Mad About You

I'll visit with Rita."

    * * *

    Bailey strode across the driveway, gravel crunching beneath his boots. As he neared Chad, he tried to force the angry thoughts from his mind. Virginia Catron was without a doubt the most infuriating woman, he'd ever known. Now that he had her back in his life, how was he supposed to adjust to being mere friends? His desire and love for her had lain dormant for years. How could he now look at her week in and week out and not reveal them?
    "Where's the barn?" Chad asked eagerly.
    At the expression on his son's face, the corners of Bailey's mouth lifted automatically. He pointed west. "Through that grove of trees. See the tin roof?"
    Chad was gone before he finished the sentence. Bailey laughed to himself and walked quickly to catch up with his energetic son. A few minutes later he was unlocking a series of padlocks on a black wooden door that spanned sixteen feet. When he swung out the heavy door, he stepped aside to let Chad enter first, then felt along the wall for the light switches.
    "Wow!" Chad exclaimed as light flooded the mini showroom. "Look at all the cars! Are all these yours?"
    "Yep."
    "How many?"
    "Twelve."
    "This is so cool! Is that a Corvette?"
    "Nineteen fifty-four. Needs a lot of work."
    "There's a Skyliner!"
    "Nineteen fifty-seven. Original retractable hardtop. Mint condition."
    "Man, oh, man—there's a Cadillac!"
    "Nineteen fifty-nine, Series 62 convertible. Everything's original but the windshield, the tires, and the paint job."
    Chad's mouth hung open in awe. "Which one's your favorite?"
    Bailey wound his way through the maze of classics to stop beside one fully-covered vehicle in the far corner. He pulled back the canvas, and Chad's eyes bugged.
    Patting the immaculate baby-blue paint job with a loving hand, Bailey said, "Nineteen fifty-three—"
    "Packard Caribbean convertible," Chad finished. "I have a model just like it—same color and everything! This is awesome! Did you do all the work yourself?"
    "Most of it. See all my tools in the back? Rita's husband, Jerry, helps me some—"
    "I can help!"
    Bailey's chest expanded. How fortunate that his son also shared a love of cars. "Great, I could use a helper. I was going to work on the 'Vette next. A mechanic friend of mine trades me use of his repair bay for free trees."
    His son frowned. "Free trees?"
    "I'm a landscaper for big office buildings and stuff. You know, bushes, trees—"
    "Flowers?" Chad made a face.
    Bailey laughed. "Yeah, even flowers."
    Chad jerked his thumb toward the cars. "Can I lift some of the other tarps?"
    "Sure, I'll help."
    As he pulled back the heavy canvasses, Bailey suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for Ginny. Chad was ignoring her, and all the reprimanding in the world from him wasn't going to make things better. In fact, it would probably make things worse. Ginny had no experience to draw from when relating to Chad. She'd been an only child, a goody-two-shoes kid raised in a loving family. Dysfunctional was largely a TV term to her. And while he didn't consider himself an expert on parenting difficult kids, he did have a qualifying background.
    When he was growing up at Shenoway, his parents were married, but had never really gotten along. He and Rita had grown used to them fighting at all hours of the day. Occasionally, his mother would kiss or hug her two kids, but not often, and he couldn't remember his dad ever touching them, except on the backside. So not only did he know what it was like to be an eight-year-old boy, but he knew what it was like to be an eight-year-old boy who'd largely relied on his wits to get by.
    As he watched his son touch and study details of the old cars in various stages of restoration, an idea began to germinate. Ginny had made it painfully clear there was no future for them, so he needed to make provisions to be able to see Chad as much as possible. And he couldn't do it living in a one-bedroom apartment above a saloon. He knew Rita wouldn't mind him bringing the boy to her house when he had visitation, but she had her own family, and it wasn't fair to impose. He needed a home of his own.
    The meadow was the only location he'd consider, but he felt a twinge of sadness. He'd hoped he and Ginny would have a home there someday, but it wasn't to be—he'd clinched that decision long ago when he'd let their marriage sour. So a home for him and his son would be the next best thing.
    Except he needed money to start building. He could talk to his boss tomorrow