Fireside

“Smells like smoke,” he said.

“I’ve been known to enjoy the occasional cigar,” Bo said. “In the off-season.”

“Carcinogens don’t take any time off.”

Bo felt like telling the kid he was being a pain in the ass, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew why AJ was being a pain in the ass. He was acting this way because he was scared shitless, uncertain of his future and worried about the only person in his life who meant anything to him—his mother. And he was pissed, no doubt, about being sent to a dad he’d never met.

There was a shitload of things to talk about, but Bo figured he’d hold off, let the kid adjust to this bizarre and unexpected situation. Only yesterday, AJ had gone to school as if it was any other day. He had no idea that when school let out, his mother would be gone and he would be bundled aboard a plane bound for a place he’d never been, to a person he’d never met before.

The engine sprang to life with a growl. Bo navigated his way out of the parking lot, paid the booth attendant, then headed for the airport exit.

The last of the cold night lingered, and heavy clouds held back the dawn. AJ didn’t say anything, just shifted in his seat and glared straight ahead, his profile clean and angry in the yellow glow of the freeway lights.

“Look, I’m sorry this is happening,” Bo said. “I’m doing my best to fix it as quick as I can.”

“I don’t see why I can’t just go where my mom is,” AJ said.

“Because she wants what’s best for you, and going to a—” He broke off, not liking the sound of detention center. “Going where she is won’t help her, or you. I didn’t ask her to call me, AJ, but … I’m glad she did.” Bo couldn’t figure out if he was lying or not. Sure, he’d always wanted to meet AJ. But he wasn’t certain of his own motivation—curiosity? Ego trip? Or did he really care about this boy?

AJ shifted in his seat. Before long, the shifting became a squirm.

“Something the matter?” asked Bo.

“I gotta take a leak.” The kid sounded sheepish.

And you couldn’t have taken care of this back at the airport? Bo clenched his jaw. He stopped himself from asking it aloud.

“I’ll find a place to stop.” Within a few miles, he spotted a Friendly’s sign poking up into the gray day. The place was open, surrounded by a few semis and travel trailers. They got out, and discovered the air was even colder here, outside the city. Bo hated the cold. He usually tried to spend winters training in Texas or Florida, someplace warm. If the Yankees deal worked out, he’d be headed to Tampa soon enough for training and exhibition games.

The restaurant smelled like pure heaven—frying oil and fresh coffee. Bo waited in the foyer while AJ went to the men’s room. Behind the hostess stand, a young woman checked him out. Bo acted as if he didn’t notice, but he stood up a little straighter. The fleeting moment reminded him that he hadn’t had a girlfriend in a long time. It was easy enough to get dates, but harder to keep them.

AJ returned, sniffing the air like a coonhound on the scent. His eyes shone with a stark, naked hunger, and his face looked pale and drawn.

“You all right?” Bo asked.

“Fine.” AJ’s hair gleamed at the temples, as if he’d slicked it back with water.

For some reason, Bo was touched by the hasty attempt at grooming. “When was the last time you had something to eat?”

A shrug.

“Did they feed you on the plane?”

“Yeah.”

Bo had his hand on the door. Something made him hesitate, and he turned back. “What?” he asked. “What did you eat on the plane?”

“A snack.”

“You mean like a little packet of peanuts and a Coke?”

“Yeah, only I had a Sprite.”

“This way,” Bo said, heading to the hostess stand. He offered the hostess another smile. “You got a table for two, darlin’?”

“I sure do.” She took two glossy, oversize menus from beneath the podium. “This way. Your server will be right with you.”

Despite the undercurrent of flirting with the waitress, Bo was irritated. “You should’ve told me you were hungry,” he said. “I’m not a mind reader.”

AJ regarded him solemnly across the table. “I don’t know what you are. I don’t know you at all.”

“I’m your father, that’s what I am. And it’s not my fault you don’t know me. It’s not your fault, either.”

“Sure, let’s blame Mom for everything,” AJ said.

All right, so this was going to be an emotional minefield. Bo was bad at blindly feeling out someone’s vulnerable areas, particularly with a boy who was a stranger. An angry, resentful stranger.

“I’m not looking to blame anybody,” he said, trying for a kindly, reasonable tone. Wasn’t that how you talked to a kid? With kindness? “Your mother isn’t to blame for anything, AJ. She made the best choices she knew how to make under the circumstances. I respect her for that.”

The boy stared at the menu, his face expressionless.

“Sorry I sounded pissed. I’m mad at myself, okay?” Bo continued. “Not at you. I’m new to this—to being in charge of a kid. I should have asked if you were hungry, or if you needed the restroom, but it didn’t occur to me. I’m not a subtle guy, AJ, and I’m not real smart about a lot of things. Sometimes you’re going to have to speak up, spell out for me what you need. Can you do that?”

“I guess.”

“Good.” He picked up the carafe the hostess had left at the table. “Coffee?”

“I’m a kid. I don’t drink coffee.”

What Bo knew about kids would not fill the stoneware mug in front of him. “Well, then, take a look at the menu and order anything you want.”

The waitress came, and AJ asked for a blueberry muffin and a glass of milk.

“Oh, you gotta do better than that,” Bo said. “I mean it, AJ. Anything.”

The kid packed away food as if he was hollow inside. A stack of pancakes, steak and eggs, a ham sandwich, a vanilla milkshake. Watching him eat, Bo felt oddly gratified. He didn’t know why. There was something primal about feeding the boy, watching him fill himself up like a tanker taking on fuel. If he ate like this all the time, maybe he’d grow.

Bo had a club sandwich and coffee, wishing it was a beer. As he paid the tab, he felt AJ’s eyes on him.

“What? You need something else? Dessert?”

“No, just … thanks.” The kid’s gaze shifted to an array of pies in a revolving lighted display case.

“We’ll take that, too,” Bo told the waitress. “The apple pie.”

“Two pieces?”

“Nah. The whole pie, to go.”