His Daughter...Their Child

by Karen Rose Smith

  “What?” he asked.

  “She’s getting more congested. I don’t like it, Clay.” Her voice was tremulous with emotion she’d never felt before. So this was what it was like to be a real mom.

  “How can you tell?” The light turned green, and he shifted his attention back to the traffic that was heavier than usual with end-of-August tourists.

  “She’s wheezing. She has a fever.”

  The only sound on the rest of the drive home was that of Abby’s cough and her sniffles. Celeste held the little girl’s hand, feeling absolutely helpless and hating it. She’d experienced it once before when she’d given Abby to Clay and Zoie.

  Five minutes later, Clay parked in his garage and carried Abby into her room, laying her gently on the bed.

  Clay ran his hand through Abby’s hair, feeling her cheek. “She is warm. I’ll get the thermometer.”

  In the meantime, Celeste asked Abby, “What would you like to do? We could read or watch a movie.” She’d seen the stack of children’s DVDs on the entertainment center in the great room.

  “Watch a movie. Cind-a-wella Bawbie,” Abby said decisively but then began coughing again.

  With a worried frown, Clay returned with the temporal thermometer and directed the probe to Abby’s forehead. “Stay still for a sec,” he warned with a smile.

  “I will,” Abby murmured.

  Clay slid the probe to her temple, then studied the reading. “Ninety-nine point nine. This could be just a cold.” He sounded relieved at that idea and Celeste wondered if she could be overreacting.

  “Why don’t I get you something to drink while you get set up with a movie? How about apple juice?”

  Abby nodded.

  Celeste’s gaze met Clay’s. He couldn’t hide his concern for his daughter, but he apparently knew what to do in this situation. Along with that concern, Celeste thought he was looking at her differently. With less cynicism? She was afraid if she made a misstep, he’d throw her out of his life…out of Abby’s life.

  He was assessing her again when he said, “I can give you the keys to the SUV if you want to go back to Mikala’s. I have a truck if I need to take Abby to the urgent care center.”

  Celeste went very still, unsure if he was giving her an opening to stay as well as go. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “I don’t think Abby’s going to want to play tonight or look at the clothes and supplies we bought her.”

  Celeste’s intuition told her Clay expected her to leave, not share responsibility for Abby. She could see defensiveness as well as determination in his stance. “No, of course she won’t want to play. But I could make us all something to eat while you spend time with her. I want to help out, Clay. I don’t have to be an invited guest.”

  Abby coughed again.

  His focus on his daughter, Clay raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to set up the vaporizer. I think, ladybug, you can watch a movie on your portable DVD in here. Is that okay?”

  Abby looked as if she were too tired to argue. She agreed with a condition. “You stay.”

  Unable to refuse her request, Clay sat on the bed beside Abby and looked at Celeste. “It would be a help if you could make us something to eat. The freezer’s stocked with all kinds of stuff and so is the pantry.”

  “I’ll see what I can find.”

  The electricity between her and Clay was still there, still swarming around them in spite of the circumstances. But they were both attempting to deny it. Just how long could they do that? What would happen when they got within touching distance again? What would happen if she let him kiss her and didn’t stop whatever happened next?

  “Thanks,” he said, and she could see he meant it.

  For the next hour, Celeste kept her mind focused on Abby and the food she was going to make for all of them. She knew Abby needed liquids. Finding chicken breasts in the freezer, she defrosted them in the microwave and used one to make broth while she used the rest to make a casserole along with some fresh broccoli. Pulling a can of soup from the pantry, Celeste mixed it with cream cheese and a few spices, concocting a sauce.

  Soon the soup broth was steaming with carrots and celery. She’d add alphabet pasta for Abby when it was almost done. After topping the casserole with bread crumbs, she popped it in the oven.

  With everything under control in the kitchen, she ventured into Abby’s room with a glass of water garnished with a slice of lime. That might entice her to drink.

  When Clay spied her in the doorway, he smiled. “Whatever you’re making smells great.”

  “Thanks, I hope you like it. It should be finished in about forty-five minutes.”

  Clay lounged beside Abby on the bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He’d taken off his boots and pulled his shirt from his jeans. His stocking feet and the stubble on his chin made him look sexier than ever.

  Propping himself on an elbow, he looked over at Abby. “She doesn’t seem to be coughing as much.”

  “The vaporizer might be helping.”

  “I smoothed VapoRub on her throat, too.”

  Abby wrinkled her nose, showing she was listening to the conversation. “That stuff smells awful.”

  “But it’s helping you breathe, isn’t it?”

  Abby swiveled her gaze from the DVD player to stare at Celeste. “Can you wead to me?”

  “I’m sure your dad would be glad to—”

  “I want you. You wead diffewent.”

  “Different?” She knew children spoke in a language of their own. Different could possibly mean many things.

  “Yeah. You wead like a girl. Daddy weads like a boy. When you wead a girl stowy, I like it better.”

  Celeste laughed. “I see. So you’d rather I read Cinderella but your dad can read Sponge Bob.”

  Abby smiled and gave a vigorous nod. Then she pounded on the bed. “Come here, too. You can sit. Daddy can listen.”

  Getting into the same bed with Clay, even under these circumstances, gave her goose bumps. “I might have to check on supper.”

  “That’s okay. Wight, Daddy?”

  “Sure. We can stop and go back to Cinderella Barbie while you do.”

  His voice was mock enthusiastic so she warned him, “Just wait until she wants you to help her decide which shoes to wear.”

  “She’s only three and a half.”

  “Today she’s three and a half. But these years are going to go so fast, you won’t know what hit you.”

  “Neither will you.” The tone of his voice wasn’t challenging. It wasn’t offensive. It was almost accepting.

  The bed was a queen-size with a pink eyelet spread, so when Celeste got in to lie down next to Abby she almost felt—with the canopy above them—as if they were in a world of their own with Abby snuggled between them. They weren’t touching, but facing each other, Celeste’s knees bent toward Abby. Their feet weren’t that far apart.

  Celeste asked, “What would you like me to read?”

  “The kitty book,” Abby responded.

  Celeste had read Kitten’s First Full Moon to Abby once before. It was one of her favorites, she knew. She was beginning to learn a lot of things about her daughter, and she loved knowing her favorite things. Maybe that’s why her own mom had sung her that song. Maybe that’s why she’d remembered it.

  Abby asked her dad, “Can I have Lulu?”

  Lulu was propped down at the end of the bed against the footboard. Clay slung his foot down, caught the cat and brought it up within arm’s reach. Then he wiggled it and walked it to Abby. “Lulu’s ready to listen, too.”

  Abby wrapped her arm around the cat’s middle and brought it in close.

  A few minutes later, Celeste was reading, all the while aware of Abby listening and Clay watching. This enforced closeness with him on a bed, of all places, was awkward. Yet there was something more, too. Maybe the question of what would happen if they ever did share a bed bounced in their heads. Maybe the question of what would happen if Clay ev
er thought of Abby as her daughter nudged them both. The waters were so murky. Her attraction to Clay made her relationship with Abby more complicated. Yet her relationship with Abby gave her attraction to Clay even more meaning.

  After Celeste finished reading, Clay opened the DVD player again, and she went to check on supper. She let Abby’s soup cool a bit, then fixed plates for her and Clay. When she carried the dinner tray to the bedroom, Clay was still watching the movie with Abby.

  He sat up when he saw her. “You don’t have to serve us.”

  “I’m not serving exactly. I just thought we could have a picnic in here—a picnic with soup and plenty of apple juice and more water. What do you think, Abby?”

  “I’m not hungwy,” she said with little energy.

  Celeste didn’t like the paleness of her cheeks, or the lack of animation in her voice. After exchanging a worried glance with Clay, she coaxed, “I put alphabet noodles in the soup.”

  Abby’s interest picked up a bit. “Can I see?”

  Clay was sitting on the side of the bed now. After he propped Abby up on pillows, he helped position the tray in front of Abby.

  He dipped in the spoon, catching a few of the alphabet noodles. “Open wide.”

  Abby did, and he spooned the soup into her mouth. She turned her eyes to Celeste. “It’s good,” she pronounced, and that compliment meant everything to Celeste.

  “I can feed myself, Daddy. I’m a big girl.” She took the spoon from him and dipped it into the soup. But after a few spoonfuls, she began coughing again.

  Clay took the tray and set it on the bedside table.

  “We can let this sit for a little while. How about more apple juice?” After a few sips, Abby settled back on the pillows again. Clay plugged in a set of headphones and adjusted them on Abby’s ears.

  “Maybe she’ll fall asleep,” he said in a low voice as he and Celeste sat crossed-legged on the floor, their backs against the bed, and picked at their dinners while Abby resumed watching her movie.

  “I don’t like the sound of that cough,” he said.

  “Has Abby been sick very much before now?”

  “The occasional cold or tummy upset, but nothing serious. This just happened so fast.”

  Celeste’s instincts told her it wouldn’t clear just as fast.

  “You don’t have to stay, you know.”

  “I know. But I don’t want to leave Abby now.” She didn’t want to leave him, either, to deal with this alone, but she couldn’t tell him that.

  After a few more bites of dinner, he asked, “Do you want to bunk here tonight?”

  “If you don’t mind. I can just sleep on the sofa.”

  His protest came quickly. “Don’t be silly. I have a guest room and it’s made up.” He must have seen the look in her eyes because his brows furrowed, and he asked, “Do you need an explanation?”

  “I don’t have any right to an explanation.”

  After one of his leveling looks, he said, “Once in a while I have a client who’s come a long way. If I know him or her, and they can’t find other accommodations, I let them stay here. If I do that, I take Abby to spend the night with my mother. It’s just a precaution. I won’t take any chances with her.”

  “But you said you don’t let them stay unless you know them.”

  “Yes, well…I thought I knew Zoie, didn’t I? Appearances can sometimes be deceiving. Anyway, the room’s made up, so you can settle yourself in.”

  “We can take turns with Abby,” she suggested, not knowing if he’d go for that or not.

  “It probably would be best if we were both able to get a little sleep. So that sounds like a good idea.”

  “Can I help you change her into pajamas?”

  Clay shifted, straightening his legs. “She probably gets tired of me being the only one who takes care of her at night.”

  “I doubt that.”

  When he shook his head, a lock of his hair fell over his forehead. “I’m not fooling myself, Celeste. I know a woman’s touch is important. She loves my mom, but…” He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back into place. “I don’t know how to explain it. There’s a wall there. Maybe it’s my mother’s generation. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t think Dad approves of her spending as much time with Abby as she does. I think that’s always in the back of her mind.”

  Celeste was distracted by the thick texture of Clay’s hair, his long fingers riffling through it. But this was important history he was giving her so she forced herself to focus on his words. “And the reason your dad doesn’t approve?”

  His voice low, he answered, “There are quite a few of them. He never approved of Zoie, so a child of hers is in the same category. He never approved of the way Abby came into the world with you as a surrogate. He believed if Zoie couldn’t have children, we should either go childless or adopt. Like I said, there were so many reasons. I guess that’s his way of looking at things.”

  “You don’t see him mellowing with age?”

  Clay almost snorted. “No! He is who he is. He actually does have a kinder, loving side. I see it with Mom all the time. But when someone disagrees with him, he’s a bear. She’s the only one who has the power to calm him with a word or a look.” He stopped and paused. “I don’t know why I told you any of this.”

  “Because it could affect Abby.”

  “Possibly. Or maybe you’re just a good listener.”

  Celeste glanced at Abby and saw her eyes were closed. She kept her tone soft. “You’re Abby’s father. I want to learn everything I can about her. I’ve missed over three years of her life. Do you understand how much catching up I feel I have to do?”

  Although they were sitting close together, no part of their bodies was touching. She realized now that they were both aware of why. One touch could lead to another and then another. The force field that surrounded them, though, seemed to be pulling them toward each other.

  Celeste waited for Clay’s answer, breathing in the lingering scent of his aftershave, wishing she could push his hair over his brow, to show him she cared. The gray of his eyes seemed to grow more mysterious, the muscle in his neck pulsed. He was so still, she wondered if he was going to respond.

  Instead of answering her, though, he asked a probing question. “I understand that you felt like Abby’s mother when you were carrying her. When you delivered her. Maybe even when you left here without her. But after the first few months, after a year, did you still feel like her mother?”

  “Are you saying I didn’t because I stayed out of your life?”

  “I’m not doubting, Celeste. I’d just like to know.”

  Letting her thoughts and feelings spill out to Clay was fairly easy. “The first six months were so hard. I kept telling myself she was your child all along. She was Zoie’s little girl. I tried to see myself as a doting aunt, but I knew I couldn’t do that then, and I didn’t know when I’d be able to. I never stopped feeling like her mother, Clay. Maybe if I’d been a surrogate for a stranger, everything would have been different. But being a surrogate for Zoie, I think I felt even more attached. All the counseling in the world couldn’t prepare me for leaving Abby with you, for pretending I wasn’t part of who she was.”

  He leaned closer to her, his voice gentle. “And you never would have told us that.”

  “No.”

  They were facing each other, so near their breaths could mingle…so near a kiss wafted in the air between them. But Celeste wanted more than a kiss—she wanted to be an integral part of her daughter’s life.

  She took a deep breath, leaned away and rose to her feet. “I’ll clean up the kitchen, then we can get Abby ready for bed.”

  Clay nodded, gathering their dishes onto the tray on the floor. Then he pushed himself to his feet and said, “I’ll take this to the kitchen for you.”

  Celeste watched him leave the room as she sat on the bed beside Abby. She listened to her daughter’s breathing, memorizing the sound, exceptionally glad Clay was letti
ng her stay.

  Clay knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. However, at two o’clock in the morning he went to his room to try. Allowing Celeste to take a watch with Abby unnerved him. But he was on alert with the baby monitor for every sound, every cough, every sigh his daughter made. Being Abby’s father had brought joy and light and love into his life.

  But having Abby had clinched the end of his marriage. Except at the beginning, his union with Zoie hadn’t brought him joy. It had been difficult living with her discontent, which started when he’d made the decision to launch his guiding service. Zoie had wanted him to work for his father and go on to become a Wall Street wizard. But after working at banking for six months, he’d known he’d get claustrophobia daily if he had to stay cooped up in a building with computers and figures.

  Zoie had pretended to be accepting at first. But then she’d tried to convince him to give up guiding in none-too-subtle ways. She’d erase messages from potential clients. She’d give him the silent treatment when he returned from an overnight trip. She’d put MBA information on his nightstand. He hadn’t wanted to siphon money from the trust fund his grandfather had left him, so they’d lived on a budget. She’d been especially unhappy about that, too. And when Zoie was unhappy, everyone knew it. After Abby was born, she became even more dissatisfied with her life.

  Celeste was so different. She seemed to know instinctively how to love Abby unconditionally. Watching Celeste with Abby made his heart ache, and he didn’t even know why. She seemed to be everything a mother should be—playful, watchful, attentive, kind. It was kindness that he’d always admired in Celeste.

  Always admired. Had he noticed her back in high school? Had he been aware of her as a woman when she visited him and Zoie before Abby was born? If he was honest with himself, he’d started making comparisons between the women after Zoie’s affair. Is that why he’d made sure to keep his distance from Celeste?

  Although the blinds were closed, the shadows on the walls seemed to shift as a summer wind blew outside, whistling against his log home. He stacked two of his king-size pillows, knowing he wasn’t going to get any sleep. The best he could hope for was to still his racing thoughts.