The Lawman's Surprise Family

She had to agree with the results, but she wasn’t convinced of his methods.

“You’ve always done things your own way,” she said after a moment. “And while I get it this time, it’ll catch up with you eventually.”

“You think I’m some kind of rogue cop, dealing out my own version of justice?” he asked, humor edging his tone.

“Yes.” She had to admit that was exactly what she thought. He was the same old Benji Blake, except this version had a badge and a gun. As a teen, she’d found it exciting and alluring, but not now as an adult, and certainly not as a mother.

They were nearing the hospital, and Ben gave his siren one whoop of farewell, then eased past Mike’s truck and kept on their way.

“Sofia, you don’t have to worry about me,” Ben said quietly. “I’m a decent guy.”

She was silent, considering. Was he a decent guy, or was he just an older version of the same rebel he’d always been? If it weren’t for her son in the mix, she wouldn’t have cared so much, but Ben’s character would have a huge impact on Jack. Jack would idealize Ben. He’d look up to him. He’d emulate him, and the last thing she needed was a son who turned out exactly like his father.

“Just keep in mind that I’m a journalist first,” she said with a sigh. “I’m here to write articles that can help improve the public’s perception about the police force, but I’m not going to lie, either. Don’t put me in the position of having to write up a story that sets back your entire project.”

Ben’s jaw tightened. “I’ll have you know that I care about this—more than you probably realize. You lived on the good side of the tracks, but I saw a different side to this town growing up. I’m going to fix that, whatever it takes. So you might have your ideals right now, but I’ve got more than ideals. I’ve got a plan, and I’m not afraid to put it into action.”

Sofia didn’t answer. Ben might be a cop, but she was a journalist, and she had a responsibility to her job as well as to this town. The laws were there for a reason, and she found it ironic that she was now pushing against Benji from the other side of the law. But Ben was like that—rock solid, completely immoveable and always perched right on the line. Some things would never change.

Chapter Three

That evening, after dropping Sofia off at her father’s house, Ben drove back to the other side of town where his mother lived. His mind was still chewing over the fact that he was a father, and he didn’t know exactly how to process it all. He’d made plans to have dinner with his mother several days ago, and he didn’t have the heart to break them. Besides, his mom deserved to know about this. A grandson would impact her life, too.

The trailer park was located on the east side of Haggerston, surrounded by a corrugated metal fence that corralled two looping roads, both lined by aging mobile homes. This had been home sweet home when Ben was being raised by his struggling single mother, Shyla Blake. She’d worked two jobs for as long as he could remember, and now that he could afford to pay her rent elsewhere, she downright refused to move.

“I’m fine,” she’d said. “Just fix the heat and get me an air conditioner. It might be humble, but it’s home.”

Ben had to admit that it did feel like home still, in spite of it all. His mother’s time had been monopolized by providing for him, and as a result, Ben had been generally unsupervised for much of his childhood. His mother worked the night shift at the front desk of a local hotel, and she’d call just to check on him. He could remember muting the TV to talk to her for a minute or two before she was noticed by her particularly grumpy boss. She’d done her very best for Ben, and whatever mistakes he’d made growing up certainly hadn’t been her fault.

Ben got out of the squad car, locked the door and headed up the walk. His mother flung the door open before he even reached the steps. She was a short woman with mouse-brown hair—dyed to stay that way—that was pulled up in a high ponytail and hair sprayed to stay in a floofy ’80s do that she couldn’t be convinced to relinquish.

“Hi, honey. I was so glad you said you were coming for supper. Come on in.”

The sound of a game show floated through the background, and he followed her inside, kicking the door shut behind him. His mother gave him a peck on the cheek, and he sank into one of two chairs that flanked a tiny, flyer-covered kitchen table.

“Macaroni and cheese?” he asked, nodding toward the stove.

“Your favorite,” she said, turning down the TV volume. “You look tired.”

“I’m wiped.”

“So I heard from Ellen who heard from Liza at the deli that Sofia McCray is back in town,” his mother said, shooting him an apologetic look. “Is it true?”

“Afraid so,” he replied.

“I’m surprised she’d show her face around here,” his mother muttered. “After she and that uppity mother of hers just walked off the way they did. Not a word to anyone—and left poor Steve by himself...”

She’d left Ben, too, for that matter.

“I always said Valentina McCray was hiding a bad core,” his mother went on. “And Sofia is just like her mother. I always said it, didn’t I? And you never believed me. I don’t know what all Valentina was hiding—an affair? Maybe even mob connections—”

“Being Italian doesn’t make her mafia,” Ben said with a sigh.

“I know, I know...” His mother turned back to the stove, lifting the lid off the bubbling pot to release some steam. “I’ve always said that I don’t care what country the girl is from, as long as she’s got a good heart. I’ve always said that, haven’t I? But the proof is in the pudding with that one!”

Ben wasn’t sure if “that one” referred to Sofia or her mother, but it probably didn’t much matter at this point of the conversation. His mother didn’t care for either woman. Everyone had known that the McCray marriage hadn’t been rock solid, but the gossips of Haggerston blamed it on Valentina because she was high-spirited, even though Steve hadn’t seemed to complain. Valentina was petite with a dark complexion that made her look twenty years younger than she was—sparking the envy of every woman in town. When Valentina up and left her husband, that was proof enough about her “bad core” in his mother’s books.

This was an old, oft-repeated conversation. They both knew it like the backs of their hands, and they went over it from time to time, just to buff it back to a shine. Ben’s mother had been thrilled when Ben had broken up with Sofia, even if he’d only done it because her father had convinced him that he was a loser who would just hold her back. Sofia had graduated high school and earned scholarships for her high grades. Ben hadn’t even graduated with his class that year, and he wouldn’t be going anywhere. That had done a number on his confidence. Steve McCray had told him privately that it was only a matter of time before Sofia saw what a loser he was and she’d move on to someone worthy of her. It made sense, and when Sofia had started questioning him about the future there in the parking lot, it had all crumbled down around him. He couldn’t offer her a future. He had nothing to give. So Ben had broken it off and driven away, convinced that if he did the dumping instead of getting the same treatment from her, it would be easier to bear. It hadn’t been, and he’d spent the past nine years wishing he’d at least gotten a goodbye.

“I actually saw Sofia today,” Ben said.

“Oh?”

“She’s a journalist now—”

“Well la-di-da.” Her voice dripped distain.

“And she’s been assigned to ride along with an officer for a couple of weeks to cover this new community watch project we’re starting up.” He shot his mother a boyish grin. “And the officer she’s riding with is me.”

His mother regarded him in silence for a long moment. “You’re kidding,” she finally said.

Ben shook his head. “I’m dead serious.”

“Don’t you go falling for her again,” his mother said. The pot started to boil over, and she whipped it off the burner.

Not falling for Sofia was easier said than done. Sitting with her in the car all day, the soft, floral scent of her wafting through the cab, had been awkward, but it had also been the sort of thing he’d dreamed about for the past nine years—another chance to just be next to her. He’d never really thought that he’d see her again.

“So what is she like now?” his mother asked as she tossed the noodles into a colander.

“She’s—” How was he supposed to tell his mother this? He swallowed. “She had a bit of news for me.”

She slowly raised her head, her brow crinkling in suspicion. “What kind of news?”

“She has an eight-year-old son.” He met his mother’s gaze and sucked in a breath. “And he’s mine.”

“Yours?” she asked weakly. “Are you sure? She could be lying.”

“No, I’m pretty sure,” he replied, shaking his head. “She didn’t seem too thrilled about me being his father as it is.”

Tears welled up in his mother’s eyes, and she stood stock-still for a long moment.

“You have a son,” she said in amazement. “That means I have a grandson.”

“Yeah, that’s how it works,” he said.

Then she dabbed at her mascara with the heel of one hand. “After little Mandy...”

He didn’t know what else to say, even though nothing else was necessary. His mother had been there with him through the whole ordeal when he lost Lisa and Mandy. She’d stood next to him like a soldier during the funeral, holding him up with the sheer force of her will and all of the muscle she had in her one-hundred-and-forty-pound body.

“Have you seen him?” his mother asked after a moment of silence.

“For about two minutes today. It was short.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jack.”

“And Sofia—what does she want?” she asked warily.

“Nothing that I know of,” he replied. “She just felt obliged to let me know, I guess.”

“After nine years?” she snapped. “She waited nine whole years to let you know that you have a son, and you think she doesn’t want anything? Mark my words, she wants money.”

“If he’s my son, I’ll support him,” Ben replied. “I have no problem with that.”

“What about her—is she married?” his mother pressed.

“No, she’s single, and before you start worrying, I don’t think she has any interest in me. In fact, she seems to think I’m no better than I was at seventeen.”

“You were a good kid.” His mother frowned.

“I got into a lot of trouble, Mom.”

“But you had a good heart,” his mother argued. Hearts were weighed differently than behavior, in her estimation of things.

“Of gold.” He could hear the bitterness in his own tone.

His mother had always believed that he was an innocent lamb, regardless of his suspension from school multiple times and a few serious warnings from the local police. Ben had been angry back then, and while he’d loved Sofia heart and soul, he wouldn’t have made a good husband or father. He could see that, and the most painful part of all of this was that he couldn’t entirely blame Sofia for making the choice that she did, even though that choice hurt him. A mother might love you no matter what you did, but a wife or a girlfriend—those were different rules to play by. And like Sofia had said, sometimes a woman just had a limit. Could he really blame her for drawing a line?

“At least Lisa didn’t know about all of this,” his mother said, her chin quivering at the memory, and he felt that old stab of guilt.

“No, Lisa should have known.”

“Just to hurt her?” his mother countered. “I think, for her, not knowing was kinder.”

“She could have made a more informed decision before marrying me,” he muttered.

Lisa had known about Sofia before they got married, and in their first year of marriage she’d stumbled across an old love letter Sofia had written him. Lisa had been hurt, not that he blamed her. She’d wanted to know why he kept it still, and while she’d never made any demands, he knew what he should have done—thrown it away. But he couldn’t. So he’d stashed it in the bottom of a drawer and felt uncomfortable all the same.

If an old letter could make Lisa feel territorial, what about a son? She’d gone through enough with him, and if she’d known that he and Sofia had a child together, she might not have thought that hitching her wagon to him was worth it. He certainly wouldn’t have blamed her.

“Grab me the milk,” his mother said, and Ben fetched the carton of milk from the fridge and passed it to her.

“He seems to have a lot of allergies,” Ben said.

“Allergies?” She poured a slosh of milk into the pot. “That did not come from us. We Blakes may be a lot of things, but we’re healthy as horses.”

“Don’t take it so personally. Allergies are common these days.”

“He must look like you,” his mother said, shooting him a smile. “Do you have a picture?”

“He looks like Sofia to me,” he admitted. “He’s got her dark hair and big, brown eyes. But no picture. Sorry.”

His mother gave the pot of macaroni and cheese a brisk stir, then nodded toward the table. “Clear off the flyers, would you?”

Ben did as she asked, sweeping the whole lot of them into a cardboard box that sat by the table for that purpose.

“So, what took her so long to tell you?” she asked, then plunked the pot into the center of the table and turned her back on him to grab some plates.

“I don’t know. I asked that, too. She said she was trying to protect him.”

“From who?” his mother demanded, coming back with two Corningware plates in hand. “You? Me? What are we going to do but love that little boy?”

He didn’t have any more answers than she did, and he heaved a tired sigh. “I don’t think I ever met my dad’s family, either.”

“They didn’t want to meet you,” his mother replied. “But I do want to get to know Jack. I’m his grandma...granny. Nana?” She raised her eyebrows. “Do I look like a nana?”

Ben laughed in spite of himself. “That’s a little premature.”

“Eight years... That’s not premature at all,” she retorted.

Many a night, his mother had mixed up an over-boiled pot of macaroni and cheese for him, sat down across from him at this very table and listened to him talk about his day. To this day, nothing tasted better than an overcooked Kraft Dinner—not that they ever got the “good brand.”

“So, what are you going to do?” she asked, pouring a puddle of macaroni into his plate and then passing him a fork. She settled herself across from him. “Do you know?”

“I’m going to try and get to know him,” he replied. “I’m not going to let him grow up wondering if I cared.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“I just need to talk to Sofia and see if we can figure something out.”

She nodded slowly, but she didn’t say anything else. Ben imagined there wasn’t much else to be said. There was a child, but Jack had a mother who stood between him and the rest of the world, and even Shyla Blake could respect that. She’d been a single mother, too, after all.

They both picked up their forks and started to eat. His mind wasn’t on the food, though; it was on Sofia. He could still remember how it had felt when he’d gone to Sofia’s house a couple of days after their breakup, just to find her father standing behind the screen door in his bathrobe, his face haggard and his body oozing the smell of alcohol.

“You’re looking for Sofia?” he’d asked bitterly. “You’re a day too late. She and her mother left.”

“Left for where?” he’d demanded.

The older man had shrugged. “Don’t know. Just left.”

They’d stood there and stared at each other for a minute or two until the older man slowly shut the door, leaving Ben on the step, his heart suspended with shock. He’d dumped her and broken her heart, and she’d done what she had every right to do—left. She didn’t need to stick around and deal with him any longer, but he’d still hoped that he’d have a chance to say he was sorry. Was it selfish? Probably. And now she was gone, without any warning and without so much as a goodbye.

After he’d left the McCray house nine years earlier, Ben had gone back home, and his mother had made him a pot of macaroni and cheese and held him while he cried. Ben’s mother had loved him. Loved him like a rock. She’d seen the best in him when he failed to see it in himself, and every single time he sank into that kitchen chair, feeling like a failure and filled to the brim with anger at the world, she’d say the same thing.

“Benji,” his mother said, her voice pulling him back to the present.

“Yeah, Ma?”

“You’re a good man. And you’re my son. You remember that, okay?”

“Okay, Ma.”

That’s what she’d said to him every night. You’re a good boy, Benji. And you’re my boy. You remember that, okay?

She’d loved him like a rock.

* * *

Sofia didn’t believe in dieting. Having been raised by an Italian mother, she knew how to cook, and she knew how to eat, too. Her one concession was her nightly ritual on the treadmill, working off a few of the calories. And as for the few extra pounds she carried since high school, well, she embraced them along with the Italian cooking.

She was a little rounder now, a little softer, and a little stronger, too. Motherhood did that to a woman, and she had no complaints—that was a little piece of wisdom from her mother.

Wear some lipstick and clothes that fit. Where’s the joy in life if you can’t eat a full meal?

In fact, when Sofia had talked to her mother on the phone that evening, she’d said the same thing. Valentina believed in a woman’s right to eat a full plate of food, and she reminded Sofia of that on a regular basis.

Sofia wiped her forehead with a towel, breathing hard as the base automatically inclined to make the workout hurt just a little bit more. Jack was in the tub, and her father was watching TV in his bedroom, leaving the downstairs to herself. Her favorite crime drama was playing, an episode she’d already seen, but it was a comforting routine—treadmill and TV. Her mind wasn’t on the show, however. She needed to have a long overdue talk with Jack tonight, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to do this.

Lord, give me the words. Let me do this properly...

She heard the plug pull upstairs, and the water started to drain. Jack would be down any minute, wanting his snack before bed, so she stopped the treadmill and gratefully got off. Her legs felt like jelly, and she wiped her face once more as she headed into the kitchen to dish up a bowl of applesauce for her son. It would be gentle on his stomach after the cannolis today.

A few minutes later, Jack ambled into the kitchen. His pajama shirt was done up one button off, and his fingers looked pruney from the tub. He slid into his spot at the table and pulled the bowl of applesauce closer. He took a tentative bite.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Sofia said, sinking into the chair next to him. “Something really important.”

“Did I do something bad?” Jack asked warily.

“No, sweetie.” She reached over and put a hand on his arm. “Nothing bad, at all.”

“Oh, that’s good, then.” He took another bite, his spoon clinking against the side of the bowl.

“You know how you’ve been asking about your dad?” she asked. He’d been asking more often over the past couple of years, and she’d been giving him as little information as possible, even though she knew it was the wrong choice. He needed answers.

Jack nodded but didn’t say anything. His eating slowed, though, so she knew that she had his attention.

“Is there anything you’d like to ask about him now?” she asked hopefully.

Jack swallowed and frowned. “I have a dad, right?”

“Yes, you do,” she said quietly. “I didn’t tell him about you, though.”

“Who is he?” Jack asked.

“You met him today. He’s Benjamin Blake,” she said, and then closed her mouth, waiting for the information to sink in.

“The policeman?”

“Yes, the police officer,” she said.

“Does he know about me?” he asked after a moment.

“He didn’t know about you when he was here this morning. I told him after we left.”

“Was he happy to hear about me?”

That was a difficult question to answer. Her ride-along with Ben had not been smooth or comfortable. Ben was most certainly angry with her about not telling him earlier, and while fatherhood obviously hadn’t been part of his plans right now, he’d been adamant that he did care about his son.

“Sweetie, you are very good news,” she said gently. “You were a bit of a surprise, though.”

“Hmm.” Jack nodded slowly. “What’s his name again?”

“Benjamin Blake.”

“I’m a McCray,” Jack said defensively. “I don’t have to stop being a McCray, do I?”

“Of course not!” Sofia slipped an arm around him and pulled him against her. “You’re always going to be my boy, Jack. That will never change, and you and I are McCrays. Period.”

Jack was silent, and she couldn’t see his face past his ruffled hair. What was he feeling? Was he going to be mad at her, too, for having waited so long?

“So...” Sofia paused and nudged him up so she could see her son’s face. “How do you feel about this?”

“I don’t know if I want a dad,” Jack replied after a moment.

“How come?” she asked.

“I have you.” Tears misted his eyes.

“Yes, you do.” Sofia planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Look, Jack, you don’t have to worry about anything. You aren’t going to lose me. I’m your mom. That doesn’t change. Okay?”

Jack nodded. “Does he have any kids? Do I have a brother or sister?”

“I don’t think so, sweetie. I think you’re the only one.”

“Do I have another grandma and grandpa, then?”

“Yes, but we can wait before we meet anyone else. I think this is enough for now. It’s kind of a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “My friend Carlton’s parents are divorced, and he has to stay with his dad every weekend. Will I have to do that?”

“It isn’t about making you do anything,” she replied. “It’s about...” She sucked in a breath. “I suppose we’ll take it a step at a time.”

“Are you going to make me hang out with him now?” he asked.

“Not if you aren’t ready.” She smoothed his hair. “I have a feeling you’ll want to know him, though,” she said.

Jack nodded again.

“And, sweetheart?” She put her hands on the sides of his face and smiled down into his eyes. “I love you. With all my heart.”

“I love you, too, Mom.” He wriggled out of her hands.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asked tentatively.

“I’m going to read my comics,” he said.

It wasn’t much of an answer, but it would have to do. Jack needed to process things, and apparently he needed to do that away from her. It stabbed a little. “Sure,” she said, hoping her smile didn’t look as strained as she felt.

Jack ambled into the living room, and Sofia watched him go, her heart full. Had she done this right? Had she used the right words? Did he understand how much she loved him?

She closed her eyes and sighed, seeking her own comfort. She knew that God forgave her for her mistakes, and Jack was the perfect redemption of all the bad choices. He was a beautiful boy who showed her every day how God worked. Right now, she needed God, too. While Jack might be wary of having a father, she longed for her Father in Heaven to smooth this over and to bring them both some peace.

Her cell phone rang, and she looked down at the incoming number. It was Ben. She paused, glancing into the living room where Jack sat reading a book, then picked up the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” Ben’s voice was low. “I hope you don’t mind me calling. Chief Taylor gave me your number.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she reassured him.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’ve been better, to be honest,” she replied with a sigh. “How about you?”

“I’ve had some time to think,” he said. “I wanted to thank you for telling me about Jack. I know you didn’t have to.”

Actually, Jack looked so much like his father that it was only a matter of time before someone put it together, but she wasn’t about to say that right now. Ben was trying to be agreeable, and that counted for something.