Such Great Heights - Sydney Logan Page 0,69
the stairs.
“Everything okay?” Jackson asks.
I stand up from the couch and wrap my arms around his waist.
“Everything’s fine.”
“But you were crying,” he says, pressing his lips to my forehead. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Jackson. I promise.”
He leans down and kisses me softly.
“Are you coming to the pond with us?” he asks.
“Nah. Go have fun with the boys.”
He smiles softly. “Your dad’s great.”
“I know.”
“Found it!” Mom yells from the top of the stairs. Jackson and I follow them into the kitchen, where fishing rods and tackleboxes rest on the table.
“I get to bait the hook!” Ryder blurts excitedly as he looks up at Dad. “Right? Umm, Mister . . . I forget your name.”
Everyone laughs.
“You can call me Grandpa, if you want to,” Dad says softly.
Tears fill my eyes again. Am I going to cry all weekend?
“Grandpa,” Ryder says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I can bait the hook, right?”
Dad grins, but I can see tears glistening in his eyes, too. Who knew my old man was such a softie?
“You bet, buddy. Let’s go.”
The guys grab their gear, and Mom and I follow them out to the porch. Jackson kisses me softly before taking Ryder by the hand and heading toward the pond with my father.
Correction.
Not my father.
Ryder’s Grandpa.
“See what I mean,” Mom says, wrapping her arms around me. “Effortless.”
“May I borrow your green bucket?”
The afternoon is beautiful, so I decide to take Ryder to his favorite park right after school. He heads straight to the sandbox and immediately finds a friend from class—a little boy named Sawyer with bright blond hair and Harry Potter glasses. They’re sharing buckets and shovels in their attempt to make a sandcastle.
Selfishly, I’m grateful Ryder has a friend to play with today. Because that means I can sit on this bench and nervously watch my phone, as I wait impatiently for Jackson’s call.
This afternoon, his divorce will become final.
“I like the sandbox,” Sawyer says. “We’re not at the ocean, so the waves can’t wash it away.”
“Where’s the ocean?” Ryder asks, and I make a mental note to take my boy to the beach next summer.
As the boys play, I keep glancing at my phone, sighing heavily with each passing moment of zero information. Sawyer’s mom, who’s sitting at the end of the bench, obviously notices.
“Everything okay?” she asks. “You seem anxious.”
She probably thinks I’m a bad mom—paying more attention to my phone than to my kid.
“Sorry. Just waiting for some news.”
“Good news?”
“Very good news.”
She smiles. “I’m Autumn, by the way.”
“Olivia. Nice to meet you.”
The beautiful skies begin to darken, and Autumn tells her son it’s time to head home. Once they’re gone, I slip my phone into my jeans pocket and join my kid in the sandbox.
“It’s gonna rain,” Ryder says.
“I think so.”
“Why doesn’t it snow? It’s almost Christmas.”
I grin. The kid has had Christmas on the brain ever since we put up the tree last week.
“It’s just not cold enough yet. Maybe we’ll get a white Christmas.” I glance up at the sky as thunder rolls in the distance. “We’d better go, buddy.”
“It’s almost done,” he says, carefully lifting the bucket. “Just one more tower then you can take a picture.”
“Okay, one more tower. May I help?”
Ryder’s smile is bright as he hands me the green bucket. I dutifully fill it with sand before passing it back to him. I watch as he tips the bucket on the ground and slowly pulls it away, forming the perfect tower. He grins as I take a picture of him with his masterpiece.
“That looks great! Best sandcastle ever.”
Ryder smiles proudly before leaning his head against my shoulder.
“Best mom ever,” he says softly.
Tears fill my eyes. It’s the first time he’s ever called me mom.
“Is that okay, ‘Livia?” he asks. “Can I call you that?”
I swallow down the emotion that bubbles in my throat. I don’t want to cry in front of him, but that doesn’t stop tears from trickling down my cheeks. I’d filled the role of his mother for months now, and according to the paperwork signed by Natasha, Ryder has every right to call me by that name if he wants.
I just never expected the sweet, innocent word to turn me into such an emotional mess.
I gather my little boy—my son—into my arms and cradle him close to my chest.
“You can call me anything you want, Ryder.”
“Okay. But why are you crying?”
Kids don’t always understand happy tears. And these are definitely happy tears.
“People sometimes