by Diana Palmer
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have a few. Who’s your brother? Is he a vet, too?”
“Yeah, and he’s not doing so well.” Lindy’s mouth turned downward. “He’s got to go have some more surgeries just as soon as he’s up for it, but we don’t know when that will be.”
“I’m sorry. You give him my best, will you?”
“Oh, thank you, I will! That’s really nice of you!”
Okay, enough. The girl’s eyes held the kind of hero worship that was pretty much irresistible to men. Great.
“Hey, maybe you could meet him sometime,” Lindy suggested. “It would mean a lot to him. Sometimes he and Mom come in for lunch.”
“Sure,” Carlo said easily. “I’m in town for a while.”
Lindy took their orders and Fern struggled with an absurd sense of jealousy.
Carlo didn’t really want to marry her. Much more suited to him would be someone like pretty, young, outgoing Lindy. Just look at him, how handsome he was, how modest about his war achievements, how kind to a young waitress. He was a catch, all right, and in a little town like Rescue River, he’d be snatched up immediately. By someone much more fun and lively than Fern.
“So,” Carlo said after Lindy walked away, “guess my suggestion fell flat.”
She bit her lip. No, it sounded wonderful!
“I mean that we should get married.”
This was the moment. She could agree to a marriage and have the wonderful family feeling she’d tasted during the storm.
Only it wouldn’t be real.
“It would never work,” Fern said. Better to pull the Band-Aid off quickly.
He swallowed visibly, opened his mouth as if to argue, and then closed it again. “Then, we should tell her together.”
Fern forced herself to shrug and nod. “Sure.”
“That way,” he said, “she’ll be more comfortable. So she can ask questions.”
Push him away, push him away. “She’ll have a lot of them. Not only about why you weren’t there for her first four years, but about why you didn’t tell us the truth during the snowstorm.”
Carlo closed his eyes for a second and then reached out and took her hand, his expression regretful. “I want to build a relationship with you and I know it got started wrong.”
The feel of his hard, large, calloused hand seemed to burn her. Her heart raced and she snatched her hand back, feeling heat rise in her face. “There’s no relationship.”
“Why?” He sounded bewildered. “Fern, I know I was wrong not to tell you my suspicions, but you of all people ought to know what it’s like. We were practically strangers. I didn’t know how to bring it up, or if I should. Things got away from me, but I never intended to deceive you.”
She drew in a breath between clenched teeth. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop acting so nice.” Fern’s throat closed up, and tears burned her eyes.
Don’t you dare cry. The words of one of her particularly harsh foster mothers echoed in her mind. She’d learned to hold back her feelings then, and she could still do it. Again she pinched the back of her hand, hard.
Carlo leaned closer. “Fern. I want to work this out.”
“It’s not going to work out. How can it? You’re her father, and you have the right to her. She likes you. It’ll be fine for her. I’ll just be a memory in her life, someone who took care of her for a little while until her daddy could come.” Her voice squeaked and she clenched her mouth shut. Enough talking.
“Fern. I’m drawn to you. Are you sure you won’t consider—”
“No!” He wanted a marriage of convenience, not of love. He didn’t care for her as a woman.
“Why?” He was looking at her steadily. “Maybe there’s a way we can work together. We certainly have to work together to tell Mercedes.”
If she agreed to it, she’d be making a mockery of something that was supposed to be sacred. And she’d die a little more every day, living with Carlo and knowing he didn’t love her.
She hardened herself to the hurt and concern on his face. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that no means no?”
He gave her a long, pained look and then broke eye contact and slumped back in his chair, seeming to shrink before her eyes.
Lindy approached with their food and Fern used the brief interruption to take deep, calming breaths. She could get through this. For Mercedes’s sake, she had to. Had to hand the child off graciously to him, could never let Mercedes suspect that her daddy had broken Mama Fern’s heart.
The bells on the front door jingled, and Lindy put their plates in front of them and looked toward the restaurant’s entrance. “Hey, it’s my mom and brother. If he’s feeling okay, can I bring him over for a minute?”
“Of course.” Carlo’s voice sounded stiff and formal.
“Mom,” Lindy called. “Over here.”
A tired-looking fiftysomething woman, whom Fern had also seen at the library, was struggling to get a wheelchair through the door. In it was a man who couldn’t be more than twenty-one. He wore a hoodie and flannel sweats, and his head rested in a special support.
A couple of men near the front hurried to help with the door, and the older woman looked up, saw Lindy beckoning and headed over, a wide smile creasing her face.
“Mr. Camden, sir, I’d like you to meet my brother. Tom,” Lindy said to the man in the wheelchair, “this is the one I told you about, who became a missionary? The Purple Heart, Silver Star guy? Say hi.”
The man in the wheelchair didn’t seem to be able to move much, but he lifted his eyes to meet Carlo’s.
Carlo was out of the booth in a flash, squatting to put himself on the same level as the man in the chair. “My pleasure,” he said. Then he lifted his hand in a slow salute. “Thank you for your service.”
The man in the chair blinked and swallowed and gave a little nod, and Lindy reached out to put an arm around her mom, whose eyes were shiny.
In the space of a few seconds, the two men seemed to exchange some knowledge that none of the rest of them could share.
“Would you like to join us?” Carlo asked, still kneeling.
The man shook his head, making garbled speaking sounds. He looked up at his mother and tapped his chest.
“He wants me to show you his medals,” she interpreted, and reached into a bag attached to the wheelchair. She pulled out a small box and flipped it open. “He got the Purple Heart. We carry ’em all the time.”
Fern watched, her food forgotten, as Carlo looked at the medal and then talked with the family about the younger man’s combat. He was obviously comfortable with the man’s disability and with the family as he walked with them to another table in the diner.
All Fern could think was what a good daddy he would be for Mercedes. And how proud and happy the woman would be who won his love.
He came back in and sat down across from her, looked ruefully at his cold burger and her untouched chicken salad. “I’m sorry about that,” he said, still sounding polite and distant.
“It’s fine. When...when do you want to meet with Mercedes?” His kindness and heroism just made it harder to think of how he’d probably take Mercedes and go somewhere else. Now she just wanted to get out of the café before she fell more in love with him. More impossibly in love.
“Well,” he said, looking down at the table, “given the fact that Gramps already knows, and he didn’t hear it from me, I think we should move fast. How about tonight?”
She didn’t think she could bear another encounter with Carlo in one day. But she also wanted to protect Mercedes, and after the emotional encounter they’d just had with the wounded veteran, talk about Carlo would be all over town. “Okay,” she said, “where?”
“Where does she feel most comfortable? Would that be out at the rescue, since you’re stayin
g there, or would it be at your home?”
Fern drew in a deep breath. The last thing she wanted was to have her cozy little retreat invaded by giant, gorgeous Carlo. Once he’d been there, she might never be able to exorcise the memory of him.
But that was the place where Mercedes felt at home, and Mercedes’s needs took precedence. In fact, Fern had promised her that they could spend some time at home, among her familiar toys and games, tonight.
“All right,” she said with a sense of impending doom. “Why don’t you come over after dinner tonight?”
* * *
THAT EVENING, CARLO approached Fern’s little bungalow as the sun sank below the trees that lined the snowy street. The house was in a neighborhood, but separated from the other houses by a little more land and a row of pines. That was perfect for Fern; she’d want to be able to keep to herself, but she was an integral part of the community, as well. In her quiet way, she helped others, from the kids at the library to the shut-ins at the Senior Towers. She might not know it, but everyone loved her.
He was in a fair way to falling in love with her himself. Which was bad, because she’d given him a definitive no today at lunch. And as she’d pointed out, no meant no. His face heated at the memory.
Seeing lights inside, he tapped lightly on the door, but no one came to open it. He pounded louder and rang the doorbell.
“Sorry,” Fern said as she opened the door, her voice breathless.
“We were making a cake!” Mercedes added, popping out from behind Fern. “’Cause Mama says there’s a surprise!”
“There is a surprise,” he agreed, smiling at Mercedes, his heart pounding. How would she react when she learned he was her father?
He’d called Daisy for advice and strategies about how to talk to Mercedes, and she’d offered to call Fern as well, so that they were on the same page. They had to tell her together, reassure her that she was loved, let her know the progression and what would come next.
What would come next? Carlo didn’t know. He wanted to have Mercedes, to raise her. More and more, he thought he’d like to do it in the little town of Rescue River, where she was already comfortable, where she had friends and a day care and a church home, where she’d have an aunt and a great-grandpa who loved her.
“She’ll surely transition to living full-time with you,” Daisy had said, “provided all the tests come back positive. But don’t promise that. Let her know that the judge will decide what’s best for her.”
The whole situation had his heart aching and his stomach in a knot. This little girl had already faced so much loss, and he hated the idea of taking her from her very special Mama Fern.
On the other hand, he wanted to know her and love her and raise her. And it didn’t look as though Fern would be able to get along with him to do that. He’d screwed up, plain and simple. He should have been easy and honest and up-front, and things might have been different.
But for better or worse—in this case, for worse—he wasn’t a trusting guy who could spill his guts at a moment’s notice, express a thought as soon as he had it. In that, as in so many things, he and Fern were alike.
“Come on, come see my house!”
He slid out of his snowy boots, catching a whiff of chocolate as he let Mercedes pull him through the little cottage in his sock feet. He got a quick impression of a cozy gas fire, polished wooden floors with colorful throw rugs, and books. Lots and lots of children’s books, on shelves and stacked on end tables and in a basket beside Mercedes’s booster chair in the dining room. Among the stuffed animals piled in an armchair, he recognized Peter Rabbit and Paddington and the Stinky Cheese Man, who’d made Mercedes laugh hysterically each night during the snowstorm. And there was a Madeline doll; he recognized the character from childhood reading with Angelica.
On a whim, he picked up the doll and made her recite a couple of lines from the Madeline book to Mercedes, and was rewarded when Fern and Mercedes recited the next line back at him.
“Come see the cake!” Mercedes shouted impatiently, tugging at him.
“You keep on surprising me,” Fern said, smiling up at him. “Did you read that book to your sister?”
“At least five hundred times.” He swallowed, tried to steel himself to the effect of her innocent smile. “Has Angelica seen this place? She’d love it.”
Fern nodded. “She and Xavier have been over here a few times.”
Carlo pondered that as Mercedes showed him around the little downstairs. So Angelica and Xavier had been here, not knowing that they were actually related to Mercedes.
The deceit just went on and on. Kath had never wanted to meet his family, and she’d stayed away from Rescue River during their short and stormy marriage, but what had brought her here in the end? He might never know.
“Come see my room and my kitty cat!” Mercedes ordered.
“Okay with you?” he asked Fern.
“Sure.”
Mercedes took them both by the hand and pulled them up half a flight of stairs and into a bedroom so sweet and girlie that it took Carlo’s breath away.
What he wouldn’t have given to be able to provide Angelica with such a room back when they were kids. All pink and ruffly, with books on the shelves and a cozy window seat. More stuffed animals on the bed and a small table with a plastic tea set on it.
He was beyond thrilled that Mercedes had such a wonderful place to live. How could he take it away from her? How could he possibly compete?
Mercedes jumped up and down on her bed. “When you turn the lights off, there’s stars!” she said. “Do it, do it, Mama!”
“When you stop jumping on the bed,” Fern said, looking stern.
Mercedes clapped her hand to her mouth. “I forgot.” She sat down properly on the bed, hands folded.
“Okay, ready?” Fern asked.
“Ready,” Mercedes said.
Carlo found his throat just a little too tight to speak.
Fern turned off the light and the ceiling glowed with stars. Through the window, the purple and pink and orange shades of sunset showed above the evergreen trees.
“Mama Fern wanted to make my room fancy and special, like me,” Mercedes explained reverently.
Wow.
After a minute, Fern flipped on the lights. “Cake next, or do you want to show Cheshire?”
“Cheshire!” Mercedes cried.
“He’s probably hiding in my room,” Fern said. “Why don’t you go pick him up, very carefully, and bring him in here?”
“Mr. Carlo could come see your room.”
Both adults shook their heads immediately. Though Carlo wouldn’t have minded seeing what kind of bedroom Fern had created for herself.
After he’d met the cat, who looked decidedly unhappy to be awoken from his nap and manhandled by an overenthusiastic four-year-old, they headed down the stairs, Mercedes running ahead.
He touched Fern’s arm, stopping her. “You’ve made a wonderful life for her here, Fern, and I appreciate that more than you’ll ever know.”
She met his eyes, the muscles in her throat working, and didn’t say anything.
“Look, I decorated it myself!” Mercedes cried from the kitchen.
Carlo followed Mercedes into the eat-in kitchen complete with old white appliances and blue-and-yellow curtains at the windows. On the counter was a lumpy-looking chocolate cake, decorated with an overabundance of sprinkles and M&M’S candies.
Fern took a deep breath. “Let’s sit around the table and have dessert,” she said, her voice just a little shaky, “and then we’ll have our talk.”
Carlo poured milk while Fern cut cake and Mercedes set out napkins and forks, and just like during the snowstorm, he got a feeling of family. And he liked it. A lot.
If only...
Fern cleared her throat. “So,” she said, pushing cake around on her
plate, “Mr. Carlo and I have something to tell you.”
“When’s the surprise?” Mercedes asked, her mouth full. “Is it after the talking? Did you bring it with you?”
“Oh, honey,” Fern said with a laugh that sounded forced, “the surprise isn’t a present. It’s...news.”
Mercedes cocked her head to one side and looked from Fern to Carlo. “Okay.” Her voice was a little subdued, and Carlo couldn’t tell if that was because she wasn’t getting a present or because she sensed something momentous.
No point in delay. His heart felt as if it was going to pound right out of his chest. “The news is,” he said, “that I’m your daddy.”
The child’s eyes widened with delight. “I got a daddy? Like Xavier?”
“No,” Fern said in a controlled voice, “he’s your daddy because once, a long time ago, he was married to your mommy.”
Mercedes looked puzzled. “But Mommy went to heaven.”
“That’s right, and your daddy was far away and didn’t know.”
She patted his arm, looking concerned. “Were you sad? Because it’s okay to be sad.”
“Yes,” he said truthfully. “I was sad. But when I got here, I found out something very happy. I found out about you!”
Mercedes studied him for a minute as though she was thinking hard. “You could stay with me in my room,” she said, “but I think mommies and daddies are s’posed to sleep in one bed.”
“Oh, no,” Fern corrected, a pretty flush crossing her face. “Mr. Carlo isn’t going to be that kind of daddy. He’s going to live somewhere else. Like...like Bryson’s dad.”
“And you can have a room there, too,” Carlo hastened to add, wondering if Fern or Angelica would help him decorate it, since his skills were minimal in that department.
Mercedes’s lips pursed out in a pout. “I want the kind of daddy who lives in the same house.”
Fern reached over to give her a side hug. “Things can’t always be just the way we want them to be, Mercy,” she said in a low voice.
Mercedes struggled away and stood up, hands on hips, cake smeared across her face. “Wait. Mama Fern’s still gonna ’dopt me, right?”
