Free The Between Years by Derek Clendening Page A

least, Randy thought he had died-just six months ago, and there was no way he could have grown up so fast. And what a bright, eloquent and polite boy he was! He was the kind of boy Randy had hoped to raise. Reading to him at a young age had paid off so far, but he understood that he simply felt the pride a dad should feel for his son.

    But the three and a half years in between . . . . Randy realized how much he had missed in those rapid years. Kenny must be fully potty-trained by now. He never thought he would miss diaper changes, but he surprised even himself. And when had Kenny given up the bottle for regular food? What had his first words been? Where had he gone to pre-school? That he had missed those moments drained some joy from the miracle, and he encouraged himself to be grateful for what he had.

    And there would be even brighter days ahead, Randy decided. Soon, he would be able to read Kenny more advanced stories, help him to learn to read early and create his own stories, and he would have one up on other kids at school.

    First, he at least needed to be able to find the kid. “Kenny!” he called. “Kenny where are you?” Silence. Though he felt silly for calling him like this, he knew there was no other way to approach the situation. Kenny was alive, he was somewhere in the house, and Nana's room was loaded with proof.

    “ Come on, Kenny, come on out here. Don't play games with Daddy now.”

    He skipped downstairs, checked the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, Nana's studio, the washroom and every closet but found them all empty. Then he burst out onto the back porch to see if he was playing in the yard, but only found a vacant tire hanging by a rope from a tree branch.

    Randy slapped the doorframe as he stormed back inside. Kenny had grown up tremendously in a short time span, with or without Randy, but he was slick, he told himself. In fact, he was exactly the kind of kid he'd wanted him to be, which meant he was self-reliant, resourceful and would return to him safe and sound when he was ready. At least he continually told himself that.

    Calling the police crossed his mind, but what would he tell them? That his six month old son . . . no, scratch that, his four year old son had returned from the grave (or had never been dead at all) had suddenly appeared and now he had run away? If the cops showed up-which was a distinct if dubious possibility-they would either haul him in for crank-calling 9-1-1 or have him committed at the nearest insane asylum.

    Randy decided he would take any risks now, which felt tenfold worse. That left him with all the time in the world to feel the cold grease in his palms, the Styrofoam taste in his mouth and the ever-tightening knot in his midsection.

    And how would he explain this to Carol? Would he even tell her? Whether she believed him or not, he wasn't sure if he wanted to share the news with her. Even in bad times, he felt obligated to tell her as the father of her son, but this felt different, an exception. He and Kenny had shared a special father-son bond that didn't concern Carol in the least. But he couldn't tell himself that for very long and still believe it. Deep down, he knew he was being devilishly selfish by keeping this quiet, and that Carol deserved to know, no matter the circumstances. Therefore, he decided he would tell her once he was ready.

    Besides, he'd promised Kenny that he could see his Mommy very soon. And there was no way he could break a promise to his special little boy, especially now that he'd gone through so much just to return to him. He'd defied the laws of nature, that boy had, he thought. The trick now was to convince Carol that this was really happening and to bring her to Kenny. Like a gift . . . or an offering. They could be a family again in spite of all the heartache he and Carol had suffered. Randy shuddered to imagine what would happen should he be unable to produce. Kenny could hate him forever (worst-case scenario) or