?”

“Yeah, because, like, when we win, that means she’s going to lose.” She shrugged again. “We can’t do anything about that, because, you know, there can’t be two winners. So, I was just thinking that where we can help out, we should. You know, with her being the only other local contestant, we’re going to be living in the same town even after the show and might run into her and I just...feel like we should make this as easy on her as we can.”

And maybe, without knowing it, she was drawn to the mother/child closeness? The bonding she was missing?

Burke had no way of knowing. Of predicting what might happen next. Or, apparently, of preventing the disappointment he was convinced he was bringing upon his daughter. One step at a time. He just knew, as he pulled into the small, garage-less drive, that he loved his daughter more than life. And that he was ill-equipped to guarantee her happiness.

* * *

WHAT ON EARTH had she been thinking? Inviting a doctor and his daughter to her tiny house situated in a neighborhood without the community landscape standards that governed most of the neighborhoods in Palm Desert. Her place was clean—well, picked up, at least. But other than the two bedrooms and one bathroom, it had only the L-shaped living and kitchen area. Plenty big enough for just her and Dawson.

She was starting to feel slightly claustrophobic as the time neared for their guests to arrive. Funny—she never felt that way when Cor and Joe were over.

Standing in the opened closet doors at the far end of her kitchen, pulling Dawson’s twin sheets out of the dryer, she watched as her son sat, knees apart and legs crossed at the ankles, on the floor in front of the television, playing the video game Joe had bought him for Christmas. A nonviolent game with a cute little character who had to run and jump and face a lot of challenges on his way to wherever the next level would lead him.

And she wondered how he’d appear to the strangers coming to their home that afternoon. Would they see Dawson for who he was?

“Gah!” Dawson’s rounded shoulders jerked downward, his little neck having to tilt back even farther than normal for him to see the television.

“Gah!” The passion in his voice as he urged his man on made her smile. Just that quickly she was awash with the warmth of love she felt for her little guy. And then assailed with guilt for the thoughts she’d been having. Thoughts of him appearing less than perfect to others. And her caring at all what they thought.

He’d played all of his exercise “games” with her in great humor. Had worked hard to hold on to the large pencil and draw straight lines and then circles on plain paper. And she wanted him relaxed and in a good mood when their guests arrived.

Guests he didn’t yet know about.

Dawson tended to take life as it came. A lesson she tried hard to learn from him.

“Hey, bud, you want to help Mommy make your bed?” It was a long shot with the video-game controller in his hand, but she always asked for his help when doing anything she knew he could attempt.

Washing floors. Dusting.

A lot of the time he joined in happily. Most particularly when she was cleaning bathrooms. He loved swirling the brush around the toilet water.

While his game ran on without him, he looked at her, his mouth hanging open as it so often did.

He grinned at her. She stared at his drool. And wished she’d never invited the Carters over. Had been wondering, since the moment she’d issued the invitation, what on earth she’d been thinking.

Or, more accurately, why she hadn’t been thinking.

Yeah, Dr. Burke Carter was a handsome guy. Maybe the most compelling man she’d ever met.

But she was a mother now. Full time. First and last.

As Dillon had been quick to point out every time he wanted her complete attention and didn’t get it. Which had been at least once a day...

Jumping as the doorbell rang, Janie shook her head.

“Gah!” Dawson, apparently unconcerned by her lack of response to his smile, was back at his game.

Arms still filled with sheets, she stood there. And the bell rang a second time.

“Dooo,” Dawson said, throwing down the control and rolling onto his knees to stand.

Dropping her sheets onto the only armchair in the room, Janie went after him. He’d just learned how to unlock the front door and she didn’t want him running outside in his bare feet.

Nor did she want him facing their inquisitors alone.

She hadn’t even had a chance to wipe his face.

He was her angel.

Perfect in his imperfection.

She would die before she’d have anyone look down on him in his own home.

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