When Are You?

Chapter 3: Butterflies?-1

Chapter 3: Butterflies?Leo, six years, three months, and one sweet baby later…

“Oscar Ryan Bailey.” Leo’s admonition was good-humored rather than stern, though it could be argued that their fifteen-month-old son had earned the full-name treatment with his stubborn refusal to cooperate.

Leo rarely lost his composure. Mr. Cool, Calm, and Collected, his buddies, Danny, Otis, and Zack used to call him, although now they tacked on, “except when hitting on hot guys,” to the moniker. Leo was admittedly rough-hewn around Vinnie’s artsy friends, but yes, truth be told, he remained inwardly calm in the face of it.

The first week of summer vacation after the rush of getting all his grades submitted put Leo in an even more relaxed frame of mind. People didn’t tend to think about industrial arts teachers being mired in the same stressful layers of red tape and record-keeping as teachers in academic subjects, but they were.

Much as he loved working with his students, putting the pressures of the paperwork associated with it behind him was a weight off his shoulders. Simple tasks like helping Oscar pick up his toys or cleaning up the lunch dishes were moments to savor rather than chores to be rushed.

“Ba!” Oscar insisted.

“Which one, sweetie?” Vinnie held a selection of balls for Oscar to choose from, but Oscar continued to shake his head determinedly.

“Ba!”

Leo grinned. Oscar’s request may or may not even mean “ball.” Sometimes it did. Other times it meant “baby,” as in Oscar wanted his soft cuddly baby doll. Still other times, it meant “banana.” Or that he wanted a drink, although no longer out of the bottles, which had led to that syllable association, but still apparently referring to the fluids therein. Or…

“Binoculars?” Leo asked. After all, Oscar knew they were heading to the park, and the kid had been fascinated by the binoculars they’d brought along on their most recent visit.

“Ba! Ba! Ba!” Oscar clapped his hands.

Vinnie flashed a grimace at Leo. “We need to get a second pair if we ever want to get in any birdwatching.”

True enough. Like Vinnie, Oscar had a dog-with-a-bone determination once he got his mind set on something.

They didn’t officially know which of them was Oscar’s genetic father—they hadn’t done DNA testing—two embryos, one fertilized by each of them had been inserted into their surrogate, hoping for twins, but only one had implanted and grown to term. Still, Leo had little doubt, between Oscar’s dark curly hair and bright blue eyes that so perfectly mirrored Vinnie’s, and that familiar strength of character, that Vinnie was their son’s genetic father.

There was nary a dark or curly hair anywhere in Leo’s dishwater blond (as Vinnie referred to it) hair. Although Leo’s brown eyes could possibly be carrying a recessive blue—it was in his gene pool—both Leo and the egg donor had blond hair, so Oscar’s dominant dark brown hair could only have come from Vinnie.

Didn’t matter to either of them, though. They were both Oscar’s fathers. Didn’t matter whose genes were involved.

Oscar had come into the world, feisty and oblivious to the monkey wrench he was throwing into all their future milestones by arriving on Leo and Vinnie’s fifth wedding anniversary. That didn’t matter, either.

What mattered was the way he opened his little arms wide and smacked his soft lips when he wanted a kiss and hug. What mattered was the way he managed to both send shivers of worry down their spines and puff their chests with pride at his early show of physical prowess when he escaped his crib and scaled the child gate at his bedroom doorway. What mattered was the way he giggled and blew milk bubbles with his favorite sippy cup.

What mattered was that he’d stolen both their hearts on day one.

Perhaps they were overly indulgent, but Oscar was the one holding their compact binoculars—complete with a dubious but colorful safety chain of toy plastic interlocking links that might or might not keep them from hitting the ground should Oscar fling…er drop them—when they pushed the three-wheeled jogging stroller onto the park’s trail twenty minutes later.

Half a mile down the path, they stopped at their favorite bench. A spot with cheery blue, purple, white, and pink bachelor’s buttons wildflowers backed by a stream and a thick grove of red alder trees on one side of the trail, and a field of scattered big leaf maple trees and people throwing Frisbees and kicking around soccer balls on the other.

Leo pushed back the lime-green sun canopy and unstrapped Oscar, held up their soccer ball, and grinned widely. “Come on, kiddo, let’s kick this ball around while Daddy draws some pretty pictures.

“Pee!” Which meant pretty, at least in this context. Like “Ba,” that syllable potentially had numerous meanings. Oscar smiled at Vinnie. “Pee, pee.”

“Thank you, big guy. How about I start with a picture of you and Pop playing soccer?”

“Ba!” Oscar clapped. This time, “ba” probably did mean “ball.”

Vinnie pulled a Strathmore wirebound heavyweight drawing pad and a packet with a couple dozen Prismacolor pencils out of the stroller’s storage pouch and settled on the bench. Leo landed a light kiss on Vinnie’s upturned face and melted a little under the force of Vinnie’s beaming smile.

More than six years into their marriage and Vinnie still turned him to putty with a glance. For that matter, so did Oscar, who was bebopping across the path chanting, “Ba, ba, ba, ba.”

The binoculars were forgotten…for now. Oscar’s love of athletics was Leo’s influence. Leo jogged to catch up and swung Oscar into the air, then laughed at the little boy’s joyful squeals. Sure, Vinnie enjoyed physical activities, too, but he was more of a walking or light-jogging guy.

Although Leo’s routine of daily intense training from his military Special Forces days was over, he still worked out and maintained a number of his skills, and enjoyed participating in things like rock climbing and more active, competitive sports. He encouraged Oscar toward the same.

Nature vs. nurture? Oscar was a blend of both.

“High-five!” Leo knelt for Oscar’s soft hand slap against his palm after the boy successfully kicked the ball through Leo’s legs. “Go get it, big guy.”

Leo grinned at the ungainly gait of Oscar’s run. Over on the bench, Vinnie’s hand flew across the paper, no doubt creating action images capturing both Leo and Oscar mid-run or kick, in complete living color, with an amazing attention to just the right details to bring the image to life while still appearing understated and effortless.

Leo’s chest expanded with a deep breath of fresh air. With talented, kind, gentle yet intense and protective Vinnie by his side, he could succeed at fatherhood…a daunting undertaking he never would have thought likely for himself prior to meeting his husband. Now, he couldn’t imagine life without their son in it.

* * * *

Half an hour later, Leo swung Oscar into his arms as they returned to Vinnie.

“Ga?” Oscar reached for Leo’s sunglasses.

“Hang on, Kiddo, I’ll put them on you.”

Leo didn’t bother sitting Oscar on the bench—he wouldn’t stay anyway—and stood him on the ground beside it, instead, then carefully placed his sunglasses on Oscar’s smiling, upturned face.

“Pee, pee, pee?” Oscar chanted while Leo put the foam soccer ball in the stroller’s storage pouch.

“Want to see?” Vinnie angled the tablet toward Oscar and flipped back a few pages.

Leo peered over Vinnie’s shoulder. How did Vinnie do it? Leo had to restrain himself from reaching out and touching the image of Oscar and Leo high-fiving. A few well-placed strokes here, a smudge of shading there, and somehow the likenesses were not only clearly recognizable, but their expressions, their moods, and even a glimpse of their personalities shone through. There was no mistaking Leo’s pride in his son’s accomplishments or Oscar’s unreserved happiness.

“Pee…” Oscar’s sighed syllable reflected the reverence Leo felt.

“Thank you, sweetie-pie.”

Leo glanced up, and Vinnie turned around and stiffened when Arthur Fletcher—formally known to them as “Creeper Guy,” but who their neighbor, Miranda, had since informed them was a mildly eccentric, though seemingly harmless, archeologist—stepped out of the red alder grove behind them.

No doubt Vinnie’s tensing had been reflexive, because he knew as well as Leo that Arthur’s presence there had a reasonable explanation. There was an old archeological site near a cave behind the trees.

According to Miranda, excavation had begun there a hundred years earlier. It had been promising, with initial indications that it was up to seven to nine thousand years old, but then it had been quickly abandoned as a hoax site. The hoax had been quickly perceived, so the site had never gained the notoriety of more well-known archeological hoaxes, such as the Cardiff giant.

Sadly, the mix of curious artifacts that obviously didn’t belong, and that had been stored away, forgotten for the past century, had thrown a cloud of skepticism over what had, at first glance, appeared to be a promising archeological find. It figured that such a site would become the focus of an odd duck like Arthur. Apparently, he was trying to solve the puzzle of how the perplexing hoax had been perpetrated.

It had been a few months since Leo or Vinnie’d last caught a glimpse of the man. After the unsettling encounters shortly after moving to town, subsequent Arthur sightings had been anticlimactic and from reasonable distances, to both Leo and Vinnie’s relief.

Arthur startled when he noticed them. That was typical. He always looked anxious after spotting them. But after a quick acknowledging nod, he seemed to be pointedly trying not to look at them. Until he reached the path and crossed in front of them…then Arthur chanced another glance after catching sight of Oscar, and faltered.

Faltered, stumbled, and tripped, sprawling into a heap, practically at their feet. Vinnie, being closest, rushed to him while Leo picked up an alarmed Oscar.

“You okay, man?” Vinnie’s brows drew together as he offered a hand.

Arthur’s hand shook, and he cast a nervous glance at Leo, but he took Vinnie’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. “Yeah.” His voice was as shaky as his hand. “Sorry.” His gaze traveled back to Oscar—or was it Leo’s sunglasses?—and he bit his lip as if to keep himself from saying something.

Vinnie stiffened.

“Ga!” Oscar said as he shoved Leo’s slipping sunglasses back up his nose. Leo’s protective instincts kicked into high gear as he tightened his arms around the boy and gently patted his back.

Arthur gave Oscar a wobbly smile and an even wobblier nod before dropping his gaze to the stroller. His eyes widened, and his hand flew to stifle a gasp. He was beyond alarmed. He appeared stricken.

Leo peered around Oscar to see what had caught Arthur’s attention. The binoculars? Really? And the man had seen Oscar before, a number of times. What was different about this time?

Was it the sunglasses, which had set off one of his earlier unnerving reactions? Maybe time had dulled Leo’s perception of that years-old incident, but even that seemed mild compared to his tripping after seeing the too-large glasses on Oscar, let alone his horrified express upon spotting the binoculars loosely attached to Oscar’s stroller.

Vinnie verbalized the words Leo was thinking. “What the hell, dude?” He let the words hang for a moment, unanswered before adding, “Seriously…what the hell?”

Arthur backed away with his eyes like saucers. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Then softer, as if only to himself. “Way more than a butterfly.”

“Butterfly?” Leo studied the stroller. There were no butterflies, either real or artificial, anywhere in sight.

“What are you talking about?” Vinnie pressed.

“The butterfly effect!” Arthur choked on his words, then covered his mouth as if he wished he could recall them. He turned around in a full circle, then let out a huge breath. “I’m so sorry,” he rasped. “I can’t interfere.”

Then Arthur turned and ran.

Vinnie blinked a few times and shook his head. “Well, whatever nonsense world he’s lost in, I guess it’s a relief he thinks he can’t interfere.”

“Yeah. No kidding.” Leo’s voice was as distant as the lurching figure he stared after as Arthur put as much space as possible between them.

“He’s freaking me out.” The look Vinnie leveled at Leo was full of meaning.

Leo couldn’t quite put a finger on what specifically about Arthur was causing the sudden bitter chill running through his veins. “Me, too, babe. Me, too.”

* * * *

“I mean it,” Vinnie said a few hours later, between mouthfuls of linguini. “Arthur’s freaking me out.”

Leo stilled. Vinnie had broken out his something-needs-to-be-done-about-this-yesterday tone. Justifiably so. “I don’t like that Oscar’s on his radar now, too.”

“Exactly. And I don’t know what to think anymore. I used to think it was me. I mean, I don’t exactly have a conventional look.” Vinnie waved his empty fork at his untamed—or rather artfully tamed to look untamed—currently blue Mohawk. He also still sported more than the average number of visible piercings. “But sometimes I think it’s not so much me or us as it is particular stuff we have.”