by Jill Kemerer
A sad smile flitted over her lips. “You can say that again.”
Chapter Six
Monday afternoon, Stephanie sat in her new car, a white four-door Ford with only three patches of rust. With fifteen minutes before class started, this was one place she could have a private phone conversation. “Tom wants joint custody.”
“You know how I feel about it.” Dad’s steady tone calmed her nerves. While he’d accepted her decision not to tell Tom, he’d never agreed with it. “It’s about time he knew. It will be good for them. And for you.”
“No offense, Dad, but how could it be good for me?” She grabbed her coupon envelope and sorted them by expiration date. After she picked up Macy from day care, she had to shop for a few groceries. Then she had a spreadsheet to create.
“You can let go of the guilt. Besides, when was the last time you had a break?” Two seconds passed. “I’ll tell you. Last year. When you lived with me. I don’t like that you and Macy are alone. You’ll run yourself ragged. Why don’t you finish your degree here? I have plenty of room.”
She crumpled an expired cereal coupon. “I’m so close to finishing, Dad. It won’t be long—less than a year—and we’ll be down there. Besides, I’d lose my scholarship if I leave. I don’t want to pay for tuition if I don’t have to.”
“Yeah, yeah, I told you I’d pay it,” he said. “You’re still coming for Christmas, though, right?”
“Of course. But our Thanksgiving plans have changed. Tom and I are telling Macy before Thanksgiving. He wants to introduce her to his family then.”
“And you’re going to just let my granddaughter get thrust into his overbearing family on her own?”
She sighed. “No. Tom wants me there. He invited you, too.”
Silence stretched. “He wants you there, huh? I don’t like it.”
“Why not? You’re the one who always told me what a mistake I was making not telling him.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think— Never mind.”
“It’s to make Macy feel comfortable. Why, what are you trying to say?” She tossed the coupon pack on the passenger seat and stared out the windshield. The branches had lost their leaves and left dark outlines against the not-quite-white sky. She shivered. Dreary.
“He thinks you come with the package.”
“It’s not like that, Dad.”
“Then what is it? Revenge?”
If Dad had asked her this the day Tom found out, she might have considered it. But not now. “Point taken, but I don’t think so. We’ve been talking. It brought up painful parts of the past. I think we’ve both matured.”
He grunted. “He sees you’ve become a beautiful woman with a special little girl. A ready-made family. His family. Be careful. You don’t want to end up right where you started.”
She closed her eyes. Tom’s oh-so-gentle touch to her hair came to mind. The tenderness he showed to Macy. His big, open smile. His parting words last night—ones she never expected to hear. Ones she’d desperately needed.
“We’re not getting back together,” she said.
“Are you sure about that?”
Was she? “Yeah, I’m sure. We’re compromising for Macy’s sake, but what’s done is done. He’ll never forgive me.”
“What if he did?”
She let it sit there, tried it on. And she saw herself the way she’d been before the divorce. Scared. Insecure. “I have goals in life, Dad, and I’m not getting involved with anyone until I see them through. I’m too busy anyway. I barely have time to study now. I have my own plans, and I’m not giving them up.”
“Good. Stay strong. I believe in you.”
“Thanks.” They chatted a few more minutes before hanging up.
Dad had been the one constant in her life since she was a child. He’d never missed a weekend after her parents split when she was six. While Mom busied herself planning her weddings, Dad drove Stephanie to dance classes. When Mom kept her up late moaning about men and nursing a bottle of wine, Dad confronted Mom about Stephanie having a normal bedtime.
He’d provided for her. Bought her school supplies, made sure she had flute lessons and rides to volleyball practices. She appreciated all of it, even though they’d struggled to communicate when she was in high school. They always got along fine—she just had a hard time confiding in him about friends or grades or her other problems. Whenever she’d tried, he would get nervous and mumble Mr. Fix-It advice that didn’t make much sense. Still, she loved him. And as she grew older, their relationship had grown deeper.
Grabbing her books and purse, she locked the car and walked toward the school building. Cold air nipped at her face. She tucked her chin and forced her legs to move faster.
Dad worried she was getting back together with Tom. How had he put it? Back to where she started.
Dad was wrong.
Marriage to Tom reminded her of life with Mom. Stephanie had been in the backseat for both relationships. She could handle a lot of things, but being invisible wasn’t one of them.
An icy blast whipped her hair. Brr...like it or not, winter had arrived.
Miami. Sun. Dad. A few months before they’d be together again. The three of them. The way it used to be.
But what about Tom?
He didn’t know about Florida. She’d have to tell him. And when he tried to talk her out of it? She’d deal with it later.
* * *
“Seven more laps. Finish strong.”
Tom circled one arm over the other in the lap pool at the YMCA Tuesday night. His first lesson with Sean had been Saturday morning. The strokes weren’t difficult, but getting his form correct proved challenging. He surged through the water and concentrated on his breathing.
Alive.
He felt alive challenging his body.
The water rushed over his skin, and his muscles stretched as he propelled forward. Nothing like pushing his body to the limit. In control.
He finished the laps and hoisted up to sit on the edge of the pool. “How did I look?”
“Better.” Sean wrote something on a clipboard. “The first twenty laps had breaks in your form, but the last ten were almost there.”
Good. Improvement.
“Come in tomorrow night, and I’ll give you a new workout.”
Tom got to his feet and grabbed his towel. Lined with windows, the pool area displayed a tranquil view of several pines. Christmas trees. He wiped his body down and made his way to the locker room.
He’d talked to Stephanie earlier. They were meeting Thursday during her lunch hour to discuss a visitation schedule. Adding swim times to his busy day complicated things. He divided time equally between his two dealerships. He used to stay late each night catching up on paperwork, but he couldn’t fit in a full training session when he worked overtime. Today he’d eaten lunch at his desk to deal with the orders, statements and never-ending emails. When would he get caught up?
If Stephanie agreed to let him have Macy for a few hours two nights a week, he’d have to schedule his swimming around it. The weekends made him nervous, too. Saturdays were his big workout day, the day he planned on adding hours each week to all three events—running, bicycling and swimming. How could he do that and watch Macy? And what about end-of-the-month quotas at work?
After lifting the latch on his locker, he opened it and jerked out his clothes. He’d figure it out. How many dads dealt with this every day? Seeing his kid, working and training couldn’t be that hard.
Still...he’d better come up with a plan before his meeting with Stephanie.
He ran the towel over his head. What about overnight visits? He and Bryan had converted the basement to a gym this summer. Where would Macy sleep?
Pulling on his shirt, he ticked through the options. He wasn’t making her sleep
on their beat-up leather couch. Who knew what odors and crumbs lurked inside? He wanted Macy to have her own spot, a pretty room of her own where she could have toys and a bed, and she’d be comfortable.
But where?
He grimaced, slammed the locker shut and finished dressing.
Maybe it was time to buy his own place.
* * *
“I’ve never eaten here before.” Stephanie craned her neck to take in the dark, elegant restaurant. Midnight blue walls stood out against gleaming dark hardwood floors. Modern lighting brought a glow to the square black tables, and a fireplace to the side added coziness. She set her purse on the empty chair. “Remember, I have to be back to work in one hour.”
“I know. Don’t worry.” Tom’s smile reached his eyes—be still her heart—and he opened a menu. “This place is pretty good about getting you in and out.”
She hoped so. The dentist she worked for didn’t put up with tardiness, and her job meant too much for her to jeopardize. A lunch date—scratch that, not date, meeting—made the most sense, though. She didn’t want to hire a babysitter for Macy after work. Plus, she had to study for a test later. There were never enough hours in the day.
“What’s good here?” She picked up her menu. Her stomach had been a war zone since last night. Agreeing on a visitation schedule—a scary, scary thing. What if he wanted Macy when it wasn’t convenient for Stephanie? And how would this affect her and Macy’s relationship? She’d been number one in their daughter’s life. She didn’t want to become number two.
“You’d probably like the angel-hair pasta.” The menu hid his face. “The lemon butter sauce is light.”
Her breath caught. He remembered. She loved lemon butter sauce. Why did something insignificant matter so much right now?
A waiter brought two waters and wrote their orders on a narrow pad of paper. She inhaled. Prepared herself. Tom opened a briefcase.
“I don’t know how this is usually done,” he said. “But I did an online search and found out what kind of schedules other people have come up with.”
Stephanie traced the rim of her water glass. Until this moment, her plan to move to Florida next year had seemed possible. But—she glanced at Tom, his eyebrows drawn together as he opened a folder and took out papers—she’d been lying to herself.
He handed her a single sheet of paper with some sort of chart on it. She scanned it and met his gaze over the drinks. The schedule in front of her might work for next-door neighbors. Who didn’t have jobs. The time was divided almost equally. Her mind reeled with the challenges it involved. She held it up. “I don’t know about this.”
“It’s a sample. I don’t think you and I could manage anything like that being thirty minutes away from each other. So I thought about it and wrote down what I hoped for. Here—take a look.” He slid her another paper. She read it over and heaved a sigh. Much better.
“So you want two evenings a week and every other weekend with her until she’s in school full-time?”
He nodded, a curtain of uncertainty dimming his expression. “I might have a problem, though, in the summer. Would you be willing to adjust the schedule for about six weeks before the race? I’ll have to go all out with my training then, and I might not be able to swing every other weekend.”
“That won’t be a problem.” The more time she had with Macy, the better.
His lips curved up. Was relief brightening his face? “We’ll have to consider what’s best for her. She’ll be in school next year, which is a big commitment. I want to make sure she’s not overbooked.”
Next year... Stephanie averted her gaze. She might be living in Florida. With Dad. And Macy.
“Tom,” she said, biting her lower lip. “I plan on going to graduate school.”
“I know, and if you need me to watch her more so you can go to classes or study, I gladly will.”
She’d been afraid of that. “Well, there’s something you don’t know.”
“What is it?” He waited for her answer.
“About graduate school...”
“Yeah?”
“I planned on going to the University of Miami.”
He blinked. Twice.
The waiter set steaming plates in front of them both, but she didn’t look away from Tom. She murmured a thank-you to the waiter. Tom’s face reddened. She braced herself. Here it comes.
“Florida?” The vein in his forehead throbbed. She couldn’t look away from it. “You’ve known this—and you didn’t tell me?”
Put like that... “Yes.”
He unfurled his napkin to the side and slapped it into his lap. “What else aren’t you telling me? What else have you kept from me? Let’s add them up, Stephanie.” He lifted his index finger. “A boyfriend. A daughter. A cross-country move. What else? You haven’t shocked me enough.” He bent his fingers in a come-here gesture. “Bring it on.”
All the guilt she’d carried for the past five years pressed against her, but the mention of a boyfriend snapped it like a brittle twig.
“He was never my boyfriend. I told you.” She grabbed her fork and started spinning it in the pasta. “I’ll admit I crossed an emotional line with Aaron, but he was never my boyfriend. We didn’t even kiss.”
“Well, terrific. I’m glad you never kissed him. It makes me feel better that you spilled all your secrets to him while you lied to me.”
“Stop it.” She leaned forward, glaring. “It’s over. It’s in the past. I told you I was wrong, that I was sorry. It’s obvious you’ll never let it go. Sew me a scarlet letter, Tom. Go ahead. But believe me, I have already paid. Oh, how I have paid.”
“You haven’t paid the way I have. Not even close.”
His eyes smoldered, accusing, burning.
She slapped her fork back on the table. As if his life was so tough. Managing a profitable company, never worrying about money. Having tons of free time to train. “I can barely keep my head above water. I have to wake up at five-thirty to get myself and Macy ready, drive her to a day care I can barely afford, rush to a job I find boring, then sit through school for a few hours, pick up Macy, make dinner, play with her and find time to study. I’m so exhausted at night I can barely sleep.”
He sat there, a granite block.
Her shoulders dropped. Why had she blurted all that out? She wasn’t one for pity parties. She’d accepted the blame, taken it, worn it and owned it because it was hers. When will it be enough? When can I let go of this guilt?
What about the Bible passage she’d read over and over? In Isaiah. The one where God blots out sins and never thinks of them again.
Did You blot this one out, too, Lord? If You don’t think of it again, why can’t I stop thinking about it?
“We both paid,” Tom said without a trace of bitterness. “But it didn’t have to be that way.”
“No, it didn’t. But we can’t change it. And if we can’t spend an hour together without arguing, I wonder if any schedule we make will work. What kind of example will we be setting for Macy?”
“You’re right.” He nodded to her plate. “Go ahead and eat before it gets cold.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
He tapped the table with his knuckles. “I’m trying, Stephanie. It’s hard to work through this when new information—life-changing information—keeps getting dropped in my lap. I’ve only had a few weeks to process this. Put yourself in my shoes.”
She ducked her chin, tried to be reasonable. “I’m not being fair. I know. But my life is changing, too, and I’m scared, okay?”
Neither spoke. The ambient noise of the restaurant whispered around them. Stephanie’s food smelled delicious and garlicky, but she couldn’t bring herself to take a bite.
Tom didn’t touch his food, either. “Tell me now, is there anything—anything you c
an think of—that I should know? I don’t know where to go with this whole Florida thing, but before I think about it, I have to be sure I’m not going to have another nuclear bomb explode on me.”
Stephanie gave her head a small shake. “No, Tom. You know everything.”
“Then let’s finish our meal and work out a schedule for now.”
She finally picked up her fork, but worries kept buzzing around her head. A big one gained momentum, until she finally gave voice to it. “If we’re doing this, I’m not going to be the wife.”
He gave her a quizzical look.
She continued, “I’m not calling or texting to remind you that ‘tonight’s your night’ or ‘don’t forget about such-and-such.’”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Yeah, but that’s what these arrangements turn into. I don’t have the time or desire to role-play. If there’s a special event, I’ll email you the address and time, nothing more. You’re responsible for remembering it. And if you don’t, you can explain it to Macy.”
“No one asked you to be my secretary. I’m a grown man. Give me the information, and I’ll be there.” He tilted his head slightly. “While we’re on the subject of things we will and won’t do, then I’m asking you to at least consider applying to graduate school here. I’m Macy’s dad. Not for a couple of months. For good.”
“I’ll think about it.” Just uttering those words sent a shiver over her skin. Her goals, her dreams were already fading. She drew her lips together. She’d work out the visitation schedule and consider what was best for Macy, but she wasn’t going to become an afterthought in her own life. Not ever again.
Chapter Seven
Tom looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Clean-shaven, hair more tidy than usual. He checked his tie. Straight. As ready as he was going to be.
Stepping out of his truck, he straightened the legs of his dress pants, then reached over and grabbed a large wrapped present before shutting the door. His feet barely made a sound as he walked up the sidewalk to Stephanie’s apartment. The moon had already slid into place, shining bright and full in the black sky. He inhaled the cold air. It tasted good. Like winter. Fresh.
