Page 96 of Big Bad Wolfe

“I’ll write the note for you.”

“I guess, but I can’t read very good, either.” Fresh tears welled up. “That was my only very first tooth.”

Zane stroked the child’s hair, thinking. Though the old man had taunted Zane for being a “sissy”, his mom had assured Zane he had artistic talent. He’d doggedly pursued his beloved hobby, and had especially liked sketching portraits. There was something so satisfying about capturing a person’s inner essence on paper.

He’d been in the middle of a graduation portrait of Trevor when his brother died. Zane hadn’t had the heart to pick up a brush or drawing pencil since.

But now, his son needed consoling.

“Tell you what, Casey. We’ll draw her a picture. That way, you can understand it too.”

Holding his breath, Zane began to draw. Unsteady at first, his hand soon remembered the rhythm. Before long, he’d completed a short series of sketches featuring Casey swallowing his tooth.

“That’s me,” Casey breathed, enchanted. “You drewme.” He clutched the paper to him. “The Tooth Fairy willlovethis. Will you sign your name? And can I write my name beside yours?”

“You bet.” Feeling oddly poignant, Zane added his signature.

He watched while the little boy’s short fingers struggled with the pencil, laboriously eking out a wobblyCASEYin block letters.“Great job, pal.”

Agonizing realization torpedoed him.

He wanted to stay and see his son grow into manhood.

Detach, Wolfe.

Swallowing the throbbing lump in his throat, he forced a hearty tone. “Let’s go see how those sandwiches are coming along.”

Holding Casey’s hand, he walked into the kitchen. Where he jerked to a dead-stop, staring in stunned horror. The place had been hit by a double-whammy F-5 storm. Hurricane Robbie and Hurricane Donnie.

Bread cascaded from the wrapper on the counter onto the floor, which was a swampland of water puddles and purple Kool-Aid. Peanut butter gooped the countertops, cabinets and both boys. Aragorn perched on the table, purring like a ’57 Chevy without a muffler as he licked the inside of the peanut butter jar. A gritty sugar trail meandered from the sugar canister, over the counter, and across the floor to the table, where sugar coated both boys from head-to-toe, turning them into frosty snowmen.

At the table, Donnie industriously wielded a jam-laden spatula. He slathered another slice in a tottering pile of mangled peanut butter and strawberry jam-coated bread, then licked it.

Robbie stood on a chair, his arm immersed in a pitcher of purple Kool-Aid … stirring it with his hand. He was naked.

Zane tried to speak three times before any words emerged. “Where’s your clothes?” was all he could think to ask.

“They got sugar in them,” Robbie stated. “They itch.”

A startled gasp behind him made Zane whirl around.

Jillian was framed in the kitchen doorway, eyes huge. A slim gray-haired woman wearing a dark green suit and carrying a briefcase stood stiffly at attention beside her.

Jillian gave him a wobbly smile. “Zane, this is Mrs. Stevens.” She gulped. “The adoption caseworker.”

Chapter 16

Jillian heard Zane’s teeth snap together with an audible click. “Well, hell,”he muttered under his breath.

Recovering with admirable speed, he extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Stevens.”

“I knocked,” she said. “But you must have been too preoccupied to hear. Luckily, Jillian arrived before I left.”

“Yeah,” Zane replied. “Sorry. We’re having a late lunch. And believe me, it’s no picnic.”

“Hi!” Robbie chirped. “Zane let us fix our own lunch.”

“He’sawesome,” Donnie added. “For a rookie.”

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