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in the willow tree in his backyard.
    “I could teach you how to put up a ceiling,” he suggested.
    Maxwell tapped his chin, considering. “Too risky for a kid my age and of such a tender constitution.” He patted his right side. “I’m still recovering, you know.”
    “I know.” Sam held back his smirk.
    The kid was a character, and there was nothing at all wrong with that. He scanned the walls of the boy’s room, noting a chart of the human brain, the periodic table and a poster of a giant cicada. Not a team pennant in sight. Jeff’s room had been filled with sports pennants. Both he and Sam had enjoyed going to the Vikings games with their dad when he was alive.
    “So just you and your mom, eh? You ever wish you had a father?”
    “That’s a very forward question, Sam.”
    “Yeah.” Sam sat back and tossed the crayon onto the stack. “Sorry, buddy. It’s just, I don’t know…every boy needs a dad.”
    “Actually, that’s not true.” Maxwell leaned forward and turned the iPad around to type in something. “Statistics show that a majority of boys brought up by a single mother tend to thrive.” He turned the tablet computer to face Sam. It displayed a graph, but Sam didn’t study it too closely. This wasn’t a topic best discussed with graphs or charts; it should come from the heart.
    “I mean,” Maxwell continued, “look at the president. He was raised by a single mother. And look where he is now.”
    “You got me there. Your mom raised you well. I’d be proud to have a kid like you.”
    “You would? Well.” The boy studied the poster, his fingers toying with the stack of crayons. “I can’t say I wouldn’t mind if Mom fell in love someday. Of course, I would also have to like the guy, but my liking him would hinge on her liking him.”
    “That’s very generous of you, buddy. Sounds like you’ve given it some thought.”
    “Mom and I have discussed this. She’s not desperate for a husband, nor am I desperate for a father. But she would like to fall in love, and I want that for her. Are you going to kiss my mom, Sam?”
    “I, uh…” Wow. That one had come from out of left field. Sam straightened on the chair and rubbed his neck.
    “Because I’d be okay with it,” Maxwell said. “In fact, I give you permission to kiss my mom.”
    “Well, uh, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. I think I should go after that coffee she offered earlier. How about we take a break?”
    Maxwell checked his wristwatch. “Yep. Time for a break. Meet you out on the patio?”
    “Deal.”
    * * *
    Maxwell fell asleep on the hammock with a dripping Popsicle stick in his hand. Rachel carefully removed the purple-stained stick and set it on the iron table before joining Sam, who sat on the bench beneath the willow tree. Her yard was small and she shared the willow with the backyard neighbors. She’d love to find a bigger lot where Maxwell could run around, but truth was, he was more into mental play than physical.
    Of course, she could entirely imagine her son tossing a baseball with Sam. That thought made her blush and she looked aside so Sam wouldn’t notice. What was with all the blushing lately? Get a grip, Rachel .
    “Did you and Maxwell get a lot done?” she asked.
    “Yep. We started the posters, and one of the sisters at Kid Flicks emailed some guidelines for how to handle the drive. Maxwell plans to put up posters at his school and church, and I’ll take some around for grocery stores and community bulletin boards. Your son is one smart little man. Too smart for me, I think.”
    And that was it, wasn’t it? Maxwell did tend to intimidate most of her dates. If it wasn’t because the man couldn’t imagine taking on a girlfriend with a nine-year-old son, it was because said nine-year-old was often smarter than the adults and wasn’t afraid to show it. She’d never admonish Maxwell for his intelligence. If a guy couldn’t handle the kid, then he wasn’t the right man for her or her son.
    And