by Tamara Leigh
Feeling as if my soft underbelly is exposed, I grip my arms against my sides. “I’d better get to work.”
“You will call me, won’t you?”
“Of course. I just need time to digest this.” I stick a hand out. “Thank you, Mrs. Elliot.”
“Oh no.” She stands and hugs me as best she can with the considerable discrepancy in our heights. “We’re family.”
I tentatively pat her back, but though I command myself to verbally acknowledge our newfound connection, I can’t. Not yet. But maybe in time.
I stare at the empty balcony where I left Devyn to do research for a school project a half hour ago. I know where she’s gone. She’s where I firmly told her not to go so she wouldn’t disturb his work—or my day any more than it’s already been disturbed right off its axis.
I hurry across the stage. I shouldn’t have trusted her, should have known she would defy me. If only I had dropped her at home. And I would have if Mrs. Templeton hadn’t whispered into the phone that Mr. Orley was threatening to take his business to Puck & Sons if I didn’t immediately meet him at the auction house to discuss the sale of his one-hundred-unit storage facility.
“Teenage rebellion,” I grumble as I thrust aside the curtains and stomp backstage. I don’t stop stomping until partway down the corridor when I catch the sound of music and see the light cutting across the floor that reveals Reece’s studio door is open. I approach with less fervor, and as I near, I hear Reece’s voice above some sleepy jazzlike crooning.
“Insipid?”
“That’s right—insipid.”
She’s telling him? The temptation to stand outside the door and eavesdrop is strong, but I enter.
“I can see why that bothers you,” Reece says from behind the screen, “but as my mother is fond of saying, consider the source.”
Devyn sighs. “I know, but…well, I kind of like him—as far as an almost thirteen-year-old girl can like a guy—and I thought he liked me. But then for him to call me that…”
“Are you? Insipid, I mean.”
I falter, outraged he would ask that.
To my relief, Devyn gives a resounding, “No!”
“That’s my girl,” he says.
His? I stop dead.
“Er, could you…hand me the one…with the curved blade?” His stop-and-go speech evidences I’m not the only one who realizes he said that. He clears his throat. “So, if you aren’t insipid—and I can vouch that you aren’t—why do you think he said that?”
“Probably because Amanda was there.”
She didn’t tell me Amanda was present.
“Then he was playing to an audience.”
“That’s how it looked.”
“Peer pressure.”
Devyn sighs again. “So now he wants me to forgive him—”
She didn’t tell me that either.
“—and I’m not sure I can.”
“Was his apology genuine?”
“Seemed like.”
“That one,” Reece says, “the one with the looped blade.”
Metal clatters on metal; then Devyn says, “Here you are.”
“In my experience,” Reece says, “people do foolish things when they worry too much about what others think of them.”
I’m one of those experiences—on the school steps that morning, feeling for Yule when she fell, doing an about-face in hopes of returning Vicky to her proper place and ensuring my leadership, then Reece…
“That doesn’t mean they aren’t good people,” he continues. “It means they have a weakness you need to be aware of, especially if you want to continue to pursue a relationship with them.”
He didn’t want to continue pursuing anything with me. Well, not exactly. It may have taken him thirteen years, but he did kiss me again. And I blew it.
“You’re right. I guess I just need to proceed with caution where Bradley’s concerned, especially when Amanda is around.” Devyn harrumphs. “Honestly, sometimes it’s hard to believe she’s human, she can be so mean, but I try to pray for her like Jesus says to pray for those who persecute us. I ask God to grow her up for the better, just like He did my mom.”
As I near the partition, I brake hard.
“She’s changed, you know, not anything like the way she was in high school.”
Oh no. Amanda has been instrumental in educating my daughter about my past, but exactly how far past Maggie Pickwick 101 has her education progressed?
“Of course, you’ve probably noticed.”
Reece doesn’t respond, and my guess is he’s searching for a change of subject.
“Want to see how I do this?” he asks.
“Oh.” Her voice sags. “Okay.” I hear her footsteps on the cement floor.
“You need to work the clay before you form it over the armature. Warm it between your hands like this. And then press it in place.”
“It’s hard to believe that’s going to be a face.”
“The details come later. Now try it. Give me some clay right here where his ear will be.”
In the silence, I imagine my daughter kneading the clay between her small palms. Shortly, she says, “Here?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. It’s even harder to believe that’s going to be an ear.”
“Trust me, Devyn.”
Trust Reece. All well and good providing you don’t trust him with your heart. Not that it’s his fault mine feels as if it’s been put through a juicer.
“You know what?” Devyn sounds triumphant. “I do trust you.”
I hold my breath through the silence, expecting it to end with Reece changing the subject again, but he says, “I appreciate that, Devyn.” And the gentle, yet weary way he says it makes it sound like surrender, as if he’s done with the fight he’s been fighting this past week, as if he accepts she’s his.
Not good. I step around the screen. “Devyn?”
She swings around where she stands alongside the pedestal on which sits the crude figure of Uncle Obe’s statue, a jumble of plumbing parts, wire, mesh, foil, and now clay.
I don’t mean to look at Reece, but I do, and his smile runs away without a backward glance.
I turn to my daughter. “I’ve been looking for you. It’s time to go.”
“Now?” She shows me her hands that evidence the gray of the clay she was kneading. “I’m helping Mr. Reece.”
“I’m sure he appreciates it, but we need to get home.”
“But I’ve finished my homework.” There’s a whiff of a whine in her voice.
Angst, moodiness, and now whining.
“Actually,” Reece says, “I’m pretty much done for the day. But you’re welcome to stop by another time, Devyn.”
Disappointment tugs at her mouth as she looks at Reece, but when she shifts to me, her mouth lowers even more.
I nod at the sink across the room. “Wash your hands and we’ll go.”
She walks stiffly past me.
I follow her with my eyes. Why does it have to be so hard?
“I want to talk to you,” Reece says into my ear.
I turn and am surprised by a softening around his eyes. Not that he’s anywhere near smiling, but the anger I’m owed appears to have mellowed.
I wait until Devyn turns on the water. “I want to talk to you too.” I have to tell him.
His pine green eyes hold mine hostage. “Tonight.”
So soon? I want to get it over with, but I need some time to process what has happened. “I can’t.”
“Tomorrow then.”
“How about Wednesday morning?”
“I’ll be on a plane to DC to discuss a museum project and won’t be back until the weekend.”
Too much breathing room…not enough breathing room. “All right, tomorrow. My office?”
“What about the dock at Pickwick Lake, if it’s still there?”
In all its shabby glory, though who knows for how much longer. With the revitalized Pickwick putting its best face forward, th
e dock may soon have an entirely new face. Even so, it’s not the place to tell him what needs to be told. I live here, and the last thing I want is for a memory we made there years ago to be overwritten by what will send him away from Devyn and me forever.
“I’d prefer my office.”
He opens his mouth but closes it when Devyn shuts off the water.
“Ten?” I suggest.
“Ten it is.”
Devyn ignores me all the way across his studio, pausing only to retrieve her backpack from beside the door. A moment later, I step into the corridor and pull the door closed. And tomorrow I will close yet another door. For good. And bad.
As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. (Psalm 103:12)
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. (Isaiah 41:10)
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. (John 14:27)
March 30
Do not be afraid.” Head bent to the Post-it note on which I wrote the Scriptures that Skippy said would help me through what lies ahead, I read them again. The first is assurance of forgiveness for my past. I know He forgave me long ago and continues to forgive me for my stumbling and bumbling, but knowing it and feeling it aren’t always the same, especially where an unresolved piece of my past is concerned.
“But soon to be resolved.” I glance at my watch. Ten till ten.
The second and third Scriptures are the Super Glue of the words of God and Jesus, not only to help me overcome fear when I reveal Mrs. Elliot’s proof of paternity, but to strengthen me with the expectation of peace afterward.
I close my eyes and silently run through the Scriptures, having determined to memorize them and put more of an effort into God’s daily Word. As for my Daily Word Calendar for Highly Successful Career Women, I gave it to Devyn as we were going out the door this morning and told her to dispose of it as she saw fit.
She smiled before remembering she doesn’t feel like smiling, then tossed it in the trash. As hard as it will be to get through this with Reece, it will be harder to reveal the truth to her. Unfortunately, it looks like I’m on my own. More unfortunately, I’m no nearer to giving her a father. And the right man isn’t going to magically appear. But maybe with lots of prayer.
The door opens, and I’m surprised that Reece didn’t knock.
“There you are.” My mother bustles in.
I stand quickly from behind my desk. “Mom, what are you doing here?”
She halts so abruptly that she sways like a sprung doorstop. “What?” Her thinly arched eyebrows take to her brow. “I can’t drop by to visit my daughter? I have to make an appointment?”
“Er, no.” I hurry forward. “Of course you can drop by.” Though I’d love it if she dropped by just to drop by, not to drop bombs, like when she showed up with Devyn’s Father Quotient. I give her stiff figure a hug. “It’s just that I have a meeting in a few minutes.”
“So you don’t have time for your mother.”
“Of course I do, but could we…?” Jolted by her suddenly moist eyes, I roll up my tongue and gently draw her to the chair before my desk.
She drops into it like a skinny sack of potatoes and grasps my hand with what seems like desperation.
I bend down. “What’s wrong?”
“Your father.” She squeezes my fingers so hard, I would whimper if I wasn’t afraid of the news she’s about to deliver.
“He sent the money and wrote that he’ll continue to do so, but…”
Then he hasn’t passed away. I let my shoulders slump. Though my relationship with him was off and on depending on his mood, which was dependent on the state of our finances, he afforded more affection than my mother, who mostly saw me as a reflection of her dreams. And he did give wonderful piggyback rides when I was little.
My mother sniffles. “He says if I won’t come to him, he wants a divorce. He’s tired of waitin’ and says my job of raisin’ you and Luc is long past. He’s ready to move on and spend the rest of his life with someone.” Her grip tightens, causing the tips of my fingers to purple. “If not me, then someone else.”
“Mom, do you still love Daddy?”
“Of course I do! Jonah is the man I chose to spend my life with.” Her indignation turns to anger. “Then he had to mess it up by getting in trouble with the law and runnin’ off to Mexico—and it’s all your Uncle Jeremiah’s fault.”
Pipers father.
“If he hadn’t run a dirty campaign, your father wouldn’t have felt obliged to do the same.”
And the mayoral campaign wouldn’t have earned the Pickwicks more scandalous headlines.
My mother releases me and puts her face in her hands. “Divorce. What is he thinking? He still loves me; I know he does.”
Fingers tingling to life, I touch her shoulder. That’s when I hear footsteps. Ten o’clock. Do not fear. Do not be afraid. “I think you should go to Mexico.”
My mother peeks above her fingertips. “You do?”
“Yes, Luc and I will be fine.”
She sits straight up. “What are you sayin’? That you don’t need me?”
“I’m saying Daddy needs you more. And you need him. It’s time.”
“What about Devyn? I am her grandmother. The only one she has, mind you.”
Past her shoulder, Reece halts in the doorway. Bad timing. Or could it be God’s timing? As Reece starts to withdraw, I act on impulse to hold him there. This is what I need to discuss with him. “No, Mom, you aren’t Devyn’s only grandmother.” Reece hesitates, and I momentarily meet his gaze.
My mother makes a sound of disgust. “That Skippy woman—”
“I’m not talking about her.”
“Then”—she swallows loudly—“who?”
Peripherally, I see Reece shift in the doorway. “Corinne Elliot.”
“Elliot?” My mother’s voice pitches high. “You’re saying that you and that maladjusted son of hers—”
“Chase is Devyn’s father.”
She searches my face, and when she looks away, I peer past her shoulder.
Reece’s lids are narrowed. Does he think I’m lying again?
“But I thought Reece Thorpe might be her father,” my mother says almost mournfully.
I know how she feels—times one hundred. “I hoped he was, but he isn’t.”
“How do you know?”
I turn to my desk and retrieve the envelope meant for Reece. “I went to see Mrs. Elliot yesterday to try to track down Chase for DNA testing.” She doesn’t need to know he’s in prison. “She gave me this.” I hold up the envelope. “For a long time, she suspected Devyn was her granddaughter, so she paid for a paternity test a couple years ago.”
She jerks as if struck. “How would she do that without your knowledge?”
“She substitute taught at Devyn’s school. Apparently, Devyn got gum in her hair one day, and Mrs. Elliot helped her get it out.”
My mother’s eyes widen, causing her lashes to splay beneath her eyebrows. “Why, that sneaky—!”
“No.” I lay a hand on her arm. “She didn’t want to cause trouble. She’s lonely, what with her husband having passed on and a rift between her and her son. I think she just needed to know she still has ties to someone in this town.”
My mother opens her mouth, closes it, and eases back in the chair. “Well, it’s not like I don’t know where she’s coming from. It hasn’t been easy all these years without Jonah, especially since…” She sighs. “Well, mothering was always difficult for me, and it’s not as if my children are clamoring to be with me now that they’re all grown up.”
The tug in her voice and the defeated slope of her back shows this isn’t all “woe is me.” She feels it—deeply.
I look to the doorway, but all that remains of Reece is his retreating back
. And I feel the loss of him—deeply.
Putting my arms around my mother, I close my eyes. “It’s been ages since you came to our house for dinner. How about this Saturday night?”
She draws a quick breath. “Why, yes. I…I would like that.”
“Me too. I love you, Mom.”
She nods into my shoulder. “I know you do, Maggie.”
It would be easy to pretend I don’t see him sitting on the bench near the block of granite that patiently awaits his masterpiece, but cowardly. Deciding the errands I was going to run can wait, I cross the street on shaky legs. Thus, I’m almost grateful to lower to the bench. Almost. I angle toward Reece where he reclines two feet away with his hands clasped behind his head.
“I’m sorry.” Nothing new. I hug my sweater to me, though it’s actually pretty warm for early spring. “I know I went about that wrong.”
He continues to direct his sunglassed gaze at the block. “It wouldn’t have changed the outcome.”
“That you’re not Devyn’s father.” It doesn’t need to be clarified, but just in case he needs an opening…
He unclasps his hands, and when he turns to me, the afternoon sun flashes off his dark lenses. “Do you know why I wanted to talk to you?”
I think I do, and that makes it hurt even more. Do not let your heart be trampled—er, troubled. “About tryin’ to make it work between us?”
He nods. “For Devyn’s sake.”
I appreciate the sacrifice he was prepared to make, but I long for it to have been, even just a little bit, for his sake and mine. “For Devyn. Right. And now, look”—I toss up my hands—“all that worry for nothing.”
He blows out a breath and sits forward. “You didn’t have to tell me about Gary or Chase. You could have let me go on believing the rumors were just that.”
“I could have, and as ashamed as I am to admit it, I considered it.”
He removes his sunglasses and those green eyes pierce me. “Why?”
Oh, to be coy, but he doesn’t deserve that. I rise from the bench, the better to make my exit. “Because you fit the Father Quotient perfectly.” A furrow appears between his eyebrows, but I plow through my pride. “Not only do I agree with Devyn that you would make a wonderful father, but there would have been something in it for me as well.” I avert my eyes. “But now…well, all I ask is that you keep your commitment to my uncle and put something on that block of granite before he no longer cares.”
