Kitabı oku: «No.1 Dad in Texas», sayfa 2

Belle watched him amble down the hall and out the back office door, admiring that same swagger she’d always admired. “So, what are you up to, Cade?” she asked, under her breath, as she shrugged into her white lab coat and headed off to see her first patient of the afternoon. “What are you really up to?” And how was she going to stay resistant to it? That was the big question.

“How would you like to spend more time with your dad this summer, Michael?” Kicking her shoes to the other side of the room, Belle dropped back onto the sofa and lay there, flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Michael,” she said again, without glancing over. She knew what he was doing. Playing video games. The love of his life. Lately, though, he hadn’t been playing them so much as creating one of his own, doing preliminary sketches, working out the story details. “Did you hear me? I asked if you’d like to spend more time with your dad this summer.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, his rapt attention still fixed on his game.

“Well, he’s here. In Big Badger.” Not that telling him would make a difference, but he did process the information. Just not always on the spot. “And he wants to spend the summer with you. So you’ll have to start thinking about all the things you’d like to do with him, maybe make a list. OK?”

“Yeah,” he said.

Belle was sure he was simply telling her what she wanted to hear, and paying absolutely no attention to her at the same time. Complex mind. So complex that it scared her sometimes. Most of the time, though, she didn’t think about it. Because to Michael she was only Mom, doing the mom things she was supposed to do. Like making dinner. Her next chore. “What do you want to eat?” she asked him, then added, before he answered, “Not pizza. We’ve had that two night in a row now. So, what else?”

“Pizza,” he said anyway.

She wasn’t sure if that was because pizza was truly his favorite food or if it was simply what came to mind first, turning it into the easiest way to respond to her yet still stay focused on what he was doing. “No pizza,” she said emphatically.

“OK.” He turned to her, grinning. “Fried chicken, mashed potatoes without lumps with white gravy without lumps, corn on the cob and homemade biscuits. With honey.”

Belle moaned, then laughed. He did this on purpose—his sense of humor. Michael knew she couldn’t cook, at least not that kind of meal. And he teased her about it. “You mean hamburgers, don’t you? On the grill?”

“Can I cook them?” he asked.

“Do pigs fly?” she asked, teasing him.

“Only in another universe, Mom,” he said, then turned back to his game.

“When you say something cute like that, you know what I’m going to have to do, don’t you?”

“No!” he squealed, curling himself into a ball. “Not that!”

Belle rolled off the couch then crawled on hands and knees across the floor to Michael, who was rolling away from her. “Yes, that! The cuddle game. You know how much I love the cuddle game.” Her cuddle game was a form of hug therapy used on children who had an aversion to being touched, like Michael had had when he’d been younger. It was one of several sensory issues she’d been dealing with, along with loud noises and some bright colors. It had taken Belle years to get him to the point where accepting physical affection was a pleasant experience for him. Sometimes, even now, she wasn’t sure if it was or if he was merely putting on an act to placate her. Either way, it didn’t matter. A few minutes to cuddle her son meant everything. Everything.

“Can he come to dinner?” Michael asked, before Belle had even gotten all the way over to him.

Of all things, that was the one question that stopped her dead, threw that bucket of water on the cuddle game. Could Cade come to dinner? Her first response was, When pigs fly! She didn’t want to spend the evening with Cade. Didn’t particularly even want to be in the same room with him. But this was Michael asking. Michael, who never asked for anything except more RAM for his computer. “Well, I have a better idea than that. Why don’t I call your dad and see if he’ll come take you out for pizza?” Which was exactly what she did, when Michael’s attention, once again, returned to his game.

“He wants pizza, he wants you,” she said to Cade, when he answered his phone. “And what’s with the pickup truck I saw you in earlier?” A sleek, low-riding sports car was more his style.

“Had to rent something.”

“Well, Michael’s never been in a pickup truck so I don’t know if that’s going to work. You can leave it here and borrow my car.”

“Or I can leave your car right where it is and take him in the truck. Or would the two of you rather meet me somewhere?”

“I prefer the sound of a boys’ night out, while I take a long, hot bath and finish that mystery novel I’ve been trying to finish for the last month.” A night that might have, under different circumstances, been perfect. Tonight, though, the image of a cozy little family of three eating pizza together popped into her thoughts, making her feel, well, not sad for the present so much as sad for the things they’d had in the past. It seemed like such a long time ago. So far away it was difficult trying to remember when they’d been happy. They had been, though. In the early years, when Michael had still been a baby and she had been plunking along through medical school a little at a time, trying to balance motherhood and career. Good times for a while. So many hopes and dreams. Bright futures in the planning. But with a supportive husband for only such a short while before he’d started retreating. “Oh, and I’ve told Michael you’re going to be here for a while, and to get a list ready of things he wants to do with you. And before you tell me there’s nothing he wants to do with you, you’re wrong. There are a lot of things. You have to be patient, getting him to tell you.”

“But he will,” Cade replied. “Isn’t that what you always tell me? Be patient, and he’ll do it. Except he never does, Belle. Never does.”

He did, though. Cade simply wasn’t very good at picking up on the subtle signs. The irony was that that was a typical Asperger’s symptom. Only thing was, while Michael had Asperger’s, Cade did not. And it was Cade’s lack in that area that was, in part, responsible for the death of their marriage. “Then work on it. And, please, not video games and computers. He gets enough of that in his day-to-day life, and he really needs something else.”

“In Big Badger, Texas? What else is there, Belle? You pretty much came to the end of the earth with this job, and I can’t see this place being exactly stimulating for a child.”

“In Big Badger, Texas, you have to use your imagination. Get used to it, Cade. You’re the one who chose to spend six weeks here.” She thought she heard a groan on the other end of the phone. She smiled. “Pick him up in an hour. And make sure he wears his seat belt in that truck. He’s in a new phase where the seat belt bothers him, and he’ll take it off if he thinks you’re not watching. So watch him!”

“Anybody ever tell you to lighten up?”

“Anybody ever tell you that we’re divorced and I’m none of your business any more?” Still smiling, she clicked off. But rather than being angry, she was wondering if having Cade around for a while might be good. Definitely for Michael, but maybe a little bit for her, too? Funny thing was, since the moment she’d heard his voice out there on the Chachalaca, she’d had this peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, it was gone.

CHAPTER TWO

OK, so maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, taking a leave of absence and coming to Texas. Not the most thought-out either, since he’d done it on the spur of the moment. But, damn it, he missed Michael. For all the rough patches in their relationship, and there were plenty of them, his kid was his life, and he hated it that he couldn’t see him any time, like he’d done before Belle had moved to Big Badger.

It was about his brother Robbie, too. It was his birthday today. That was another regret, realizing how much he’d missed. And guilt. Feeling it more acutely as the years rolled on. Recognizing he was well on that track with Michael, too.

So he’d endure Big Badger for a few weeks, see what he really wanted to do after that, and the trade-off for the things he hadn’t figured out yet was extra time to spend with Michael while he was traveling through yet another undecided phase of his life. Maybe, just maybe, he’d find a way to relate to his son better or, at the very least, get Michael to respond to him.

Spending time with Belle was also something he’d given a lot of thought to. He’d caused the divorce. There was no other way to look at it. She’d needed a husband, and he’d needed—well, he still didn’t know the answer to that, did he? But whatever it was, he owed Belle in a big way for the letdown of a husband he’d been, and while he couldn’t make that up to her, he could make some amends by being a better father.

How? He wasn’t sure. There weren’t many options open to him. But somewhere inside those next six weeks, maybe he’d prove himself to Michael, and also to Belle, by showing how he was more than the father who simply appeared at the door to pick up his kid every couple of weeks. What would he get from Belle in return? He didn’t have a clue, but he was willing to take anything. Michael needed that. So did he. Because those were some feelings he had to resolve as well while he was here.

Tall order to fulfill—better dad, better ex-husband. To move forward, though, that was his agenda, otherwise he’d have to step away from them altogether, for Michael’s sake, he told himself. Whatever he did, it had to be for Michael’s sake. And for Belle’s. Because, God knew, he didn’t deserve anything for his own sake.

“So, what kind of pizza do you want?” he asked Michael, as they headed to the truck.

“Mom coming?” Michael asked, trailing along behind Cade by a good ten large steps.

“Mom’s tired tonight. So it’s only going to be the two of us.” Not the best choice of words apparently, because once Michael heard them he stopped, then turned around and headed back to Belle’s front door. A purposeful march, and a very obvious one. Michael wanted his mother, not his dad. Understanding that, Cade felt his heart fall.

“I’ll get her,” Michael said.

“But she doesn’t want to come.” Neither did Michael.

“That’s OK. She likes pizza, too. Just not every night.”

With that, Michael disappeared back into the house, leaving Cade standing alone on the sidewalk. Feeling rotten. Inadequate. Feeling like an idiot for not knowing what to do now. Should he go after Michael, insist that pizza was only for the two of them? Ask Belle to come along to make the situation better? These were the things that eluded him, the things he should know how to manage. But didn’t.

“See, this is the way it always is,” he said, clearly frustrated when Belle appeared at the door with Michael in hand.

“I explained it, and now Michael understands that I’m not part of the pizza party tonight. He was just afraid that I might not fix myself anything for dinner.”

It was more than that. It was Michael showing concern for his mother in a way Cade had never seen. Or had never felt from Michael himself. It was a proud moment, seeing that in his son, yet a profoundly sad one as well. To Belle’s credit, though, for being such a good mother to Michael. “And will you?”

Belle shook her head. “Too tired. I’ll grab an apple, maybe some yogurt, and I’ll be good.” She scooted Michael out the door, then took a step back. “So you two have fun tonight. And I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Sure you don’t want to come with us?” Cade called.

“Sure,” she said, shutting the door.

This time she locked it. Cade heard the bolt latch. “OK, then. It really is just the two of us.” And a whole summer ahead, with more of this. On top of which, he was going to be with Belle. Now, that was going to be the bigger challenge. Belle Elise Foster Carter—the best of his life while he was the worst of hers. Yes, she was definitely going to be the biggest challenge he was going to face in Big Badger, Texas.

“So tell me about school,” Cade said, handing a slice of pizza, pepperoni only, over to his son.

“It’s OK,” Michael replied, his attention fixed squarely on a floor-sized video game in the corner of the restaurant—a road-race game meant for kids twice his age.

“Is math still your favorite subject?”

“Um, yes.”

“Still like your science classes?”

“Uh-huh.”

It was clear Michael was more interested in the game than his dad, and Cade understood that. Still, it was frustrating not being able to hold his son’s attention for more than a fraction of a second, basically losing out to a game, and he was fighting to keep in his nettled sigh. Belle had the relationship with Michael he wanted. He was glad for her. But it bothered the hell out of him that, no matter how hard he tried with Michael, he was barely on his son’s radar. “Want to go play?” he finally asked, giving in to the obvious.

Michael nodded his head and, for a second, glanced at Cade. His expression was … happy? Did he see happiness in his son’s eyes, or was that merely wishful thinking? As quickly as Michael looked over, though, he looked away. Right back at the video game.

“After you finish your pizza,” Cade said. “Deal?”

Michael nodded. “Deal.” Then he crammed the rest of his pizza into his mouth, so much so his cheeks bulged as he tried to chew it and swallow. Finally, his mouth cleared, he held out his hand to Cade. “Money, please.”

“How much?” Cade asked, not expecting an answer.

“It’s a dollar a game. Can I play ten games? Because that would be ten dollars.”

Explained very seriously. But it was the most Michael had said all evening and for that Cade rewarded him with ten dollars. For a moment it crossed his mind to go play the game with Michael, but he knew that would cause his son more frustration than he could deal with, so he twisted his chair to watch, then leaned back to make himself more comfortable. “I’ll save you some pizza for later,” he said, before Michael scampered off.

“Thanks, Dad,” he said, clutching the handful of dollar bills like they were a lifesaving elixir.

Cade blinked his surprise. “You’re welcome. Oh, and, Michael …” he called, as Michael was already halfway across the room. “Have fun.”

“It was nice, hearing him call you Dad,” Belle said, settling into the chair next to Cade.

“Thought you were staying home.”

“Turns out I can’t.”

“Because you don’t think I can take good care of our son?” he asked. “Because you want to see, in action, how you’re the good mom and I’m the bad dad?”

Immediately, Belle bristled. “Don’t go there, Cade. I didn’t come down here to fight with you. I’ve got to go out to the Chachalaca again, to see a couple of the holdouts. The ranch owner threatened them with their jobs and now they’re willing to let the lady doc treat them. So don’t hassle me. This is my fourth time out there, and I’m not happy about it.”

“I could go,” he offered. “Seriously. You could take the rest of the night off, maybe stay here and finish the pizza, and I could go out to the Chachalaca.”

“Trying to make amends is nice, Cade, and I appreciate it. But duty calls, and this duty is mine. What I was wondering, though, is when you take Michael home later on, would you mind staying there with him until I get back? If you can’t, that’s fine. I can call Virginia Ellison, and she’ll be glad—”

“Not a problem,” he said, sliding the pizza box over toward Belle. “If it gets too late, I’ll sleep on the couch. Care for a slice to take with you?”

She laughed. “Between you and me, I really hate pizza. But Michael loves it, and sometimes it’s the only thing I can get him to eat.”

He pulled the pizza back and took a large slice for himself, one dripping with pizza sauce and cheese. “You’re the one who worked with him on calling me Dad, aren’t you?”

“I know it’s difficult for you, not getting to see him more, then when you do it takes him so long to warm up to you. So I thought—”

He held up his hand to stop her, then swallowed the bite in his mouth. “I appreciate it, even if it doesn’t come naturally to him. And what I just said about you coming here to watch me be the bad dad …” He sighed. “You are the good mom, you know. Sometimes when I see that, and see how Michael responds to you—it bothers me, Belle. And it bothers me that you had to teach my son to call me Dad. I loved hearing him say it, but I would have loved it even more if it had been spontaneous.”

“I think it was. Normally, I prompt him before your weekends. Just mention it once or twice. But this isn’t one of your weekends, and what’s happening now is totally off Michael’s routine. So I didn’t prompt him.”

Cade smiled, but didn’t respond, because he knew Belle was wrong. It was her work that had brought about Michael’s efforts. More than that, it made him feel terrible that, even in divorce, Belle cared more about his feelings than he’d ever cared about hers while they’d been married.

“Anyway …” She scooted back her chair to leave, then turned and waved to Michael, who took a moment to glance up from his game in progress. “I’ve got to go. So I’m going to go tell Michael where I’ll be while you polish off all that pizza, because he’s too caught up in his game to want any more of it.” She stepped away, stopped, then turned back to him. “You still got the six-pack?” Referring to his rock-hard abs.

The question totally surprised him. And intrigued him. “Why?”

“Just a warning about what can come from too many nights in the pizza parlor. And if Michael has his way with you, you’ll be here every night.” She smiled. “It would be a pity to mess up one of the good things about you, Cade.”

“Sounds like you almost care.”

“You had nice abs. That’s all I’m saying.” Then, finally, she walked away.

He watched, didn’t budge an inch to stand and be polite, or even walk along with her over to Michael. Belle, with her honey-blonde hair and sassy green eyes. And a sway to her hips that begged his stare. She was sexy as hell. Always had been, always would be. That’s what caught him first glance, but what reeled him in was her intelligence, and her overall zest for life. Belle did life in a big way, bigger than anybody he’d ever met in his life. So straightforward about it, too, like she’d been just then. She still remembered liking his abs? He wasn’t sure how to take it. Maybe as a compliment, maybe as a warning, like she’d said.

Or maybe—nah, he wasn’t going there. He had friends who’d told him sex with the ex after the divorce was awesome. Maybe it was, he didn’t know. But Belle wasn’t the type. And, truly, he’d never even thought about it until just now. Well, maybe he had thought about it a time or two. But not seriously. And what she’d said about his abs—that was Belle being her straightforward self, giving him a warning and letting him know, in her own way, he was going to get a lot of time with Michael. Yes, that’s what she’d meant. He was sure of it. Positive. Well, almost positive.

Still thinking about Belle as she lingered a moment to watch Michael’s game, he knew now what he’d always known—nobody compared. Nobody even came close. In fact, the skinny list of women he’d considered dating from time to time were either so boring, bland, or so inane, trite, or shallow he never got around to the asking-out stage. Truth was, he hadn’t dated because nobody seemed—well, like Belle. Not that he’d ever date her again, or do anything else with her, because he’d messed that up in the worst way a man could mess up the best thing in his life. But in a woman he needed personality and drive and, so far, he hadn’t found that in any way that suited him other than in Belle, and that didn’t count any more.

Which was fine, for now, as he wasn’t in any hurry to settle down again. Of course, some people, Belle specifically, would argue he’d never settled down in the first place. “Look,” he said, jumping into her path as she whooshed by him on her way out the door, “I don’t want to fight. OK? It seems like we’re always fighting, or just on the verge of it, and I don’t want us doing that.”

“Neither do I, but we’re so good at it,” she said, smiling. “I’d hate to give up on a good thing.”

He chuckled, in spite of himself. “That’s the thing I fell in love with, you know?”

“What?” she asked. “That I defend myself? That I stand up to you, face-to-face, and punch back?”

“Well, that could be part of the charm—for someone else. But what drew me to you was your fire. Just not so much of it. Anyway, that accusation a few minutes ago—it was a cheap shot. Totally uncalled-for, and I’m sorry. But sometimes—”

“Look, I do understand. It’s not easy being Michael’s dad, and it’s probably not easy being my ex—although I’m not sure why it isn’t, because I think I’m pretty easy to get along with.” This time her smile was a tease. “Anyway, I’ve got to make my house call and these ranch hands aren’t happy about it, so I just want to get out there and get it over with. Michael knows you’re going to spend the evening with him, and that I might be late. He understands. So …” She shrugged, then hurried out the restaurant door, leaving Cade to watch her until she climbed into her car and drove away.

Yep, she certainly had fire. And if he was not mistaken, the flames had shot up a notch or two since they’d divorced. It was not unattractive in her, he decided as he ambled over to Michael and watched him trounce the evildoers in his game. Trounce, like a pro.

Damn, if his kid wasn’t good at it! “So, Michael. Want to show me what you’re doing?”

Michael didn’t take his eyes off the screen, didn’t even miss a shot. “Um, no.”

The sting of that one word rocked him back a couple of steps. But that’s as far as he went. Then he stood his ground, the way Belle would, and watched his son accomplish the highest score ever achieved on that particular game machine without breaking a sweat. How the hell was he ever going to make the score with Michael, with or without sweat?

That was the question he’d been asking himself for years. It was also the question for which he couldn’t find an answer.

Then it hit him. Michael had called him Dad. Maybe prompted, maybe not. But—Dad. The most beautiful word he’d ever heard. So maybe there wasn’t an answer to his question, except patience. And time.

The big problem, though, was distance, and there was no way to get around that.

He looked so innocent sleeping. So beautiful. She’d always thought that. And in their last year together, after so much struggling, she’d thought it was a pity he didn’t sleep more often, because when he woke up, life changed. Fighting, bitterness—the emptiness of long, lonely hours by herself. Cade had caused her the kind of unhappiness she’d never thought would be part of her life. Yet she understood. Part of it came with his frustration over Michael. It hurt him, being ignored by a son he loved so deeply. But part of it was his absence, which was something she’d never understood and which, in retrospect, she wished she’d pursued with him until he’d explained it. His need, or lust, to leave had started mere weeks after they’d pronounced their vows, and had only got worse with time. She’d hoped it was a phase, some kind of life adjustment she just didn’t understand. But it hadn’t been, and when she’d asked him to explain, to help her understand, she’d been met with Cade’s characteristic wall of resistance. So after a while, being rebuffed every time she asked, she quit asking, essentially giving up as it was clear that she was moving forward with her life and her husband was moving away.

Oh, sure. Cade had his causes—causes she admired. Sadly, at the time, his family hadn’t seemed one of them. Maybe it was because she was strong and he’d believed she could hold things together in his absence. Maybe he found more satisfaction helping others than he did helping his family. All these years later she still didn’t know why. But now she didn’t dwell on it so much because her choice to move on without him, or get left behind, had been a good one.

Yet he still looked so innocent, sleeping. Like the man she’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

Belle smiled as she studied him. Michael looked so much like him. Same gray eyes, same dark brown hair, wavy with a little bit of curl. Same crooked smile. Except neither Michael nor Cade smiled much, which was a pity. Because it was a beautiful smile. One she’d wanted to capture in a family photo back when they’d been a family.

“It’s late,” Cade mumbled in his sleepy voice.

The sleepy voice—another thing she used to love. It was a little thick, a little gruff. “Going on to midnight.”

“Does it happen often?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

“What? Me running around and leaving Michael here with a babysitter? Is that what you’re asking me, Cade? Do I neglect my son on a regular nightly basis?” She hadn’t meant to take offense, but sometimes Cade provoked that in her. Usually without much effort. Like now, when she was thinking about the things she’d planned with him—things she’d never have.

He stretched, sat up. Stretched again. “Actually, I wasn’t thinking about Michael. It’s you I was concerned about, being the only doctor for miles.”

“More like a hundred miles.” She backed off the anger immediately.

“Which doesn’t mean much, since it’s Texas miles, and there’s not much civilization from here to there.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get so—”

“Defensive?” he asked.

She tossed her jacket over the back of the couch and stashed her medical bag in the coat closet on the top shelf. “That’s what we do to each other, isn’t it? Get defensive at first sight.” She turned to face him. “You were right earlier about not fighting. I don’t like being this way either, Cade. It gets easy to do, like a habit, and I don’t want Michael seeing it.”

“Then we’ll have to make sure we don’t.”

“Agreed. No more fighting,” she said, kicking off her shoes then dropping down into the overstuffed chair near the stairs. Said with a sly grin, “But clarify this for me, will you? Does the ban on fighting include low blows, subtle innuendoes, and casual jabs? And this means both of us, doesn’t it? It’s not like I have to quit fighting with you, but you still get to fight with me, is it?”

Cade chuckled. “You always came out swinging with the best of them. We did have our good moments, though, didn’t we?”

“Enough that I could probably count them on both hands.”

“OK, I’m going to count that as a casual jab, but it came damned close to being a low blow,” he warned her, smiling. “Which means you owe me.”

“There’s a penalty system connected to this truce? Do I need to have my lawyers go over the terms of the contract?” It was said with neither inflection nor expression.

“See, that’s the thing. Most people would take what you said as a serious comment because you don’t even crack a smile. But I know the sign, Belle.”

“What sign?”

“The arched left eyebrow.”

“I do not!” she said, feigning indignance.

“There it goes again, arching up, just for a split second. Subtle, but, oh, so readable.”

“OK, so maybe I underestimated the number of good moments we had together. Does that get me off the hook for the penalty?”

“Eyebrow up again. And no. You’re not off the hook.”

“Try collecting,” she challenged, shoving herself out of the chair and heading for the stairs.

This time it was Cade’s turn to arch an eyebrow.

It wasn’t the largest medical office, but it was modern—twenty years ago. Belle preferred to think of it as practical. She loved it, every last tongue depressor and cotton swab. She also loved the quaint little waiting room where non-communicable patients sat nearly knee to knee, and the ten-year-old TV was permanently on the rerun channel. On a positive note, Belle did make sure the magazine subscriptions were up-to-date, and the coffee in the coffee-pot was refreshed every hour. Oh, and tea for the tea-drinkers. A couple of her old-timer patients had suggested that a little additive to the tea and coffee would be nice, and she’d assumed whiskey. But she hadn’t dignified the hints with a response, and truly hoped her predecessor hadn’t indulged in the practice.

Today was a busy day, and her receptionist, Ellen Anderson, another employee inherited along with the practice, was nearly frantic answering the phone, serving drinks, and sorting through patient charts for insurance billing information. In Big Badger, it seemed like people required medical attention in droves. One day they trickled in, the next day they flocked. She couldn’t figure it out, and those she asked were pretty noncommittal on the subject. So this was a droves day, and Belle was ushering them in and out as fast as she could, given the nature of the various complaints.

“So, Mr. Biddle, you’ve had gout before?”

“Expect I did, Doctor. Some time last year, late in the spring, if I recall.”

“And did Dr. Nelson give you any specific instructions on how to take care of yourself?” Emmett Biddle’s gout was limited to his left big toe. “Diet, how much to drink, that sort of thing?”

“He did mention drinking water, I believe.”

Polite man, age seventy-nine. Sharp. Still a cowboy. In fact, he’d ridden in on his horse today. Tied it to the hitching post, which happened to come along with the medical office. Impractical, she’d thought at first, but Emmett Biddle wasn’t the first one to saddle up and come to an appointment on horseback. “And restrict or cut out your alcohol consumption?”