It was chilly enough that he could see his breath. The small, jolly crowd was decked out in bright Christmas sweaters and scarves, and a street band played “Deck the Halls.” Smoke from a bonfire scented the air.
And his date had noticed that he was more interested in someone else than her. Nice. He looked at her closely, trying to read whether she was upset. “It’s obvious?”
Kayla raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to one side. “Uh, yeah. Very.”
“I’m really sorry.” He shook his head. “I guess I shouldn’t have asked you out when...” He couldn’t finish. When I’m half in love with someone I can’t have?
“It’s fine.” She shrugged philosophically, lifting both hands, palms up. “I have bad luck with men. And I shouldn’t necessarily date a parent, either.”
“I feel like a jerk.” He really did like Kayla. She was a great person, a wonderful teacher, pretty and kind. She’d be a great girlfriend. In fact, he couldn’t figure out why she was single.
The only problem for Paul was, she wasn’t Amber.
Kayla leaned back against the bench, studying him. “Why aren’t you dating her? Pretty sure she’s crazy about you, too, from the way she reacted to seeing us together.”
Paul opened his mouth to answer when everything exploded around them. Flashing lights and the sound of gunfire, and he leaped off the bench to get to Davey.
“Paul! What’s wrong?”
Take a breath, he told himself as he clung to the railing by Davey for dear life. Figure out what’s really going on. The words from his support group tried to hammer their way into his head.
Maybe it wasn’t gunfire. Because he could look around and see that really, people were staying put, not running. They talked and laughed and pointed up at the beautiful fireworks in the sky.
He was just having an attack. His heart raced out of control and he was breathing hard and in his head, he could see people running and hear kids screaming and smell something sulfur-like.
Kayla stood beside him, rubbing his arm. “Paul! Paul, are you okay?”
He shook the hand off his arm, trying to catch his breath, trying to keep control. So far, Davey hadn’t noticed his panic. He tried not to touch his son, not wanting to scare him.
“Paul. It’s Kayla. Breathe. Take a deep breath. Let it out slowly.”
He tried to do what Kayla told him. It was what his counselor said, too. But the popping and explosions and flashes kept on.
“Let’s go,” Kayla said. “Come on, Davey. We’re going home.”
“Davey.” Now he couldn’t help reaching for his son. He felt his scrawny shoulders, looked at his upset face. He was okay. Davey was okay.
Kayla tugged at his arm with one hand and squeezed Davey’s shoulder with the other. “Let’s go. No, honey, we can’t stay until the end, but when we get back to your house, I have a surprise for you. Come on. Let’s race-walk to the car.” Kayla’s voice was soothing, and then they were walking away.
“I want fireworks!” Davey’s voice was a high whine.
“I know, buddy.” Paul had to normalize himself for Davey, but he could barely speak amidst the booms and pops and flashes, could barely keep himself from grabbing Davey and running for cover.
By the time they reached Kayla’s car, he’d started to come down. Which, unfortunately, meant that he was shaking, but he felt he needed to assert his manhood and keep this from being the absolute worst date the poor woman had ever had. “I can drive Davey and myself home,” he said.
“No, you can’t. Get in.” She opened the back door for Davey. “See, I even have a booster seat for just this type of occasion.”
With Davey in the car, Paul had no choice but to get in, too. Truthfully, he was glad to have a little help right now.
Behind them, people were still oohing and aahing over the fireworks, but the street around them was quiet and deserted. Kayla played classical music on the radio as she drove the five minutes to Paul’s cottage.
“I’m sorry.” He kept his voice low so Davey wouldn’t hear. “I had a rough therapy session yesterday and I was warned it might kick some things up.” He’d also had it recommended that he go to a retreat this weekend for police and military PTSD sufferers, but he’d declined. His therapist didn’t understand what it was like to be a single dad. He couldn’t easily get childcare he trusted for his son, not for a whole weekend.
But Paul wasn’t exactly a contender for Father of the Year now. Maybe his therapist had understood him better than he’d realized.
Kayla pulled into his driveway and turned off the car. “No need to apologize for something that’s not your fault,” she said. “Let me help you get Davey to bed.”
“You said you had a s’prise.” Davey’s voice was sulky and sleepy both.
“I do.” She reached into the glove box and pulled out a toy from a kids’ fast-food meal. “You can have it when you get into bed.”
“Okay.” Davey didn’t thank her, but neither did he inform her that he already had two of the same toy, which seemed like admirable restraint in an almost five-year-old.
Paul drew in a deep breath and let it out. Thinking about your kid’s manners seemed so normal. He was returning to normal.
Paul carried Davey inside and upstairs and tucked him in, and Davey was asleep within two minutes. When he came back downstairs, Kayla was sitting on the couch.
“Thanks, you didn’t have to wait,” he said. “Do you want something to drink?”
“I’ll take a bottle of water, a pillow and a spare toothbrush.” She was kicking off her shoes.
“You don’t have to stay. I’m fine now.”
“I’m staying,” she said. “What if you have a nightmare or something?”
“No. I’m fine. I’ll stay awake.”
She held out a hand. “Toothbrush, please. I’m sleeping on your couch tonight. And don’t worry, I don’t have designs on your virtue.”
That made him snort. He really did like Kayla. And given his experience tonight, she was probably right: it was best if she stayed.
So he got her a bottle of water and an extra toothbrush. Offered to make up his own bed for her, and when she refused, got her a pillow and a couple of blankets.
Then he went into his bedroom and made two phone calls. The first was to Ferguson, a night owl who right away said he and Georgiana could come tomorrow to care for Davey. The second was to his counselor. He got voice mail and asked if he could jump in on the second day of the retreat.
Tonight had taught him that, for real and for sure, he couldn’t go it alone.
* * *
SUNDAY MORNING, AMBER dragged her suitcase out of the closet, tossed it on her bed and opened it. She grabbed shirts and shoes and threw them in haphazardly.
And tried not to cry.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Why had she expected anything different from Paul? He was a guy. And she was... Well, she was a girl who was fun for the short-term, but easily forgotten.
You should have known. You’ve been here before.
Except she hadn’t, not with someone she cared about the way she cared about Paul. Somehow, he and his son had wiggled their way into her heart.
It had been bad enough to see Paul and Davey with Kayla last night. When they’d laughed together, when Davey had swung between them, clasping both their hands, she’d died a little inside.
But the heart was absurdly optimistic. She’d allowed herself to hope, when Paul and Kayla left early, that things hadn’t gone well. Not very nice, wishing a bad time on other people, but hey, she was only human.
When she’d gotten home and seen Kayla’s car—a strange car, anyway, and she assumed it was Kayla’s—outside of Paul’s house, her optimism had fled and her heart just hurt.
When she’d gotten up this morning and seen that the car was sti
ll there, her heart had turned to stone.
Kayla had spent the night with Paul. Less than a week after kissing Amber in such an extraordinary way that she couldn’t stop thinking about it, he’d slept with someone else.
She threw jeans and socks and underwear into the suitcase, trying to find comfort in the familiar action of packing up. There. That was probably enough clothes for a couple of weeks, so she went into the bathroom and pulled out her travel case, always packed with shampoo and toiletries and a little makeup, always ready to go.
She threw it into her suitcase, then went back to the bathroom for her pill bottles. She had started to forget who she was. Had started to forget she was the girl who was always ready to travel, footloose. Fun and relaxed and uncommitted.
She was not the girl who got together with the reliable, gorgeous homebody of a single dad and his adorable son.
Hannah wouldn’t be happy at the idea of packing up and going on a trip the moment she got home from college. She wanted to relax and bake Christmas cookies and see Erica and Trey and Hunter.
But Amber hoped that, as they drove south, Hannah would be converted to the idea that a Christmas trip to a warmer climate was just what they needed. A new bikini and a couple of beach reads, and Hannah would be fine with the unconventional holiday. It would make for great social media posts.
Her eyes narrowed. Maybe she’d post some pictures herself, show that she was having a great time without Paul. No bikini for her, but she still looked pretty good in a pair of cutoff shorts and a tank top. Hopefully, Paul followed her on social media and would feel at least a moment’s regret for what he was missing.
Would Paul be sad? Would Davey miss her? Well, Davey might. He was a sweet little boy and he’d liked her.
Paul, well...she’d overestimated him. She’d thought that his intense kisses and words of caring meant something. She should have known better, but Paul had seemed different from the casual boyfriends of her past. He’d seemed like the type who wouldn’t say things he didn’t mean.
So much for her great perceptiveness about people’s characters. Paul was just like any other man, only worse because he presented as good and honorable.
In reality, he was quick to forget. He hadn’t meant it when he’d gotten all passionate kissing her. Or at least, the passionate side didn’t mean anything.
Stepping to the window, she looked out at the bay covered with whitecaps from the breezy day. Normally, the sight of it brought her comfort, serenity.
Now she felt as stormy as the roiling clouds coming in from the east.
Something red caught her eye, and she squinted to see Davey’s little jeep driving off down the beach. She looked for Paul, who always stuck pretty close to Davey when he was playing with the toy vehicle. But she didn’t see him. Meanwhile, Davey was cruising. It wasn’t exactly fast, but it was as fast as an adult’s brisk walking. He could get out of sight quickly at that pace.
Where was Paul? Had he tired himself out so much last night, with Kayla, that he couldn’t even take care of his kid?
It would serve him right if... No.
No matter what Paul had done to hurt Amber’s feelings, Davey needed to stay happy and safe. She hurried down the stairs and out onto her own back steps and craned her neck, looking in the direction Davey had been going. She was relieved to see he hadn’t gotten much farther away and was now driving the jeep in circles. She heard a bark, and realized he must have Sarge in the jeep with him. Against the rules Paul had set for the child, but it made Amber feel better. With the bloodhound at his side, nothing very bad would happen to Davey.
Still, he shouldn’t be supervised just by a dog. Should she run after him?
No. There were a few people on the beach, and surely they would keep an eye on a little kid. She would just watch. She couldn’t stay attached to Davey nor allow him to continue being attached to her. He couldn’t be the victim in the mess that was her and Paul’s bumbling failed start of a relationship.
Actually, Davey was the winner because he would be much better off with his teacher. Kayla, kind and pretty and healthy.
She looked over at Paul’s silent house and then scanned the beach again. There was still no sign of Paul, so reluctantly, she pulled out her phone and called him.
It went directly to voice mail.
Great, so he was exhausted from his night with the lovely Kayla. “Paul, it’s Amber. I noticed Davey is driving his jeep down the beach and wanted to make sure you knew about it. It’s about 10 a.m.” She paused, unable to think of how to end the call. “See ya,” she mumbled finally, and touched the end button.
There, that was enough to do, right? She had fulfilled her obligation.
She looked down to where Davey had been. He’d stopped doing circles and was headed down the beach again, away from home.
Amber heaved a sigh, grabbed a paper towel, wet it and wiped beneath her eyes to make sure there were no mascara stains.
Then she marched over to Paul’s house and pounded on the door.
To her surprise, Georgiana answered, looking uncharacteristically dirty and sweaty. Ferguson was right behind her.
Neither of them looked friendly, but that was no surprise.
“Davey just drove off down the beach in his jeep,” she said.
“No, he didn’t. He’s playing on the deck.” Georgiana started to close the door.
“You might want to check.”
Ferguson opened the door a little bit more. “Thanks,” he said curtly, and then the door closed in her face.
Well, okay, then. “You’re welcome,” she muttered. She walked slowly back to her cottage and sank down on the steps, waiting to see what would happen. She didn’t want to run after Davey, didn’t want to maintain an attachment that was doomed to end quickly, but she would do it if his safety was at risk.
In fact, it was a little strange that Ferguson and Georgiana were babysitting him. She’d thought Paul said he wasn’t going to allow that to happen much anymore, if at all. But whatever. She didn’t understand Paul nearly as well as she had thought she did.
The back door of Paul’s cottage opened. “Davey! Get back here!” Ferguson’s deep, loud voice rang out, and then the man jogged down the steps and along the narrow beach toward Davey. All that golfing and tennis must have kept him in good shape, because he moved fairly briskly. He soon caught up with the little car and it stopped. He leaned in, obviously lecturing, and then Sarge jumped out. Soon the jeep was moving back in the direction of Paul’s cottage, Ferguson and Sarge walking alongside it.
Relieved, Amber turned to go inside when there was a shout from Georgiana. The woman beckoned to Amber as if she were a servant.
Amber contemplated ignoring her and going inside, but curiosity tugged at her. She blew out a disgusted breath and walked over to the front porch of Paul’s house where Georgiana stood. “What?”
“Wendy said...she said a lot of crazy things at the...at the end. It wasn’t like her.” Georgiana’s chin was trembling. She cleared her throat. “Whatever she might have said to you...well, we’re on it.”
Amber tilted her head to one side and stared at the older woman. “What are you talking about?”
“If she said anything strange to you about Davey.” Georgiana seemed to force out the words. “Just keep it to yourself. It’s not your business.”
Amber opened her mouth to ask a question, and then the pieces clicked into place and she gasped. “Are you talking about...”
Georgiana turned and went inside, her narrow shoulders slumping. Almost as an afterthought, she reached back and closed the door, once again, in Amber’s face.
Amber stared at it, and then, slowly, she turned and walked the short distance back to her place.
They knew. Ferguson and Georgiana knew that Davey wasn’t Paul’s child. And they hadn’t told him, either.
The
question was, what would they do with the knowledge?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AFTER MASS SUNDAY MORNING, Mary sat in the pew as people got up to leave, greeting each other, shaking the priest’s hand. At first she was just giving people the opportunity to clear out, because she didn’t have any place in particular to go. But then, even when the crowd thinned out, she found herself still sitting, feeling limp and tired. She drew in the mixed scents of candles and incense and tried to muster up the energy to make her way home.
“May I walk you out, pretty lady?”
She turned and there was Kirk, sidling in beside her, holding out a hand. Most of her close friends were Protestant, if they went to church at all. Kirk was one of the few other Catholics in her group.
She didn’t really want to be around him. Didn’t want to be around people, generally, when she felt this out of sorts. But that was rude of her. She was in church. She smiled and let him help her out of her seat, and they greeted the priest and walked out together.
The wind was cool, and Mary wrapped her coat more tightly around her. Despite the weather, Mary had walked to church, and it looked like Kirk had, as well.
Kirk helped her adjust her coat. One thing you could say about him, he had excellent, old-fashioned manners. “Can I ask why you don’t take Communion?”
Mary’s face warmed. “It’s a private decision.”
Without seeming to hear what she had said, Kirk started mansplaining. “You know, you don’t have to go to confession beforehand every single time, like when we were kids. Most people don’t, these days.”
Did he think she hadn’t noticed that? Most weeks, she was the only person who remained in the pew while the rest of the congregation filed up front to partake of the bread and cup. “You’re right,” she said, hoping to placate him and in that way, get him off the subject. “Most people do go to Communion.”
“I go, and you can just imagine all the sins I’ve committed.”
“I can,” she said dryly.
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