Free Fast Forward by Marion Croslydon Page A

gave you, the Rangers one?”
    “In the shed.” His voice was guarded. “In the garden.”
    “Should we go and get it then?” Josh extended his hand. I expected Lucas to clam up again. Instead he placed his little hand in Josh’s and, without a word, followed his lead into the backyard. If there was ever anything to say about sports as therapy, it was right now.
    I headed toward the garden to join them but stopped at the glass door. They were stepping out from the shed, Lucas running with the ball. His arm was arched above his head preparing to throw it. His face was still empty of any expression, but he was moving, exercising, working some of the grief out of his system. It was good. It was healthy, wasn’t it?
    “I’d planned to make some chocolate chip cookies.”
    I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone. I looked over my shoulder at Mrs. Loretti. She had one of those kind chubby faces that warm you.
    “I guess nothing beats football when it comes to guys.” I wanted to make her feel better because she’d tried to help Lucas.
    She kept on mixing the batter like there was no tomorrow. The woman was nervous. Was it because of me?
    “It’s very sweet of you, Mrs. Loretti. Each time I come around you’re baking something nice for my—for Lucas.”
    “Please call me Andrea.” She dismissed my comment with a shrug. “Baking is pretty much the only thing I do properly.”
    “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true. And besides, it takes a lot of skill to bake. I couldn’t even do that to save my life.”
    I take it Andrea was a card-carrying member of the Fragile Ego Club. I had a lifetime membership too. I made my way back to the rectangular table next to which she stood.
    “I have some housework to do. Andrea, you can stay if you want,” Mrs. Sorenson offered. “I wouldn’t say no to one of your chocolate chip cookies.” The woman left the room with what could almost be a smile.
    “You’ve got to share your secret with me,” I said, while my eyes welcomed the sight of Sharon Sorenson walking away.
    “What secret?”
    “You made her smile.”
    Andrea covered a chuckle with her hand. “She’s not that bad,” she whispered as if we were naughty schoolgirls winging about their teacher. “Maybe not affectionate enough, but she takes good care of him. Good food, good routine.”
    “You know a lot about kids. I mean, what’s a good routine, baking….”
    “I come from a big family. Two brothers, three sisters. I’m the oldest. So I’ve changed my share of diapers.”
    I’d been my mom’s only child, but I’d often wondered if the man who’d fathered me had other kids too. Maybe I had a large family somewhere. I kicked that thought in the butt: The only family I had—and would ever have—was playing ball in the backyard. “Will you go to the funeral?”
    Andrea shuddered. “Mr. Guidi’s?” I nodded. “I’m not sure. I never had the chance to meet him.”
    “You should come. He’d have loved you. He was crazy about Lucas and anyone who was nice to his grandson would earn serious brownie points.” My voice struggled over the last words. My teary gaze hunted some invisible stain on the stark white of the kitchen wall. Damn , I was going to miss him.
    “Then if you think it’s fine for me to attend, I will. I’m sure my husband would like to be there too. He’s fond of Lucas.”
    “Sure.” I waved at the ingredients spread over the kitchen table. “So can you show me how to make these chocolate chip cookies of yours?”
    Over the next fifteen minutes, Andrea taught me how to whisk eggs, mix the creamiest batter, and all that without wasting a drop of mixture. When she left me in charge of overseeing the cookies as they baked in the oven, I did it as if my life depended on it. During the ten minute cooking time, I thought about Alfredo and Andrea Loretti. About Shawn and Will, who’d been in Vegas last night. About Andrea Loretti again. Hearing Sharon Sorenson in the background reminded me of