Free The Between Years by Derek Clendening Page B

at least refuse to appear to him again. Maybe that was Kenny's game right now, to hold out until Randy delivered Carol to him. In spite of his years of reading and studying, he couldn't think of a solution quickly enough.

    Back in the house, Randy threw up his hands and decided to stop searching. Kenny would come to him on his own terms, if ever, and Randy felt troubled to realize that their roles had reversed. He no longer possessed the control over Kenny that he once had, disorienting him. He needed time to regain his bearings. Above all, he knew he had a promise to keep and he wouldn't let it be forgotten.

    If Kenny didn't return to him now, he might never come back, Randy thought. Then he really would have awoken from a pleasant dream only to learn that it would never be a reality. That realization depressed him, but he wouldn't hang his head. He would admit that the idea that he could lose Kenny again made him die a little Part of him had died the first time he'd lost his son, like a squashed ember.

    For the rest of the day, Randy tried to start a book, but closed it after thirty pages. He tried to eat, but the food tasted bland and the fork paused at his lips before each bite. Then he tried to take a nap, but he lay in his grandfather's bed with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. He checked his watch every few minutes. He could only count down the hours, the minutes, and seconds until tonight.

CHAPTER 11
    Forgive me if the story I'm about to tell sounds bitter. It's not meant to be. I just mean to enlighten without damaging others. Through it all, I've fought to maintain perspective because, no matter what transpired between Randy and I, he is the most wonderful father in the world. And I mean that in the most literal way possible, with no hyperbole.

    Though he only had a short time to show it, Randy did all of the things you'd want a father to do. He always rolled out of bed in the middle of the night to see to the diaper changes. Feedings too. He took Kenny to the park, walked him in his stroller, read to him. That wasn't to mention the frequent visits to grandparent's and aunt's and uncle's houses. You could say that raising Kenny was the joy of Randy's life.

    My family never had many traditions, and neither did Randy's. Still, when Randy raised the idea of having our son baptized, a red flag shot up. Something about it turned me off, maybe because I've never been baptized myself. Also because I worried the meaning would be lost on Kenny. As a mother, I didn't want Kenny to be forced to enter into anything that wasn't of his free will, which was why we didn't have him circumcised. I wanted Kenny to choose for himself. And, above all, I wanted his choice to be an intellectual one.

    Before Kenny died, any disagreement we had was handled properly, and Randy was adamant that Kenny should be baptized. He explained that Christianity was part of his upbringing, even if they weren't the most devout church-goers, or he didn't obsess over it now. Then he added that First Communion and Confirmation had also been important events in his childhood and teenage years, and he didn't want Kenny to miss out on those opportunities.

    So I caved in. Don't mistake that with my simply letting Randy have his way, or that he manipulated me into snatching some sort of moral victory, because he hadn't. I simply tried to be open-minded and let Kenny experience traditions I hadn't had and didn't understand.

    We made an appointment with Father Landry, the priest at St. Paul's about Kenny's baptism. Ordinarily, the church liked to wait until the child is a full six months old before he is baptised, or so he'd said. But he was willing to squeeze Kenny in for his dip in the water at just four and a half months. Landry was the same priest who'd married Randy and I, and I felt uneasy in admitting I hadn't darkened St. Paul's' door since, but not the least bit ashamed.

    And don't think the guy didn't take the opportunity to bring it