“Really? That’s great. Can he afford the flight?”
“His PO will figure something out. Since it’s a healing workshop designed for people affected by the residential schools, Adam’s family qualifies big time.”
“I think it’s a great idea. How do you feel about it?”
Her brother’s soothing voice kneaded away the tight knots grinding against the bones of Bridget’s shoulders. “Jude suggested it. I’m pretty sure he was being sarcastic, though.”
Emery’s soft chuckle carried through the receiver. “That sounds like Jude. You suggested it to Adam?”
“I guess I did. We were... um, having a heated discussion.”
“Let me guess. You told him he should attend the workshop because he needs it more than the people who’ve already signed up. And you said so in a, well, a less than diplomatic way.”
Bridget toyed with one of the angel figurines on the end table. “Yes.”
“I don’t understand what the problem is, then. He can stay here. We have a spare room. Darryl’s already signed up. Adam can ride with him.”
“You’re still going to train as a facilitator?”
“Yes.” He paused for about five seconds.
Uh-oh, little brother was thinking.
“Are you happy he’s coming?”
Are you out of your mind? “What Adam does isn’t my business.”
“He’s Kyle’s father,” Emery gently reminded her.
The desperation twitching Bridget’s muscles tumbled from her mouth. “He’s trying to get close to us, and I don’t like it.”
“There’s always a why to everything we feel. What is your why?” Stupid Emery kept speaking in his calm, reassuring voice. Didn’t anything rile baby brother?
Bridget huffed to the kitchen. “I worked hard building a life for me. For Kyle. For the two of us. Adam wasn’t supposed to be released this early. The judge threw the book at him. He should have served two-thirds of his time.”
“The parole board believed it’s best he serves the rest of his time outside, otherwise they wouldn’t have granted him day parole, and then full parole.” Emery and his damned common sense. “I’d say they felt he’d changed for the better. Considering his record, starting all the way from his juvenile years, this time he’s making a difference. He made a difference before he met you. He sobered up. He left Winnipeg and moved to Thunder Bay to start a new life. What did you see in him why you agreed to a date? To marriage?”
Why oh why did he ask such hard questions? Bridget leaned against the counter and bit her lower lip. She couldn’t share about Adam’s swagger, his sexy grin, his deep voice, and the way he’d looked directly at her whether she was speaking or silent had not only curled her toes, but had curled her hair, even the hair between her legs.
As for what was within Adam, he tried, he really did. He was kind. Considerate. Thoughtful. Giving. A true gentleman. He possessed the qualities from the warriors of long ago.
“I assume you answered my question.” Emery softly chuckled. “Try to remember why you gave him a chance. True, he messed up. He really messed up. But consider who our Lord chose for disciples. Men like Adam. In the Gospel of Luke, our Lord was crucified between two criminals. One understood his sins and accepted his punishment. He asked Jesus to remember him. Jesus obliged.”
Bridget hugged herself.
“Adam understands what he did was wrong. He accepted his penance. He’s forgiven by God. Although God forgave him, have we, the people he was locked away from as unfit for society, also forgiven him?”
“You would use the Bible against me.” Bridget slammed the cutting board on the island.
“I’m not using the Bible against you. I’m sharing with you what we’ve learned as Christians and why we attend Mass.”
“Fine, I can work on forgiving him, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to give up Kyle or...” She stabbed the steak knife into the cutting board. They’d acted like a family when she’d driven Adam back to the halfway house. Kyle was eagerly accepting his dad in his life.
“How does Kyle feel?”
“He’s... he’s happy to see his, uh, dad. He, um, can’t wait for their visits. He’s starting to complain that a week is too long.” The rest of the words rushed from her mouth.
“Have you told your caseworker this?”
No. She’s writing awful things about Adam, and I’m not saying anything in his defense.
“Have you?”
“No.” She winced.
“I think you should.” Emery spoke as if he were present, his gentle gaze prodding Bridget to do the right thing.
“Then it’s mission accomplished for Adam. He’ll have Kyle back.” The cold, gritty taste of bitterness crept into Bridget’s mouth.
“I know it’s tough. We all love him. None of us want to lose him. But we have to remember Adam’s his father.”
“Sure. When it’s convenient for him.” The bitterness on her tongue flooded her reply. “When it isn’t, everyone else has to take care of his son while he does his thing.”
“I don’t think landing in prison is what he wanted.” Emery’s voice remained relaxing cotton.
“So you want me to give up Kyle?”
“I didn’t say that. I said Adam is Kyle’s father. If the roles were reversed, wouldn’t you want a second chance?”
“How many chances do you give someone? You know the saying. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”
“I understand he didn’t live up to his responsibilities the first time. This is where second chances happen. He’s asking for one. Do you think he deserves one?”
Bridget grumbled. Her brother and his logic. Why couldn’t Emery react with emotion like everyone else? Because his faith was too strong. He always sought answers from God first. As should she.
“Fine. Maybe he does.” Her voice shrank while she shrank against the kitchen counter. “I know I’m only the foster mother. I know God only asked me to care for Kyle as a... caregiver, but this doesn’t mean I’m going to be happy to hand him over if the caseworker gives Adam a flying-colors grade.”
“You’re not only the foster mother. Kyle sees you as his mother. God has a plan. Maybe you should trust Him to slowly reveal His plan.”
“And what plan would that be?”
“I don’t know. I’m not God.”
Bridget should have expected such an answer. “Fine. I’ll do my best to let God take care of this.” Not! So not!
Bridget held the hymnal, singing the last song after Father Arnold had given the concluding rites, dismissing the congregation with his blessing. Kyle stood beside her, holding tight to the pew in front of them where Jude, Charlene, Noah, and Rebekah stood.
The overhead fans spinning round and round kept the packed church from becoming too hot.
When the pipe organ stopped playing, Bridget shut the hymnal.
“Can we go now? Can we go now?” Kyle shuffled in the pew.
“Yes.”
“Here he is.” Jude gestured, his dimples appearing.
A tall man with blond hair, ice-water blue eyes, and broad shoulders sashayed up the aisle, moving against the people leaving their pews and heading for the narthex.
Bridget dug her nails into the leather of her purse. What on earth was Jude doing?
“This is Stephen Baker. He’s visiting his mother for the week. Stephen, this is my wife, Charlene. My kids, Rebekah and Noah. My sister, Bridget. And her foster son, Kyle.” Using his hand, Jude made a sweeping motion. “Everyone, I met Stephen at the principals’ workshop that was held on Thursday and Friday. Stephen’s the big pooh-bah of Sacred Heart in Kenora.”
Mrs. Baker approached, a recent member of the parish’s Catholic Women’s Association after relocating to Thunder Bay at the start of spring, who always smelled of rich perfume. “Good morning. Forgive my tardiness. I was chatting with a couple of ladies. I see everyone met my son.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Baker. I was about to
tell everyone I asked Stephen if he’d join us for brunch, and suggested he ask you to join us.” Deception didn’t lurk in Jude’s smile, so maybe he wasn’t attempting to play matchmaker.
“Yes. Yes. Stephen told me.” Mrs. Baker tittered. “It’s a pleasure. Always a pleasure. Everyone in Thunder Bay is as kind and friendly as they are in Kenora.”
“Did you reserve enough seats?” Bridget made sure to send her brother a full-out stink eye.
Jude’s upper lip tugged at the corner, but he refrained from smirking. “Stephen’s a fan of the Benny’s chain. He asked if we could eat there instead of The Bistro. Since he’s our guest, I said yes.”
Okay, there wasn’t a need for Bridget to panic. Thunder Bay had two Benny’s. “Which one?”
“The one on Arthur.”
Bridget’s mouth dried. She couldn’t blame Jude for causing an uncomfortable situation because the dumb-ass had no idea Adam worked at Benny’s.
This was Emery’s fault and his talk about fate.
Life couldn’t get any worse, and why should Bridget care that Adam would see her at the restaurant? Who she joined for brunch wasn’t any of his business. Still, her hands trembled from sitting beside Stephen to her left and Kyle to her right.
Since it was eleven o’clock, everyone who attended one of the many churches in the neighborhood filled the tables and booths, all decked out in their Sunday finest.
The waitress had already taken their orders. Bridget added a dash of cream and two sweeteners to her coffee. At least they were seated by the window and could watch the traffic humming up and down Arthur Street.
“You’re not a fan of sugar?” Stephen’s white teeth appeared as he smiled a cozy smile, the kind a man bestowed on a woman during a date.
“No. I try watch whatever I eat. I’m not one of those health freaks.” Bridget stirred the coffee, thankful to keep her hands busy. “But I’m careful about what goes into my mouth.”
“Mom says too much sugar wrecks my teeth.” Kyle lifted his glass of milk. “She said this is good for me because it makes my teeth stronger.”
“It sure does.” Stephen’s eyes twinkled. “What you’re doing is quite honorable.”
“Excuse me?” All Bridget had done was stir coffee.
“Being a foster mother.”
“Oh.” She laughed. “There’s nothing honorable about it. I love caring for him.” She ran her hand along Kyle’s prickly, short hair.
“Almost four years, Mom says.” Kyle raised his fingers. “That’s how long we’ve been together.”
“Really? I bet you love it, hey?” Stephen asked.
“Yep. Dad’s back. I see him on Wednesdays at the place where children go if they don’t have a mom and dad. A lady watches us. She takes notes. Mom’s there, too.”
Bridget’s face burned hot.
“Oh?” Stephen’s mink brow arched. “I bet you enjoy that, don’t you?” His blue eyes warmed again.
“I do. Me and Mom gave Dad a ride after our last visit. It was fun. Mom’s going to ask Mrs. Dale if Dad can have supper with us. There are rules we have to follow, Mom said. Mrs. Dale always has to be there when we see Dad.”
“Honey, I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation at the dinner table.” For the second time Bridget smoothed Kyle’s hair. “Remember, we’re supposed to talk about fun stuff. Tell Mr. Baker what grade you’ll start right away.”
“Two.” Kyle again held up his fingers. “I get to help Father Arnold serve Mass. My Uncle Emery did. He said it’s very important.”
“Your uncle’s right. It’s very important.” Stephen lifted his mug to his slim lips. “I bet you’re looking forward to making your First Communion.”
“I am. Mom said the teacher will teach us about it.”
“He’s very friendly.” Warmth and a hint of curiosity lurked in Stephen’s voice.
Bridget squirmed closer against the back of her chair and toward Kyle.
“Jude told me you’re the director of the Indigenous Students Center at the university.”
“Yes. I worked my way up. I started out as the Indigenous Advisor after I earned my degree. When the original director moved back east, I applied for the position, and they hired me.” Bridget gathered the napkin into her palm. “That was six years ago.”
“You climbed the career ladder pretty young, then.”
“I’m not that young. I’m thirty-six.”
“A woman who reveals her age.” Stephen grinned.
“I’m one of those women who isn’t scared to tell anyone my age or weight.” Bridget sipped her coffee. “Both are numbers. Nothing more.”
“That’s a great outlook. I don’t mean to be bold, but not seeing a ring on your finger surprises me.”
The coffee sat funny in Bridget’s stomach. She faced Stephen. “My life’s too busy. There’s work. I also volunteer for the Kitchi-Gaming Friendship Center and the Indigenous Women’s Alliance. I can’t forget the Catholic Women’s Association. I not only serve on our CWA’s parish council, I’m also on the diocesan council. And then there’s number one here, who comes first, above everything and anything.”
She rested her arm on the back of Kyle’s chair.
“Where do you find the time?”
“I’m not sure.” She rubbed the back of Kyle’s chair.
Stephen’s lips tugged at the corners. “Do you allow yourself free time to socialize?”
The next few months might be Bridget’s last with Kyle if Adam had a say. “No. I don’t. Kyle’s number one for now.”
Eyes slightly narrowed, Stephen tilted his head. He could try read someone else’s mind. Bridget wouldn’t give him any more information. It was time to talk about why Stephen was single.
* * * *
From the kitchen, Adam pushed on the exit swinging door and wandered into the hallway. People stood in the lobby area, waiting for a table. He had ten minutes before the overflowing grill demanded his attention again.
The window offered a clear view of the parking lot. His stomach jumped when he spotted Bridget’s sporty black truck parked in front of him. If she was here, Kyle must be here. They’d probably come from church.
He eased down the hallway, not too close but close enough to get a view of the seating area. Through the clutter and crowd, her long black hair shone under the sunlight streaming in through the big window. Jude’s family was there, and an old woman. A blond-haired man sat beside Bridget.
Adam’s throat constricted. He stumbled backward and banged against the wall. The employee door was directly in front of him, and he pushed it open. When he stormed outside, wind ruffled his hair but did nothing to cool the hot anger pricking his skin. Even when he lit the cigarette and sucked on the filter, the nicotine failed to expel the continuous waves of heat flooding his face.
He cast aside the butt and stomped back inside. Workers continued to race from the kitchen with orders for guests. Adam threaded his way through the staff and trounced into the employee lounge where a payphone was kept.
Through black spots in front of his eyes, he managed to yank a quarter from his pocket and shove the coin into the slot. He wrenched the receiver from the phone and punched in Bridget’s number.
If she didn’t answer, goddamned right he was going out there to confront her.
Chapter Twelve: Listen to Your Heart
The cell phone in Bridget’s purse rang. Voice mail could take the call. Never did she rudely interrupt a meal by talking on the phone. She cut into her pancakes. The cell rang again. Mom, Dad, and Emery knew of Bridget and Jude’s after-church ritual. This must be an emergency.
She snatched the phone from her purse. A strange number flashed on the screen.
Jude peered.
Bridget mouthed I don’t know and pressed the answer button. “Hello.”
“What the hell’s going on? Where the fuck do you get off bringing my son along on your dates?” Adam’s snarling voice was a vicious grizzly bear, mouth foaming and fierce ey
es ready to rip apart a man with its ferocious claws.
The blood seemed to clot in Bridget’s veins. Then a rumble erupted in the pit of her stomach, straining to twist into an explosion. Lightning thundered through her limbs, sending her blood racing.
Conversations stopped. A spoon clattered against the table. All eyes drilled on Bridget.
“Mommy?” Kyle’s warm finger poked at her forearm.
Swallowing, Bridget managed to say in her most polite voice, “I’m sorry. I can’t speak right now. I’m in the middle of brunch. We’ll talk later,” and hung up.
Her intestines curled into violent knots, squeezing the pancakes she’d swallowed earlier.
“You okay?” Across the table, Jude’s jaw and fingers twitched, ready to ransack the restaurant, looking for whoever had upset his sister.
Bridget forced a nod. “I’m fine.”
To hell with Adam. If he wanted to humiliate her with his false assumptions, swear at her, threaten her, she’d say yes if Stephen proposed a date.
* * * *
Adam flopped on the bed. What a long day. At least he’d been smart enough to go to a recovery meeting after his shift had finished.
There went three months of anger management and the third step of his recovery program. He rubbed his temples. A meeting always told a man he’d behaved like a dick.
He checked the alarm clock he’d bought at a secondhand store on the nightstand. Five minutes to nine. Each time the red number shifted, the dull throb at the base of his neck grew. He clutched his hands together. When the clock flashed nine-thirty, the throb morphed to a ball of painful tension that not even a couple of ibuprofen could extinguish.
Bridget wasn’t calling. What if she was on another date? Who was watching Kyle? Or was the man from the restaurant, Mr. Toothpaste Smile, at Bridget’s?
Adam hauled himself off the bed. Screw it. He was calling. If this pissed off Bridget, big deal. He’d handled her temper in the past, and he’d do so again.
Redeemed Page 10
