“Now, please?” Claire said.
“I have an idea,” Emma said, clapping her hands together. “Why don’t we make supper and bring it over to Mr. Nik’s place? We can eat in the house. That way we don’t have to smell that awful smell.” She tossed a grin Nik’s way, suddenly full of charm and warmth. “Our apartment has a bad smell and Mr. Landlord won’t fix it. It makes me want to barf whenever we eat.”
“Emma,” Claire said, shocked at her daughter’s forthright and rude comment. “We don’t talk like that.”
“But I do talk like that,” she said, innocence personified.
“You shouldn’t and you know better.” Claire put her free hand on her daughter’s shoulder, steering her toward the hole in the fence. “And now we need to leave.”
Emma pulled a grumpy face then waved to Nik. “Goodbye, Mr. Nik, maybe we can visit another time.”
But Nik just stared at them, looking confused. As if he wasn’t sure what to make of Emma’s sudden switch in allegiance.
Claire wasn’t either. But for now, she had supper to make and a list longer than her arm of things to do before the sun came up again.
So she said goodbye and took the dog and Emma back to their place through the fence.
Nik slid his damp palms down the side of his blue jeans as he stood by his truck.
All these years of wondering. Of not knowing who his mother was or why she had done what she had were coming to a close.
Would Joyce tell him everything? Would she explain?
Rebecca would have told him to pray. To forgive. There were many times she would comfort him when he cried, wondering why his mother had given him up. Wondering why the Jensen’s didn’t want him anymore. Why the Baleys were so cruel. So many questions she couldn’t answer. So she would pray with him, reminding him that God’s love was a faithful love.
Still, he hesitated.
The easiest thing would be to leave. To walk away from the questions and the pain.
But he knew they would follow him. He needed to face them once and for all. Hopefully, talking to his mother could give him some answers.
And when he tore down that house he could eradicate the pain the Baleys had inflicted on him and finally put that part of his life behind him.
Maybe coming to Sweet Creek was just what he needed to do. Maybe, when he left, he could find the peace that had eluded him for so long.
Despite his self-talk, his heart pounded like he had just run a marathon. He clenched and unclenched his fists, drew in a long, slow breath and strode up the sidewalk to the apartment before he could change his mind.
He was disappointed to see his fingers shake as he punched in the numbers Cory had given him on the keypad.
“It’s me, Nik,” he said when Cory’s voice came through the intercom.
“I’ll let you in. Just open the door when you hear the buzzer,” she said, her voice distant. Reserved.
He paused for a moment, second thoughts assailing him but when the door buzzed, he yanked it open and strode through.
Nik walked down a long, narrow hallway, checking the numbers as he went. A door at the end of the hallway opened and Cory stood there, smiling.
But as he drew near, he could see that her smile seemed tight and her eyes held a glint of concern.
“Everything okay?” he asked as he came near.
She glanced back over her shoulder into the apartment. “Mom’s nervous, that’s all. How about you?”
“Ditto. But we’re still okay, right?”
Her careful smile struck him as hesitant.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
Nik shoved his hands in the back pocket of his jeans, trying to still the trembling of his hands. He did nothing, waiting for Cory to make the next move; to let him know what to do.
After what seemed like eons but was probably only seconds, she indicated that he follow her inside. He pulled in another breath as years of questions, doubts and tears trailed behind him like a dark cloud. His step faltered when he saw the woman sitting in the recliner facing him.
“Mom, Nik is here,” Cory said, her voice quiet.
Nik stopped and all he could do was stare.
All his life, whenever he thought of his mother, he pulled out the hazy memory he had of her wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt, carrying him, holding him tight, her long hair brushing his face.
The next memory was of her leaving, walking out of the door of a large, white room, filled with other people, the hood of her sweatshirt covering her head. He had tried to run after her but he was pulled back.
This woman was nothing like that. This woman looked old. Tired. Wrinkles fanned out from her eyes, and two deep lines bracketed her mouth. Her hair was short and hung in a grey bob framing her face.
His first emotion was disappointment.
But as she looked up at him, her brown eyes so much like his, so much like Cory’s, filled with tears. She struggled to her feet, wincing in pain.
“Nik. My son,” she said, her voice thick with emotion as she came toward him.
He had rehearsed this moment so many times. Thought of it so often. Sometimes he ran to her, wrapped his arms around her and cried on her shoulder.
Others he simply looked at her, told her she’d had her chance and walked away.
But this wasn’t his imagination—it was reality. And all he could do was freeze and stare at this woman trying to reconcile past with present.
“I’m so sorry,” was all she said, blinking rapidly, tears drifting down her cheeks.
Move. Do something.
But he couldn’t.
Finally, Joyce lowered her hand but Nik saw the anguish on her face.
“I made some coffee,” Cory said. “Why don’t we sit down and have a cup?”
Nik blinked, trying to pull himself into the moment, wondering why he could look at this woman who was his mother and not feel something at her apology. In all the movies and television shows this was where the violins came in, sweet and sweeping, and people embraced and held each other close, reunited at last.
But this woman created none of those emotions in him.
What kind of monster was he that he couldn’t even hug his own mother? And, even worse, as he sat down the only person he could think about was Rebecca. The woman who had poured unconditional love into him and who had taught him of God’s love. Who had prayed with him and comforted him.
“Just sit wherever,” Cory said. “I’ll be right back.”
Nik nodded, then eased himself onto a worn couch across from Joyce. His mother, he corrected himself.
“So, how long have you lived here?” he asked, resting his hands on his knee. Thank goodness it wasn’t jittering. Yet.
“About a year now,” Joyce said, her eyes fixed on him. “Cory and I moved around a lot before we ended up here.”
“I see,” was all he could say. Silence followed his comment and he glanced to the kitchen, hoping Cory would appear soon. He had felt more comfortable with her around.
He scanned the living room, his eyes skittering over the few plants and knick-knacks set out on the bookshelf on one wall. He came to an abrupt stop, having caught sight of a picture. He walked over to it, picking the framed photo up.
A toddler laughed at the photographer, tucked in the arms of a young woman. Joyce in better years, Nik guessed.
“That’s you. When you were three,” Joyce said from her chair. “Your father took that picture.”
“I have a father?” Matthew had said nothing about a father when they finally connected.
“Had. He died a week after that picture was taken.”
“I see.” His hands clutched at the photo, a storm of varying emotions washing over him. He’d had a father. At one time, he’d had a father and a mother. A complete family.
“He was very proud of you and was so excited to be a dad,” Joyce continued, her comments only stirring up the uncertain feelings.
“What… what happened to him?�
�� Nik asked, swallowing a knot of pain, surprised that this revelation generated such feelings.
“He was hit by a truck as he was walking home from work. Never found the driver.”
“Do you have any photos of him?”
“There’s an album on the coffee table,” Cory said.
Nik turned as Cory spoke. She was carrying a tray holding two mugs and a plate of cookies, which she set on the table, then picked up a red album the word ‘Photos’ barely illegibly engraved on its cracked and worn surface.
Nik remembered a time when he lived with the Baley family. They had gone to a park and he had wanted to somersault down the hill. Rick Baley had warned him not to but he did anyhow. He could still recall the feeling of disorientation and movement beyond his control as he tumbled down the hill end over end.
That’s how felt now.
He took the album from Cory. For a moment he just held it, running his finger along the cracked edge. Should he open it and be shown what he had lost when his mother gave him up?
Finally, he turned the page and the first thing he saw was a wedding picture. Joyce and…
“What was his name?” he asked.
“Taylor,” Joyce said. “Taylor Luciuk.”
Nik stared at the young couple, his eyes shifting from Joyce to Taylor. His mother and his father.
“You look exactly like him,” Cory said.
Nik studied him closer. “I guess I do.”
Nik flipped another page and his eyes fixed on another photo of a man holding a baby.
“That’s Dad and you,” Cory said, pointing to it.
Nik struggled to quiet his pounding heart. Find his footing.
He looked over at Joyce, then down at the picture. His family. The one he lost.
“And what about your adoptive parents?” Cory asked. “Where do they live? Are they still alive?”
Nik held her gaze, wondering for a fleeting second if she was mocking him. Then he realized they had no clue about the Jensen’s.”.
“Mom and Dad... Audry and Karl,” he corrected, still struggling with the sting, “got divorced three and half years after they adopted me. I went into the foster system after that.”
“Oh, no,” Cory cried out. Her distress was obvious as was the look of shock on her face. “I can’t believe that… Mom was assured you would be taken care of. She was convinced you were in a good place. That’s so heartbreaking…” her voice trailed off.
Her reaction surprised him. What had happened to him was such a part of his story it seemed as if everyone who knew him knew of it. Rebecca did, his friends did, even his ex-girlfriend did.
Now, here he was with his closest family members and they had no clue.
“You were in foster care?” Joyce cried out. “Why did no one tell me?”
“It was a closed adoption,” Nik said. He couldn’t keep the bitter tone out of his voice. “You wanted nothing to do with me.”
“That’s not true,” Joyce exclaimed, leaning forward and reaching out with one hand as if to connect with him. “That’s what the social worker recommended. And I didn’t want to mess things up for you. I didn’t want to get in the way of your new parents.”
“Your adoptive parents divorced?” Cory asked, as if she still couldn’t understand.
“Looking back, I think they were having troubles before they adopted me. I think they were hoping having me would change things, but they only made their situation worse.”
“Were you ever happy?” Joyce pleaded.
Nik hesitated, not sure what to say. He held Joyce’s anguished gaze and saw more tears spill down her cheeks. For a moment he felt sorry for her.
“I was happy for a while,” he said. “But my adoptive parents fought a lot. I spent a lot of time by myself in my room playing with all the toys they bought me.”
“You said you went into foster care after that,” Cory said, laying her hand on his arm. “What was that like?”
“Terrible.” Nik clenched his hands into fists, struggling to keep his emotions in check. It was that house, he thought. It was being back in that house that brought back all the wrong memories.
Cory covered her mouth with her hand, crying as well.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “We never knew. We had no idea.”
“You were supposed to be safe. You were supposed to be in a good place,” Joyce cried out. “I was told it was the best solution.”
Nik looked down at the album, at the different pictures pasted in it, glimpses of the life that he had before everything fell apart. His knee started jittering, shaking, bouncing up and down.
Then Joyce got up, crying, walking down the hall. The door shut behind her and Nik felt the breath he’d held slip out of him.
His mother was leaving him again.
He looked at the mugs of coffee Cory had poured, wondering what to do. His body hummed with a mixture of anger and pain.
He stood, setting the album on the table. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I have to leave, too.”
“But you just got here,” Cory said, getting up as well.
“I know. And I apologize,” he said, running his palms up and down his thighs. “Thanks for having me." The words sounded hollow and small.
He walked out the door, Cory right behind, keeping step with him as they walked down the carpeted hall. When they came to the door leading outside, he stopped and turned to her. “So I don’t think that went particularly well.”
“I understand. We knew this would be hard for you but I had hoped my mother would be a little more understanding.”
Nik looked into her eyes, struggling again with his emotions.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He sighed, not sure how to encapsulate all the feelings storming through him.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
Cory gave him a tremulous smile, and then he gave her what he couldn’t give his mother. A tight hug.
She clung to him for a moment, then pulled away, swiping at her eyes. “So how long you sticking around?”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I put an offer in on a house.”
Cory’s mouth eased into a smile and Nik saw her relax. "So you'll be staying?"
"For a while," was all Nik would tell her.
"I'm glad to hear that," she said. She reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I know this evening didn't go the way we all hoped it would, but like you said, it's a start, right?"
“You’re right,” Nik agreed.
"I'm glad you came," Cory said. "Let me know when you want to come again."
"I'll be back," Nik promised her. "I need to sort a few things out first."
Cory nodded. "Of course. I understand. There's a lot to process. I think I was being romantic when I hoped we would all fall into each other's arms and be one big happy family."
Nik gave her a wry smile. "To be honest, I hoped for the same."
She returned his smile and walked with him as he went through the front doors. She stayed on the step with her arms folded over her chest, watching Nik get in his truck.
Nik backed out of the parking lot and glanced over to see Cory waving to him. The sight warmed his heart.
But as he left, he knew it would take a few days before he would see his mother again.
He just needed time.
Chapter 3
"Is Mr. Nik going camping?" Emma stood on a chair with her nose pressed against the window, looking out over the Blatchford yard.
"What do you mean?" Claire asked as she finished loading the dishwasher. She turned it on and joined her daughter. Supper was over and soon the usual bed-time battle she'd been having lately with Emma would begin.
"He has a camper. Like my friend, Lacy's mom and dad do. Lacy says they go camping every year. She says they bring it to their yard every time they go. So they can load it up.” She frowned as she saw a medium-sized holiday trailer being backed into the yard, guided by Nik's truck.
"I have no idea what he's up
to," Claire said, but the sight ratcheted her unease.
Yesterday, late in the afternoon, Tom had stopped by Coffee Creek with a post-dated check for her. Claire had almost given up on him, but she was thankful he had finally fulfilled his end of the deal. By the time she was finished at work, the bank was closed. So she deposited the check in the night deposit box, hoping it would go into her account today or Monday at the latest.
She had phoned Devon to update him but she was put through to his answering machine.
Claire was fully aware of the ticking clock, and the panic that gripped her tighter every day. When she came back from work, she looked at her bank balance but the check was not in yet. She wouldn't relax until that check cleared, realizing she was cutting things close.
But now it looked like her neighbor was setting up camp, following through on his potential plans. Did he know something she didn't?
Well, he would just have to move it on Monday, she told herself.
"I wish we could go camping," Emma said, a wistful note in her voice.
"I wish we could go, too," Claire said, empathizing with her, remembering trips to the lake she and Tess made with their parents. Trips that they'd quit once they moved to the new house.
"If I had a dad, could we go camping then?" Emma asked, looking up at her. "Lacy says we don't go camping because I don't have a dad."
Lacy was becoming a pain, Claire thought.
"We don't go camping because we don't have a tent or a trailer and right now Mommy is too busy—"
"With Coffee Creek. I know." Emma released the last two words on a gusty sigh. "I wish you weren't so busy. I wish we could do more stuff together.”
"I know, honey." Claire brushed her hand over Emma's unruly curls, the usual stab of guilt slicing at her gut. The plight of a single mom. Too much to do and only so much of her to go around. She glanced over at the house, unease prickling her spine. If they bought the house, it would mean less money to do what they wanted.
But it would give them a home, space for Emma to play and that was important, too. Wasn't it?
"At any rate Missy, it's almost time for bed," Claire said, forcing aside the questions. She had gone over the pros and cons of buying the house so many times she could probably recite them backwards. No matter how often she went over the list, the pros had always outweighed the cons. A home for her daughter. Security for them. Equity building up. "Brush your teeth and pick out a book and I'll meet you in your bedroom."
A Mother's Heart (Sweet Hearts of Sweet Creek Book 6) Page 5
