Momentarily distracted, Therese blinked. “You’re going to get pregnant right away?”
“We’re doing our part. Now, if God smiles on us…” Carly’s smile faded, her expression turning serious in a blink. “I waited with Jeff—for me to finish school, for us to settle into marriage, for his deployments to slack off. You waited with Paul while his kids adjusted to being here, while he was gone to Iraq and then to Afghanistan. Look where waiting got us.
“Every day with Dane is a gift, and every day with our kids will be, too. Oh, sure, I’ll be threatening to pack them off to Aunt Therese’s at least once a week, but…I’ll never get to hold Jeff’s babies, Therese. I damn well don’t intend to miss out on holding Dane’s.”
Therese gazed at the margarita, the heavy glass bearing a faint tinge of green, the drink itself vivid blue tonight. She’d missed the baby parts, she’d told Keegan with more than a little wistfulness. She had always thought she and Paul had plenty of time. When she’d kissed him good-bye the day of his departure for Afghanistan, she’d never dreamed it was already too late for her to have his baby.
She’d never dreamed he would die.
But she still had the chance to hold his babies. Maybe Abby and Jacob had long outgrown the cuddly phase, but they were Paul’s children, and even grown kids needed a cuddle now and then. And they’d both come around a little since their trip to visit Catherine. Jacob spoke more often than he grunted. Abby’s tantrums were smaller, her anger less palpable. She was really good with Mariah, and she’d lost most of her disdain for Keegan and even some of it for Therese. It might be temporary, but Therese would take what she could get.
Just like this thing with Keegan might be temporary.
That possibility squeezed around her heart, making her grateful for new arrivals to distract her. Lucy and Marti sat across from them, and a moment later Ilena joined them. “Okay, guys, I officially cannot see my feet anymore.”
“Another couple pounds, and your tiny little feet will be officially unable to support you,” Marti teased.
Lucy made a face. “At least she has an excuse and it’s temporary. Another couple pounds, and I will be officially as big as a house.” She helped herself to a chip with a big scoop of salsa.
“Oh, honey, you will not,” Ilena chastised her. “You’re beautiful, Lucy. Men like curves, you know.”
“Dane likes curves,” Carly confirmed, and Therese and Marti both nodded. Of their close-knit group’s spouses, Fia’s husband, Scott, had had a serious appreciation for her muscles, but all the rest of them were softer, rounder, curvier, and their husbands had adored them.
Keegan adored her.
Lucy smiled, but Therese wasn’t convinced their assurances had lightened her mood. She still seemed down when Jessy and Fia arrived, followed by a few of the other semi-regulars.
They had their usual fun, talking and teasing, I-hate-my-job stories from Jessy and tales from Marti about her thrice-married mother’s latest engagement. Lucy described her new oven with the same loving detail another woman might have given a designer outfit, and everyone had advice to offer Carly about her honeymoon.
Therese always enjoyed their evenings, but tonight it was even more of a pleasure. These women were her best friends, her support, her sisters in sorrow but also in joy. She loved them.
She loved a lot of people and had the capacity to love more, whether they wanted her to or not.
Whether they loved her back or not.
* * *
When the party broke up and she’d said her good-byes, she went home to a quiet house. Jacob was helping himself to a snack while he did homework with books and papers spread across the island. “Everything okay?” she asked as she took a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
“Yeah.” He set his plate next to his books, then met her gaze. “Real quiet without the cookie monster around. How is it little girls can make so much noise?”
“Little boys aren’t known for their soft ways, either.”
“Huh.” He took a bite of sandwich and flipped open a book. His hair fell over his forehead, the same shade of brown as his dad’s, though she’d never seen Paul’s hair so shaggy. He’d been spit-and-polish when they met and never relaxed his standards, shaving on his days off and as squared-away in jeans and a T-shirt as he was in uniform.
Still, there was so much of him in Jacob. The eyes, the coloring, the gestures, the focus. He was his father’s son.
“What?”
Even his voice sounded like Paul’s. Realizing she’d been staring, she said, “Nothing,” then opened the fridge again, grabbed two small bunches of grapes, and headed toward the hall. She took the long way around, though, circling the island, passing behind him, and patting his arm on the way.
Not even so much as a single muscle twitched away from the contact. It was a marvel.
Before she could reconsider her actions, she climbed the stairs and stopped outside Abby’s room, drew a breath, then knocked. The response—a flat What?—was neither an invitation nor encouragement, but Therese opened the door anyway and went inside. “Everything go okay tonight?”
Sprawled on her bed with a textbook open and her cell phone beside her so she could respond instantly to her next text message, Abby looked surprised. Surely this wasn’t the first time Therese had asked about their evening. She hadn’t missed a Tuesday night at Three Amigos in more than a year. She distinctly remembered, in the beginning, questioning the kids when she got home.
But she couldn’t remember doing it in a long time since then. My failure.
“Fine,” Abby said at last. “We ate dinner, watched TV, and now we’re finishing our homework. Why?”
“Just curious.” Therese offered her a handful of grapes. When Abby sat up, cross-legged, Therese sat at the foot of her bed. “Jacob said it was awfully quiet around here without Mariah.”
An unexpected smile lighted Abby’s face. She looked a lot like her dad, too, but what was entirely masculine on him and Jacob was delicately beautiful on her. Perfect bone structure, silky hair, huge eyes.
“She’s so sweet, but she’s awful needy. ‘Abby, I sit with you. Abby, read to me. Abby, play with me. Abby, I go potty.’”
“Well, she is only two. Besides, you’ve heard her scream. The needy adoration is a big improvement, isn’t it?”
“I guess.” She popped a grape into her mouth, concentrated on chewing it, then lowered her gaze to her cell as if willing it to ring or vibrate and demand her attention. When that didn’t happen, she fingered the grapes uneasily, finally plucking one, then turning it over and over instead of eating it. “Why do you think her mom just left her like that? Did she think Mariah was that much trouble? Didn’t she love her? Moms are supposed to love their kids.”
The grape Therese had just swallowed swelled to the size of a golf ball on its way down, leaving an ache from her throat all the way to the pit of her stomach. She’d suspected from the start that, Mariah’s cuddliness and obvious affection aside, Abby related to the girl on a more basic level: they’d both been abandoned by their mothers. But Therese hadn’t thought to use that as a conversation starter. Failure.
“Your mom loves you and Jacob,” she said gently, and the girl’s response was immediate.
“I know that.” Her tone was sharp, snotty. “Mom had reasons for sending us here. She needed time for herself. The divorce changed things for her, and she had to figure out who she was once she was no longer Daddy’s wife.”
She parroted the words as if she wanted very much to believe them. The truth was simpler, and she and Jacob both knew it. It was Catherine’s problem, her flaw, and it had nothing to do with either of them. But all the reasons in the world couldn’t lessen the impact that their mother had no longer wanted the everyday bother of being their mother.
“I assume Mariah’s mother had reasons for what she did, too. Maybe Sabrina did the best she could but knew it wasn’t enough. Maybe leaving her with Keegan was best for Mariah. Maybe she
knew he and his mother would give Mariah the kind of family she deserved.”
Shoving her book aside, Abby drew her knees to her chest and hugged them. “But she’s just a little girl, and her mom took her to the babysitter like every other day and never came back. She never said good-bye. How could she walk away from her own kid like that?”
There was such bewilderment in her voice, on her face, that Therese’s heart hurt with the desire to hold her and soothe it away. She even reached out, but caught herself before the movement was noticeable. Keegan was right. She’d been rejected so many times that it was hard to offer comfort. Baby steps. Even having this conversation was a big step. Physical contact could come later.
“The sad truth, Abby, is that some people aren’t cut out to be parents.”
“Yeah, well, the time to learn that is before you have kids,” Abby retorted, tossing her head in that oh-so-familiar defiance. The momentary flare faded, though, and she grudgingly added, “You said so. I heard you.”
Therese’s smile was tiny and tremulous. “I didn’t know you ever listened to anything I said.”
“Yeah. Well. I do. Sometimes. Especially if you’re talking to Carly and I’m not supposed to hear.” She rubbed her nose with one hand, then clasped her fingers together again. “If Mariah’s mom doesn’t come back, when she’s grown, she won’t even remember her. She’ll be a total stranger.”
That was sad, Therese acknowledged, but Mariah would be so well-loved that she wouldn’t miss a stranger she couldn’t remember. Giving birth didn’t make a woman a good mother, just as a good mother didn’t have to give birth to love a child.
Therese had always wanted to be a good mother, and she did feel something for Abby and Jacob, something far beyond obligation, beyond the fact that Paul’s blood ran through their veins. Something that had very nearly gotten lost in the anxiety, hostility, and resentment they’d lived with so long.
“But when you think about it, not remembering the woman who dumped you probably isn’t a bad thing,” Abby commented. Balancing her feet on her heels, she wiggled her toes, then studied the pedicure she’d gotten while with Catherine. Faux gems studded two toes on each foot, with a spot of glue showing where another had fallen off.
Staring as if the pedicure were the most fascinating thing in the world, she finally spoke, her voice little more than a mumble. “She never called me back.”
Therese swallowed hard. No need to ask who she was referring to. Only the lack of calls from one person could make her so glum.
“We’ve been back a week and a half, and I called her eleven times and texted her twenty-three times. I told her we got back okay. I asked her to send my clothes to me if she still had them. I told her all the girls at school were jealous of my hair and my tan.” Her voice lowered even more. “I told her I wanted to come back and live with her. And she never answered. Not even to say no.”
“I’m sorry, Abby. I wish…” Tears clogged Therese’s throat and dimmed her vision. She didn’t need to see, though, to reach out and squeeze both of her stepdaughter’s feet.
Abby went very still, barely breathing, and so did Therese. She steeled herself for yet another rejection, for a sharp voice, a snide order not to touch her, but it didn’t come. In fact, after a moment, Abby sighed heavily. “A foot rub. After five days of wearing those heels, I still need one. I’m never wearing high heels again.”
The fervent words startled a laugh from Therese, then she began a real massage of Abby’s slender feet. “Trust me, you’ll wear them again. You’ll be praying for the moment when you can take them off, but you’ll wear them because they make your legs look so—”
“Freaking sexy. That’s what Mom said.”
Therese shuddered at the notion that Catherine had wanted her barely teenaged daughter to look sexy. “I wouldn’t have said ‘freaking.’”
“You wouldn’t have said ‘sexy,’ either. Not to me. Not for at least ten more years.”
“You’re right.” She gave Abby’s feet one last squeeze, then stood. “Get back to your homework, then get ready for bed. I’ll be doing the same.”
She was walking through the doorway when Abby softly spoke. “Good night, Therese.”
“Good night.” Therese pulled the door shut, then leaned against it. That was the first time Abby had ever told her good night. In the beginning, Paul had done the bed-checks, tucked the blankets, and gotten the kisses. After he’d deployed, both kids had made it clear they didn’t need good nights from anyone else.
How could two little words mean so much?
Chapter 14
Ercella didn’t believe in sitting idle, and Keegan was his mother’s son. He had nearly two months’ leave on the books because he’d taken only enough over the years to keep from losing accumulated days. A few days to take his mom to Nashville for her birthday, a few days in Shreveport at Christmas with his sisters’ families, long weekend trips to New Orleans or the nearest beach with Sabrina—those were the extent of his times off. This was the longest stretch he’d gone without working in his life, and he missed it.
And yet he’d called his first sergeant and asked to extend his leave by another week. If his request wasn’t approved…well, the drive from Leesville to Tallgrass wasn’t so bad, and flights between Alexandria and Tulsa weren’t too expensive. He’d already checked. And he had only seven months left on this enlistment. He could tolerate anything for seven months.
It was Wednesday afternoon, and they were at Tallgrass’s biggest nursery. Therese liked flowers but hadn’t persuaded herself to plant any yet, and he needed some activity that resembled work, so he’d decided to help out. He was buying just enough flowers to fill a couple of large pots on the patio. If she was okay with that, he’d move on to the beds. If she wasn’t…well, what woman didn’t welcome men bearing flowers?
Forced out of the shopping cart by the flats of flowers he’d picked, Mariah toddled to a wooden stand filled with four-inch pots, picked one up in her pudgy hands, and held it for inspection. “For Celly.”
He crouched beside her. “Celly would like that.” He wasn’t sure of the variety, but the pale purplish shade was his mother’s favorite. It was a sharp contrast to the bold colors he’d selected—hot orange, red, deep pink, and purple. Therese wasn’t a pale person. “Let’s put it in the cart.” And hope they could keep it alive long enough to get it back to Louisiana.
“Celly loves labender.” Mariah watched him place it on the flat shelf of the cart, then stopped still, cocking her head, listening intently for a moment before rocketing off along the aisles. Because he was in no hurry—Therese wouldn’t be home from school for an hour—Keegan followed her past displays of succulents and shade plants to a small area shielded by trellises covered with flowering vines. The centerpiece was a rock fountain, easily seven feet high, water splashing over large stones into a pool below.
While she knelt on the ground to trail her hand in the water, Keegan sat on one of the three benches that flanked the area. The place smelled sweet, even for a nursery, and the repetitive splashing was calming. No wonder Therese’s friend wanted a fountain in her yard.
Mariah fished a leaf from the water and brought it to him. “Hey, Celly’s boy, look what I found.”
Though no one was around to hear, Keegan winced. It was so wrong that she had nothing else to call him—and past time to take care of that. “It’s a maple leaf,” he said. “It came from that tree over there.” He pointed, and she looked and nodded, though odds were low she’d recognized it in the small forest of trees. “Come up here, Mariah. We need to talk.”
He started to lift her, but she shrugged away. “I climb my own self.” She crawled onto the bench, then sat beside him, legs dangling. Her toenails were polished purple, courtesy of Abby Monday night, and a good match to the clear purple sandals she wore.
How to start? Simply.
“You know what a daddy is, Mariah?”
She bobbed her head. A week ago he would have taken
her at her word, but he’d learned a little since then. “Can you tell me?”
After thinking it over, she swiped a strand of curls from her face. “I don’t know.”
“Daddy is another name for father. Do you know what that means?”
She shook her head.
He could hear his mother’s voice in his head. You’re making it too complicated. She’s not even three yet. “You want a name to call me instead of Celly’s boy?” As she nodded, he took a deep breath, part of him not at all sure this was a good idea, but the rest of him knew it was too late. If Sabrina returned, if he lost Mariah, what she called him wouldn’t make a difference in the way he felt. “Call me Daddy.”
She swung her feet as if pondering the words, then with a shrug, said, “Okay. Can I go to the water again?”
Disappointment welled in him. “You want to try it? Daddy?”
After lolling her head to one side for a moment, she shook it, bouncing her curls. “I wanna find another leaf.”
“Okay, go on.” As she went to lean on the rock ledge that supported the pool, he ruefully shook his head. It wasn’t a big moment for her. Daddy was just a name to her, like Fluffy, Muffy, and Tuffy in one of the books Ercella had sent with her. The concept behind it, the significance, was way outside her grasp.
But not his. And she would learn in time.
Mariah had rescued seven leaves from the water by the time he called her away. She insisted on helping him push the cart to the checkout, more of a hindrance as he had to watch that he didn’t run into her, then he buckled her into the booster seat before loading the car.
“Now we’re gonna see Abby,” she announced when he started the engine.
“We are. You like Abby and Jacob and Therese?” In the rearview mirror he saw her head bob.
A few blocks had passed in silence when she unexpectedly asked, “You like Abby and Jacob and Trace?”
He grinned. “I do.”
“I do, too. And Celly. And basketti and meatballs. I love basketti and meatballs. Can we have it?”
A Man to Hold on to (A Tallgrass Novel) Page 25
