Well, that, and the love for books Ressa had discovered.

Hopefully Neeci would find herself as addicted to learning as Ressa had been, even if Ressa had discovered her love for it a little later in the game.

Moving with the flow, she pointed toward some of the signs on the walls, watching as Neeci giggled at a handmade shark that towered over one door—Fourth graders are friends—not food.

“That’s silly,” Neeci said, a smile slowly replacing the nerves.

“Yeah. But funny. I hope sharks can read.”

Neeci rolled her eyes, an expression that was so patently like her mother that Ressa could only shake her head.

“Here we go— Oof!”

She almost toppled as a boy-shaped tornado tried to run her down. His face was pale, his eyes huge . . . and filled with tears. Instinctively, she went down to one knee.

“Oh, hey now . . .” She reached up and brushed a hand across his hair. Golden blond curls tumbled right back into his face and brilliant, blue green eyes stared up at hers.

Her heart wrenched.

“Clayton?”

Half-wild, he shook his head, his eyes wheeling all around.

“Clayton!”

A shiver raced down her spine.

She squeezed her eyes closed.

Oh, no . . .

“Ressa, what’s wrong?” Neeci asked in a tiny whisper.

Oh, just about everything . . .

Chapter Fourteen

The rush of emotion that slammed into him was too intense to define.

Especially in that moment.

Ressa Bliss was kneeling in the doorway, one arm draped around his son, and the sight of the two of them was like a punch straight to the solar plexus.

As he stood there, Clayton blinked and seemed to focus on Ressa. “Miss Ressa?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong, sugar?” she asked.

He just shook his head, and threw his arms around her neck, clinging to her.

“Clayton.”

Clayton wordlessly shook his head.

The image of his son, clinging to Ressa, imprinted itself on his memory, an afterimage that lingered even when he paused and closed his eyes for a span of a few seconds to make sure he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing.

When he opened his eyes, she was still there and she’d shifted her attention from Clayton to him. She lowered her lashes and then looked back at him, and when she did, the surprise was replaced by the sort of pleasant blankness he’d expect from a stranger.

Okay, not liking that, he decided.

But he’d deal with it later.

People were trying to squeeze in around them as they huddled in the doorway.

Ressa noticed as well, and she stood, boosting Clayton up. Then she held out a hand to the child with her and eased back out into the hall.

The little girl watched it all with wide, pale gold eyes that took in everything around her.

He tried to puzzle that one out—was the girl her daughter? Some vague memory of Ressa mentioning a little girl worked free and the puzzle was solved a minute later as the girl leaned her head against Ressa’s hip—he envied her for a minute there. She asked, “Ress, what’s wrong with him?” She went to poke her thumb in her mouth.

Deftly, Ressa caught her wrist. “Remember that talk about germs, Neeci,” she said, her voice absent.

She met Trey’s gaze steadily, but she wasn’t as steady as she pretended to be.

“Here,” he said, his voice gruff.

She passed Clayton over, although the boy clung tight to her neck. Once he had Clayton in his arms, the boy did the same thing to Trey that he’d been doing to Ressa, clutching tight in a child’s version of a stranglehold, his face in Trey’s neck.

Trey blew out a sigh, bringing his hand up to cup the back of the boy’s head. Turning away, he asked quietly, “What’s up there, man?”

Off to the side, he could hear Ressa talking in a low voice, while the girl started on an endless tirade of questions.

Tuning them out, he rubbed his cheek against Clayton’s head, still waiting. “Come on, Clay. Talk to me.”

“They have their moms. Everybody.” His voice was watery now and when he spoke again, he was louder, his response perilously close to a sob. “They all have their mommy with them, but I don’t!”

Trey felt his heart crack, right down the middle.

But before he could find any way to answer, a soft voice said, “I don’t.”

Clayton stopped in mid-sniff. Head now tucked against Trey’s chest, he shifted around until he could see the girl. From the corner of his eye, he watched Ressa rise, resting a protective hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“You don’t have your mommy here?” Clayton asked, his voice just above a whisper.

The girl had old eyes, Trey thought. And when she spoke, her voice held the edge of an anger that didn’t suit that delicate face or her youth. The girl slid Ressa a look, caught between defiance and a child’s hurt. He found himself wanting to hug her close, stroke away some of the hurt he sensed behind the anger.

“No. She’s . . .” She stopped, her words trailing off.

“Gone.” The hand Ressa had placed on the girl’s shoulder tightened gently. Ressa looked at Trey for a quiet moment before shifting her attention to the boy. “Neeci doesn’t have her mama here either, sweetheart. She knows how hard it can be. Maybe the two of you can hang out. It’s easier, I bet, with a friend.”

Clayton eased back from Trey’s chest, stared at the girl curiously. “You’re a girl.”

Neeci blinked. “And you are a boy.” Then she folded her arms over her chest. “I run fast.”

“I bet I run faster.” Tears momentarily forgotten, Clayton wiggled until Trey put him down. Standing in front of Neeci, he rocked back and forth on his heels. “I don’t like dolls and stuff.”

“Neither do I.” Neeci rolled her eyes, a look that was far too grown up considering how young she had to be. Then she smiled. “I’m Neeci.”

A few moments later, the two of them were inside the classroom and Trey breathed out a sigh of relief as the band around his chest loosened. None of the kids had seemed to notice.

Painfully aware of the woman who was taking great pains to avoid him, he spoke with Clayton’s kindergarten teacher—Mr. Boyd Franklin. Round cheeked and a little thick around the middle, he looked to be in his late twenties, and he’d already introduced himself to most of the parents and most of the kids, taking care to chat, even if it was only for a moment.

He noticed things, something Trey could appreciate.

He’d definitely noticed Clayton’s momentary panic.

“How long ago did his mother die?”

Trey folded his arms over his chest, watching as Clayton and Neeci giggled over one of the books he’d found on a bookshelf. “It’s . . . complicated,” he finally said. “But Clayton never had the chance to know her. Being around the other kids, their moms . . . it’s going to be hard for him, I think.”

“That’s rough.” Boyd didn’t offer any empty sympathy, just stood there in silence and then, after a moment, he smiled. “It looks like he’s made a friend already.”

It did, indeed.

Trey gave it a few more moments and then broke away, cutting through the sea of backpacks, desks and small bodies to crouch by his son. Better to leave now while there was still chaos, he figured. Clayton would be so busy he would barely notice anything else.

“I’m going to head on home, big guy,” he murmured when there was a break in the conversation. One that involved bugs . . . and bug guts, he noted with some revolted amusement.

Clayton whirled around. “But . . .” His mouth opened, closed. Then, small shoulders drooping, he reached out and touched his father’s cheek. “What are you going to do all day? Aren’t you going to be lonely without me?”