Unexpected Family

by Jill Kemerer

  “Oh, yeah?” He slowed for a traffic light.

  The answer came to her swiftly, and she blurted it out without thought. “I needed to find myself.”

  Silence settled, but it wasn’t chilly or off-putting. “And did you? Find yourself?”

  “I’m working on it.” Before he came back in the picture, she’d say she had. Miami. CPA. Success. But now? She wasn’t so sure.

  “Who were you when you were with me?” He cast a sideways glance her way. She didn’t miss the unguarded emotion in his eyes.

  “Someone who ran away when life got hard. A quitter.”

  “But...” He concentrated on the road.

  “What?” She shifted to watch him. He swallowed.

  “I don’t get it. I fell in love with her, the girl you were. I never saw you that way. I didn’t care you quit school. I planned on providing for both of us, anyhow. I loved who you were then.”

  Part of her clung to his words, but the other part mentally yelled, “Liar!”

  “Can you really say that was true after we were married?”

  He waved absentmindedly. “Well, yeah.”

  “If you say so.” She sighed. “I think we were both in love with each other, but I don’t think either of us were good at showing it.” A sad rendition of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” came on the radio.

  “I won’t argue that.” His words were gruff but lacked sarcasm. “I’ve thought back on that time a lot. I would have done things differently. Take work—I wish someone would have told me I needed time to gain the necessary skills to run the dealerships. Maybe I’d have spent more nights with you and fewer at the office. Maybe not, I don’t know. I have a pretty thick head. But one thing I’m sure of—I would have worked harder to make you feel special, to make you stay.”

  She blinked back tears. This...this was why she’d fallen for him back then. Why it was hard to be with him now.

  She let out a weak laugh. “I figured you weren’t interested because I wasn’t interesting. You got a dud for a wife, and you’d learned it too late.”

  A horrified look crossed his face and then he laughed, quieting quickly after checking the mirror to make sure he didn’t wake Macy. “I never thought of you as a dud. Where did you get that idea? I wasn’t around because I had something to prove. I wanted to buy you a nice house, get started on a family and earn enough money to provide for you and a couple of kids.”

  Her heart dropped. A family, ironically, was exactly what she’d stolen from him when she left. And all he had wanted to give her then were the very things she desperately wanted now.

  He continued, “Look, I respect what you’re doing, going back to school and getting your degree. But none of that mattered to me. I loved you. You. Not anything more.”

  She twisted her hands in her lap. He spoke the truth. She could kick her younger married self for buying into the lies her imagination kept feeding her.

  “I didn’t feel worthy of you. I was in between. Confused.”

  “I know that now.”

  “You do?” Why did those words fill her with so much hope? Why did his opinion of her still matter?

  “You’ve become the person you were meant to be. I give you credit for all the things you’ve sacrificed to provide for Macy.”

  She scrambled to cling to what he just said, to savor it later. “Thank you. I...well, I admire you, too.”

  * * *

  Back at Stephanie’s apartment, Tom tucked Macy into bed and joined Stephanie in the living room. Her small tree full of colorful bulbs and tinsel welcomed him. Or maybe the loving expression she’d worn all evening was to blame. Whatever tugged him to stay, he’d best ignore it. Too many familiar feelings threatened, feelings he’d declared off-limits the day he’d switched from being married to divorced. “I guess I’ll be on my way.”

  “Wait, do you have to go now?” Stephanie’s red sweater brought out the dark brown hues of her hair. “I’ll make some hot chocolate. I have something to give you.”

  He tapped his teeth together twice. Stay and fight the attraction pulling him to her? Or slink home to the safety of his family?

  “If you have somewhere to go, I won’t keep you. I just... Give me a minute.” She held up a finger and raced to her bedroom.

  What in the world?

  She returned, her cheeks flushed and a shy expression in her eyes. “I hoped you would open it here.”

  A square box of a present filled her hands. Silver paper, blue ribbon and a big silver bow on top. Fancy. She’d taken her time with it. Or had it wrapped. Either way, it looked special. Why that pleased him, he couldn’t say.

  “I’m not in a rush.” He eased his jacket off and slung it over the back of a chair.

  “Good. Have a seat, I’ll make the drinks and be right back.” One lamp cast warm light over the room, and he relaxed into the cozy setting. The microwave dinged and within moments, she set a tall mug topped with whipped cream before him on the coffee table. She sat in the chair opposite him, holding her cup, and crossed one leg over the other. “Go ahead. Open it.”

  He frowned. He hadn’t bought her anything. But why would he? Their relationship was no longer defined.

  Lifting the gift onto his lap, he untangled the ribbon, then tore off the paper and let it fall to the floor. A large book appeared. A scrapbook. He opened it to the first page.

  To Tom. The first years of Macy’s life.

  A picture of Macy swaddled in a blanket with the hospital bracelet still on her wrist covered most of the first page. The caption gave all her birth statistics. Time of birth, height, weight and where she was born. He traced the picture with his finger, catching his breath, unable to suppress the elation rushing through him.

  He turned the page. A collage of photos smiled back at him. All of Macy as a baby. With little tufts of black hair. Big eyes. Footy pajamas with giraffes and ducks. A pink dress. There—she was smiling in that one. On all fours. Crawling. Sitting. Giggling. Messy.

  Each page showed another milestone, a slightly older version of the little girl who’d captured his heart. Macy at two, crying on Santa’s lap. In a sundress, blowing on dandelion seeds. Sleeping on the couch. Bare feet. Purple Popsicle grin. The pictures knocked away a worry he had never voiced.

  Had Macy been okay without him? Or maybe a better way to put it—had she had a happy childhood so far?

  The pictures, even the ones where she pouted, said yes, she’d been fine all this time.

  When he reached the last page, he closed the book and met Stephanie’s eyes.

  “Do you like it?” She bit the corner of her lip.

  His chest thumped. “Like it?” He gestured for her to come over, patted the seat next to him. “It’s incredible. Tell me about each picture. Tell me everything, Steph.” His voice grew gravelly at the end, and he cleared his throat, but when she scooted next to him, her thigh scraping his, he fought the urge to put his arm around her. To draw her closer.

  “Really? You like it?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? This is amazing.” He shook his head again. “Thank you.”

  “I worried it would only make it worse. The hurt. You know, I—”

  “You don’t have to say anything more. This means everything to me. I can’t tell you—now I have all these missing pieces.”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Inhaled her fragrance in the process. And he forgot why he’d ever let her go.

  She gave him a startled look and quickly pointed to the first picture. She told him about the day Macy was born, her words tumbling out in a nervous stream. He tore his attention from the pulse in her neck and listened to her tales of Macy. But he found himself equally fascinated by the expressions accompanying the stories.

  Two hours passed before he knew it. And as he stood to leave, he pul
led Stephanie to him, held her tight and whispered, “Thank you. This means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Three days a week isn’t enough, Tom.” Sean scanned the chart in his hands and frowned. “It’s okay for now, but you’re not even up to a mile. And it’s easier to swim in a pool.”

  Tom climbed the ladder as water dripped from him. Swimming in open water meant dealing with currents, low visibility from the murkiness and, the most erratic factor of all, the weather. If he couldn’t master the pool, how would he make it through a lake with hundreds of other swimmers?

  “What do you suggest?” Tom ran a towel over his hair and sat on a bench. Sean clicked his pen, scribbling on his clipboard. Snow fell in hurried pellets outside the window. The evergreens were dipped in white. A shiver rippled over Tom’s skin. He wiped the rest of his body down with the towel.

  “Laps every weeknight,” Sean said. “We’ll add distance on Saturdays.”

  Tom’s legs splayed, his bare feet cool on the tiles. He already woke at four-thirty every morning to jog. If the weather was too icy, he ran on his treadmill. After work, he got on his stationary bike for at least an hour. Swimming he could fit in, but what about his time with Macy? Only three weeks into January and he was already struggling to balance his time with her and his training.

  “I’m not sure if I can commit to that.”

  Sean tapped the pen against the clipboard. “You don’t have to do anything. But you asked my opinion. If you want to finish the IRONMAN in less than twelve hours, you’re going to have to put a lot more time in at the pool.”

  Tom stood, slinging his towel over his shoulder. “I know. I’m not trying to get out of training. I’m having a hard time juggling the pool with my daughter.” He spent Tuesday and Thursday nights at Stephanie’s apartment while she went to class. Macy joined him in Lake Endwell every other Saturday, but once his house was finished, he’d be taking her for the whole weekend. He’d put an offer on the new construction house Reed and Dad showed him before Christmas. The basement was being finished this week. His early-February move-in date would be here before he knew it, and moving all his stuff meant more time away from training.

  Sean shrugged. “Can’t her mom help out? Watch her for an extra hour so you can swim?”

  “She has classes. And she works.” Tom shut his mouth before he started defending her more.

  “We’re all busy.” Sean lifted his eyebrows. “Seems to me she could accommodate you with this, but hey, I get how hard it can be to deal with an ex. What about Tot Spot? A lot of parents drop their kids off at the babysitting center here. It’s fun for them.”

  “Babysitting center, huh?” Tom slipped his feet into his flip-flops and headed toward the locker room. Did it make him a terrible dad to consider Tot Spot? Probably.

  “If you’re serious about this race, you should.” Sean tucked his clipboard under his arm and nodded goodbye. “See you in a few days.”

  Tom changed into jeans and a pullover, then asked the front desk about their child care options. He strode to the room where Tot Spot was held and peeked inside. Didn’t look too crowded. Kids laughed and chased each other. Could be an option.

  Out in the parking lot, he tucked his chin, bracing himself against the wind and snow. If he drove Macy to the Y with him on Tuesdays and Thursdays, he’d be able to swim every weekday. Sure, it would cut an hour out of their together time, but he’d said all along he wasn’t compromising his training schedule.

  Except Macy meant more to him than a race did. Being her dad had become top priority. Still, did he have to throw out his dreams to be a good father?

  On his latest Saturday with Macy, he’d tried to fit a run on the treadmill in, but she got bored of the cartoon and the book he gave her. They’d ended up playing tea party, then house, and there went his workout. And work was busier than ever. Even asking his assistant managers to take over more duties hadn’t helped.

  He jerked open his truck door and hopped inside, switching the heat setting to high as the engine whimpered to life. For someone dead set on finishing the race in a certain amount of time, he wasn’t acting like it. Before October, he’d spent thirty minutes on the weekend planning his nutrition and meals for the week. Each day he’d charted his workout progress and planned how many miles to add to his bike routine and running regimen.

  But between work and Macy and picking out fixtures for the new house...

  Excuses.

  He shifted the truck into gear and drove out of the lot.

  When he got home, he was making a new plan. New training goals. A grocery list. Meal schedule. Nonnegotiable training chart. Tomorrow was Tuesday—he’d bring a bag with his swim gear to Stephanie’s and try the Tot Spot program. One hour. Macy would fit right in with those other kids.

  * * *

  “I’m drowning in a sea of papers, ledgers and computer programs. Why didn’t I take this class earlier? It’s killing me.” Stephanie dug into a low-calorie frozen dinner. She loved a hot meal for lunch in the winter, but eating out was too expensive to swing on a regular basis. The work microwave was a lifesaver. Bea sat across from her in the break room and opened her cute plaid lunch tote.

  “Only a few months left.” Bea unwrapped a turkey sandwich. “Think of the finish line.”

  Stephanie stirred the chicken and noodles and suppressed a yawn. She’d stayed up past midnight finishing the homework due tonight. “Four months. I can hold on another four months. I hope.”

  Bea grinned and popped a potato chip into her mouth. “You can do it. How’s Macy this week?”

  “Her cold is lingering, but I think she’s through the worst of it. I keep giving her cough medicine, but she wakes at least once each night. I hate seeing the smudges under her eyes.”

  “I remember those days. Seemed like my kids would cough for weeks. Never knew if I should keep them home or send them, but what do you do? They can’t take two weeks off school for a cough.”

  “Exactly. I’m just fortunate she hasn’t had a fever. Her day care center almost sent her home Friday.”

  Stephanie took another bite and stared out the small window. Yesterday’s snow lingered, but no new flakes fell. She missed green...or color in general. “What I wouldn’t give to visit Dad right now.”

  Bea nodded. “I hear Miami is in the high seventies today. How close is his condo to the beach?”

  “Two blocks. Wouldn’t that be something? To walk two blocks to the beach? I really want to move.”

  Bea wiped her hands on a napkin and cracked open a Diet Coke. “Sounds like you’re considering staying. Are you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Ah.” The way Bea said it—Stephanie narrowed her eyes.

  “What?”

  “Tom convinced you.”

  “No.” Stephanie sprinkled pepper on her noodles. “I’m not throwing out my plans due to peer pressure, if that’s what you mean.”

  “All I’ve ever heard was how you couldn’t wait to finish your bachelor degree so you could move to Florida, bask in the sunshine and spend time with your dad again. And now Tom comes back into your life and asks you to apply around here. Did you suddenly realize you like snow?” Her smile teased.

  “I never said I like snow. I hate winter. I’m tired of shoving Macy’s arms into a huge puffy coat every day. Scraping my windshield brings out the beast in me. Just the thought of spending two more months without a drop of color other than white, gray or brown in the landscape makes me want to weep. This isn’t about the weather.”

  “I know it’s not about the weather. It’s about your ex.”

  Stephanie shifted her jaw. Yeah, it was about her ex. “I don’t blame him for not wanting me to move. I mean, he’s finally getting to know his daughter. Why would he want her to live more tha
n twenty hours away? It seems reasonable to me.”

  “Sure.” Bea nodded. “Tom gets his daughter. Macy gets her daddy. You can always visit Florida.”

  She twisted the cap off her water. No beach. No sun. No Dad. “Exactly. It’s not about me.”

  “It should be. This is your life,” Bea said. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t stay, but do it for your own reasons.”

  “I hear you, but seeing Tom and Macy together makes me want to throw out my agenda. He’s buying a house, and Macy will have her own room. He plays with her, spends time with her, loves her. If I take her away, it would hurt them both.”

  “Is there another reason you’re thinking about staying? You could have gone to college in Miami last year if you really wanted to. Maybe Florida has never been your dream.”

  “Then whose would it be?” She snorted, taking another bite.

  Bea didn’t answer. She sipped her Diet Coke.

  “I stayed here for the scholarship.” Stephanie pointed her plastic fork at Bea.

  “I know.”

  “I mean, Dad offered to pay, but...” Stephanie frowned. She still wanted to move to Miami. She did. Who didn’t love the beach? Plus, moving down there would make Dad happy. She owed him for all he’d done for her and Macy.

  Wait.

  She owed him?

  Maybe Bea had a point about Miami never being her dream. Florida had always been Dad’s retirement goal.

  “And who knows?” Bea lifted a carrot stick. “Maybe you and Tom will get back together.”

  Stephanie crinkled her nose and shook her head. “I don’t see that happening. I already applied at Miami and here at Western. I would have to get accepted before I can make a decision.”

  “You’ll make the right one.”

  She tossed her trash in the basket. Too many scenarios clamored for attention. Making the right decision had never been this hard.