by Patricia Kay
"About being a father, silly!" Her tinkling laugh hovered between them.
"I'm overwhelmed." Christopher had snuggled up against Alex's chest. He smoothed the child's thick hair and answered her question as truthfully as he could. "I wish I'd known about his existence sooner. I think I had the right to know."
"Oh, Alex, don't look at me that way." She pouted prettily, a mannerism calculated to melt any man's heart, as Alex well knew.
"I'm not going to belabor the point, Margo. What's done is done. But I guess the question is: what do you want?"
"Want?" The shining eyes widened. "Why ... I want my son to know his father, that's what I want."
"Are you planning to move back to New York, then?"
She lifted her shoulders in a dainty shrug. "I'm not sure..."
"How long did you plan to stay?"
She studied him thoughtfully. "I guess that depends on you."
"Is it money?" he said bluntly.
She shook her head. "No. It's not money. Although I did think you'd want to support Christopher."
"Of course I want to support Christopher! That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"Don't get upset, Alex," she soothed.
"I'm not upset, dammit!"
"Don't swear in front of Christopher," she said.
Alex gritted his teeth. Christopher wriggled, and Alex released him, setting him gently on the floor.
"Go see Patty," Christopher said. He grinned, and Alex's heart squeezed.
There was no way Alex would allow her to take Christopher back to Europe. No way. At that moment, he knew he wanted this child. To keep Christopher close, Alex would be willing to sacrifice anything. Ronnie's smiling face popped into his mind. Almost anything, he qualified.
"All right, darling," Margo said. "You go see Patty."
Both parents watched as the toddler trudged off. Once the dark head was out of sight, they turned back to each other.
"Who's Patty?" Alex asked distractedly, more for something to say than because he really wanted to know.
"Rosamond's puppy." Rosamond Gregg was an old friend of Margo's, and this sumptuous apartment belonged to her. "She makes him stay in the kitchen because he's not completely housetrained."
"Where is Rosamond?"
"She had a luncheon date. She'll be back later." Margo smiled a little half-smile. "She told me she thought we might like to have the place to ourselves for the big reunion."
"Do you want to get back together? Is that what this is all about?"
The question reverberated in the air between them. Alex held his breath.
"Not exactly..."
"What do you want?" Alex insisted. His stomach muscles tensed.
Margo sighed. "Let's just say I want you and your son to get to know one another. For now I plan to stay for a month or so, and then ... after you've had a chance to spend time with Christopher ... we'll talk again. How does that suit you?"
It didn't suit him at all, but what choice did he have? He didn't know anything about family law, and he wasn't sure of his legal rights. He couldn't afford to make her angry. Good sense dictated caution, because now that his son had been given to him, Alex didn't think he could bear giving him up. He'd call Bernie as soon as he got back to his apartment. Bernie knew the best lawyers in town. This would be the last time he'd be at a disadvantage when talking to Margo. The next time they met, he'd have the upper hand.
* * *
Alex stared at Russell Cookson, the family law expert Bernie had recommended. "Do you mind repeating what you just said?"
"Certainly not," the lawyer said. He pushed his thick glasses back up his nose and cleared his throat. "I said, Mr. Summerfield, that it really doesn't matter what you think or what you want. Unless your name appears on the child's birth certificate as the father, you haven't got any rights at all."
Alex's heart pounded. He clenched his teeth and glared at the lawyer as if he were the one preventing Alex from attaining his goal.
"Unless, of course..." the lawyer continued slowly, biting on the end of his pencil as he talked, "you were married to the mother when she gave birth. That would make all the difference. Then, you see, it wouldn't matter in the least who the father was—by law you would be the father..."
"Goddammit," Alex shouted, jumping to his feet. "Haven't you heard a word I said? I am the father!"
"It isn't necessary to shout at me, Mr. Summerfield," Cookson said reproachfully. "I am not hard of hearing."
"Sorry," Alex muttered as he sank back into the brown leather chair. He ran his hands through his hair. "It's just that I feel so helpless, and you didn't act as if you understood."
"I understand perfectly. What you fail to understand is that laws govern these kinds of situations, and in your particular situation, the law is clear-cut. If you and your ex-wife were already divorced when this child was born, unless the birth certificate specifies you as the father, you have no legal rights."
"And I can't do anything?" Alex asked wearily.
"There are any number of things you can try." Cookson lifted the pewter pitcher sitting on the left side of his desk and poured himself a glass of water. "Would you like some?" he asked politely.
"No, thanks." Why didn't the pompous old goat get to the point?
Cookson sipped his water. "Where was I? Oh, yes ... well, the first and most obvious thing to do is simply ask your ex-wife to let you see a copy of the birth certificate."
"What if she refuses?"
"If you pretend you don't believe her story and that you want proof of the child's parentage, perhaps she'll see the wisdom of granting your request." Cookson leaned back in his chair with a pleased expression on his face.
It's all right for him to smile, Alex thought. It's not his kid we're talking about. To him this is just a legal problem, nothing more. "What else can I try?" Alex asked.
"Well, if she can't or won't produce the birth certificate, we can go to court and try to get the judge to order a blood test on the child. But that won't really solve your problem, because all a blood test can show beyond a doubt is if it's impossible for you to have fathered the boy. It can't tell us whether you did."
"I don't need any blood test to tell me he's my son. All anyone has to do is look at Christopher, and they'd know I'm the father," Alex insisted.
"That may be, Mr. Summerfield. But a strong resemblance is not proof, and it won't carry any weight in court, I'm afraid." He raised his hands, palms up, as if illustrating the shakiness of Alex's claim to Christopher. Then he frowned. "There is something else, though..."
"Yes?" Alex leaned forward eagerly.
"Has your ex-wife mentioned money to you?"
"She suggested I might contribute to Christopher's support."
"Have you done so yet?"
Alex adopted his "be-serious" look. "I just talked to her yesterday afternoon, Mr. Cookson," he said dryly.
"Well, if she accepts money from you, she'll be acknowledging parentage. Yes ... that's the best course to follow, I believe. Get her to accept money ... write checks, of course, so you'll have proof later ... and make sure the money is consistent ... given to her on a regular basis over a period of months ... then you'll have grounds with which to fight her if she later tries to remove the boy from your influence..."
Months. Months. He didn't want to wait months. Then Alex sighed wearily. Well, at least it was something. And right now he was willing to try anything. But first he'd ask to see the birth certificate.
* * *
When the phone rang, Ronnie leaped up from the couch. Maybe it was Alex.
"Hello?" she said hopefully.
"Veronica?"
It was Alex. "Oh, Alex ... hi."
"Hi." His voice had softened, and Ronnie's stomach felt like warm honey. "How are you?" he said.
"Oh, I'm fine," she said. But I miss you. I miss you so much.
"God, Ronnie, I miss you," he said.
Ronnie's heart tap danced. "Me, too," she whispere
d. "H ... have you seen your son yet?"
"Yes. Yesterday."
He didn't sound happy. "Wh ... what's wrong?" she asked.
"That obvious, huh?"
She smiled. She knew him so well now. Even the slightest nuance in his voice told her volumes. "Yes," she answered. She picked up the telephone and stretched the extension as far as it would go so she could sit back on the couch in comfort.
"Ronnie," he said. "Everything is a mess."
"In what way?"
He sighed, the sound carrying clearly across the wires. "Well, yesterday I went over to the apartment where Margo is staying, and I saw Christopher. There's no doubt he's my son, Ronnie. He looks exactly like me."
Ronnie swallowed. If there was no problem with the boy, there must be a problem with Margo. Oh, please, she prayed. Don't tell me you're going back with her.
"...And I don't know what the hell she wants!"
"I ... I'm sorry, Alex. What did you say?"
"I said, Margo is acting coy. I don't know what she wants from me, and I'm frustrated as hell. I even went to see a family law expert today to see what I could do about this impasse, and guess what?"
"What?"
"I can't do one blasted thing except ask to see Christopher's birth certificate. Aside from that, the only recourse I have is to get Margo to accept money from me on a regular basis. I might as well be any jerk on the street for all the rights I have." Then, in a calmer voice, he explained everything the lawyer had told him.
"Alex, I'm sorry. I know how frustrated you must feel."
"Frustrated isn't the word. I'm fit to be tied, if you'll pardon a trite expression. I'd like to strangle somebody—preferably Margo." He laughed, but the sound had a hopeless ring. "Oh, Ronnie, I wish you could see him." His voice lowered, became husky. "He's wonderful. I took one look at him and knew I couldn't let her take him away from me."
The lump in Ronnie's throat expanded, and she blinked back tears. An image of a little boy with Alex's impish grin and sparkling eyes shimmered in her mind. "Of course not," she whispered.
"I don't know what to do," he said sadly. "I thought it would only take a few days to straighten this out, and I intended to be on my way back to Juliette by the end of the week, but it looks as if it's going to take longer."
"I understand," she said. And she did understand. She understood perhaps better than he thought, perhaps better than he understood. He was still fighting the inevitable. He still thought the two of them could work out something, but Ronnie knew better. "Maybe she wants to get back together, Alex, and she's waiting until you're so completely captivated by Christopher that you'll agree to her terms."
His silence told her that he'd already thought of that possibility.
"So, when do rehearsals start?" she asked.
"The end of the month," he said distractedly. "Listen, Ronnie, you'll wait, won't you? We have to talk, but I can't come up there until I know where I am. I'm just not free to do anything right now."
"You know where to find me, Alex. I'm not going anywhere," Ronnie said quietly. She knew her answer wasn't exactly what he'd wanted to hear, but it was the best she could do right then.
* * *
Listlessly, Ronnie discarded the ten of spades, and Sam gleefully pounced on the card.
"Gin," he said as he laid down his hand.
Ronnie sighed. She put her own cards on the kitchen table and rubbed her forehead.
"Headache?"
"Yes," she murmured.
"I guess you don't want to play another?"
She shook her head. "I'm tired, Sam. Do you mind?"
When he didn't answer, she looked up to find his dark eyes fixed on her and concern etched into the lines of his face. "Have you heard from him lately?" he asked.
Ronnie knew he meant Alex. "Yes. He called last night."
"And?"
"Same as before. He doesn't know what his ex-wife wants. He's waiting for her to make a move. He's angry and frustrated. When he asked her to show him Christopher's birth certificate, she said she'd left it in her deposit box in Europe. Then he tried to set up regular child support payments. His lawyer told him if he could get Margo to accept money on a regular basis, it would establish his claim to parentage, but even there, Margo's been crafty. She always evades the issue and tells Alex they'll talk about it later. Alex is afraid to push her. He can't prove he's Christopher's father, and he's scared if he tries to get tough with her, she'll just pack up and leave, taking his son with her."
"And if she decides she wants to get back together, then what?"
That was the $64,000 question, Ronnie thought. The question that had haunted her the past eight weeks. Eight weeks. She stared pensively out the window. The trees blazed in their autumn finery—dressed in brilliant gold and scarlet and every variation in between. The entire world wore its party face, as if defying winter's approach.
Ronnie's heart felt like winter already. She moved blindly through the glorious days. Even the crisp, cool air didn't invigorate her as it had in the past. She felt numb, dead, full of grief and loss. Each day her residue of hope waned. Soon nothing would be left except resignation and pain.
She'd tried to hide her unhappiness, but she knew everyone talked about her behind her back. Some people—Miss Agatha, for instance—had confronted her head on.
Ronnie cringed, remembering that day shortly after Alex had left. Miss Agatha had come marching into Ronnie's office.
"Veronica," she'd said briskly as she pushed open Ronnie's door. "May I see you for a few moments?" She placed her cane on the edge of Ronnie's desk and sat stiffly upright in the chair in front of the desk. Her dark eyes flashed as she settled her purple flowered dress around her legs.
Ronnie sat quietly, rolling her pen between her fingers as she waited.
"Well?" she snapped.
"Well, what?" Ronnie countered.
"Well, where is that scoundrel? Where has he gone?"
"You mean Alex?"
"Of course I mean Alex," said Miss Agatha, exasperation edging her voice.
"He's gone ... gone home," Ronnie said quietly. The pain that always hovered at the edge of her consciousness pushed its way into her mind, and she wished everyone would leave her alone.
"Gone home!" Incredulity replaced exasperation, and Miss Agatha's mouth dropped open.
If Ronnie hadn't felt so miserable, she'd have laughed at the rare specter of Miss Agatha stunned into silence.
Finally Miss Agatha said, "And just when do you expect him to return?"
"I don't."
"What? Why ever not?"
"Because he was only visiting here for the summer. You know that. He always planned to go back to the city."
"Well!" Miss Agatha exploded. "After all I did to get the two of you together!"
Suddenly, Miss Agatha's machinations made sense. Everything clicked into place in Ronnie's brain. Tears filled her eyes. She swallowed and bent her head. She heard Miss Agatha get up, and then the old lady was standing next to her. The poignantly delicate scent of lavender surrounded Ronnie as Miss Agatha patted Ronnie's head and murmured, "Now, now. It will be all right."
Ronnie wanted to throw herself into Miss Agatha's arms and cry and cry until there were no tears left. But she didn't. She clenched her teeth and willed herself to look up calmly. "I'm okay," she said.
"Whatever possessed that young man to leave? I just don't understand it," Miss Agatha said. Frowning, she walked back to her chair and reseated herself. "I thought the two of you were getting along so well."
"We were. It wasn't that. His ex-wife returned from Europe, and Alex found out he has a son by her. He went back to New York to see her and the boy."
"Well, fine. But surely he'll want you to join him there!"
"Miss Agatha, I know you mean well. I appreciate your concern, and I know your actions were motivated out of love for me, but I doubt anything permanent could ever work out for me and Alex. I think his ex-wife wants to reconcile, and from
talking to Alex, I think he'd agree to those terms if that was the only way he could keep his son with him."
"What do you mean? Keep his son with him?"
"Well, she hasn't come right out and said it, but his ex-wife has implied that she'll take little Christopher back to Europe if Alex doesn't go along with her."
"And she wants to resume their marriage?" The dark eyes narrowed.
Ronnie shrugged. "I don't know. But it wouldn't surprise me, and I think it would be best for us all if I just forget about Alex Summerfield." Her telephone buzzed, and Ronnie grimaced. "Look, Miss Agatha, you're going to have to excuse me. I've got a call."
The old lady stood, picked up her cane, and frowned. She walked out muttering, "I thought he had more sense!"
Oh, God, Ronnie thought. I've got to forget him.
But the conversation with Miss Agatha had taken place weeks ago, and now it was almost the end of October, and Ronnie was still hanging onto a shred of hope.
"Ronnie?" Sam reached across the kitchen table and grasped her hands. His touch was comforting. "You looked like you were a million miles away just now."
Not a million, she thought. Only a few hundred. "I'm sorry, Sam." Then she made a determined effort to look more cheerful, and in an effort to change the subject, she said brightly, "I saw Laurie today."
"You did! How's she doin'?"
"She looks great, and Ed Traymore told me she's doing a wonderful job for him."
"You know, Ronnie, you did a good piece of work when you persuaded her to press charges against Pete. Look how good everything's worked out."
Yes, Ronnie thought. Pete was doing well, too. The counselor in the alcohol abuse program at the county hospital had told Ronnie he'd responded well to the counseling sessions, and Laurie had told her that when she'd visited him a few days ago, he'd been like a different person.
"And I've got you to thank for all this, Ronnie," Laurie had said. Her blue eyes shone happily.
Laurie even looked prettier, Ronnie thought, now that she felt like a worthwhile person.
"Yes," Ronnie said in answer to Sam's comment. "I do feel good about what's happened with Laurie and Pete." At least someone's life seems to be working out, she thought wearily.
