“As long as you give her trucks to play with, too, I don’t have a problem with the girlie stuff,” she told him. Then, leaning over, heedless of their guests in the room, she kissed him on the cheek. “You did good, Donatelli.”
“Thanks.”
“And on that note…” her brother, Barry, rose “…we’d better go. I looked outside a while ago and it looks like it could rain any minute. If it’s going to get as nasty as the weatherman predicts, I’d rather be at my own house.”
Ten minutes later Maggie and Joe were standing on the front porch, waving goodbye as rain began to spatter the concrete.
“Maybe you should go, too,” he told her after everyone had left, “before the worst of the weather moves in.”
“And leave you with the mess waiting inside?” She shook her head. “Not a chance.”
Joe turned on his music system to play his usual, wind-down-for-the-evening easy-listening tunes and began tidying the living room while Maggie focused on the kitchen—which took her longer than usual because Breanna was constantly showing off her new toys. By the time they had both finished, it was nearly Breanna’s bedtime. After a quick bath, the usual two stories, several hugs and kisses, she was tucked in her crib with her old bunny, her new doll, and her silky.
“’Nighty-night, little Bee.” Joe repeated the refrain he said every other evening before he clicked off the overhead light. Tonight, however, instead of her usual reply of a simple “’Night”, she gave a slightly different response.
“Dada.”
The sleepiness in that sweet childish voice didn’t hide the trust it held. Seeing Joe pause, almost as if frozen, Maggie pushed him into the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar. “It’s now official,” she remarked after he sank wordlessly onto the sofa.
“What’s official?” he asked, sounding preoccupied.
“You’re a father. Breanna said so.”
His mouth curved into a half-smile. “Today is definitely a day of firsts. She’s never called me anything before.”
“She obviously made the connection.” Of course, it hadn’t hurt that Maggie had referred to Joe as “Daddy” all this time, reinforcing the concept blatantly to the little girl and subconsciously to him.
“When I heard her say that earlier, I thought it might be a fluke. Something she just repeated after hearing your niece.”
“Maybe, but as often as she said it, I’d say she knows exactly what ‘Dada’ means.”
A sheepish grin tugged at his mouth.
Maggie sank beside him and tucked one leg underneath her. “Funny, but I would have thought you’d be excited. Most men are thrilled when they hear their child call them by that name.”
“Excited? In a way. Scared to death? Definitely.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “God, Maggie, it seems like hearing her call me that makes it official. I’m a father.”
He was, in more ways than he probably understood. Rather than explain them and overwhelm him further, she smiled.
“Do you know what sort of responsibility that is?” he continued.
“Of course. What did you think the last few weeks have all about?”
“I know, but hearing her refer to me as her dad is a sobering experience. I never thought I’d be in this position. I’d never wanted to be in this position.”
“Well, you are, and if I may say so, you’re doing a great job.”
“You’re prejudiced.”
“Probably,” she agreed, “but it’s still true. Look at how far you’ve come.”
At his raised eyebrow, she began to tick off the reasons. “You opened your house to a little girl, got someone—me—to help you learn what you needed to know when you could have done the opposite, and gave your daughter a memorable birthday party, including a gift that you and only you chose because you knew she’d love it. Compare that to the Joe Donatelli of a month ago—the same Joe Donatelli who spent his evenings alone or with a woman he’d never see more than once or twice.”
He frowned, as if unconvinced.
She held up her hands. “The point is you’re a little more flexible in your thinking these days. You’ve expanded your world and let other people in.”
“Maybe. But if I did, it’s all because of you.”
“You’re giving me too much credit.”
“I’m giving credit where it’s due,” he insisted.
“OK,” she said with a smile. “Far be it from me to argue with a man who sings my praises, especially when I’m in too good a mood and too tired to disagree.”
“I’m not surprised you’re exhausted. You planned a beautiful party. Breanna doesn’t know how lucky she is.”
“It was worth it. Next year, we’ll—” She stopped short, realizing that “next year” was a subject she couldn’t think about, much less discuss. She had to take one day at a time and let Joe initiate any long-term plans.
“We’ll what?” he coaxed.
She thought fast. “We’ll invite a few more people. Maybe she’ll have some of her own buddies by then. I’ll do something with fairy-tales. A princess, maybe. Did I tell you I saw the cutest ideas for a Ladybug party? We could—”
He scooted closer and put a finger to her mouth. “You’re talking too much.”
His touch on her lips sent a sudden wave of awareness flowing through her. “I am, aren’t I? I must be more tired than I thought.” She knew she was lying. Her fatigue had vanished the moment he’d touched her. Now she only wanted to rip his clothes off and engage in physical activity of the best kind.
“What a shame. Remember that do-over date I’d asked for?”
She jumped ahead two steps. “We can’t go out now,” she said, surprised by the direction he was heading at this time of night. “No sitter, remember?”
“I wasn’t suggesting we leave,” he said. “I only wanted to point out that I’d originally planned to take a turn around the dance floor and we didn’t have the chance. We could rectify that tonight.”
Excitement skittered down her spine and up again. “I just got my second wind,” she said lightly.
“Any music preference?” he asked.
“I’m happy with what’s playing.”
Rising, she moved directly into an embrace that fit her perfectly and he began to move with small, swaying steps.
“You dance very well,” she commented.
“This is nothing,” he said, before he suddenly twirled her into a dip that sent her stomach into a somersault.
“Joe,” she gasped.
He righted her. “How was that?”
“Impressive.” She rested her head on his shoulder as he clutched her hand to his chest.
“I aim to please.”
If only he knew what would please her most at this particular moment, with the rain pattering softly on the roof, the romantic ambience inside, and the awareness of being alone…or as alone as two people with a sleeping baby in another room could be.
His grip tightened. “I told myself I’d wait until we had an entire night to ourselves, one where we wouldn’t have to worry if or when Breanna would wake up.”
Anticipation filled her soul. “Wait for what?” she asked as she met his gaze directly, guessing at his plan while wanting him to confirm what she hoped for in her heart.
His kiss didn’t begin like the others, soft and gentle before it slowly burned with fire and passion. Instead, the hard pressure of his mouth spoke of a hunger that would not be denied.
One minute, she was upright. In the next, she was lying on the floor, cushioned by the carpeting. All her hopes, dreams and fears about the future faded into the background, pushed there by the certainty that his desire matched her own, that whatever happened tomorrow wouldn’t take away from today.
And somewhere during the night, long after she’d slid into his bed and snuggled against his hot-as-a-furnace body, and long after they’d made love again in the pre-dawn darkness, she accepted the truth.
They were a team. Partners. Like peach
es and cream, milk and cookies, pen and paper, they were Joe and Maggie—two people who balanced each other, two people who complemented each other in ways that no one else could.
They belonged together. Because she loved him.
CHAPTER TEN
FOR the past several days, ever since little Bee’s birthday, Joe felt as if he was in the middle of a dream that was simply too good to be true. From the moment Breanna had called him “Dada” it was as if she’d opened the floodgates that had kept her silent. Each conversation was peppered with “Dada this” and “Dada that” until he could hardly believe this chatty little girl was the same shy, quiet young thing he’d brought home.
One thing was certain, though. In spite of being awed by how easily she called him “Daddy”, hearing it constantly was also very intimidating.
What if he failed her? It wouldn’t be some guy named Joe Donatelli who was responsible. It would be Dada. He didn’t want to see the hurt in her eyes when he disappointed her.
The more he considered that, the more he wondered about his own father. Before Joe had entered the world of Social Services, his father had often left him for days on end with friends. How had the man been able to walk away from his son time after time, without any worries or backward glances? Joe would never be able to understand as long as he lived.
But as Maggie so often reminded him, his father’s decisions weren’t Joe’s. It was time to stop allowing the elder Donatelli’s mistakes to rule Joe’s life, especially his future.
Over the past few days he was finally starting to think beyond today, and even tomorrow. “For ever” wasn’t nearly as daunting as it once had been because it suddenly seemed possible. As for love, his attitude had shifted on that subject, too. Under Maggie’s influence and Breanna’s adoration, he didn’t view the prospect with a cynical, jaundiced eye. Instead, he actually began to feel cautiously optimistic about his own capacity to love.
He smiled as he gazed at the child who was currently patting his knee to gain his attention.
“OK, little Bee,” he told her as he hoisted her into a one-armed carry. “Let’s see if the mailman’s been.”
Standing half-inside the house, he held Breanna so she could reach into the box. Five letters had come and she painstakingly lifted them out, one by one, before handing them to him.
The last envelope, a large white mailer, was a struggle for her to remove. “Do you need help?” he asked.
Breanna vehemently shook her head. “No!”
Finally, she pulled it free and handed it to him, beaming at her success. Unfortunately, the moment he saw the return address logo, his gut clenched.
GPTS.
The initials were innocuous enough, giving no clue as to the identity of the sender to the casual onlooker. But he knew what those four letters represented.
Genetic Paternity Testing Service.
Automatically he closed the door and lowered Breanna as he clutched the letters in his hand. Although he’d first kept track of the date, he didn’t recall when he’d stopped counting the days and just lived them. Now, nearly three weeks later, the letter holding his fate had arrived.
“Dada.” Breanna tugged on his pants leg.
Knowing what she wanted, he handed her a mass-mailing credit card application letter and an appeal letter from a charity he hadn’t heard of. While she raced to her toy corner to “read her mail”, which in essence meant shredding it, Joe sank into his easy chair, the GPTS letter on his lap.
The contents held his future. Did he dare open it and risk ruining everything that had been falling into place? He had a little girl who thought the sun rose and set in him, a woman who loved the child he’d been given as easily as if she’d been hers, a lover who made his heart sing and didn’t hold his past against him. One typewritten page, one sentence could wipe out every relationship he’d built up over the past few weeks.
Now that the knowledge he’d asked for lay at his fingertips, he didn’t want it.
And yet, knowing how much he’d come to love Breanna, if the test proved that he wasn’t her biological father, if her real father ever showed up on his doorstep, could Joe deny him the experience to know and love his child as much as he did?
However, if he lost Breanna, he’d lose Maggie too because he couldn’t have one without the other. And losing the woman who made him feel whole—the woman he loved—was too horrible to contemplate.
“I’m home!” Maggie’s voice interrupted his thoughts as she entered through the garage.
He quickly buried the envelope in a pile of newspapers. The truth had waited this long—it could wait a few days longer.
Twenty-four hours later, Maggie knew a heavy burden lay on Joe’s mind. While he played with Breanna and acted as if he didn’t have a care in the world, Maggie occasionally saw a pensive expression cross his face and he had a preoccupied air about him. When they made love, she also sensed a desperate quality that hadn’t been there before.
It was because of those dratted test results, she decided. They should have arrived by now and eliminated the uncertainty hanging over their heads one way or another. She would have pressed the issue and suggested he contact the lab in case the mail had gotten lost, but she was selfish enough to want this obvious grace period to continue. Why look for trouble? The results would arrive when they arrived.
However, telling herself not to worry was easier said than done.
“Is everything OK, Joe?” she asked the next day on their way to the fire station.
“Why do you ask?” He didn’t deny it, which indicated to her that she hadn’t imagined his mood.
“You seem like you’re a million miles away.”
He smiled. “That far?”
“At least. So what’s brought back a return of the Joe Donatelli who doesn’t speak unless spoken to?”
“I’ve been thinking,” he began.
“About what?”
“Have you noticed how small my house is?”
His unexpected reply caught her by surprise. “It’s cozy,” she corrected.
“Cozy or not, where would I fit a wife if I ever brought one home?” A lazy grin wandered across his face. “I’m thinking about picking one up at the hardware store.”
Relieved by his joke, she laughed, and hoped…hoped…that this meant he was potentially willing to add “for ever” to his vocabulary. “If you decide to go for it,” she said lightly, “be sure to find one who does windows, likes to grocery shop, and has a green thumb.”
“I’ll make a list,” he promised.
Yet, in spite of his humor that calmed most of her fears, she sensed he was still holding back. Digging deeper would have to wait until the end of their shift.
Unfortunately, an early morning accident interfered with her plans. Two tires on a school bus had blown and the driver had overcompensated. The bus had hit the curb, then tipped over and slid across an empty church parking lot to land against a row of bushes.
It was a frightening sight. “Dear God,” she breathed as soon as she saw the yellow bus lying like a beached whale on the pavement.
“How many kids did Dispatch report being on board?” he asked grimly.
“Thirty-four plus the driver. The ambulances from the other two stations should be here shortly.” With an accident involving this many people, the disaster plan had been activated. From the sounds of the children’s cries as she jumped out of the vehicle, they would need every available person to help.
“We’ll triage on the edge of the grass, near the ambulance,” he decided.
“Good idea.”
Joe grabbed a kit, noting Maggie did the same before they approached the overturned bus. The rest of the firefighter crew spilled out of the station’s fire engine to deal with stuck emergency-exit doors and windows.
While the men were working on the twisted metal, Joe directed his attention to the victims. The driver was slumped sideways over the steering-wheel and blood streamed down his forehead.
“
See to him,” he told Maggie. “I’ll check on the kids.”
Leaving her to wait for Jimbo and another fireman to jimmy open the door, Joe walked to the rear and raised his voice over the children yelling and crying inside.
“We’re with the fire department,” he told them. “We’ll have you all out of there in a few minutes, but you have to stay calm. We’ll get you out,” he reiterated.
The weeping died down to sniffles and coughs. “Just stay calm,” he said, trying to sound unruffled. “We’ll prize open the exit in a few minutes. How’s everybody doing?”
Amid a chorus of “OKs”, one authoritative young voice stood out. “Kevin’s leg is broke, I think. Meghan’s not doing so good. She’s breathing but she won’t answer when I talk to her. She’s got blood all over her face. I can’t move around too much to see how the little kids up front are doing.”
“What’s your name, son?” Joe asked.
“Greg.”
“OK, Greg. If you and your friends can be patient for a few more minutes, we’ll get to you.”
Unfortunately, the door didn’t budge until they applied a crowbar. As the metal screeched open, freckled faces that reflected the horror of their experience soon appeared.
“Those of you who can, come this way,” Joe ordered. “If you’re hurt or don’t feel good, stay where you are and I’ll come after you. OK?”
“Take turns,” Greg ordered, clearly the unspoken leader of the group. “No pushing or shoving.”
One by one and in less than a minute the children appeared at the open door in an orderly fashion and Joe lifted them onto the ground and into the care of paramedics from the other stations who’d arrived in response to the disaster.
As soon as the last child had hopped out, Joe swung into the bus to assess the condition of those remaining. He found a pre-teen boy crouched in the center aisle, holding the hand of a young girl about five years old who was wedged between two crumpled seats and was having obvious shortness of breath. For an instant the girl reminded him of Breanna, with her pert nose, brown hair and small frame, and he had to reassure himself that this child wasn’t his daughter.
Emergency: Parents Needed Page 16
