Fireside by Susan Wiggs (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

The charges were dropped on condition that Bo stay away from Yolanda for good. Since he couldn’t afford a lawyer to fight an actual charge, he conceded defeat. Her family moved away and he could find no friend or neighbor to say where she had gone. He later heard she’d been sent to live with her father’s sister in Laredo.

Not long after, the chance of a lifetime had appeared before him—an opportunity to train with a farm league team affiliated with the Houston Astros, and Bo had seized it. He told himself he’d never stop searching for Yolanda, but he was out of ideas.

And that, he admitted to the sleeping boy in his living room, was only the first time he’d turned his back on his kid. Although Yolanda had forbidden him to see the boy, Bo now wished he’d fought harder for his rights as a father.

Moving quietly through the small apartment, he opened the plastic zipper pouch with AJ’s ID in it, studying the copy of the birth certificate. Hell, no wonder the kid went by AJ instead of his whole name. Place of birth: Laredo, Webb County, Texas. He stared at the date, unable to remember what he’d been doing that day more than twelve years ago.

After Yolanda, Bo dated any girl who said yes to him. He wanted to see if Yolanda was right—if he was in love with her specifically or if he was in love with love. Turned out Yolanda was neither wholly right nor wholly wrong. He loved every girl he was with. Yet the moment Yolanda called, he was prepared to drop everything and rush to see her, but she still didn’t want that. “This is just to tell you I had a baby boy last night. AJ. AJ Martinez,” she stated.

“Can I come see him?”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Hell, Yolanda, then why’d you even bother to call?”

“I thought you’d want to know.”

“What I want to know is why you cut me off when I said I wanted to be with you. What I want to know is why I’m not a part of this.”

“Because we’re living in Laredo now. My aunt has a bridal shop….”

He told her about the bank account then, the one he’d opened for the baby. Coach Holmes had helped him set it up and explained how it would work. A bank official had opened an escrow account that could be accessed by the child’s legal guardian. It wasn’t much because he didn’t earn much, doing odd jobs wherever he could. But he promised he would always add to the fund.

“Why would you do that?” Yolanda asked after a long silence.

“Because you won’t let me do anything else,” he said.

Bo tried not to resent Yolanda for keeping AJ from him, only bringing them together when disaster occurred and she had nowhere else to turn. Fact was, even if she’d invited him to be part of AJ’s life, Bo probably would have kept his distance. The child-support payments he voluntarily sent were, for him, a kind of penance. He’d caused a child to come into the world, after all.

He went to the sofa and checked on AJ. Still asleep. The boy’s face was erased of all the tension and anxiety and anger of last night. He was a good-looking kid, despite being puny. He probably took after his mother. Bo remembered her pretty smile and thick eyelashes, large doe eyes that seemed to sparkle just for him. Bo didn’t know what AJ’s smile looked like. The boy looked as if he’d never smile again, and Bo really couldn’t blame him.

That sleeping face held secrets Bo knew nothing about. There was a tiny whitish scar by his mouth. A Band-Aid around his right thumb. Was AJ right-handed? Or left, like Bo?

AJ was only here temporarily but if he did nothing else for the boy, Bo would make sure they got to know one another. That was the least he could do.

He took a quick shower and dressed for the weather, with thermal layers and thick socks under his jeans. When he popped his head through the neckline of his undershirt, he felt someone watching him. “Hey, AJ,” he said.

The boy was sitting up on the sofa, surrounded by the rumpled covers and slowly blinking in the half light. He reminded Bo of a just-hatched chick, disoriented and looking for something to lead him in the right direction. His dark hair was tousled, his face a little puffy. He looked chastened, as though someone had yelled at him. Hell, maybe he did get yelled at. Maybe worse. The thought of anyone hitting this kid made Bo fierce. Yet he acknowledged that the feeling of protectiveness came about twelve years too late.

“Can we call my mom?” asked AJ.

“Sure.” Bo dialed the number in Houston, same as he’d done the day before, several times. He doubted anything had changed, but went through the motions anyway. “No answer,” he reported when it went to voice mail.

“Let me try.”

Bo handed him the phone, watching the boy’s solemn face as he listened to his mother’s cheery bilingual greeting. The large brown eyes flooded with an expression so sad it made Bo want to put his fist through the wall. He knew nothing had changed since they’d called from the airport, but hell. The kid needed to see him doing something. “Let’s try the detention center.” He used the number Mrs. Alvarez had given him. It kicked immediately over to a frustrating bilingual menu, requiring him to press numbers until he was ready to pound the phone into the floor. After several minutes of button pressing, he made his way to a recorded message. With exaggerated care, he shut off the phone. “The center’s closed on weekends and after hours, except in case of emergency.”

“This is an emergency.”

“I know it feels that way. Hang in there, okay? Is there anybody else you can call? A relative