Bridge to Forever

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Yes, but it doesn’t seem fast enough.”

  Now it was Mickelle’s turn to sigh. “My feelings exactly.” She let go of his hands and began to roll up the newspaper in front of her, first pushing the remaining gooey pulp toward the middle so it wouldn’t fall out. “She seems a part of our family already.”

  Damon paused in picking up the hose, allowing it to drop once more into the grass next to the patio. “Our family,” he repeated. “Yes, she does. I never thought I’d have any more children.” His glance held a trace of guilt.

  Mickelle’s heart started pounding in her chest so hard she suspected a panic attack, though she hadn’t experienced a full-fledged attack since she and Damon had become engaged. This discussion now bordered the unsaid words between them, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face the consequences—whatever they might be.

  To her relief, Damon retrieved the hose and resumed cleaning. “I just remembered. We’re having a reception for some clients at the end of next week at the Marriott, and I wanted you to come. It’s going to be a real posh event—you know, evening wear type of thing. I was thinking we’d let Tanner watch the kids and take the cell in case they need us. We’ll have a night out for a change. What do you think? Brionney’ll be there.”

  “I wouldn’t begin to know what to wear,” Mickelle blurted, caught off guard enough to tell the truth. The pounding in her heart continued furiously, and she sat down on the bench, taking a deep breath.

  Damon turned off the water and started to coil the hose. “We’ll get you something new, of course.”

  She blinked at him. But what? she wanted to say. Where? The last time she’d picked out a nice dress had been for Brionney’s marriage to Jesse, and her mother had been the one to choose the store. Mickelle doubted if her favorite store, Wal-Mart, carried any formals. That’s stupid, she thought. There’s always the mall. Even the idea daunted her.

  Did her reluctance to go shopping alone have anything to do with the attack? Probably, but she wasn’t willing to be a prisoner in her own home—or Damon’s.

  Damon came to her side and put his arms around her. A pumpkin seed clinging to his sweatshirt fell onto her sweater. “What’s wrong?”

  His eyes and face radiated so much concern and love that Mickelle felt she could tell him. “I guess it’s just . . . I feel so uneducated. I don’t even know where to go to buy a formal, though I do need new clothes.” Even while attending church with Damon, where she and the children had been very welcome, she had felt decidedly frumpy compared to most of the other women.

  “Ah, Kelle.” He shook his head slowly, eyes roaming her face. “You’re smart and funny, widely read. You speak well. You may not have a college degree, but you have likely earned the equivalent. Heck, I only have a bachelor’s degree. I used to feel very awkward around others who had more education, but you know what? I’ve discovered it doesn’t really matter. An education does widen your world—and that’s one of the reasons I support you going back to school—but it doesn’t make you a person worth knowing. That comes from the heart.”

  She hugged him. “Thank you for that.” As she said it, she felt awkward, like a child, constantly needing reassurance. Would she ever feel as secure as he did? She believed so, but it might be some time in coming.

  “You know, Kelle,” he said in a low voice, “you have changed my life so much, and given me so much, that I could spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you and never make it. So I don’t need thanks. I’m the one who should thank you.”

  His comments made her feel immensely better. Perhaps she did help and reassure him as well. Wasn’t that what a partnership was all about?

  Damon led her through the glass doors where they removed their shoes, and then into the kitchen where Tanner was making hot cocoa.

  “Damon,” she said, returning to their conversation, “I have to admit I’m a little nervous to go out and shop in unfamiliar territory. I don’t know why—well, I do, really. I’m afraid . . . what if Colton . . .” She let the words trail off.

  His eyes brightened momentarily with a fury she knew was not directed toward her, but in the next second the emotion was buried. “I know someone who can help,” he said, his voice steady and gentle. “In fact, she can help you pick out a whole bunch of things. Right from the house. It’s what I do with Belle and Tanner for school stuff.” He grinned as he took down a bag of marshmallows from the cupboard. “Besides, isn’t that what women are supposed to do when they get married? Get a new wardrobe—what do they call it—a trousseau?”

  She made a face. “I do need a new swimsuit. I mean, that is if we’re going to need it where we’re going on our honeymoon.” He had refused to tell her where they were going but maintained that she would love his surprise. She wasn’t so sure.

  “You’ll need one for here, anyway. Or get two,” Damon suggested.

  “So when are you guys getting married?” Tanner asked as he handed a steaming mug of hot chocolate to Mickelle.

  She set the mug on the counter, her heart agonizing over the question. It would be so easy to name a date, any date. But she’d already buried herself once in a man’s wants and needs, and this time she wanted to be sure that she married on her own terms. When she decided what she was willing to sacrifice, she and Damon could talk more seriously about dates. “You know,” she said, “I’d better get cleaned up. Do you guys mind? I feel like Peter Pumpkin-eater’s wife right now.”

  Damon’s laugh was noticeably tense. “By all means. While you’re gone, I’ll use the shower down here. I’m feeling rather like I’ve been inside a pumpkin myself.”

  “You were,” Tanner said with a smirk.

  Mickelle burst into laughter.

  The laughter hid her other feelings. Why couldn’t she let go of her dream of having another child, a dream that was really being fulfilled by Tanner and Belle anyway? She’d seen Belle in her vision the night of her husband’s funeral—before she had ever met Damon and his children. In that vision she had been the mother of the child. Of Belle. At the time she’d thought she was expecting a long-awaited daughter, and it had temporarily given her hope. When she discovered it wasn’t true, she’d blamed Riley for taking even that opportunity away from her. Then Damon came into her life, along with Tanner, and little Belle—the girl in her dream. Why wasn’t that enough? Why was it suddenly so important for her to have Damon’s baby?

  Am I jealous of his first wife? she wondered.

  She shivered as she slunk up the back stairs to Damon’s suite. No, she didn’t envy his first wife. Charlotte had died after a long, torturous bout with cancer. She didn’t envy that.

  She did envy the fact that Damon had loved her.

  I loved Riley, she thought. And what I feel for him has no bearing upon what I now feel for Damon.

  Of course, Riley had been emotionally abusive, so maybe it wasn’t the same at all.

  Yes it is. I loved him despite his faults, despite the fact that we weren’t really partners. And Charlotte was ill all the time. Neither Damon nor I had a chance to be truly one with our spouses. Until now.

  A spreading warmth in her heart gradually eased her shivering. The truth was that she and Damon would likely grow to love and depend on each other far more than they ever dreamed possible. They would love each other more than they had loved their first spouses.

  If it didn’t bother her that he had once loved Charlotte, then what was the problem?

  It came to her in a bright, clear flash. I want something that’s his and mine. Ours.

  There, that was it. A shared child, a new being that was part of each of them, would bind her and Damon together in a very unique way. No matter what happened, they would have a child, born from their love.

  Tears formed beneath Mickelle’s closed eyes. She was grateful for the fact that Damon couldn’t see her tears, for the warm water that would eliminate all signs.

  She took a breath. So what now? Ask him to reverse the surgery? Even if it w
orked, which she doubted, was it fair to ask him to undergo such a thing? Besides, not only was she past the age when doctors encouraged pregnancy, but neither of them was young. Taking care of a newborn required a lot of energy, not to mention sleepless nights. Then there was also the continuing effort it would take to merge their two families. Mickelle didn’t fool herself into thinking there wouldn’t be problems. Even big problems. She only had to look at Bryan to see that. Was she ready for the combined challenges of a new baby and a step-family situation?

  I could do it, she thought.

  But she wondered if having a child was right for her and Damon, or whether she was being driven by her fears to forever have a piece of the man she loved.

  Would Damon understand?

  Chapter Twenty

  Bryan dragged himself into the kitchen when he smelled the hot chocolate Tanner poured into large mugs on the bar. His mouth watered as he sat on a stool. Though he had planned to stay completely aloof from this family tradition because the Wolfes were not family, perhaps he’d already made his point. He really loved hot chocolate. Had his mother bought those buttery croissants to go with it? Ever since his uncle had first served a mission in France, the croissants had become part of their family jack-o’-lantern party.

  “Have some chocolate, Bry,” Damon encouraged from the other end of the bar.

  Resentment bubbled inside Bryan. Why did Damon have to be here? He was horning in on Bryan’s family, and he wished there was some way to stop it. He felt like a child trying to stick his finger in the hole in the dike, only to feel the dike crashing down around him.

  He chose to ignore Damon and folded his hands angrily on the countertop. Tanner set a hot mug of chocolate in front of him, and despite his better intentions, Bryan put his fingers around the mug.

  Belle and Jennie Anne came clattering into the kitchen, Belle talking a hundred miles an hour, Jennie Anne quietly listening. Both wore white leotards and some kind of puffy skirt that reached clear to their ankles.

  “Look,” Belle said, doing a pirouette. “Mickelle sewed these outfits for us while we were at school the other day. Aren’t they cute? Turn around, Jennie Anne, so they can see you better. Mine’s pink ’cause that’s my favorite color, and Jennie Anne’s is blue ’cause that’s hers. This is how they stick out so far.” Belle lifted a transparent cloth, woven with gold thread, and an under layer of pink material. Beneath these were several rows of white netting which gave the outer layers fullness. The skirt was tied on like an apron with a thick shiny ribbon. “She made ’em ’cause we’re princesses.”

  Bryan thought to himself that Belle looked more like a fairy than a princess. Her eyes shone as she twirled before him.

  “Very cute, Belle,” Damon said, “but try not to spill chocolate on them.”

  “Princesses don’t spill, do they Jennie Anne? We know how to eat.” Belle climbed onto a stool, but quickly jumped back off. “Oh, I forgot!” She ran to one of the cupboards and extracted several packages of croissants. Placing them on the table she met Bryan’s eyes and, after making sure that no one was watching, winked. “Mickelle forgot these when we were at the store, but I remembered before we left.”

  “That’s cool,” Jeremy said. “It wouldn’t be a good seed-fighting party without those.”

  Belle’s laugh tinkled throughout the room. “I know, you and Bryan told me a hundred times.”

  Bryan felt a stinging behind his eyes. His mom forgot, but Belle remembered. Belle was okay. She was more than okay. Not like Tanner, who was quickly becoming a copy of stuffy old Damon. Why had he ever thought Tanner was so cool?

  Everyone reached for a croissant except for Bryan. I don’t care if I have one, he thought.

  Belle scooted two croissants near his mug of chocolate, chattering to her father about her costume for Halloween next week. Bryan was sure no one noticed her move, so he grabbed one of the croissants and held it under the counter, occasionally tearing off pieces and shoving them furtively into his mouth. Ha! With Belle’s help he could eat and still make Damon and his mother feel sorry for the torture they were putting him through!

  “So is everyone clean?” Mickelle asked as she entered the kitchen. Her hair was wet and her blue eyes seemed to stand out in her oval face. As usual, she found a stool by Damon. She glanced at Bryan briefly, and he saw a momentary sadness, but it didn’t bring him as much satisfaction as he’d expected.

  She doesn’t care about how I feel, he told himself. And she never loved my dad. Maybe that’s why he killed himself.

  The thoughts made him even more angry.

  “Oh, did I tell you?” Damon said into the brief pause. “Jennie Anne’s great-aunt gave permission for her to come to church with us tomorrow.”

  “Yay!” shouted Belle, clapping her hands and nearly falling from her stool. Bryan’s arm shot out and grabbed her just in time. Belle smiled at him gratefully, showing her dimples, but didn’t say anything aloud. He was glad she didn’t. Her smile made him feel warm inside, like he felt when he and Jeremy played soccer in their backyard. Their backyard, not Damon’s. Bryan scowled.

  “I can’t believe it!” Jennie Anne said in a voice more excited than Bryan had ever heard her use. “I’ve been wanting to see what your church is like.”

  “Don’t you ever go?” Belle asked.

  Jennie Anne shrugged. “Sometimes, but we only stay for a little while. I don’t get to sit with any kids.”

  Bryan watched as his mother put her arm around Jennie Anne. “Looks like Damon’s winning your aunt over.”

  “I wish I could stay here all the time!” Jennie Anne flushed with embarrassment the moment she’d spoken, but Mickelle sighed.

  “So do we, Jennie Anne. So do we. You fit right in with our family.”

  Bryan wanted to jump up and yell at them all. He wanted to remind them they weren’t a family, not yet, and that his dad was dead in the graveyard. Nothing could change that; it always came down to that. I’m the only one who remembers him.

  Fury grew in Bryan’s chest, and suddenly he couldn’t sit there and watch that man step into the place that rightfully belonged to his father. He shoved himself from the stool and stalked from the room. It’s all her fault, he thought. Mom’s a betrayer. All she cares about is him. Him, and Tanner, and that dumb Jennie Anne!

  “Well,” he heard Damon say as Bryan stomped loudly down the hall, “who’s up for a game of table tennis?”

  Bryan was amazed. No one had even acknowledged that he was angry at them. Especially not Damon!

  I hate him! Bryan knew then that he had to get out of this house once and for all. If his mother and Jeremy wouldn’t come with him, he would go alone.

  * * *

  Mickelle watched Belle, Tanner, and Jeremy follow Damon from the kitchen, heading toward the game room. Her heart felt heavy. She could tell Damon had wanted to go after Bryan, but she knew he wouldn’t unless she gave her permission. She was no longer certain how to handle her son. With Riley, tears had worked after a period of calming down, but she was never going to fall into that rut again. She was in charge of her emotions, and she wouldn’t allow Bryan to force her to be unhappy.

  But I want him to be happy, too, she thought. Why did everything have to be so complicated? She’d known there would be problems joining two families, but Bryan was quickly becoming uncontrollable. His comments, when he deigned to speak at all, were almost always derogatory, especially toward her and Damon. Only Belle was immune from his wrath. Bryan reminded her of Riley. Too much. Way too much.

  She forced her thoughts to follow a different path. Not difficult since Jennie Anne was still on her stool, watching Mickelle.

  “Jennie Anne,” Mickelle began, sitting beside the child, “you remember when that guy broke in my house and hurt me?”

  “Yes.” Jennie Anne’s gaze briefly met hers, then fell to the counter.

  Mickelle studied her profile. Jennie Anne had come so far these past weeks, but at any hint of conflict she would
revert to this sad, withdrawn child. “Well, you know it was wrong for him to do that, and when the police find him he will go to jail.”

  “What if they don’t?” asked Jennie Anne. “They haven’t yet.”

  “No, but since they’re searching for him, he won’t dare show his face around here again. He can’t hurt me. Do you understand that?”

  Jennie Anne nodded, still not looking at Mickelle. She traced a pattern on the blue-flecked countertop.

  Mickelle went on. “Sometimes people do things like that to their own children. And it’s still wrong. The police will make them stop. Do you understand that? It’s wrong for people to hurt kids, and no matter what the person says to the child, no matter how they threaten or scare that child, it can’t go on. The police and other nice people like their school teachers will make them stop even if the person hitting them is a parent . . . or an aunt.”

  Jennie Anne continued to say nothing, so Mickelle reached out and gently touched a place on Jennie Anne’s arm. The girl had been wearing long sleeves earlier, but now the short-sleeved leotard couldn’t hide the new bruises there. Deep bruises.

  “The books fell on me,” Jennie Anne said. There was fear in her voice.

  “Jennie Anne, I want to help you. If the books really fell, then that’s okay. But if someone did this to you”—Mickelle’s voice broke—“I won’t let it happen again. You need to trust in me. Tell me.”

  Jennie Anne lifted her eyes. A tear spilled over and ran down the freckled cheek. “The books fell on me,” she repeated slowly.

  Mickelle’s heart was breaking. She felt that Jennie Anne was lying, but why?

  “Okay,” she said. “But when you’re ready to tell me, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Jennie Anne nodded. She slipped from the stool and left the kitchen silently on her bare feet.

  Mickelle put her head on her arms, wanting to talk more with Jennie Anne, but knowing that it would do no good. On Monday she’d call Social Services. Jennie Anne couldn’t protect herself, so she would have to do it for her.