“Be up front. ‘You got a two-year-old daughter and her mama doesn’t want her and I don’t want her and—’”
Keegan heard a sob before Ercella clamped off the words. It both pained and frustrated him. “Mom, I’m sorry—”
“I know.” Sniffly noises, as if she was wiping her nose. “You don’t wanna raise a kid who’s not yours. I understand that. It’s expensive. Lots of responsibility for a lot of years. It’s not your job. I get it, Keegan.”
But in her heart, Keegan knew, she really didn’t. She might have in the very beginning, when he’d first told her the situation with Mariah, when he’d asked for her help. But now that she’d gotten to know the little girl, of course she’d fallen in love with her. How could she not? She was a mother deep in her bones, to any kids who needed mothering.
God help her, Mariah needed mothering. She’d had so little of it in her life.
“I’ll call you as soon as I talk to the major, okay?”
“Make sure you do.” Ercella breathed deeply and made an effort to sound normal. “I’ve got to shoo these kids home and get Mariah bathed and ready for bed. You want to say good night to her?”
Before Keegan could say no—he was ashamed of it, but there it was—his mom’s voice distantly said, “She’s listening. Say something.”
“Hey, Mariah.” He cleared his throat. “Sounds like you’re having a good time. Good night and…sleep tight and…” Before he could remember the rest of his mother’s nightly routine with her kids, the phone hit the floor with a thud.
A moment later, Ercella came on again. “She was listening. She recognized your voice. I could see it in her little eyes.”
Of course she recognized his voice. She’d heard it talking around and about her every day for the past month. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Mom. Love you.”
After her love you, too, he laid the phone aside and stretched back on the bed. Best hope: a day. Realistic: a week. Worst: having to turn to the authorities to get Mariah’s father to accept responsibility for her. Even though it would break his mom’s heart, he didn’t have a choice.
Because he wasn’t Mariah’s father.
* * *
Sunday morning services were one of the highlights of Therese’s week. The church she attended occupied an entire block on the fringe between the business district and the houses that edged downtown. Broad concrete steps led to an old sandstone building with classrooms and a gym on the lower level and a sanctuary with arched stained glass windows filling the upper level. Her regular seat was a pew about a third from the back on the left, which she shared most Sundays with Carly, while Abby and Jacob sat elsewhere with their friends.
She wasn’t surprised this morning that Carly was absent. Still floating somewhere in the stratosphere with Dane, she supposed as she settled on the bench alone.
The solitude didn’t last long. She’d just set her purse aside when the cushions gave slightly and a familiar voice greeted her. “Hello, Therese. How are you?”
Loretta Baxter was a major and one of the few people in Therese’s life who created incredibly bittersweet feelings just by existing. LoLo had been the CNO—casualty notification officer—who had notified Therese of Paul’s death, so she was associated with the worst moment of Therese’s life. Afterward, though, she’d provided counseling, support, and friendship that had helped Therese keep her sanity on more than one occasion.
She was also one of the rare people outside of the margarita club to whom Therese didn’t have to lie. “Things could be better. I’m not sure they could be worse.”
“I noticed Abby’s new hairstyle. And color. And the tan.” LoLo glanced at her hands, folded in her lap. “And her manicure looks better than mine.”
“Did you also notice the rage in her eyes?”
“I thought she looked a little testy when we passed in the aisle. So the visit with her mother wasn’t a success.”
“The visit was fine. The coming home sucked pond water.” Therese gazed at an arch of Jesus with the children. Suffer the little children…to come unto me, He’d said. Suffer seemed such an appropriate word at the moment.
“Have you made any decisions?”
Therese’s fingers tightened on her Bible. While the kids were in California, she’d had an appointment with the Judge Advocate General’s office—the legal office—on post, and she’d talked with LoLo. It seemed everyone knew of her desire to reclaim her life by giving up custody of Paul’s kids. Except the kids.
“Not yet. I actually feel like I’m making a bit of progress with Jacob. It—it would be okay having him.” She stared harder at the image, the colors so vibrant, the love so obvious even in glass. Such serenity.
When was the last time she’d felt serene? Long before Paul’s death. Being a military wife wasn’t ever easy. The moves, the training, the deployments, the forced independence, the loneliness, the ever-present fear of loss. Her last moments of serenity had likely been when they’d moved to Tallgrass: a new post, a new town they both loved immediately, new opportunities, and plans to get pregnant as soon as they settled in.
Then had come custody of the kids.
Then the deployment.
Then his death.
“But you can’t stop thinking about how that would make Abby feel,” LoLo said quietly.
Abandoned by everyone. Rejected while Jacob was accepted. Even more unwanted and unloved than she already felt.
Therese sighed heavily as the choir filed onto the stage and the pastor moved into place behind the pulpit. “It’s a hard decision.”
LoLo squeezed her hand. “You’ll make the right one. I have faith in you.”
Though she dutifully bowed her head as the pastor requested, inside she was silently scoffing. Faith? In her? She didn’t even have that herself anymore. Once she’d thought she could rule the world, but truth was, she hadn’t faced any real complications in that world. Life as she’d known it was easy.
Lord, I’m not asking for easy again. Just bearable. I can live with bearable. Please.
After prayers and songs, the congregation split up for Sunday school, kids and young adults streaming out the side doors, mothers taking their little ones to the nursery, singles and seniors heading for their own classes. Therese remained where she was, her gaze following Abby as she shuffled along behind Nicole, head down, full lower lip stuck out. She looked miserable, so at odds with her delicate beauty. An angel whose burdens had become unbearable.
The Sunday school class was interesting, the sermon inspiring, the singing the best part of the service. Old hymns spoke to her soul, and this morning they were all old. They gave her peace, at least, until the closing prayer was echoed with Amens around the room.
LoLo hugged her when they stood. “If you ever need anything…”
“I’ve got your number.” Therese returned the hug.
“And I’ve got your back.”
LoLo wandered away to visit with other members. The congregation was a nice mix of civilian and military, families who’d lived there a hundred years and families who would move on in three years. Therese and Paul would have moved on by now if things had been different. She would have been teaching in a new school, the kids adjusting to their own new schools and the knowledge that, in a few more years, they would move on again. Nomads, gypsies. She thought Jacob was well suited for the life.
Abby, not so much.
After speaking with the minister and his wife, along with the youth minister, Therese located the kids outside and motioned them toward the car. About halfway there, they fell into step, a silent group. Therese knew how the next few minutes would go: she would ask, What do you want for dinner? Jacob would grunt, and Abby would ignore her. She would throw out some suggestions; Jacob would grunt, and Abby would ignore her. She would finally make a choice, and Jacob would say nothing, and Abby would sniff scornfully.
Since Carly was usually with them, the routine hadn’t bothered Therese so much, but Carly wasn’t there today.
She might stop going to church completely, or she might go elsewhere with Dane. She might prefer to develop her own family’s Sunday routine over being a part of the dysfunctional Mathesons’.
The possibility hurt somewhere deep inside Therese. Carly was her best friend, and nothing could end that. But Carly being in love and happy with Dane could change it.
When they reached the minivan, she beeped the doors, and Abby climbed into the backseat, per usual. Jacob hesitated, then, once again, slid into the front passenger seat. “Can we have Mexican for lunch?”
Therese stilled in the act of putting on her seat belt. A flicker at the rearview mirror showed Abby was surprised, too, and peripherally Therese saw the hint of a flush darkening Jacob’s cheeks. She forced herself to go on as if nothing unusual had happened, clicking the belt, starting the engine. “Sure. You want Three Amigos, Bueno, or something else?”
“Three Amigos.” Jacob shrugged. “You go there every week, so we hardly ever do.”
It was true. They ate at home practically every night, even if it was just frozen pizza and a quick-tossed salad. Considering how uncomfortable their family meals were, she preferred to hold them in private. “You have any problem with that, Abby?”
Her only answer was silence. Therese backed out of the parking space, joined the line of cars waiting to exit the parking lot, then smiled at Jacob. “Three Amigos it is.”
The restaurant, a bright dose of primary colors in the middle of a strip parking center, was popular, and Sunday post-church was no exception. Therese gave her name to the hostess, then joined the kids near the blue-tiled fountain in the middle of the lobby. Abby was already texting, and Jacob was staring into the water, his hands shoved into his pockets.
He glanced at Therese when she stopped near him. “Why do people throw money in fountains?”
“It’s tradition. Throw in a coin, make a wish.” Since it didn’t seem a reasonable response to him, she went on. “Some ancient cultures believed water was sacred. If you sacrificed something you held dear to the deity that lived there, you’d get something in return. What do people hold more dear than money?”
“Throwing a penny into water is a stupid way to make wishes come true.” His shoulders hunched forward, in a subconsciously defensive gesture that she’d seen in him since they’d met. A little boy who didn’t understand why Daddy moved away, why he was living with another woman; a frightened child who’d been taken from the only home he’d ever known and sent halfway across the country; a boy who’d stood stoic but heartbroken at his father’s graveside.
Therese didn’t know what to say. She laid her hand on his shoulder, half afraid he’d shrug it off, and squeezed. “I know. But sometimes it’s fun to do things that are stupid or silly.” A pause, and she withdrew her hand. “You threw pennies in there the first time your dad and I brought you here. You wished for a new bike and a new game.”
He tilted his head so he could see her without quite looking at her. “Did I get them?”
“Not then, but for Christmas. Though, by that time, you wanted a different game.”
After considering it a minute, he shrugged. “But those are things. Things aren’t real wishes.”
No. Things could be bought, borrowed, traded, and sold. Real wishes were rarer, more precious, lasting longer…or not nearly long enough.
“Matheson, party of three,” the hostess called, saving Therese from having to respond to Jacob’s last words. She smiled at him, and together they circled the fountain to reach the young woman, Abby trailing silently behind.
Chapter 3
It had been a long time since Keegan had had an entire morning to himself with nothing to do. He slept in late—a clock down the street was chiming eleven when he woke—then ran a few miles, bought a protein bar and a Red Bull from the convenience store on the corner, and made it lunch out on the stoop. The old metal chair was rusted, the paint sun-faded, and it creaked when he shifted just like the ones in his mom’s yard.
The house where he’d grown up was nothing special: maybe fifteen hundred square feet, three bedrooms, a living room, dining room, and kitchen that had seen a lot of hard use. The front porch was broad with mismatched chairs, screens to keep out the bugs, and a paddle fan to help cool the heat. Around back was a large yard where grass never grew, thanks to all the playing that went on there, another assortment of odd chairs and tables, a clothesline Ercella still used, and toys: a swing set as rusted as this chair, old bikes, a sandbox, a wading pool.
She’d worked hard to raise him, his brothers, and his sisters. Keegan didn’t remember a lot about their father even though he was the oldest of the five. A wandering man, she’d called Max Logan. A no-good waste of air, their Granny Dupree said. Ercella must have agreed with her mother eventually, because after baby number five, she’d given up hope of him ever coming home to stay. She’d never divorced him, though, and she still thought of him fondly, at least from time to time.
And she’d never, ever made Keegan or any of the others feel unwanted. Hell, she couldn’t even imagine not wanting a kid.
So what was he going to say to the major? And what if the major didn’t want Mariah? Didn’t remember Sabrina? Didn’t want his wife finding out he’d been unfaithful?
What if he refused to take her? Even the courts wouldn’t force a child on an unwilling parent. The Army would make him provide for her, and she’d get all the benefits any other dependent got. But benefits wouldn’t make up for not having a family.
Wearily, he gathered his trash, went inside, and stripped for a shower. If he didn’t come up with a way to break the news to Mariah’s father before he left the motel, he’d do it on the drive over. He always worked best under pressure.
He shaved, dressed in jeans and an old gray-and-black PT shirt, put on running shoes. After staring at himself in the mirror a minute or two, he set his jaw and turned away. It was time to go. No point in putting off the inevitable. Time to fulfill his sole duty to Mariah.
It was harder than he’d expected to walk out the door, lock up, and get in his car. The farther he drove, the slower he drove. It was inevitable, right? He didn’t want to be a father. He wasn’t a father. And this could turn out to be the best thing in Mariah’s life. Her father and his wife might welcome her into their family. They might be the parents she deserved. They might love her and pamper her and treat her like a princess.
And then Keegan could go on with his life. Best outcome for everyone.
The minivan was in the driveway again. He pulled to the curb, this time in front of the house, and shut off the engine. Took a deep breath. Swiped his hands on his jeans. Took his keys. Got out.
The yard was green, and flowers were blooming in the beds. Some of them smelled sweet as he walked past. Others didn’t smell at all. The flag was flying this afternoon—or, more appropriately, hanging. Not even a breath of wind stirred the air. The flowers on the porch glistened with water that pooled around the bottoms of the pots from a recent watering. Music sounded faintly from inside.
He stood in front of the door, raised his finger to the doorbell and, wishing he was back home in Louisiana, pushed it. The chimes echoed distantly. He’d gone past second thoughts and was on to fourth and fifth ones when the door was jerked open.
“What?” Standing across the threshold was a girl, somewhere between twelve and twenty, blond and petite and pretty. She had the same coloring, the same pouty lip, as Mariah. Her hip was cocked out, one hand resting on it, and she wore an expression of boredom and annoyance and seething. His sisters had seethed a lot when they were her age.
“Is Major Matheson here?”
Her brown eyes narrowed to slits, and she squinted at him like Mariah did, as if she’d summed him up and found him lacking. God, was Mariah’s ear-piercing shriek going to come from this girl’s mouth next?
It did, but not directed at him. She tilted her head toward the rear of the house and screeched, “Tuh-reese!” Without waiting for a response, she spun and s
tomped up the stairs.
So Mariah had a half-sister who was either having a really bad day or really needed her butt swatted. Great. Every little girl needed a big sister, right? A moody, bratty big sister, in this case, but still a sister.
The door opened into a long hallway that led to the kitchen. A double-wide door on the left opened into the living room, and another doorway showed a bit of the dining room. The floors were hardwood with area rugs, the furniture was good, and the family portraits were plentiful. The major, his wife, one girl, one boy. Both kids looked like their dad.
So did Mariah.
His gaze swept the living room again, jerking to a stop on the mantel. Another photograph, the major in his dress uniform, looking stern, and beside it a display case with a flag and a bunch of medals and ribbons. A photo of him in ACUs, sunglasses shoved up on his head, grinning. Next to that—
“Can I help you?”
His jaw clenched, he forced his gaze to the woman who was approaching down the hall. She was tall, slender, with brown hair swept back from her face. She wore faded jeans that fitted snugly and a T-shirt identical to his own. Her husband’s, he thought, judging by the size, then he looked at the mantel again. “I…I, uh…”
As she waited for an answer, her brows arched over hazel eyes. She was pretty, not like her pouty daughter but in a rounder, more womanly way. And she was starting to look wary.
“I was hoping to see Major Matheson,” he said. The next natural thing was to ask if he was home, but he couldn’t force the words out. Not when he already knew the answer.
Emotion flashed through her eyes, and she swallowed visibly before forcing a sad smile. “You don’t know.” She said it as fact; then, with the faintest tremble in her voice, she went on. “Paul was killed in Afghanistan.”
* * *
Killed. Aw, jeez. Of course, Keegan had known it the instant he’d seen the Gold Star flag on the mantel. Blue Star flags were for the families of service members—his mom had one hanging in the front window—and Gold Star flags were for the families whose loved ones didn’t come back.
A Man to Hold on to (A Tallgrass Novel) Page 4
