“Dancing, huh?”
“Among other things.” Tate sat down and slowly walked his fingers across the table and onto Kayla’s high chair tray. As they found a Cheerio, he popped it in his mouth, gobbling it as loudly as possible to the delight of the little girl. “Yum, yum, I’m hungry this morning.”
Eventually the requests for an encore died out and he dived into his own breakfast, alternating bites with conversation that ran the gamut from Phoebe’s next art project to his dreams for his career. He talked about his mother’s belief in his abilities, and Phoebe did the same about her grandmother. And in the end, when the last pancake was gone, he couldn’t help but feel even closer to this woman than he already did.
“Let’s do something special today. Just the three of us.” He grabbed both plates and put them in the sink despite her protests. “You made the meal. I will wash the dishes. It’s only fair. You do far too much on your own as it is.”
“Thank you.”
“So? What shall it be? The zoo? Another picnic? A bike ride on the trail? You do have a baby seat for the back of your bike, right?” He squirted some dish soap on the plates.
“No, I don’t. I’ve always wanted one, but it wasn’t a priority.” Phoebe ran a wet paper towel across Kayla’s sticky mouth and hands, then lifted her from the chair for a quick cuddle and kiss before releasing her. “But even if I did, we—”
“We can just swing by one of the bike shops down by the trail and pick one up for her. It’s good exercise and I’m betting she’d love it.” He dried the plates carefully, then stacked them on the counter. “I could swing home real quick, grab some shorts and a T-shirt.”
As Kayla squealed and crawled off in the direction of the family room, Phoebe wiped off the high chair cushion and tray and pushed in their chairs. “You’re right, she’d love a bike ride, and your offer to get a baby seat is very generous. It’s just we have plans for the afternoon, and I wouldn’t feel right breaking them at this late notice.”
“Oh.” Tate folded the dish towel and secured it around the handle of the oven before turning to face her, hoping the delay would give him a moment to mask his disappointment. “I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous. I’m sorry.”
He felt her fingers on his face, then her lips on his, and the sudden tension disappeared as quickly as it had come. “It’s not presumptuous. It’s sweet. And if I hadn’t made this commitment, we’d have loved spending the whole day with you.” She stepped back and glanced down at her hands, her lips quivering slightly. “Breakfast just now was—” she swallowed and looked back at him, a hint of moisture in her eyes “—special. Kayla and I always have fun together, but this was different.”
Gathering Phoebe into his arms, Tate held her close, reveling in the feel of her breath against the base of his throat as he kissed her hair. “I know what you mean. Since my mom died I’ve had no one. The women I’ve dated have left me cold, which is why I rarely had second dates with any of them. Regina is great and we spend a lot of time talking, but she’s a friend. I miss that family feeling.”
“You don’t have to, you know. There’s someone who misses you very much and wants to be part of your life.” Her words were barely discernable as her lips moved against his skin.
He gripped her shoulders gently and held her back just enough to see her face. “I missed that. What did you say?”
A hint of red appeared in her cheeks as she stammered, “You—you still have your dad, Tate. And he loves you.”
He stared at her, shaking his head doggedly, saying words he didn’t want to hear.
“When I delivered his letter, we talked. For a long time. He’s a wonderful man, Tate. He loves you and misses you, and is living with more regret than anyone should have to. I just know you two can fix whatever went wrong if you simply take the time to talk…and then move forward. Gram used to say life is too short to live in the past—that’s there for the memories. Life is about living. It’s about today and tomorrow.”
Dropping his hands, he strode toward the hallway and back, his shoulders rigid, his facial muscles tense.
She carried on, her voice taking on an almost pleading tone. “Last night, when I told you I suspected most of my neighbors know they were wrong in accusing you of selling the neighborhood out, I said that for good reason. Do you know that your father went to bat for you after your mom died? Told them they’d been wrong?”
“Did he tell you that?” Tate barked.
“No. Mr. Borden did.”
Tate stopped in his tracks, ran his hands through his hair and then rubbed his face furiously.
“Your dad has been very lonely. He seems hell-bent on punishing himself for everything. You could just feel the hurt and the sadness seeping from his soul despite the smile he was determined to wear.” She pried Tate’s hands from his face and held them gently. “At first I felt awful for giving him that letter—it stirred up so much pain and regret. But then, when I found her and put them in touch, it seemed to make such a difference. His voice this week on the phone was so hopeful.”
“Found her? What are you talking about, Phoebe?”
“Lorraine. The woman who wrote him that letter nearly forty years ago. Before either you or I were born.”
“Lorraine?” He knew his tone was stiff, biting even, but it was all he could do not to yell at the top of his lungs.
Phoebe nodded, her eyes wide with excitement. “Yes. Lorraine Walters. The woman he’d proposed to while overseas. Her letter got lost and he assumed her answer was a no and—”
“He proposed to someone before my mother?” Tate pulled his hands from hers, his feet moving backward, his mind reeling from the implications of what he was hearing.
“Yes, but—”
“And you put them in contact? Again?”
The excitement in her eyes disappeared and fear took its place. “Yes, but don’t you see, it’s—”
“I see nothing except a woman who stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, all so she could have her perfect storybook ending…no matter what the cost to those around her.” He turned on his heel and stormed into the hallway, narrowly missing Kayla as she crawled in the direction of his raised voice and her mother’s teary pleas.
“Tate! Wait. Please. Hear me out!” Phoebe called. “There’s so much you need to hear, so much more your father can explain.”
He whirled around to face her, his lips pulled downward with rage. “My father?” He saw Kayla scoot backward, her face contort with fear, her eyes fill with tears, but he kept going, unable to stop the anger that was building inside him. “You mean the man who barely showed my mother an ounce of affection in nearly thirty years of marriage? The man who was more than content to watch my childhood from a recliner in the family room or from behind a newspaper on the front porch? That’s the guy you mean, right? My father? The guy who stood by and watched an entire neighborhood all but tar and feather me for something I had no control over?”
Any glimmer of hope that he’d misread his father for all those years, any chance Regina was right when she encouraged him to give his dad another chance, had been wiped out the moment Lorraine Walters’s name was mentioned.
His father had been disinterested in them all those years. And now Tate knew why.
He and his mom hadn’t been Bart Williams’s first choice for a family.
“Tate, it’s not like that. Just hear me out. Please!”
He stood there in the hallway, his eyes moving from Kayla’s terrified face to Phoebe’s red and swollen eyes, the reality of his upbringing tearing away every ounce of progress he’d made in moving forward in his life.
And it was all because of some damn letter…
Shaking his head, he turned his back to them and headed for the door, slamming it behind him as he left 2565 Quinton Lane for the very last time.
Chapter Thirteen
Despite Phoebe’s attempts to be happy and playful, it was obvious Kayla wasn’t fooled. Phoebe was hurting, deeply, and
there was no faking her way out of that—even with an eleven-month-old.
“Ma-maaa.”
For the umpteenth time since Tate had stormed out of their home, Kayla reached her pudgy hands up to Phoebe’s eyes, a worried expression on her little face.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Mommy’s just fine.” But when Kayla popped her thumb into her mouth and leaned her head on Phoebe’s shoulder, she knew her words were as hollow as they sounded.
Damn you, Tate Williams.
Never in her life had she met a man who was as pigheaded and shortsighted as Tate.
Or as tender and loving.
Swallowing over the ever-present lump in her throat, Phoebe hoisted Kayla higher on her hip and turned the last corner, then fixed her eyes on Bart’s American flag. If there were any elderly women getting their hair done in the center’s salon, she didn’t notice.
Watching Tate walk out her door just hours after making love had been painful enough. Reminders of her grandmother, at a time Phoebe desperately needed her love and guidance, would be nothing short of crushing.
When they reached Bart’s door, she stopped, looked down at Kayla and kissed her soft temple. “Let’s have a nice visit, okay, baby girl?”
“A.”
Out popped the thumb and up went the head as Kayla peered at the closed door in anticipation, squealing with genuine glee as Phoebe’s knock was promptly answered.
“Would you look at who’s here.” Bart’s low voice boomed into the hallway and a smile spread across his face as he reached out to tweak Kayla’s nose. “I’ve been looking forward to your visit all day and now here you are.”
The toddler clapped her hands together and kicked her feet against Phoebe’s thighs.
“Whoa, little lady, be gentle with your mama.” Bart stepped to the side and motioned them inside. “I picked up a box of blocks the other day at the store. Think she’ll like those?”
Taking a breath, Phoebe answered with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “She’ll love them. Thank you.” She’d almost made it—and would have if she hadn’t added the last two words. Somehow, acknowledging Bart’s thoughtfulness made her voice crack.
“You okay, Phoebe?” His hand, wrinkled and leathery, touched her forearm as he searched her face. “Your eyes look sad.”
She nibbled her lower lip and shook her head, afraid to open her mouth for fear of letting her emotions rise to the surface. Bart didn’t need to know just how much his son despised him. What good could come from that?
Aware of him watching her every move, she carried Kayla over to the blanket he’d laid out on the floor, the brand-new building blocks carefully placed in the center.
“Look, Kayla. Blocks!” She bent over and placed the baby on the blanket, taking a moment to stack three blocks before leaving her to explore on her own. “How kind of you to remember Kayla while you were at the store.”
“I’ve thought of little else since your visit.” Bart shuffled around the sofa and lowered himself slowly to the floor. “Meeting the two of you was a wonderful treat. Then, when I realized you were coming back, I started eyeing the calendar. That’s what us old farts do, you know.”
Phoebe laughed, a sound that echoed through the tiny room. Kayla looked up and smiled, a block in each hand.
“There it is,” Bart said with pleasure.
“What?”
“Your smile. And apparently I wasn’t the only one who noticed it was lacking its normal sparkle.” He reached across the blanket and patted Kayla on the head. “This little girl may not have a terribly big vocabulary yet, but she understands more than you realize.”
Phoebe let his words swirl around in her head as she perched on the edge of the sofa. “You seem to be very good with babies. Were you close to your son?”
She knew the question was unfair, especially when she knew more about his background than he realized, but she let it stand nonetheless. She’d been on the receiving end of some bitter statements on the matter and was more than curious as to their validity.
The ensuing silence, coupled with the downward turn of Bart’s mouth, said more than any reply ever could. It was clear that the relationship between the Williams men was a source of heartache for both.
Eventually, the elderly man spoke, putting words to the raw emotion evident in both his expression and his posture. “I loved my son in a way I’ve never loved anyone or anything. He was a joy from the moment he was born. Curious. Sensitive. Athletic. Intelligent. Driven. Loving. But I watched it from afar. All of it. Because of that damn hurt I carried.”
“Over Lorraine?” Phoebe looked down at her lap and her fidgeting fingers.
“Yes. I was so haunted by the—the not knowing and the rejection that I…I held myself back from Tate’s mother.” He waved his hand in the air, then grabbed a pile of blocks. “I told you all this the other day and I don’t want to bore you with my tale of woe. But I always felt undeserving of Mary and her love, a feeling I guess I put onto Tate, as well. I felt he deserved better in a father. That he deserved a man who would love his mother the way she deserved.”
Phoebe considered her next question before expressing it aloud. “Do you have any regrets?”
“What don’t I regret about that time?” Slowly, he placed one block atop the other, forcing a surprised expression when Kayla knocked them down. “I don’t regret marrying Mary. I don’t regret having Tate. But I regret everything else. They were gifts I should have treasured. And in many ways I think I did…. I just did so inside, out of some misplaced fear of rejection. I think I was afraid to ever give my heart as completely as I did with Lorraine, for fear it would be stolen and trampled again…the way I thought it had been already. But I’d give anything, anything, to do those years over with Mary, to make things right with Tate.”
Phoebe felt excitement beginning to well up in her body, a plan starting to form. Tate might never speak to her again, but if she could find a way to get the two men together, at least something good would have come from their paths crossing.
“You still feel that way about Mary and Tate even knowing you could have been with Lorraine, after all?”
He nodded, a single tear glistening in the corner of each eye. “I’ve asked myself that same question over and over since you delivered that letter. And you know what? I don’t believe the letter getting lost was a coincidence. I was meant to be with Mary at that time in my life. Lorraine was meant for now.”
Although her mind was already concocting a way to get the men together, Bart’s words snapped her back to the here and now. “So you’ve talked?”
A flash of red appeared in his cheeks and he turned away long enough to clear his throat. “Several times a day, every day, since you gave her my number.”
Phoebe was happy for the man who sat on the blanket with her daughter, a smile on his face now after a difficult trip down memory lane. Life was too short to spend it looking backward. It was meant to be lived. Cherished.
If she’d held on to Doug’s betrayal, she never would have had her night with Tate. And although it ended the way it had, she wouldn’t trade that experience for anything. The hours alone with him had been magical, making her feel alive for the first time in nearly two years.
Leaning down, she squeezed Bart’s shoulder. “I’m so happy for the two of you, I truly am. When do you think you’ll actually meet?”
A mischievous twinkle appeared in his eye as he looked down at the floor and then back at her. “We already have. We had dinner together on Friday night, lunch together yesterday, and we have plans to go to the history museum tomorrow afternoon and to the unveiling of the Innovation House on Wednesday.”
“Innovation House?”
“It’s a home that’s designed by a local architect, built by a local builder and decorated by a variety of different interior designers from the area. Once it’s completed, you buy tickets to tour the inside. The money raised goes to a particular charity. Eventually the home is auctioned off to the highest
bidder. Lorraine is on the committee for the Multiple Sclerosis Association—this year’s chosen charity.”
“I’m so very glad you and Lorraine found each other again. It gives me goose bumps just thinking about it.” And it did. Never, in all her daydreaming about the origins of the letter, had she imagined it would reunite old lovers.
“I am, too. But none of it would have happened without you.” He struggled to his feet, pulling her from her spot on the edge of the sofa. “You made it happen, Phoebe. And I am forever indebted to you for that.”
She closed her eyes as he embraced her, the irony of his words touching off the heartbreak she’d managed to push aside long enough to enjoy their visit. The letter that had brought Bart and Lorraine together again was the very same one that had torn Tate and her apart.
SHE CLOSED KAYLA’S DOOR quietly behind her and walked out into the hall, bypassing her own room in favor of the studio.
Less than twenty-four hours ago she’d been in Tate’s arms, her defenses down, her heart ready to try love once again with a man who had a background similar to her own and understood the importance of pursuing a dream. A man who’d held her tenderly, who’d listened to her thoughts and shared his own, who’d made her feel like a woman—desired and appreciated.
But as quickly as he’d come into her life, he had gone. And there was nothing she could do to change it. At least not the part concerning the two of them, anyway. The relationship between Tate and Bart was an entirely different matter.
Phoebe had had to spend holidays alone with her daughter since her grandmother died. Tate didn’t. He had a father. A father who truly loved him, yet for many reasons lacked the ability to convey that effectively.
All they needed was a little shove.
She padded on bare feet across the tiny spare bedroom that served as her studio, the moonlight casting shadows across the wooden floor. Her paint jars and brushes were ready and waiting for the next assignment, a job that needed to come soon. Really soon.
Pushing the button on the answering machine, she listened as an unfamiliar voice filled the room.
Kayla's Daddy Page 14
