Frog by Mary Calmes (read along books TXT) 📗

you are,” he assured me. “We’re more than friends, but you don’t live with me, so you’re not my partner. But if I see an opening, if you give me even a sliver of a chance, I’m keeping you, so that says boyfriend to me.”

I scowled at him.

“Lover would have been better?”

“Aww hell no.”

“Well then.”

“They were like vultures.”

He chuckled. “I’m a very private man, Web. I mean, they all know I’m gay, but I would never, could never, date anyone at this hospital or associated with this hospital, and since they’re a big incestuous mess, they don’t get that.”

I nodded. “Don’t shit where you eat. I get it.”

He grunted. “They don’t. And I don’t bring dates here. No one comes to pick me up or does anything like that. They see my picture in the newspaper on the society page or in the ‘About Town’ section or something like that. They see me at fundraisers, like the one I’ll be at tonight, but they don’t see my family or meet the man I sleep with, ever. I don’t share my personal life. I never have.”

“Don’t you have friends here?”

“I have colleagues. Most of my good friends, who are doctors, have private practices.”

I nodded.

“But my best friends aren’t doctors.”

“They’re the guys who came along with you on the trip to Texas, huh?”

“Yes.”

I had to think. “There was a dentist and a lawyer and the real estate guy.”

“He’s a land developer, and yes.”

“Do you still see them?”

“We’re supposed to take a trip to Cancun in February.”

I smiled at him. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

“I’d rather stay home,” he said, eyes softening as he looked at me.

“I won’t be here.”

“You never know.”

But I did know.

AFTER we had clam chowder and bread bowls—mine the spicy kind, the kids the regular—we headed over the bridge to Sausalito. Tristan had a cell phone, amazing but true, and used it to make the important call.

“It was really good,” he told his uncle on speaker phone. “We ate it all.”

“That’s awesome,” Cy praised. “I love it when you guys eat.”

I cleared my throat.

“I hear you,” he said, chuckling, “ass.”

“Yours,” I snickered.

He groaned and we hung up. I couldn’t stop smiling.

Spending time with Carolyn’s boys was fun. Going to the psychologist proved to be a surprise. I expected an office, a couch, everything I had ever seen in the movies. What I got was an older woman, Dr. Erin Watase, on a small farm in the foothills. She had a few chickens, horses, a donkey, one cow, and four ducks. I felt more comfortable than I had in days.

“You’re a real cowboy?” she asked when she and Micah had finished their session and returned to the wrap-around wooden porch where I was relaxing in a rocking chair watching the boys push each other in the tire swing.

“Not anymore.” I smiled at her, standing up, taking off my hat. In the jeans, peacoat, scarf, sweater, hiking boots, and dress shirt, I didn’t look like one anymore either.

“Micah says you are.”

I arched an eyebrow for her. “Micah says?”

“Okay,” she admitted and grinned at me, small black eyes glinting, “you caught me. Micah draws.”

I nodded.

“Go run,” she told Carolyn’s middle child, and Micah bolted off the porch to where his brothers were. “I’m glad to see the worthless nanny is gone and you’re here.”

I looked at her. “Only for a couple weeks.”

She nodded. “Are you certain?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Well, because Micah likes you,” she told me. “He feels safe, like you won’t get hurt or leave him.”

“How would you know that?”

“Well—” She smiled at me, sitting down on the porch railing. “—when I asked him to draw something that represented you, he drew a mountain.”

“Because I’m bigger than him.” I smiled.

“I don’t think so.”

“Mountain, huh? Okay.”

“You don’t seem pleased.”

I shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“What’s wrong with being a mountain?”

“It’s so boring.” I chuckled. “I couldn’t be a mustang or a cheetah?”

She laughed softly. “A mountain is very good thing, Mr. Yates. It’s—”

“Weber.”

Her eyes flicked to my face.

“Pardon me, ma’am, but if you would please call me by my given name, I would be much obliged.”

She nodded. “Obliged. I haven’t heard that word in years.”

“I suspect not.” I sighed.

“Well,” she said and took a breath, “Weber, I will tell you that a mountain is precisely what Micah needs right now. His grandmother died in front of him, the nanny just ran away from home, and, to him, in his mind, she took his father with her. He feels abandoned by both of them. Change is not good for him. He needs a foundation.”

“He has his mother.”

“Who is frantically trying to build a quick new life for her and her children and does not have time to sit and hug him… she just doesn’t.”

“But he’s a big boy.”

“He’s six.” She nodded. “Six is not big. Six needs to be loved on very hard.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Well, he has a helluva mother.”

“Agreed, but like I said, she’s doing the best she can to first navigate her own loss and then that of her children. She’s a single parent to three boys who each require her full attention. It is a daunting task that greets her daily.”

I nodded.

“I commend her, but she needs help. Children who don’t get what they need at home—love, rules, responsibility—look elsewhere for it. Kids are in crisis right now, Weber. All of them, not just these; we’re talking thousands without enough support. Two parents are vital, and then, only a start.”

“A man and a woman?” I tested her.

“That’s one of many good combinations,” she told me. “But I like two men, two women, two men and a grandmother, two women and an eccentric uncle, or a mother or father and grandparents just as well. It doesn’t matter to me. And I’m not saying that single parents aren’t astounding—I was one, for goodness sakes—but help, relief of some kind, some form, is needed.”

“Sure. That’s why she’ll get herself a full-time nanny after I leave.”

“Weber, what children all need, across the board, are people