The Next Little Thing: A Jackson Falls Mini

by Laurie Breton

  The house looked amazing. Everything was exactly where she would have placed it, from the sofa right down to the last knickknack. All of this was Paige's doing? With one eye on Emma, Casey moved through the assembled multitude towards her chair, accepting hugs, words of congratulation, warmth and love along the way. Meg and Maeve, Rob's younger sisters, had driven up from Boston together. As had her brother Travis, with his wife, Leslie, and their three kids. The positive outpouring from friends and family was so unexpected, so touching, she was overwhelmed by it. In the midst of hugs and kisses and tears, she searched for Paige, but her stepdaughter was nowhere to be found.

  Meanwhile, Emma was passed around from auntie to auntie like a particularly desired Christmas gift they couldn't wait to unwrap. While young cousins crowded around the baby's face, grown women crowed in delight at each little peep she made. The peeps were getting louder, and Casey already knew Emma well enough, after only two days, to recognize that her daughter was getting ready to start squalling. All these strange faces and unfamiliar voices were probably terrifying to the poor little thing. And she had to be hungry. It had been several hours since she'd been fed.

  Rob came back through the front door, laden with baby equipment. Their eyes met, and Casey sent him a silent plea for help. Assessing the situation, he dropped his heavy load near the door, strode through the crowd, and rescued the baby from his sister Rose.

  His sister arched a brow. "A little possessive, are we, Dad?"

  "My kid," he said. "My house. My rules."

  "Well. Aren’t we in a mood today. Brat." But the word was spoken without rancor. Rob and his twin sister might bicker and tease each other, and sometimes they fought like a pair of wild rhinos, but for the most part, the sibling rivalry was a cover-up for the deep affection between them. They'd once shared a womb, and that connection was unbreakable.

  Casey breathed a sigh of relief when he gently placed the baby back in her arms. "She's none the worse for wear," he said quietly, "but it makes me nervous, everyone handing her around like she's some kind of toy. Kids manhandling her and breathing germs all over her."

  "Tell me about it." Casey brushed the tip of her nose against Emma's velvety cheek. Recognizing her mother, Emma began rooting around. "She's hungry," Casey said. "I need to feed her."

  "You want to go upstairs?"

  "Can you just bring me a blanket? We'll be fine right here. But I can't find Paige. Do you have any idea where she is?"

  "I haven't seen her. Maybe she's hiding upstairs. Yesterday was Crazytown, she's probably exhausted. You want a big blanket or a baby blanket?"

  "Baby blanket."

  "Can I bring you something to eat? I think there's food around this joint somewhere. It's my house, but I have no idea what's going on. I just keep my mouth shut and follow directions."

  "I'll eat later. After I've fed Emma."

  He turned to leave, but she reached out and caught his wrist, pulled him back. He studied her quizzically, those green eyes of his more somber than usual. "Thank you," she said softly.

  "For what?"

  "For her. For us." She waved a hand. "For the house. The life. For all of this."

  "I can't accept the blame for all of it. In case you've forgotten, you had a pretty big hand in it yourself."

  "Au contraire, my friend. This is all your doing. Every last little bit of it. You brought me back to life, like a cool drink of water, when I was parched and defeated and ready to give up. And for that, I will love you until the day I die."

  "Ah, baby," he said, "that road runs both ways."

  She brushed his cheek with a fingertip, ran it up to his eyebrow, followed the line of his brow. Planted a soft kiss on his lips. "I know," she said. "I just really needed to say it."

  Rob

  The family get-together that should have been quick and painless had morphed into some gargantuan, hideous monster over which he had no control. When Casey had asked him to go looking for Paige, she'd given him the ideal opportunity to escape. It wasn't as though she needed him there. His wife was perched on her chair like a queen holding court. And why shouldn't she be? She'd finally achieved that elusive thing she'd spent years chasing after: motherhood. She was rightfully basking in the glory of that achievement. At this moment in time, he was little more than the gardener who'd planted the seed. She was the one who'd nurtured it until it bore fruit. He didn't mind being relegated to the wings, because he knew the significance of the gift he'd given her. He knew what was in her heart. That was what mattered. Let her entertain the peasants. He had bigger fish to fry.

  He was here to see Danny.

  Rob left the car parked on the grassy shoulder and walked in. The galvanized steel gate squawked in protest when he opened it. He let it swing shut behind him, and slowly climbed the steep gravel road to the top of the hill. The afternoon was breezy, and he hadn't worn a jacket. It was chilly up here in the shade of the giant elm tree that had managed to avoid the disease that had killed most of its contemporaries.

  His wife didn't know he'd come here, and the irony wasn't lost on him; he'd gone ballistic last winter over her continued visits. She'd drastically curtailed them after his meltdown. He should feel guilty, but he didn't. It should seem odd, coming here to visit his wife's late husband, but it didn't. Their lives, their destinies, were inextricably intertwined. Danny Fiore had been his bandmate, his friend, his brother. Why should death change that, simply because Casey slept in his bed now?

  Wild violets grew in clusters among the waving grasses. He crouched before the gravestone, silent as he drew in the essence of this place. "Hey," he said.

  Danny, of course, said nothing. He simply waited, patient in death, a trait he'd never possessed in life.

  Balancing on the balls of his feet, he said, "Don't take this wrong, Fiore, but I really miss you. Sometimes, I miss you so much it hurts. What you did for me—I'll never forget it. You saw something in that scruffy, underfed nineteen-year-old kid with a guitar, and you took me along with you for the ride of a lifetime. Man, oh man, it was something. We were something."

  The breeze ruffled his hair. He crouched lower, bracing himself with a hand. "I'd do almost anything to bring you back. Except give up Casey. I should've fought for her when you were alive. But she was your wife, and you were my best friend, so I bowed out and let the two of you break me into little pieces. It was the biggest mistake of my life. If I had it to do all over again, I'd fight to the death to hold onto her. She's mine now, and there's nothing that'll ever make me let her go. Funny how life turns out, isn't it? She was your wife, and I was on the outside looking in. Now, you're here, and I wound up with the girl. Who would've ever thought our story would end that way?"

  On the road below, a car passed. "You were a lousy husband," he said, "but you know what? You were one hell of a father. You just got dealt a rotten hand. You weren't responsible for what happened to Katie. I know you blamed yourself, but it wasn't your fault. That little girl was happy and healthy and beautiful, right up until she got sick. Nobody could've prevented it. You did everything that was humanly possible. And she loved you, Dan. I remember the two of you raising hell together, rolling around in the grass. You tickling, Katie laughing that amazing, wonderful laugh of hers. That kid adored you. And that kind of adoration, that kind of happiness? It means you had to be doing something right."

  He paused in an attempt to capture and organize the thoughts that swirled and danced inside his head. Clearing his throat, he said, "We have a little girl now. Casey and I. Two days old, and, God, Danny, she's so beautiful! So perfect. She looks just like her mother. We named her Emma Danielle, after you. I'm not even sure which one of us came up with the idea first, but we both knew it was what we wanted. It took us some time to pick a first name, but we knew that middle name right from the get-go. Daniel for a boy, Danielle for a girl. It's a little unconventional, but then, when have the three of us ever done anything conventional?"

  His stomach gurgled and churned. "I'm scar
ed, Danny, more scared than I've ever been in my life. So damn scared that I want to run away and never look back. How's that for irony? You never wanted kids, and you were the best damn father around. A natural. Me, I've always dreamed about having a half-dozen kids. A big family, like my parents had. Yet here I am, scared silly by one little five-pound baby. I don't know how to do it. Oh, sure, I can change diapers and wash bottles and fold blankets. Any idiot can do that. It's the important stuff I don't get. The whole daddy thing. How'd you do it? How'd you manage to get it right?"

  Wind sighed through the treetops, rustling the spring leaves. "I know," he said in resignation. "You can't tell me. I have to figure it out on my own. Just like you did. But I understand now why you did what you did. Why you made sure you and Casey couldn't have any more kids after Katie died. You knew you'd never survive the pain if you lost another one. It's only been two days, and already I love my little girl so much that losing her would kill me. I didn't understand before. Not even after Paige came into my life. It took a helpless baby girl to make me understand that it was self-preservation driving you. For so long, I was furious with you for doing that to Casey. Hurting her that way. But now, with a baby of my own, I finally see your side of the story. You weren't a monster; you were in pain. Terrible pain. And you did the only thing you knew that would prevent that pain from ever happening again."

  All around him, the tall grass nodded, and disembodied voices whispered on the wind. He strained to hear what they were saying, but he couldn't quite make out their words.

  "I'm taking care of her," he said. "I don't want you to ever worry about that. Well, hell, as long as we're being honest, I always took care of her. You always had your head in the clouds. I was the one with my feet on the ground. My wife is an amazing woman. But I don't have to tell you that. You loved her, and you knew what you had. How goddamn lucky you were. You just couldn't maintain. That's the difference between us, Dan. No matter what happens, I won't let her down. I'll always be there for her, just like I've been there for her since the day you brought her into my life."

  He'd come here looking for answers. And he'd found a few of them, although they weren't necessarily the ones he'd been seeking. "I always looked up to you," he told Danny. "Even when I wanted to put both hands around your throat and squeeze, I still thought you were a god. But you weren't, were you? You were just an ordinary guy with an extraordinary talent. And, me? I have to find my own way, even if it means stumbling around half-blind, feeling my way in the dark. I've pretty much made a career out of that anyway."

  He rose to his feet and drew in a deep breath. Walked over to the headstone and touched his knuckles to the smooth, polished granite. "It's been great talking to you," he said. "Break a leg, buddy."

  And he walked away, the warm sun on his shoulders like a benediction.

  * * *

  Back at the house, he went looking for Paige. He found her on the porch swing, slumped on her tailbone, with those long legs of hers stretched out, her feet propped on the railing. He'd actually measured the distance before the carpenter hung the new swing, just to make sure it was close enough to the railing to accommodate his legs. He made his way along immaculately-painted floorboards that seemed a little odd because there were no squeaks. This house was fresh, new, beautiful, theirs—but damned if he didn't miss the old one just a bit. That was a surprise, although he didn't know why it should be, considering that he seemed to suffer from some adjustment disorder that made him struggle mightily with every life change that came his way.

  As he approached the swing, his daughter said dryly, "Welcome to MacKenzie's refugee camp."

  He sat beside her, lifted his legs, and propped his bony ankles on the railing. The view from here was something else. Mountains, lakes, and blue sky stretched into the distance as far as the eye could see. The immediate view, on the other hand, wasn't quite so pretty. After last night's rain, the yard was a muddy quagmire. That damned landscape contractor had better do something, and fast. "Casey's been looking for you," he said.

  "Too many people. I'll talk to her when the crowd thins out."

  "A little intense in there?"

  Paige snorted. "Intense is an understatement. I swear to God, if I have to listen to one more minute of that goo-goo-ga-ga crap, I'll go postal and start throwing knives at people." She eyed him with suspicion. "What about you? Shouldn't you be in there with your wife, celebrating the arrival of the long-awaited heir to the Fiore/MacKenzie fortune?"

  He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and smiled up at the porch ceiling. "This is her big day. She's sitting in there with the baby like a queen on her throne. I don't want to get in the way."

  "What are you talking about, old man? It's your big day, too."

  "It's different for me."

  "Why?"

  He crossed his ankles on the railing. Opened his eyes. "I've waited a long time for this day. I won't lie and say I haven't. And I am mad crazy about that little baby. On the other hand, I already have a kid. Casey doesn't. She loves you, but she didn't give birth to you, and somehow, it matters. After Katie died, Danny took that away from her. Hope. The possibility of ever again holding something warm and sweet and helpless in her arms. I gave that back. You can't know how much it means to me that I was the one to give it back to her. I wish you could've known her before."

  "Before what?"

  "Before she lost Katie. Life throws shit at you. Some of it slides off. Some of it sticks. Some of it changes you."

  "And it changed her?"

  "She's stronger, in a lot of ways. But there's a trade-off. Somehow, there's always a trade-off. You give up one thing to get something else."

  "What did she give up?"

  "Innocence. Once that's gone, you don't get it back. And even though she's tough as old leather, there's still been this yawning hole inside her that nothing could fill. I realize Emma can't replace Katie. It doesn't work that way. You don't replace one kid with another one. But I'm hoping Emma will help to fill that hole, give Casey some comfort, help her to heal. She needs so much to be a mother. I know she has you, but I'm talking the full monty, from conception on. Why any woman would choose to go through what I saw on Friday, I can't imagine. Except that maybe, the end result is worth the hell. But it really makes you think."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I was responsible for all that pain. She suffered to give birth to the baby I planted in her. And she did it willingly. Happily. It was harder on me than it was on her. I'm still trying to wrap my head around that one."

  "Is that why you've been acting so weird ever since Emma was born?"

  She was perceptive, this daughter of his. He had to give her credit for that. He shifted position, re-crossed his ankles. "Having a baby is a big life adjustment," he said. "I have a lot of stuff going on inside my head right now. I'll work it all out eventually. Listen…I want you to know how proud I am of you."

  Paige snorted. "I didn't do anything."

  "Yeah. You did." He fingered a strand of that wild, curly blond hair. "What you did for Casey by organizing this whole move was huge. I wasn't born yesterday. I know you could've hated her. The wicked stepmother. The fact that you seem to really care about each other is a blessing, way more of one than I deserve. Because, you know, I'm the guy in the middle. I love you both. If you hated each other and forced me to choose between you, what the hell would I do?"

  "You'd pick her. I know that, you know that, and probably she knows that."

  "It's not that easy, Paige. You're my daughter."

  "I know. But having a baby with the wife you adore isn't the same thing as having a teenage daughter dropped into your lap from out of nowhere."

  "No," he said, because he couldn't lie to her. "It isn't. You didn't grow up with me, and there's no way we can go back and change that. We can only move forward from here. But we've come a long way in nine months."

  His feelings for this kid were so emotional, so loaded, still tinged with resentment because San
dy hadn't trusted him enough to let him know he had a daughter. She'd deliberately deprived him of his child, deliberately deprived Paige of her father, for fifteen frigging years. If Sandy were standing here in front of him, he'd give the woman a piece of his mind, one she wouldn't soon forget. Except that he couldn't, because she was dead. He wasn't even sure what he was supposed to feel about that. Anger and resentment? Sorrow? Or relief and gratitude, because it was Sandy's death that had brought his daughter into his life?

  "Are you okay with all of this?" he said. "With Emma?"

  She shrugged. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

  He lifted his arm and looped it around her shoulders. "It'll change things for all of us. But you do realize that this makes no difference in the way Casey and I feel about you? We love you. You're an essential part of our family."

  She gave it some thought. "I know."

  "Promise me something. Promise that if you do have any problem with this, if you ever feel like we're neglecting you in favor of Emma, you'll come to us and tell us how you feel."

  "Have I ever failed to tell you how I feel?"

  "Good point."

  "So…how much more of this shindig do we have to suffer through before they all go home?"

  "I set a two-hour time limit, and made sure that everybody understood I was serious. Except my parents. Casey won't let me throw them out. She's decided they have special privileges." He checked his watch. "Another half-hour, give or take, and the rest of them should be gone."

  Paige sighed. Then, to his surprise, she leaned her head against his shoulder. Touched by her unexpected show of affection, he slouched onto his tailbone and tilted his head against hers.

  "I can probably survive another half-hour," she said.

  And together, they waited it out.

  Casey