CHAPTER EIGHT
MILES HADN’T PREDICTED Andi’s response.
“You must be kidding.” She let her weight fall back against her kitchen counter and—with conviction—swept her long dark hair off her shoulder so it hung straight down her back. “It was that easy to find her?”
Odd, Miles thought, observing her behavior. She seemed impatient with the news, not at all curious. “Of course I’m not kidding, but for the time being, you’re the only person I’ve told about this new, well, I’ll call it a new development.”
Her guttural sound of frustration filled the kitchen. “You picked a great time to throw this at me. It’s almost Christmas, you know.”
What did Christmas have to do with anything? “First, I didn’t plan it, and I’m not throwing anything at you,” he said, annoyed that his news was greeted as an inconvenience. “You still are the only person in my life who knows about Lark and the baby.”
“And the last time that subject came up was over ten years ago,” Andi said dismissively.
“I didn’t plan this. Lark and I just learned who and where she is.”
“Lark? You refused to tell me her name way back when.” With her arms folded tightly across her chest, Andi’s stance had escalated to frank resentment.
“Yes, I did. It was a privacy thing—it still is.” He didn’t like having to defend that decision, especially when it didn’t matter anymore. “She’s Lark McGee, a writer who lives with her twelve-year-old son in Two Moon Bay.”
Earlier that day, he’d assumed this would be a good time to see Andi and talk through any issues that might come up. Brooke was in school and Andi had half a day off. He’d told the story right up to his conversations with Eric and, later, the lawyer, Lisa. Andi’s attitude was the opposite of what he’d expected.
“What is it that’s bothering you so much about this?” he asked. “Are you worried about Brooke? I can assure you—”
“You can assure me of nothing,” she interrupted. “Of course I’m concerned about Brooke. How are you going to explain it? She’s eight! And she’s already superaware of the girl. That skater is practically a celebrity.”
As if he hadn’t considered all that himself. He’d thought of little else. Well, except for Lark. And their upcoming Christmas Eve dinner. She’d been a presence in his head, filling his days—and his nights.
“I’m not saying it will be easy, Andi.”
“You have to admit that this girl’s fame is going to complicate things.” Andi pulled out a stool at the breakfast bar across from Miles. “Won’t Brooke think you’re going to favor Perrie Lynn? She’s not like other girls. She’s a princess who floats on ice in sparkly little dresses.”
“You’re traveling way ahead on this.” He extended his arm in front of him to indicate distance. “We have no idea that she’s going to actually want to meet us. We won’t even have a chance to meet her for months.”
“We? Us? What’s that supposed to mean? You and Brooke?”
“No, Andi, I’m referring to Lark and me.” Her terse tone had thrown him completely. “Tell me what’s going on? This isn’t like you. No matter what happened between us in the past, we’ve always talked things out. You seem genuinely angry with me.”
Miles didn’t want to bring up mistakes of the past, but her impulsive marriage to Roger hadn’t been a cakewalk for Brooke. Somehow, though, they’d even survived that with their goodwill intact. Eventually, the dust settled and they’d put it behind them.
“Yes and no,” she said, finally offering an exasperated smile. “It’s just that two days ago, I learned that I’ll be laid off within the next year—no one can tell me exactly when. A major health-care consortium bought the practice. They’re bringing in their own people.” She shrugged. “So that’s that. I hate the idea of looking for another job. I’m going to start cutting expenses now, and prepare for a long job search.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that.” He meant it. “You’ve always liked your job, and you never mentioned something like this on the horizon.” Andi had spent years managing health-care practices, starting at a small chiropractic group and then moving into bigger settings. She’d been the practice manager of a regional women’s health center. It had to be a blow and he’d try to soften it. “It may be small comfort, Andi, but I’m doing okay right now. I can pick up some expenses. I’ll start by covering all of Mamie’s hours. You tell me what else you need.”
She nodded, and offered a faint smile—at last.
“Is there anything about Perrie Lynn and Brooke we need to address now, you know, right before Christmas?” she asked.
“No, no.” He waved off her concern. “If Perrie Lynn makes the International team and then goes on to the world championships, it will be spring before the Olsons will even talk with her about Lark and me.”
Andi plunked her elbow on the counter and rested her chin in her palm “I can’t believe you’ve actually spoken with them. And they aren’t trying to keep you away—like maybe forever?”
The old Andi was coming back. He saw it in her relaxed posture and an almost light tone. “Years ago, they promised to help find her birth parents when she turned eighteen. Knowing Lark’s name just hastened the process. But I don’t want you to worry about this at all, especially now.”
Andi dragged her hand down her cheek. “Get real—anything that affects Brooke is bound to worry me. But thanks for the shoulder to lean on over my job.” She stared into the room, suddenly lost in thought.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing important. But it seems so long ago that you told me about what happened with Lark. Remember? We were having a drink before going to a Packer game.” Andi flashed a playful smirk. “You were so nervous you could barely get the words out. But over the years I more or less forgot about it.”
Miles nodded. “It didn’t dominate my life, either. I ran into Lark at the mall once when Brooke was turning three. She had her young son with her.” He snickered. “Even Lark agrees it wins a prize for awkward conversations.”
“That was such a chaotic time in our lives,” Andi said, shaking her head. “I don’t look back at those days often.”
Miles knew she was embarrassed not only by her quick demand for a divorce, but also by her superfast remarriage. Ironic, too, because she’d claimed that she didn’t like being married, end of story. That was the reason for their breakup, or so she’d insisted. It had nothing to do with him. She simply needed to be single again.
“How has Lark fared over these years?” Andi asked.
“She’s managed her life pretty well. Went on and became a writer, which was her dream back in college. But she kept her secret. Never told even one person.”
“Except her husband, I assume.”
Miles supplied an abbreviated version of what Lark had told him about Lyle. “She didn’t feel safe enough with him to reveal that part of her past,” he said, sad all over again when he imagined Lark so fearful.
“She was smart.” Andi narrowed her eyes, as if considering her words carefully. “A guy like that? Oh, yeah, he would have found a way to hurt her with it.”
“That’s what she said.” Miles slipped off the stool and put on his jacket. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a back-and-forth about Lyle’s bad qualities, although it was tempting. But Miles was still stinging from his own failures—specifically, that he’d let Lark down eighteen years ago.
“Do you still like her?”
He jerked his head back. He hadn’t expected that question, especially delivered in such a soft tone. “Of course. She’s a terrific person. She’s worked hard to raise her son and put a good life together, despite her marriage falling apart.”
Andi laughed. “Oh, Miles, you always were a little dense.”
Getting her meaning, albeit lat
e, he felt the rising heat on his face. At least his olive skin didn’t easily turn pink.
“Ah, I get it. You do like her. Oh, brother. And here I thought it was only your grown-up daughter that complicated things.”
“There’s nothing between Lark and me,” he insisted, although his mind flashed on the airline tickets to Boston he’d booked online, along with the hotel reservations he’d made only hours ago. His surprise for Lark. If it didn’t backfire. “The possibility Perrie Lynn is our daughter is the only reason we saw each other.”
“It’s okay to like her, Miles.” Once again, Andi spoke in a low voice.
She means it...take it for what it is.
He grinned and opened the door. “Let me know if you need anything.” He paused. “And don’t worry about Brooke.”
She responded with a familiar mock groan. “Oh, sure, and maybe I won’t breathe, either.”
When no quick comeback popped into his head, he let himself out. After pulling away from Andi’s house he headed to the YMCA to keep his commitment to put in an hour on the treadmill. He could work out at home, but he was jumpy and needed the distraction of people. Christmas Eve was only two days away.
CHAPTER NINE
MILES PICKED UP the wine list, grinning as he pointed to the cover. The bright half moon stood out against a star-flecked midnight blue background. “This town never misses a chance to play on its name, does it?”
“Two Moon Bay is a great address for my business,” Lark remarked. “I get dozens of questions about the town, especially since I live on Night Beach Road. It’s like the magic of the place never quits.”
Another round of small talk, Lark mused, not unlike the day at Hugo’s. They’d talked on the phone nearly every day, almost as if checking in had become routine. But this was only the second time they’d been together. And, of all times, on Christmas Eve.
“I can’t stop mulling over how easily we found Perrie Lynn,” Miles said, putting the wine list aside. “In a way, Maxine and Eric found us.”
“Not all adoptive parents are so at ease with their children’s search for their birth parents.” Lark had understood that reality from the start. “When I began building my freelance business, I placed a couple of parenting pieces with the Milwaukee Journal, and then the editor called one day to see if I’d accept an assignment for a three-part series on adoption in Wisconsin.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Objectively, it was the kind of call I’d been hoping for. I can’t recall what excuse I used to refuse, but the anxiety gripping me sent me a clear message. I could never be a just-the-facts journalist or even a detached analyst on adoption. No way.”
Miles nodded, but his features pinched as if he were surprised by a puzzling thought. “From what I’ve read, some parents are like the Olsons and discuss their kids’ need to search. It’s an open topic. But some parents are devastated—deeply hurt—by their children’s desire to find birth parents.”
“And you can bet I had all those angles in mind when I formed my own plan to search.” She heard the note of irony in her laugh.
Miles’s troubled expression made her want to swallow back her words. It was true she harbored resentment at the casual way he seemed to have moved on. But it was unfair to keep getting in digs at him.
“Forget I said that,” she said, reaching over to touch his hand. It was meant to be a quick conciliatory gesture, but Miles immediately covered her fingers with his.
“I let you down before,” he said, “so I understand why you didn’t include me in your plans.”
“It’s not fair to say you did something wrong.”
“Doesn’t matter whether it’s fair or not. This unspoken thing between us makes me hold back. I find myself overthinking everything I say.”
The waitress appeared at the table to take their drink order and Lark was grateful for the interruption. But no matter the sensitive subject, she couldn’t deny that she’d enjoyed the sensation of Miles’s warm palm on her hand.
They quickly agreed to share a bottle of the featured merlot. “I think you’ll like the buffet,” Lark said, keeping the mood light, “but save room for dessert.”
Miles chuckled. “So, no heavy topics during dinner. But Lark, really, we need to talk about what this next year will bring, but we can’t do that until we resolve this barrier between us.”
Lark groaned. “Why can’t you be like the typical guy who runs for the hills when anything even remotely involving feelings comes up.”
“Well, Ms. McGee, like it or not, communication is my business.” He grinned. “We’re actually in the same field, you and I.”
“Okay, okay... I get it.” But she wasn’t ready to delve into her own feelings right now, so she changed the subject. “There is something I wanted to talk to you about. For quite a long time now, I’ve been doing research on young athletes—particularly how many of them overtrain.”
“Are you suggesting that Perrie Lynn—”
“No, no, not at all,” she interrupted. “Most of the data come from boys who are encouraged to bulk up for sports like football and wrestling. But their bodies aren’t ready for the weight training. According to my research, skaters, especially the boys, tend to start training for the triple and quadruple jumps too early. I guess I’m also interested because Evan plays basketball.”
“I think there’s a potential for overtraining in any sport. Andi worries about Brooke and her soccer, but she figures the benefits outweigh the risks.”
Lark nodded. “That’s the consensus among pediatricians. Since most kids won’t become elite athletes, overtraining isn’t a risk. But it got me thinking about Perrie Lynn.”
Miles cast an amused smile her way. “You’re also a concerned mom, just like Andi. She keeps up with any research related to raising kids. I’ll bet she’s come across some of your articles—you’ve done a lot of writing for the major dailies.”
“I’ve done a few articles.”
“More than a few,” he teased. “Quit being modest.” The waitress came back with the merlot and filled their glasses, and when she walked away Miles held up his wine. “First, a toast.”
“To the New Year,” she said, touching her glass to his.
“And to a very long competitive season for Perrie Lynn,” Miles added.
Rather than breaking the toast, he kept his glass pressed against hers, a gesture so intimate she couldn’t speak.
“Do I dare toast the Internationals?” he asked.
“Go ahead, live dangerously,” she said.
“To the Internationals, then.”
She smiled and nodded. “To Perrie Lynn and the Internationals.”
Only then did they separate their glasses and each take a sip.
“I think of her more as a dancer than an athlete,” Miles said, “even though I know better.”
Lark closed her eyes, suddenly overtaken with the image of Perrie Lynn crossing the rink with her leg extended in a dazzling arabesque. “I get a little thrill when commentators and bloggers use the word artistry to describe Perrie Lynn’s strengths. I realize her technical skills come from years of practice and determination, but I know deep inside me that Perrie Lynn’s grace comes from within.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Miles’s voice shook and his eyes moistened.
The air buzzed around Lark’s head in that shared moment.
Still light-headed, Lark looked away and took another sip of wine. Finally, she said, “I’m hungry, and it’s time you got a taste of this spectacular food.”
Miles silently followed her to the elegant buffet, where they filled their plates with grilled salmon and slices of rare roast beef and roasted vegetables shaped and arranged by someone with a flair for presentation.
“Good choice, Lark,” Miles said. “The hotel food I get on th
e road doesn’t measure up.”
“Neither does the food I throw together at home,” Lark said with a hoot. “Evan thinks pizza from Lou’s here in town is the pinnacle. I score Mom points whenever we go there.”
Halfway through dinner, Lark was struck by how much she enjoyed hearing about Miles’s work with companies, and his belief in collaboration and team building. The way he talked about his work showed her how much the young man had grown into the career he’d dreamed of. His genuine interest in her work hadn’t waned over the past week, either. The contrast with her ex-husband was stark.
At first, Lyle had considered her writing a harmless pastime. He’d joke about it, oblivious to the insult. Writing kept her out of the malls, so her little hobby didn’t cost him. Then, when money started coming in regularly, he claimed her writing business was a lazy way out of finding a real job. After their divorce, he’d joked with Evan about having a “starving artist” mother. It was outrageous, but she’d forced herself not to overreact and create an opening for Lyle to play with their finances or custody arrangements.
Lark pushed away those thoughts and focused on what Miles was saying about their work sometimes overlapping. He gave presentations about morale and burnout, and she’d written articles about the ways stress at work caused trouble in marriages and families.
They talked shop all the way through dinner and generous squares of raspberry torte. Finally, Miles refilled their coffee cups from the carafe the waitress had left on the table. He wore both a faint smile and a faint frown as he settled back against the cushioned booth seat.
“You look serious. Pensive.” Lark knew what was coming, or thought she did.
“I have a lot on my mind,” he said, leaning forward again. “I realized that although we weren’t close back in college, you never questioned my ambition about becoming a professional speaker. Most everyone else did. Especially my family. They didn’t see how I could take a major in psychology and a minor in business and eventually earn a living presenting seminars or giving speeches. It seemed much too risky to my parents. But I remember thinking that being a writer was something you could achieve. And all these years later we’re both doing what we love.”
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