Her Son's Hero

Fiona steeled herself. Seventy-seven-year-old Teresa Madden was a God-fearing widow whose acerbic tongue spared nobody. But her age, religious zeal and dedication to public service made her a paragon of virtue. She was active and volunteered her time to a lot of community causes. Fiona secretly suspected the old woman was like a shark, and would die if she stopped moving.

“Hello, Mrs. Madden,” she said, pasting on a smile.

The corners of the woman’s mouth were turned down so far it looked as if she’d drunk vinegar. “Sean was in another fight today. I had to pull him off Rene Kirkpatrick and send him to the closet for the entire afternoon.”

It was Fiona’s turn to frown. The closet was exactly that—an empty, windowless cubbyhole where ill-behaved students were sent to “think about their sins.” Unfortunately, it seemed the wrong kid had been punished again. Rene was half again as tall and heavy as Sean. Did Mrs. Madden really think her son could have pinned him to the ground?

“I don’t have to remind you about our three-strikes policy,” the woman said. She picked at the linty moss-green sweater she always wore, even though it was a balmy 78 degrees out. “And this is strike three. I’m going to have to ask you not to bring him here anymore.”

Exasperated, Fiona demanded, “Did you at least ask him what happened?”

“What was there to ask? I came out and saw your boy sitting on Rene’s chest. I may not be as young as you, but my old eyes still work.” Her mouth crimped in distaste. “If you don’t get a handle on your little hellion, he’ll end up in jail just like his father.”

Fiona reeled back in shock and anger. “I will not allow you to insult my son, Teresa. Sean is a well-behaved and polite young boy. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Rene. You know he provoked him to attack!” Her voice had risen to an angry pitch. “And Sean is nothing like his father.”

But her words bounced off the old woman’s thick hide. “Have a good day, Mrs. MacAvery. I don’t expect to see you or Sean here again.”

And that was that. Fiona could say nothing in protest, knew there was no one she could appeal to who would change Teresa Madden’s mind. She, like Denise, was a part of the Salmon River establishment. No one would raise a hand or a word against her better judgment.

Injustice burned through Fiona’s blood. She briefly considered flinging her purse at the old woman’s head, but counted to ten instead. Then she marched to the car, her hands balled into tight fists.

What was she supposed to do now? Saturday was the busiest day of the week at Leeds Reads, and her paycheck was dependent on those hours. But she couldn’t leave Sean at home alone all day.

Maybe Marion would allow him to stay in the back room of the store while she worked. Sean would hate it, especially now that the weather was so nice and summer break was coming up fast.

Her mind was scrambling for alternatives as she reached the car. Sean was waiting for her by the passenger door. He was staring intently at the tips of his shoes, his face beet-red as he held his breath, and held in his emotions.

Fiona sighed. Gently, she said, “Mrs. Madden says you got in a fight again.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Sean whipped his head up. “She didn’t even listen to me!”

“I know.” Fiona’s heart broke at her son’s anguish. It was so unfair that he had to go through this. “Sean…she said you can’t go to fun camp any more.”

His cheeks drained of color. “I hate it there any how,” he muttered, and spun around so she wouldn’t see the tears gathering in his eyes. “No one there likes me.”

“I like you plenty.” Fiona tried for a smile, but her son just glared at her over his shoulder.

She grimaced. Sean needed friends his own age to play with. She couldn’t be everything to her son forever. “C’mon.” She unlocked the car doors. “Let’s go get some ice cream.” She couldn’t be his best friend, but she could at least try to cheer him up.

THE FAINT NOTES of the local rock station played in the background on the radio as they drove home, both thoroughly depressed. A trip to the park and a plain vanilla cone hadn’t cheered Sean up. He’d sat on a swing, grinding his shoes into the sand while kids played around him. Alone on a bench, Fiona could see mothers at the other end of the park glancing her way. And she’d wondered for a brief moment if worrying about her son’s isolation distracted her from thinking about her own.

A thin layer of cloud obscured the sun now, casting a wan silver light. The wind picked up as they drove.

When they crossed the bridge over the river, Sean sat up. “Look, it’s Dom!” It was the first time all day he’d appeared bright and alert.

Fiona saw her new neighbor jogging along the paved shoulder in a gray hoodie and sweat-pants. A mixture of anxiety and pleasure tumbled through her. She was still agitated by yesterday’s encounter, and didn’t really want to face him.

“Stop the car, Mom! Let’s offer him a ride.”

“Oh, Sean, I’m sure he…”

Sean rolled down his window as they approached, and stuck his head out, forcing Fiona to slow down. “Hi, Dom!”

“Hey, there, Sean.” Dom kept pace with the car, jogging backward. She struggled with the impulse to floor it and leave him in the dust.

“You want a ride home?” her son asked.

Dominic glanced past him to Fiona. “Climb in,” she said, wishing she could sound more enthusiastic as she pulled onto the shoulder.

Sean unbuckled his seat belt and got out, then climbed into the backseat. “You have long legs,” he said as Dom raised an eyebrow. “The front is better for tall people.” His legs were long. He wasn’t that tall, but in combination with everything else she’d seen, the proportions were perfect.

“Thanks, Sean,” he said. He climbed in and buckled up, then turned to her with another heart-melting smile. He smelled…clean. Mixed with the fresh air and vanilla ice cream, it was just a little intoxicating.

Fiona squirmed in her seat. What did she think she was doing, sniffing her neighbor?

“You raised him well, Mrs. MacAvery,” he said.

“It’s Miz, actually. Or, um, Fiona,” she offered after a moment. “Mrs. MacAvery” was what people called her mom, and it sounded way too formal.

“Fiona.” Dom flashed her another grin. “Funny, you look like a Fiona.”

Was he flirting with her? She concentrated on her driving instead of on the irregular pulse fluttering at her throat.

“I saw you head into the bookshop across the street from the dojo this morning,” he said. “Do you work there?”

“Oh, yeah, Mom loves it,” Sean answered before she could say anything. “And she gets me all kinds of stuff to read, too.”

“And how was your day?” Dom asked him.

“Oh. It was…” He trailed off into silence.

Fiona sensed Dom looking at her.

“Sean was kicked out of fun camp for getting into a fight,” she explained quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Sean said. It was the first time today he’d offered an apology or any kind of admission that he’d been at fault. “I didn’t mean it to happen.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t start anything.”

“Wait. Sean, did you start that fight?”

“Of course he didn’t.” Fiona couldn’t believe he’d even suggest her sweet, innocent son had instigated any kind of violence. “He wouldn’t—”

Dom placed a firm hand on her shoulder. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Let him answer.”

“He called Mom a dirty word,” Sean said.

Fiona flinched. “You mean Rene? What did he call me?”