Mad About You

appealing, and she tried not to analyze her relief that Bailey seemed to be more himself than he had been the last few days. "I need to run down to the corner for a few groceries." She nodded in the direction of the back door and smiled. "He's eating me out of house and home."
    "Why don't you go and I'll get the grill started?" His voice softened. "I'll feel him out, then you can talk to him when you get back. By that time he'll probably be more settled."
    Unable to argue with his logic, Virginia nodded and picked up her purse. "I'll be back in a few minutes." To be honest, she was looking forward to a few minutes alone and away from the house to help clear her head.

    * * *

    Bailey stepped onto the patio, then slid the glass door closed behind him. He passed an admiring, professional glance over the tidy fenced backyard, keeping an eye out for his son. The redbrick patio measured about ten feet by fifteen feet, large enough for a green wrought-iron table and four chairs, plus a gas grill. The masonry yielded to tall plant boxes, and finally, a strip of lush fescue. Ginny had compensated for her legendary lack of a green thumb by planting perennials and evergreens, and connecting the beds with impressive walkways. A three-foot fountain gurgled in a far corner, flanked by crape myrtles, the dwarf trees blooming brilliant fuchsia in the heat.
    The toe of a white tennis shoe protruded past the edge of the fountain base. Bailey noisily uncovered and lit the grill, then sauntered over to his son's hiding place. Chad stared straight ahead, clutching the broken game, his lashes wet. Bailey sighed. "Want to talk about it?"
    Chad remained completely still. "No."
    Bailey squatted and lowered himself to the ground, his back against the fountain. "She's hurting too, you know."
    His son scoffed. "Yeah, right."
    "She's been crying on my shoulder."
    Chad rolled his eyes. "Bet you liked that."
    Bailey blinked in surprise. "That obvious, huh?"
    "That you're still hung up on her? Yeah, it's pretty obvious."
    Exasperated, Bailey asked, "So how did you get so wise?"
    Chad glanced over with a lopsided grin. "I keep my eyes open."
    Grunting in response, Bailey said, "So tell me what happened today."
    His son shrugged. "She was the one who told me to get out the pictures of my mom, then she freaked out and went running to her bedroom. At first I felt kind of bad, but when I heard what she was saying about Mom"—his voice choked—"I got really mad."
    "Hm. Then what?"
    "I went to my room and locked the door. When I wouldn't let her in, she threw my game down the stairs."
    "Did you see her do that?"
    Chad bit his lip. "No, but I know she did it. She wants me to forget about my other mom, but I can't, and I don't want to."
    Bailey took a deep breath and folded his hands together. "Well, Ginny thought she could handle seeing the pictures of you and Lois, but she couldn't. And she wouldn't have said what she said if she'd known you were listening. Besides"—he reached over and carefully withdrew the broken game to inspect it—"can't you understand the way Ginny might feel toward Lois, even a little bit?"
    "No," Chad insisted.
    "After you were kidnapped, your mother was inconsolable. She used to sit in your nursery for hours, rocking in her rocking chair. She wouldn't eat or sleep. She was worried sick about you. We both were."
    "But Lois took good care of me."
    Bailey frowned. This was a touchy subject. "And we're grateful that Lois took good care of you, but that still doesn't make up for the fact that you were our baby, our son, and she took you away from us."
    "Do you hate Lois too?" Chad asked.
    Angling his head, Bailey answered as honestly as he could. "I used to hate some nameless, faceless person who stole you from us, but since the minute I heard you'd been found, I haven't really thought about it. I'm just happy to have you back. And so is Ginny."
    Chad looked at the game, then raised his eyebrows hopefully. "Can it be fixed?"
    Clicking his jaw in doubt, Bailey said, "It doesn't look good. Sorry, buddy. But we'll get you a new one."
    "Maybe not—she wouldn't let me have the bike," Chad pointed out.
    "She had a good reason for that," Bailey said in a stern voice. "This is different."
    "I want to come live with you."
    Bailey's heart contracted. Few things would make me happier. He set down the radio and looked back to his son. "We already talked about that."
    "But I hate it here, and I can't get along with her."
    "Her name is