by Judy Duarte
“So you’re okay with letting last night slip into memory mode?” he asked.
She nodded. “At this point, I’m not sure what else to do with it. If you were able to support my efforts to fight for Emily, we could have seen what developed. But I need more than a couple of earth-spinning climaxes right now.”
He’d known it had been good for her. For him, too. But hearing her put it into words made his pride puff up like a Christmas goose. Of course, he’d be wise to remember the fate of plump fowl in December.
Or had his goose been cooked already?
In his defense, he added, “I don’t want to see either of you hurt. Not you, and certainly not Emily.”
She nodded, but he still didn’t think she understood where he was coming from. Where Emily’s father might be coming from.
“Maybe you should meet with Zack, rather than allow your attorneys to do the talking.”
She scrunched her brow, and her eyes narrowed. “You want me to go to the prison and visit a man I don’t even know?”
He wasn’t sure exactly what he was suggesting. “I think, when it comes to kids, parents ought to be able to compromise.”
“In most cases, that’s probably true,” she said. “But I’m sure Phyllis McAree, my attorney, would advise against it.”
“I wouldn’t doubt that. It would be in her financial interests if this case blew sky-high.”
“Think what you want, but Phyllis has been up-front with me since day one, and I’m going to take her advice.”
Brett knew he was barking up an empty tree. But he couldn’t help offering one more thing for her to think about. “When I was a kid, the judge sent my parents and me to family mediation. And the counselor told my mom and dad the story about King Solomon and the two women who fought over a baby, each claiming to be the mother.”
“I’m familiar with the story. Solomon told the women he would cut the child in half so they could share.”
“And then one woman cried out that she’d lied, that the other woman should take the baby. Solomon determined that the one willing to give up the child, rather than see it harmed, was the real mother.”
Caitlin crossed her arms, standing her ground, unbending, unyielding. “Zack should be the one to walk away from Emily. I can’t.”
“Not without a fight,” he supplied.
No, Caitlin acknowledged silently. Not without a fight.
She glanced at her wristwatch again, realizing she didn’t have time to continue this conversation much longer. She had to be at the hospital soon. And besides that, she’d grown tired of arguing and trying to explain why Zack shouldn’t be a part of Emily’s life.
Just the thought of losing her daughter clawed at her chest. She looked heavenward, as tears welled in her eyes, as emotion clogged her heart, her throat, her mouth.
The dark secret she’d fought hard not to share, not to reveal to anyone, crashed to the forefront. But Brett wasn’t the only one with a past that dictated how he viewed his future. His memories influenced all his decisions, his belief system. And in spite of feeling as though sharing her past was a waste of breath, she decided to open up, unsure of how much of the nightmare would come tumbling out.
She took a slow, steady breath, then released it. “My mom was an on-again off-again druggie, and I spent my early years in and out of homeless shelters.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, the soft tone of his voice laced with compassion. Honesty.
She nodded an acknowledgement, a silent thanks-for-your-concern, then bit her bottom lip, almost afraid to go on, although she wasn’t sure why.
Embarrassment? Shame? Realization that no matter what she said, her words would be useless when it came to swaying a man who’d allowed his own painful past to dictate his sense of right and wrong?
She continued anyway. “When I was twelve, my mom was arrested, and the court finally stepped in and placed me in a stable home.” She thought about the Reillys’, the love and acceptance she’d found.
For the first time in her life, she’d had a bedroom of her own and three square meals a day. And she had a sister and a brother she could almost claim as family.
She glanced up, saw him trying to deal with what she’d revealed. Or maybe he was just trying to come up with an acceptable response. “Being taken from my mother was a good thing. Really.”
Was that skepticism she read in his eyes or sympathy. She supposed it didn’t matter.
“I no longer had to stand with her on street corners with a hand-scrawled cardboard sign and beg for money. And I didn’t have to worry where I’d sleep each night. In foster care, I was able to get a taste of what a real family was like.”
“And that’s why you wanted to provide Emily with something similar,” he said.
She could have let it end with that, but she went on with her story—maybe because she needed to hear herself say it out loud. “The court ordered my mother to a state-funded rehab.”
“Did it help?”
She clicked her tongue. “I guess you could say that. She came out sober. But the problem was, she wanted me back.”
This time, he didn’t question her. He just let her talk.
“I suppose, in our own dysfunctional way, we loved each other. But I’d gotten tired of living with her addiction and with her lousy choice of friends and lovers. So, even at thirteen, I knew better than to expect miracles from her stint in rehab.” An unexpected tear slipped down her cheek, and she swiped at it with the back of a hand. “I didn’t want to leave the family I was with and go back to live with her, so I begged my foster parents and caseworker not to let me go. But no one cared enough to fight for me.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, as though refusing to reach out, to touch her, to offer a hug. And that was just as well. She didn’t think his embrace would help. Not when the worst of her revelation was yet to come.
“To make a fresh start, my mother decided to relocate in San Diego. And about two months later, her new boyfriend, some guy she’d met at the pool hall where she worked as a waitress, came home drunk and cussing up a storm about her messing around with one of his friends. And things escalated from there.” She sought his gaze, trying to gauge whether he could handle the rest without thinking of her as a freak, a victim, which is how she’d seen herself during those awkward teen years, when the case was still fresh. When it seemed that everyone in school was pointing and whispering about her.
Something had settled in his eyes, although she wasn’t sure what. Sympathy maybe. Understanding?
“I watched from the hall as he began to beat her, first with his fists, then with a bulky glass ashtray he grabbed from the lamp table. Seeing the blood, hearing her screams, scared me to death, but I gathered my senses, ran to my bedroom, climbed out the window and ran down the street calling for help. But it was too late. When the police arrived, my mother was dead.”
Brett took her in his arms, holding her close, whispering to soothe her. “Oh, God, honey. I’m so sorry. A child shouldn’t have to witness something like that.”
Her sentiments exactly, which was why she wanted to protect Emily from a similar fate. But she accepted Brett’s comfort, savoring the warmth of his embrace, yet wise enough to know she’d temporarily touched a soft spot in his heart.
This embrace wasn’t the same as meeting on a level playing field and having him tell her he loved her, that he’d support her in her struggles to not only gain custody of Emily, but to adopt her.
He whispered another, “I’m sorry.”
His sympathy helped, she supposed. But she didn’t have time to linger in his arms, not when his compassion didn’t come with his full support.
Or better yet, with a confession of love.
So she drew back and wiped her eyes with her fingers. “So you’ll have to forgive me for not seeing things your way, for not wanting to recognize the biological contribution to a child’s life.”
He started to object, but she didn’t stop long enough to li
sten.
“I’ve got to go. I’m late to work.”
“Maybe we can talk later,” he said to her back.
“Yeah, maybe.” But she was finished talking, opening up and sharing her pain.
As she unlocked the driver’s door and began to climb into her car, she glanced over her shoulder one last time.
He just stood there, watching. Silence masked his thoughts and feelings.
So she slid into the driver’s seat, closed the door and drove away. But no matter how far she drove, she couldn’t escape the pain, the memories or the fear.
Brett just didn’t get it.
He couldn’t comprehend her determination to fight for her daughter. But that didn’t matter.
Every child deserved to have one person in the world who was willing to fight for her.
Chapter Eleven
Brett stood on the lawn near the carport and watched as Caitlin drove away. He’d never been able to deal very well with emotional garbage, with knowing what to say, what to do. And this time he’d really been stumped.
The story she’d told him had turned his heart inside out. He hurt for the child she’d once been, for what she’d been through. And he understood why she intended to fight for Emily’s best interests.
Still, he wished she’d try negotiation as the first step, even though it didn’t appear as though she’d even consider a compromise.
In that respect, she wasn’t so different from his ex, which is probably why his thoughts drifted to Kelly.
She’d had a similar attitude, when he’d asked to start seeing Justin on a regular basis.
Was it a mom thing? The same biological process that made a mother bear desperate to protect her cub?
Or was it merely human nature?
He tried to see Caitlin’s side, to think about the loss she would suffer if forced to give up Emily. And in spite of his belief that adults shouldn’t drag their kids to court, he had to admit she had a point.
Zack Henderson might be using his parenthood to convince the parole board he was ready to become a decent law-abiding member of the community.
If so, then what?
Emily’s fate would be determined by a judge.
Damn it. That’s why he had never wanted to get involved with a single mom in the first place. It was too much of a reminder of what he’d lived with day after day.
Or rather, what he lived without.
Brett swore under his breath. How could he even consider supporting Caitlin in a fight for her child, when he wasn’t willing to fight for his own son?
He’d been a fool to let things get out of hand with Caitlin. The relationship had been doomed from the start. And he was even more foolish to stand out here in the middle of the complex, like some poor bastard whose woman had just driven off into the sunset with another guy.
Scoffing at himself for letting his emotions get the better of him, he headed back to the house—although there wasn’t any reason to hole up there.
Maybe he ought to head for the beach. Try to get some fresh air and sunshine. Try to clear his head.
That’s what he’d do.
But an hour later, as the gulls cried in the distance, as the salty breeze filled his lungs, as the waves crashed upon the shore, he didn’t feel one bit better about the mess he’d allowed himself to fall into.
And it wasn’t merely because of Caitlin.
If he wanted to show her the value of working out an amicable agreement with Emily’s father, he had to pull off a compromise of his own.
The time had come to confront Kelly with what was fair, with what was right—in spite of how daunting the visit seemed.
Brett wasn’t sure how long he’d parked in front of the house on Periwinkle Lane. Long enough to bolster his courage, he supposed.
He studied the white stucco walls, the pale teal trim, the freshly mowed lawn, the colorful birdhouse flag that hung over the porch.
There’d been a white Chevy pick-up parked here before. David’s vehicle, he’d assumed.
Today, only the blue minivan rested in the drive. Was Kelly the only one home? If so, that would be best, wouldn’t it? Or would David’s presence help to keep her calm, reasonable?
Oh, what the hell. It was now or never.
He climbed from the Explorer and cut across the street, then he strode up the walkway that was flanked by colorful flower beds.
The last time he’d talked to Kelly about wanting to spend more time with Justin, it had been over the telephone. Had that been a mistake? Would it have been better to talk face-to-face?
He stood before the floral welcome mat, wondering what kind of reception he’d get.
It didn’t matter, he supposed. He couldn’t handle being out of Justin’s life any longer. And he wanted a relationship with his son, even if he was referred to as Uncle Brett.
He lifted a hand to knock, then decided to ring the bell instead. After doing so, he shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for Kelly to answer.
Instead, a small, dark-haired boy with big blue eyes swung open the door.
Justin.
His son.
When he’d been younger, his hair had been lighter. A golden-blond. And he hadn’t had freckles across his nose back then, had he?
Brett cleared his throat, hoping to dislodge the words. “Is your mom home?”
The boy nodded, then called his mother to the door.
“Yes,” Kelly said, as she dried her hands on the edge of the apron she wore and entered the living room. Her eyes lit on Brett, and recognition registered on her face.
She’d gained a little weight, although he thought it looked good on her, making her appear more maternal, more genuine. More down to earth. Did that mean she would be willing to hear him out?
He offered a smile, hoping she realized he hadn’t introduced himself to the boy. He knew better than to come waltzing up to the door and stir things up without any thought to the consequences.
She placed a hand on Justin’s shoulder, in a protective way, as though she wanted to hold on to him, to keep him from bolting out the door with his father. “This is a surprise.”
“I figured it would be. But I’d like to talk to you, if that’s okay.” He glanced at the boy, felt his heart thud in his chest. “In private.”
“Of course.”
Was it his imagination? Or had a flood of relief washed over her, too?
“Justin, why don’t you go over to Scotty’s house. Ask his mother if it’s all right if you play for about thirty minutes.”
“Okay.” The boy didn’t move right away. He stood in the doorway, looking at Brett.
Was he remembering the last time Brett had come to visit? Did he have any idea how the two of them were related?
He supposed those were questions he’d have to ask Kelly, assuming their conversation could remain civil.
She nudged Justin’s shoulder. “Be sure to mind your manners at Scotty’s house. And watch for cars when you cross the street.”
“Uh-huh.” Justin flashed a lopsided grin, then dashed out the door.
“Come on inside,” she said, leading Brett to the living room.
He wiped his feet on the mat, just in case his shoes were dirty. Kelly had always been fussy about things like that. In the past, he hadn’t cared about tracking dirt in the house. But he suspected that was because he’d liked being rebellious, a thorn in her persnickety backside.
Things were different now.
She took a seat on an overstuffed chair that had been upholstered in a striped material that matched the floral print of the sofa, on which he sat.
“It’s been killing me not to see Justin,” he admitted. “And I don’t want to create problems for your family. But I want a relationship with him.”
She sat back in the chair, her hands resting on the armrests. “I was afraid this day would come.”
“I don’t want to confuse him, but he’s my son, Kelly.”
“I know that.”
&nb
sp; “And I’m not asking you to disrupt your lives. I’m willing to compromise. I just want to get to know him, to see him, even if it’s only once in a while.” He raked a hand through his hair, realizing he’d need to get it cut someday soon. “It’s not as though I’ve been a deadbeat dad. At least, financially.”
“You’ve been more than fair about that.”
“So how do we progress from here?” he asked, afraid she’d make references to her attorney, and if she did, not at all sure how he’d respond.
“I don’t know.” She blew out a ragged sigh. “I realize it was wrong of me, but I never told him about you. He thinks David is his father.”
A sharp lance cut across his chest, but rather than cry out or complain, he nodded. “When I saw him last, he was calling your husband Daddy. I guess that’s only normal, since David has raised him, and I haven’t been around.”
Her teeth bit into her bottom lip, and she twirled a strand of her hair, a nervous habit she’d always had. “David and I wanted to have another baby, but we weren’t able to conceive. I don’t want to go into the particulars, but Justin is the only child we’ll be able to have.”
Brett wanted to lash out, to tell her he hadn’t wanted to be out of the picture, but that it had been her attitude and her threats to take him to court that had kept him away. But that would only create animosity, something that wouldn’t help the compromise he so desperately wanted.
And blaming it all on Kelly wasn’t fair either.
He’d been afraid of being a father, afraid that his dysfunctional upbringing would cause him to somehow fail his son.
But wasn’t it enough to admit that fact to himself? Did he have to make a confession like that to Kelly?
Besides, maybe he wouldn’t be a failure in the daddy department. Hadn’t Emily grown attached to him?
Like he’d become attached to her?
And her mother?
Kelly clasped her hands in her lap, her fingers fidgeting with each other. “I’m sorry for my outburst the last time we talked, but David was having some serious medical problems at the time, and I was afraid I was losing him. The fear of losing Justin to you was too much for me to contemplate then.”
