Needed: One Dad

by Jeanne Allan

  “And we agree Emilie is my responsibility for the day?”

  If Sam Dawson wanted to be in charge of a supercharged four-year old dynamo, who was Addy to object? Her conscience nudged her to warn him. “Emilie can be a handful on a day trip.”

  “I don’t see any problem. You don’t suffer from train sickness, do you, Squirt?” Emilie giggled against his neck. “If she has to use the bathroom, I’ll find a tree to take her behind.”

  “There aren’t any trees on top. It’s above the tree line. You ought to know that.”

  The corners of Sam’s eyes crinkled. “I told Emilie she had one nanosecond to get ready. The same goes for you.”

  Those who called blue a cold color erred. Some blues surrounded one with warmth and comfort. Sleepy summer afternoon skies. Bluebirds. Worn blue jeans. Teasing blue eyes, one beneath a drooping eyelid. The other beneath a brow raised in silent inquisition.

  Addy laughed. Surely she could set aside her worries and her dislike of Sam Dawson for the duration of a train ride up Pikes Peak. For Emilie’s sake.

  Final preparations required more than a nanosecond, but they soon piled into Addy’s old car and headed down Ute Pass toward Manitou Springs, everyone sharing Emilie’s infectious good spirits. Where the hillsides weren’t covered with a motley array of houses, spikes of pearlescent yucca blooms covered the undulating landscape like candles on a summer green birthday cake. The highway began to twist and sweep between rosy sandstone canyon walls, and a small stream tripped gaily over rocks between the divided lanes of highway. The sun beamed benignly down on them from a sky as blue as Sam’s eyes.

  “What a gorgeous day. Look at those ice cream scoops of clouds,” Addy said.

  “Did you bring ice cream?” came a hopeful voice from the backseat.

  “What did you bring?” Sam asked. “That tote bag you hauled out weighs more than Squirt.”

  “I’m mustard, mustard,” Emilie chanted before giggling, “Sam calls me Squirt ’cuz I squirt out doors like mustard from bottles.”

  At least he wasn’t calling Emilie Blood Cells. “I brought my lunch,” Addy said.

  “Don’t they serve food on the train?”

  Addy widened her eyes in mock horror. “You didn’t bring lunch for you and Emilie?”

  “I didn’t even think about it.” After a moment he asked casually, “I don’t suppose you brought lunch for use?”

  “As I recall, you insisted on taking full responsibility for Emilie today.” She headed the car up Ruxton Avenue.

  “A bag that large must hold lots of food.”

  “Not really. Four ham sandwiches, potato chips, three cut up apples, a dozen oatmeal cookies, lemonade, that’s all.”

  “Maybe Emilie could have a crumb or two,” Sam said.

  “Maybe.” Spotting a parking space, Addy swung the car into the crowded parking lot.

  “And maybe, if you two don’t eat it all, I could have some of the leftovers,” Sam said.

  “Maybe.”

  “Will I have to grovel?”

  Addy turned off the car. “You betcha.” Laughing voices from tourists and the whistling of hummingbirds filled the air.

  Suddenly Addy felt as light-headed and carefree as Emilie. She wasn’t so young and foolish as to believe her troubles would disappear with a train ride, but the idea of escaping from them for even a few hours made her almost giddy. “Grovel and then some.” She unleashed her biggest and brightest smile on Sam.

  He made no move to get out of the car, but stared at Addy with the oddest expression on his face.

  “It was a joke,” Addy said quickly. “I brought plenty to eat for all of us, but if you’d prefer, there’s a place to buy food here at the station. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You don’t smile enough. I’ve never noticed Emilie has your mouth and your smile.”

  “You were too busy noticing our matching freckles.” Addy rolled up the car windows and gathered their things.

  Sam pushed the seat out of the way so Emilie could scramble from the car. “Matching freckles, matching mouths, matching hats, but not matching necklaces. Squirt, that’s a pretty wild-looking cat. An Adeline Johnson original, I assume.”

  Emilie turned the pendant over. “My trip necklace.”

  Sam leaned down to inspect the black markings on the back of the plastic clay oval. “Your name and phone number.”

  “If I get lost Addy says I hafta show it to a policeman,” Emilie said in a self-important voice. “Policeman are nice.”

  “Very nice.” He picked up the heavy tote. “Addy is wise.”

  “Owls are wise.” Emilie skipped alongside Sam, taking two steps to every one of his. “I’m mustard and Addy’s a owl.

  “Owls look wise,” Sam said. “Pigs, however, are extremely intelligent animals.”

  “Addy’s not a pig,” Emilie said indignantly, as they waited beside the road to cross over to the railway station.

  “What is she?”

  Emilie screwed up her face in deep thought. “Grandma Hannah says she’s fresh air, but... Addy, what’s the mama in my story?”

  “A kangaroo? You think I’m a kangaroo?”

  “Yes,” Emilie said firmly. “Kangaroos like children.”

  Sam looked down at the child at his side. “What am I?”

  “A chocolate cupcake.”

  Addy laughed at the look of revulsion on Sam’s face.

  “A chocolate cupcake. Are you saying I’m sweet and gooey?”

  Emilie looked at him solemnly. “Chocolate cupcakes are my very favorite thing.”

  Emilie’s answer revealed too much. Addy swallowed hard and leaped in to fill an awkward pause. “You’re wrong, Emilie,” she said, “Sam is an evil scientist.”

  “You’ve learned my secret,” he said in a high-pitched cackling voice. “I wander all over the world looking for my favorite food.”

  “What?” Emilie asked.

  “Mustard,” he intoned with an evil leer.

  Emilie shrieked with laughter, slipping her hand into Sam’s larger one as they crossed the busy street.

  Addy envied Emilie’s uncomplicated approach to life. She didn’t care who knew she liked Sam. Remorseful over dragging Emilie into “the paint episode,” Addy had explained to her niece she’d said things she didn’t mean because she was mad at Sam. Addy wasn’t convinced Emilie understood the explanation, but Emilie hadn’t seemed overly upset Sam wouldn’t be her substitute father. Maybe Emilie didn’t understand the concept of having any kind of father at all.

  If only Emilie’s lack of comprehension continued to insulate the child from reality once she entered school. Children could be cruel to those who-differed from them in any way. Addy wished she could give Emilie everything all those other children had. One day she would.

  They’d be OK. She’d raised Emilie for almost five years without leaning on anyone. She wouldn’t start leaning on a man now, no matter how tempting. She knew he’d soon be walking out of her life, yanking away her supports as he left.

  Too many times in the past Addy had painfully rebuilt those supports. At age thirteen when her parents had been killed in a car crash. Through the years when she and Lorie had been shunted from one distant relative to another. Lorie had been the champion support-kicker of all time. Never again would Addy allow anyone to kick away her supports. Not now, when they supported Emilie, too.

  Emilie considered herself less Sam’s guest than he was her personal toy for the day. Facing the two of them, Addy relaxed against the back of the seat and looked out the window as the train started up the steep rack railway. A creek rushed over boulders alongside the rails, and huge granite rocks rose from yellow patches of sunflowers and cinquefoil mixed with pale lavender wild geranium and scarlet gilia. Aspen fluttered in the shadows of towering pines and blue-tipped spruce trees. A large black and white butterfly flew from a blue columbine.

  With one ear Addy listened to the running commentary of the train conductor as
he collected tickets; with the other she followed the conversation of Sam and Emilie as he explained the mechanics of cog railroads. Addy doubted Emilie understood one word in twenty of Sam’s explanation. The rapt look on Emilie’s face had nothing to do with what moved their train up the hill and everything to do with being the focus of Sam’s attention. A searing flash of jealousy almost knocked Addy from her seat. She wanted those intense eyes concentrating on her. The crazy admission came as a bolt from the blue.

  Dr. Samuel Dawson, Ph.D., was an attractive man. And a dangerous one. Dangerous to Addy. He’d busted into her life with his accusations and scorn and obsession with revenge, and suddenly, inexplicably, vague, restless yearnings wove insidious threads of discontent through her mind and body. A sense of something missing from her life jabbed at her, making her edgy and bad-tempered. Sam confused her by kissing her and smiling at her with those eyes of his. He had to know how potent his baby blues were. A million women had undoubtedly told him so.

  “Look! A squirrel!” Emilie bounced on her seat and pointed her sandwich out the window.

  “A yellow-bellied marmot,” Sam said, embarking on a lesson on the difference between the two small mammals.

  On the hillside blue alpine forget-me-nots grew in a cluster. Soon Sam would fly back to Boston. Addy repressed the small knot of tension forming in her stomach. Emilie would forget Sam in the excitement of moving and starting kindergarten. Addy wondered if she’d be able to forget as easily.

  She concentrated on the passing landscape. She’d come to enjoy the view, not to regret what could never be. To the south rose the Sangre de Christo mountain range and the eastern Spanish Peak. In the thin, clear air, they appeared closer than they were. An illusion. Life was full of illusions.

  At least one of which a fellow tourist held. “He’s good with her, isn’t he?”

  The voice in her ear turned Addy around.

  The elderly woman nodded to Sam crouching beside Emilie, atop Pikes Peak inspecting the snow pellets landing on Emilie’s jacket sleeve. “I told my kids snowflakes were Mother Nature shaking her feather beds. I’ll bet he’s saying something similar.”

  Addy would bet her last dollar Sam was explaining to Emilie the chemical makeup of snow and why it was snowing on the summit of Pikes Peak in July.

  The woman went on. “I like the way fathers today get more involved in raising children. So much better than in the past when a father tended to be a stern-faced man who gave orders and handed down punishments. Your little girl certainly takes after your husband—those blue eyes, but I did notice a few of your freckles on her face.” Hearing an impatient middle-aged woman calling her, the woman smiled and said, “My daughter. You and your family have a lovely day today.”

  “Thank you,” Addy managed. “You, too.” The woman thought the three of them the quintessential nuclear family. Father, mother and child. Addy stared down the slopes toward Colorado Springs ignoring the tourists around her talking and snapping photographs. A brisk wind chilled her face, bringing the smell of doughnuts. Sam had bought doughnuts for them in the peak top store. Emilie, munched hers atop Sam’s shoulders as he walked about the peak reading the various signs out loud to Emilie and explaining them. Despite Sam’s misgivings, he would make a wonderful father someday for some lucky child. That child wouldn’t be Emilie. For Emilie’s sake, Addy regretted that fact.

  A regret not shared by Sam. “No,” he said easily to the older man who sat beside Addy as they traveled back down, “Emilie’s not my daughter.” Sam smiled down at the child sleeping on his lap before nodding at Addy. “She’s her niece.”

  “She’s a cute little tyke.” The man had traded seats with his wife so they’d have different views for the descent. He turned to Addy. “It’s nice of you and your husband to bring her along.”

  “We’re not married,” Sam and Addy said in unison.

  The man shook his head. “You modern generation. I suppose you’re ‘POOSLT’s or ‘SPLT’s or whatever they call-it these days when two people live together without bothering to get married.”

  Addy’s face turned crimson. “We don’t live together,” she said quickly. “Sam’s in town visiting his grandmother.”

  The man snorted. “Where would you kids be if my generation hadn’t married and had kids?” He ignored his wife hushing him from across the aisle. “Mary and I been married fifty-one years, got four kids and ten grandkids. We believe in marriage.”

  “Then you’re the gentleman to convince Addy she needs to get married. She’s raising her niece, and I’m sure you agree, sir, a child needs a father.”

  “Why won’t you marry him?” The man looked at Addy.

  She could have happily pushed Sam from the train. Instead she lowered her eyelashes and said primly, “He turned down my proposal.”

  Sam laughed, not the least bit disconcerted. “We agree we wouldn’t suit. She’ll be marrying someone else, as soon as we agree on whom she should marry. You’ve been married long enough to be somewhat of an authority on marriage. What traits and qualifications do you think we ought to look for in a life-long partner for Addy and a father for Emilie?”

  If Sam had offered the man a million dollars, he couldn’t have made him happier. “First of all...” The man was off and running.

  Shifting Emilie on his lap, Sam pulled out a small notebook and pen and started taking notes. Soon the man’s wife joined the conversation, then the five people sitting in her section of seats contributed. By the time the little train pulled into the gaily-colored station, Sam had canvassed the entire railroad car, soliciting advice and opinions. Emilie awakened in Addy’s lap.

  “I think you got a little carried away asking the conductor if you could use his microphone,” Addy said, still outraged minutes later as they climbed into her ovenlike car.

  “There’s no such thing as having too much information,” Sam dismissed her indignation. “As scientific studies go, that wasn’t the most accurate, but I acquired a wealth of empirical data. Once I transcribe my notes and chart the data, we’ll have the personality profile of your perfect husband. From there it’s just a matter of laying the profile over the available bachelors, and then...” Loudly he hummed wedding music by Lohengrin.

  Addy wished she hadn’t eaten a third doughnut on the summit. It caused a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Addy saw the letter the instant she entered the shadowed hall. Hannah had placed it in a silver toast rack on the small table. Sam and Emilie, proclaiming starvation, headed toward the kitchen. Reluctantly picking up the letter, Addy dragged her heavy legs up the stairs to the privacy of her room. She slit open the envelope with trembling fingers, staring vacantly at the small red dot of blood which welled up where the paper sliced through her skin.

  Lorie’s former lawyer had mailed the letter to Addy without comment. Addy quickly scanned the words, then forced herself to read the letter slowly. The second reading produced no relief.

  “Addy, Addy!” Emilie’s high-pitched voice hollered stridently up the stairs. “Come see.”

  “All right. I’m coming.” She carefully folded the letter into small squares and slid it into the pocket of her purple skirt.

  Sam and Emilie sat at the table in the kitchen. Jelly dripped in huge amethyst glops from the sandwich Sam ate.

  “I made the sandwiches,” Emilie said proudly. “Sam made the glasses of milk.”

  A plate with two folded-over slices of bread sat waiting for Addy. “That’s nice,” Addy said absently, her hand crushing the letter in her pocket. She sat at the table, phrases from the letter assaulting her.

  After a while, Sam asked, “Something wrong with your sandwich?”

  “What? Oh, no. It’s delicious.”

  “Then why aren’t you eating it?”

  “I am.” She followed the direction of Sam’s gaze to her plate. Tiny pieces of sandwich had been smashed into a solid heap on her plate. Peanut butter and jelly coated her fingers. “I guess I’m not very hungr
y.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow, but made no comment, confining his conversation to a discussion with Emilie about their train trip.

  Addy had to think, to make plans. Her thoughts Ping-Ponged around her brain, to return again and again to a single overriding conviction. She had to pack up Emilie and get her away before this monster came to take her niece away.

  With the decision made, a small measure of peace settled over Addy. Not everyone would agree with her decision, but running beat waiting. Waiting equated to surrendering. Addy looked around. Sam and Emilie no longer sat across from her.

  Sam walked into the kitchen. “Emilie is with Grandmother. OK, what’s the problem?”

  “Nothing. No problem. Everything’s fine. Why do you ask?” Instead of answering he eyed her plate. Addy looked down. She’d made little balls from her smashed sandwich and was rolling them around on her plate. She snatched up her napkin and carefully wiped off her fingers. “I’m fine,” she repeated. Her assurance wouldn’t fool a two-year-old.

  Sam leaned back in the chair across the table. “Metastable,” he pronounced.

  Addy gave him a blank look.

  “It’s a chemistry word for a state of being neither stable nor unstable, which means it can become more of one or the other. In your case, you look as if you’re close to becoming totally unstable. About to disintegrate, in fact. So don’t weave me any tales of you being fine. You’re clearly not fine, so what happened between the time we walked in the door and you came down for a snack?” His gaze sharpened. “The mail. You picked up a letter. Another one from your anonymous correspondent?”

  Wordlessly Addy drew the creased letter from her pocket and held it out.

  Sam smoothed out the paper. “‘Dear Ms. Johnson.’” He gave a start of surprise. “This one’s written to you, not your sister’s lawyer. Did your anonymous correspondent mail it direct?”

  “No.” But the letter writer was dosing in on her.

  Sam resumed reading the letter out loud. “‘I assume your sister’s lawyer has forwarded to you the other two letters I wrote seeking information on the child borne by Ms. Loraine Johnson, fathered by William R. Burgess Jr. When I received no response to those letters, I set about making my own inquiries. Acting on information I believed to be accurate, I hired a private detective to search hospital records in the state of Colorado for any record of the child.’”