“Thanks for letting me do this.” Harold cut the twine holding the trunk of his Chevelle closed to reveal his surprise.
Heather wrung her hands and forced a smile for her ex-husband. He was trying, really trying, to be a father. Winning Connor over hadn’t been easy after years of broken promises and lengthy disappearances, but he had made progress. Helping Connor buy that beat-up old pickup truck certainly hadn’t hurt. The man wasn’t creative enough to try a different tactic, so she wasn’t surprised when Harold had called and told her he had a present for Jaxon. Since they had only been home from the hospital for three days, she thought it was too soon but had reluctantly agreed.
“Where did you get it?”
Harold rested the bright-red bicycle on its kickstand and stepped back to admire it. “The consignment store downtown. I had to oil the chain and sprockets and adjust the brakes, but it runs fine now. Then I sanded the rust off the frame and painted it the same color as the one he had as a kid. Thought maybe it would remind him of it.”
She shuddered and looked away. “It might.”
He looked up at her, his head cocked to the side. His face paled. “Oh God, I didn’t think. I’m so sorry. I’ll take it away.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “No, don’t. He’ll love it. It just…”
“I’m such an idiot. The police found his bicycle in the park beside the swing set that day.”
She did her best to smile. “Yes, but it’s silly. This bike is totally different. That one was a little kid’s bike.”
“But the red. I wanted it to remind him, and didn’t think it would remind you too. I’ll take it back and paint it purple or something.”
She placed her hand on his forearm. “Harold, it’s okay. It caught me off guard, but you’re right. It probably will remind him of happier times, and that’s perfect. We need to do everything we can to take him back to normal. Besides, I can’t remember the last time I’ve taken time off work, and I’m glad I’ve spent some time with them, but two teenage boys underfoot the whole time is a little noisy. Getting out of the house will do them both some good.”
She waved off his protest and turned up the short walkway to the front door. Video-game noises squawked through the screen door, the constant sound of two teenage boys at play, but now it was both her sons and not Connor and one of his buddies. She hollered to be heard over the racket. “Boys. Your dad has something for you.”
Within seconds, the screen door squeaked open and banged shut as the boys exited the house, the soles of their tennis shoes slapping the ground. “Cool,” exclaimed Connor as he raced up and grabbed the handlebars. Jaxon froze halfway down the walk, the color draining out of his face as he stood and stared at the bicycle.
Harold and Heather exchanged a worried glance. She strained to keep her voice steady through her concern that his first connection was the same as hers—to the day he last rode his bike. “It’s a present from your dad. Do you like it?”
He swallowed hard, and his voice came out shaky. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”
Connor bounced on the balls of his feet, looking back and forth between his parents and his brother. His face brightened. “Let me get mine, and we can ride around together.”
“I don’t…” Jaxon shifted his gaze to his brother. “I don’t know how to ride it.”
Connor stopped bouncing and raised an eyebrow. “But we used to ride everywhere. You never forget how to ride a bike, right?”
Heather walked over to Jaxon and stroked his hair. “It’s been a long time, right, honey. You forgot how is all.”
“Y-y-y-yeah, that’s it.”
“Well, we can’t put training wheels on it, ’cause that would look silly.” A nervous laugh slipped out of Connor, earning him a dirty look from his mother. He dropped the smile from his face. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll teach you, Jax. Jump on.”
Heather absorbed the younger boy’s nervous look and nodded encouragement to him. He hesitantly stepped forward and slung his leg over the middle bar. As Connor held tightly to the seat and handlebars, Jaxon balanced and pleaded, “Don’t let me fall.”
“Don’t worry, little dude, I’ve got ya. Just pedal slowly.”
Jaxon remained frozen, his toes planted on the pavement. A puzzled look crossed Connor’s face, but he shrugged it off. He released the handlebars, guided Jaxon’s left foot onto the pedal, and waited for the boy to do the same on the other pedal. Without the benefit of movement, the bike remained balanced only because of Connor’s grip. Replacing his hand on the handlebars and gripping the back of the seat, Connor walked forward slowly to give Jaxon the sensation of movement. He carefully removed his hand from the handlebar and walked holding only the seat, allowing Jaxon to get the feel of the movement of the front tire as the younger boy’s knuckles turned white under his firm grip.
He patiently explained the hand brakes and dismissed the gears with a wave. “We’ll get to those later, but first I want you to pedal.” With a cautious rotation of his feet, Jaxon was soon propelling forward. Connor jogged alongside, shouting encouragement. The front wheel wobbled a few times, but he was soon moving fast enough to turn Connor’s jog into a determined run.
Connor released his hold on the seat and kept pace alongside. He continued to coach and encourage, but Jaxon had full control. Connor slowed and fell behind as he watched his brother ride around in the street.
Jaxon looked over his shoulder and realized Connor was several steps behind. He panicked and didn’t look where he was going. The bike crashed into the curb, sending both boy and bicycle tumbling through the air. He hit the grass in the yard and somersaulted, a tangle of legs and arms flying in the air.
Heather gasped and ran toward him. Harold and Connor reached him first, so she had to elbow her way past them to see the extent of his injuries. To her surprise, he was sitting up and laughing.
“Did you hurt yourself?” she asked.
He held up his left arm, the ripped shirtsleeve exposing a raw scrape and a trickle of blood on his forearm. He shrugged and said with a grin, “It’s nothing.”
The horror of his past rippled through Heather again. He wasn’t simply acting tough, as some boys would. Compared to the things he had experienced, a scrape really was nothing.
He righted the bike and climbed back aboard. With a little help from Connor, he restarted his pedaling and was soon riding up and down the block. Smiling, Jaxon regained his confidence and extended his distance in front of his brother, too far to stop a fall but never out from under the watchful gaze.
Harold stood beside his ex-wife as she alternately gasped and held her breath. “Connor’s good with him, isn’t he?”
As she started to answer, Jaxon wobbled again and struggled to correct his balance. Connor reached out to steady the bike, but the younger brother regained control himself. The boys’ laughter floated across the yards.
With a hand against her throat, she coaxed herself to relax. She couldn’t take her eyes off them as she answered Harold. “I went into the den the other night, and Connor was teaching him how to work the TV remote control. Jaxon is fascinated with movies, like he’s never seen one, but didn’t seem to know how to turn the TV on or off, change the channels, or even adjust the volume. It’s the craziest thing, all the basic stuff he has forgotten, but Con hangs in there and shows him.”
“He’s going to make a great dad someday.” Harold paused for a moment. “Much better than I ever was.”
She risked taking her eyes off the boys for a minute and turned to Harold. “You taught Connor how to ride a bike, remember?”
He looked down at the ground, but the faintest smile showed on his lips. “I remember you upset when Con came in crying, a big scrape on his knee and a tear in his jeans.”
She shrugged. “Well, moms worry about those things, but he got over it quick. And you got him right back on that bike.”
“Yeah.” Connor had stopped running beside his brother and instead stood in the road and watched him ride. Harold grinned as the bond between the boys grew. “But I wasn’t around to teach Jaxon, was I?”
“No, but Connor did. And he’s doing it again. Those are skills he learned from you.”
“But I missed teaching him myself.” He sighed, a long, low sound of mourning. “I missed so much.”
Heather wrapped her arm around his waist, an expression of affection she hadn’t shared with him in years, and squeezed. “We can’t change the past, Harold. Let’s vow not to miss tomorrow, okay?”