Old Dog New Tricks

by Roxanne St Claire

  He tipped his chin toward her phone. “Can I see those results again?”

  “I have the original in my bag.” She pulled out the envelope that Cassie had brought over to her house less than two weeks ago. Handing it to him, she leaned back and picked up her drink. “They’re all there. The results for all five kids. I didn’t take the test when Cassie had them do it at Thanksgiving, but I have since then. I should have my results in a little more than a month. But they won’t tell us much. Obviously, I know I’m his mother.”

  As he opened the envelope, he gave her a curious look. “Then why take it?”

  “To see if I have an unexpected amount of Irish in me that maybe I didn’t know about. That might explain Nick’s results. He’s not zero percent Greek, but…well. You’ll see.”

  She sipped her drink while he read each results page with the same intense focus she remembered he used to have when poring over a chemistry study guide. In some respects, it was like no time had passed at all. She could see that young vet student right in front of her, despite some lines on his face and silver hair. He was still broad-shouldered, proud, intelligent, and incredibly soft-hearted.

  And the fact that they were sitting here, quietly having a mature and calm conversation, was testimony to that.

  Finally, he looked up. “What are we waiting for? He needs to know as soon as possible. They all do.”

  “Not yet.” She shook her head a few times to underscore that this wasn’t negotiable. “I know I might only want to believe this is wrong, but mistakes happen. We need to know for sure before I tell him and put him through that particular hell.”

  “Hell?” Daniel inched back. “I’m not exactly the devil.”

  “You’re not his father,” she replied, then held up her hand as if she understood the technicality. “He was very, very close to Nico. As long as there is even a shadow of a doubt, I can’t tell him or anyone else. Please, Daniel.”

  “Then I’ll take the test.”

  “Thank God,” she breathed on a ragged sigh. “Because if—”

  “On one condition.”

  She lifted her brows. “You have a condition?”

  “I want to know everything about him. Everything. Every memory, every single moment you can conjure up. I want to see every picture, video, yearbook, award, report card, and detention slip. I want to know what kind of friends he has, what sports he’s played, what pets he’s loved, what girls he’s dated, what med schools he applied to, what places he’s traveled. Everything. And I’m not waiting six weeks for that.”

  She stared at him.

  “I want to know what I missed, Katie. I need to know what we missed.”

  “What you missed,” she corrected. “He had a father. He and Nico were best friends. They were closer than any others in our family. Nico’s passing gutted Nick.”

  Daniel winced, as if he felt Nick’s pain.

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t swoop in and demand to be his father just because…because a condom failed forty-three years ago.” A mix of anger and frustration welled up, along with a new fear. “He has a father already. Yes, he’s dead, but you cannot replace Nico Santorini. I won’t let you do that.”

  He shifted, reaching into his pocket to pull out a phone that must have vibrated. Looking at it, he nodded. “Rusty’s test results are back. I’m going over there.”

  “Did you hear me, Daniel?”

  “Of course I heard you. Did you hear me? I’ll take the test if you’ll allow me to know…my son.”

  “He’s not…” But maybe he was. And she had to find out for sure. If those were his conditions, she’d meet them. “Okay. Fine. Then I have a condition, too.” She stood, looking hard at him, placing her hand on his forearm to elicit the promise she wanted before he stood, too. “You can’t tell anyone, not a single, living soul. When we reveal this to our families, it will be together and in the most loving way possible.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” He eased his forearm through her fingertips, slowly standing and taking her hand in his again. “Thank you, Katie.”

  “For…”

  “For telling me.”

  “I wanted to tell you in the bakery, then again on Wednesday. But I was so scared.”

  She braced for his disappointment, or even a reprimand for waiting, but he only nodded with understanding, which just about turned her heart into a bowl of mush.

  “I can imagine,” he said. “It would have been tempting to hide this.”

  “Tempting, but impossible. For one thing, my conscience would have wrecked me. For another, Cassie would have told Nick. Or he’d have done a test himself. He’s the first out of the four brothers to even ask about the results. People can’t hide these things anymore.”

  “True.” He drew her a little bit closer. “But more time could have passed. Hell, I could have passed. No one knows better than us how fleeting life can be.”

  She looked up at him, searching his face, feeling his pain. “My only consolation in this has been that Nico never knew. He’d have killed you.”

  “Really?”

  “Or himself. I’m sure he couldn’t have lived on an earth where Nick wasn’t his biological son. Put yourself in his shoes. What if someone sat you down and told you Liam was the result of a faulty condom and a dorm-room liaison that your wife had with another man?”

  He actually paled at the thought. “I see your point.”

  “I’m sure your wife wouldn’t have loved it, either.”

  He considered that, cocking his head. “Annie? By now, she would have organized a joint family reunion, with get-to-know-you party games and nicknames for everyone.” He gave a sad smile. “Annie was a the-more-the-merrier type, including kids. Especially kids.”

  Katie sighed, holding tight to the belief that no woman, not even Saint Annie, would have liked the idea that her husband had a child with another woman…and that woman was already pregnant the night they were introduced. No, no one would like that.

  “Well, we have enough family to deal with,” she said. “When we’re both ready.”

  “And not a minute before,” he promised, holding the door open for her.

  “What’s the word on Rusty?” she asked as they stepped into the cool air.

  “I don’t know. I’m going to find out now.”

  She slowed her step and tugged his hand lightly. “Do you want me to go home now?”

  He turned to her, looking down to hold her gaze. “No.” He sounded a little surprised at that. “I don’t know what the night holds, and I’d rather not be alone. Would you stay?”

  She should say no. She should go home, hash this out with Cassie, and start gathering the memories of Nick he wanted.

  But the truth was, now that he knew, she wasn’t quite ready to leave Daniel’s side. And it had been a long time since anyone had needed her company.

  “Of course.”

  Chapter Eleven

  At the sound of Katie’s footsteps, Daniel looked up from where he sat next to Rusty, who was rolled into his favorite bed in the den.

  “I hope this was a good idea, bud,” he whispered to his sleeping dog. “She thought maybe you needed company. It’s helping me, so maybe it’ll help you.”

  Rusty’s only answer was a deep sigh and a flip of his head to face the doorway, which was sad, because normally he’d be up to investigate anyone who came into the house.

  “We’re in the den,” he called to Katie. “Did you get her?”

  “I sure did.” He heard paws tapping on the kitchen floor as they came closer. “She came right to me, no hesitation, and only barked a little when I brought her out.”

  Katie appeared in the doorway, still wearing her coat, with Goldie right next to her.

  “How’s our patient?”

  “Resting right here. Bring her over slowly.”

  She did, bending to slide her hand into the collar. “Nice and easy, Goldilocks,” she whispered as they walked in.

  At the sight of Rusty,
Goldie froze for a moment and barked once. Rusty didn’t lift his head, but his tail rose and fell and swished a few times. That was good enough for Daniel.

  “Hey there, Goldie,” he said, using an inviting voice to get her closer. “Come see your pal.”

  With Katie still holding her collar, Goldie came closer, getting up right near Rusty’s face, but not making a sound. She sniffed his nose and neck, turned in a complete circle, sniffed again, then settled down with her belly facing his bed.

  “Oh my gosh. She loves him,” Katie said, folding next to the two dogs. “Isn’t that the sweetest thing?”

  He smiled at them both, and her. “Good call, Mrs. Santorini. What made you think of that?”

  “Sick kids,” she said without hesitation. “John always had something as a boy, so I sent Alex or one of the others in to watch TV or play a game.”

  “You didn’t worry about spreading germs?”

  She shrugged. “They spread anyway, but a sick kid gets better faster with a friend to cheer him up.” She leaned over and stroked Rusty’s head. “Isn’t that right, big boy?”

  Rusty didn’t move, except to blink, then close his eyes. She looked up at Daniel, searching his face with the same tenderness she had for the dog. “And how are you feeling? Worried about him?”

  “A little,” he admitted. “The blood work was inconclusive. Molly just texted to say that John Rudolph, the radiologist I trust most, is out of town until tomorrow night, so I can’t make any definitive guesses about the scans. It’s quite possible Rusty has some gastroenteritis, not anything serious. We’ll know in a day or two. Still, it was a tough day.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  He thought for a moment, then realized he’d gone way beyond hungry. “Ravenous.”

  “Want me to make you dinner?”

  “More than life itself, but I don’t know what you’ll find out there. We could order out.”

  She made a face. “What’s in your pantry and fridge?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Do you have lettuce, tomatoes, and maybe a cucumber, an olive or two, and a box of spaghetti in that kitchen?” she asked.

  “I’m pretty sure you’ll find most of that in there. But you’ll also find menus for every restaurant in Bitter Bark that delivers.”

  She pushed up, and Goldie instantly rose, too, looking at her.

  “You stay here, Goldilocks. You stay with Rusty.”

  After a second, the dog settled right back down, getting a pet of praise. Then Katie held her hand out for Daniel. “And I shall make you dinner.”

  He pushed himself up, but didn’t let go of her hand. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more than a kind and beautiful woman making me dinner.” He cringed as soon as he said it. “Oh God, does that make me sexist?”

  “Does it make me ageist for getting a little thrill out of the ‘beautiful’ part?” she volleyed back, turning to the kitchen.

  He followed her. As if he could do anything else. “Surely you know it.”

  She lifted a shoulder as she opened the fridge. “I feel good and healthy for my age, but you know what’s sexist? That you can be a silver fox, and I have to cover up my gray.”

  “Then don’t. Grow it in. You’d still be beautiful. See anything good?”

  “Plenty.” She started pulling things from the produce drawer, handing them to him. “Including a man who thinks I’m beautiful and wants me to cook for him.”

  He laughed. “Katie, I have no doubt your husband thought you were beautiful.”

  “He did, but I rarely cooked for him. It would have been like painting for Rembrandt.” She gestured to the counter. “Can you get me a cutting board, knives, a bowl, and whatever pasta you have on hand? Then, relax.”

  He’d already relaxed, he realized. So he followed instructions, loving her squeak of delight when he produced a box of spaghetti.

  “Would you normally make yourself dinner on a night like this?” she asked as he lined it all up on the island for her.

  “Nothing is normal about this day or night,” he said, getting a wry, knowing smile in return. “Most Fridays, I eat in town because I’ve usually spent the day at the vet office. Then, if my mother needs a ride, I’ll bring her home from choir practice and church dinner. If you weren’t here, I’d likely grab a drink and sit in the living room for a one-sided conversation with Annie.”

  She angled her head, obviously touched by that. “Best I can do is some spaghetti and a two-sided conversation.”

  “That’s perfect.” He studied her for a moment, noticing the straightness of her shoulders, the sureness of her knife skills, the slight jut of her chin. “You know, you’re stronger than I realized,” he mused.

  “You thought I was weak?”

  “No.” He considered his answer as he walked to the wine rack. “But you’ve been through hell today and show no signs of wear.”

  “Trust me, I’m worn to a frazzle on the inside.”

  “Then how about a glass of wine?”

  “None for me. I’m driving back to Chestnut Creek after we eat, and I had Jameson’s earlier. But don’t let me stop you. What makes you think I’m strong?”

  Once again, he deliberated the right answer, digging the corkscrew in but looking at her. “You could have run today, for one thing.”

  “And left you with a sick dog and a shock to your system?”

  “I’m a vet,” he reminded her. “So’s my daughter. Sick dogs are what we do.”

  “It’s different when it’s your own. And there was the shock.”

  Which was slowly wearing off and becoming a whole new way of thinking. He popped the cork and poured a healthy glass, setting it on the island, close enough that she could share. “Help yourself, if you need a sip. Plus, you’re welcome to stay here tonight in the guest suite.”

  “I’ll go home after dinner.” She picked up a tumbler of water she’d already poured and held it up in a toast, so he took the wine. “Cheers.”

  “Let’s drink to your strength,” he said. “It’s evident in how you’ve lived your life, how you managed this turn of events, and how you handle that knife.”

  She snorted. “Turn of events. There’s the euphemism of the year. But thank you, Daniel. I’m going to hold on to that compliment for a long time.”

  He clinked the glass, but looked at her face. “You didn’t know you were strong? A widow? A mother of five? A successful businesswoman? How could you feel like anything but a superwoman?”

  She rolled her eyes a little with a scoffing laugh, but didn’t answer, cutting carrots with precise strokes instead.

  The silence intrigued him as the first sip of wine rolled around his tongue. “Is this a lifelong confidence issue, or is this a recent development? Because I remember you as a spunky and lively and maybe a little fearless eighteen-year-old.”

  “Years of taking care of a dying spouse wears a person down. Then years of picking up the pieces, only to have…”

  “Some of them break again,” he finished when she couldn’t.

  She looked up, a little pain around her eyes. “It does feel like my world cracked. Like the foundation isn’t what it was. Like…I could lose another beloved family member.”

  “You won’t lose Nick, will you? It’s not like you kept him in the dark for years, or that he was denied a relationship with a father, if not his biological one.”

  She didn’t respond right away, finishing the salad by tossing the greens and vegetables with a set of salad utensils he hadn’t even known he owned. “The only thing Nick loves more than helping people is his family.”

  The words tapped his heart a little. “I get that.”

  “He’s an amazing son, brother, and doctor.”

  Daniel felt a smile pull, tamping down pride he really had no right to feel. Nick could have learned all that from his own father, rather than inheriting such genes from Daniel. “Then I think you shouldn’t worry about losing him, Katie. He’ll need
some time to get used to the idea, but then…”

  Her look was sharp. “I don’t think you understand how close Nick and Nico were, or that you don’t get used to the idea that everything you know about yourself is wrong. You’ve gained a son, Daniel, but he’s lost a father.”

  “Only if you let him look at it that way.”

  “He’s a grown man. I don’t tell him how to look at life anymore.” She gave a dry laugh. “Not sure I ever did. He’s been an independent thinker since the day he was born.”

  “Tell me about that,” he said, lifting the wine glass for a drink he knew he might need. “Every detail.”

  “He’s always thought for himself, that’s all.”

  “I meant the day he was born. Tell me about that. Labor, delivery, everything.” He heard the longing in his heart echoed in his voice. But he couldn’t help it. He’d missed so much—starting with that day.

  Again, she waited a long time before answering, “It wasn’t pretty. Twenty-six hours of labor, and he was born with a broken collarbone.”

  “No.”

  “It’s common, actually, from hard labor. Fixes itself, too.”

  “Weight and height?”

  “A strapping eight and a half pounds and twenty-one inches. Full head of dark hair, which we thought was thanks to his Greek heritage.”

  “You have dark hair,” he noted.

  “So do you. Can you tell me where to find a pot I can boil pasta in?”

  He took another swig of wine and slipped off the counter stool, heading to the cabinet. “Slept through the night?”

  “At about a month.”

  He pulled out the pot. “First step?”

  “One day shy of ten months.”

  “Whoa.” He lifted his brow as he handed the pot to her. “Early.”

  She closed her fingers over his, pressing his palms against the cool metal edge of the pasta pot. “Don’t make me go through every milestone, because it’ll get repetitive. Nick was—is—perfect. Charming, well loved, respected, high-achieving, brilliant, and deeply caring about others. He did everything earlier, better, faster, and with more style than anyone. Oh, and he’s drop-dead handsome. Don’t make me spell it out.”