More Than She Expected

by Karen Templeton

  “Absolutely,” Laurel said, her gaze fixed out the windshield. “I’ll hope along with you, how’s that?”

  “Aw, you’re a real sweetheart, you know that? Tyler told me you’re a single mom, too. Like I was.”

  Laurel shot Tyler a glance, then refocused on the road. “Jonny’s dad’s not in the picture, no. But I’ve got my grandmother. And this guy next to me...” She smiled. “He’s been a huge help. Once I got over myself and let him help me, anyway.”

  “Oh, yeah? Isn’t that nice.”

  “It is.” Spotting the entrance to the Costco parking lot, Laurel smoothly pulled into the exit lane. “He’s going to be a really good daddy someday.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a minute,” Starla said, and Tyler wanted to say, Hello? Sitting right here?

  They pulled up alongside the warehouse club’s entrance; Starla got out, calling back into the car before she shut the door, “Give that baby lots and lots of kisses for me, okay?”

  Then, with a cheerful wave, she scooted into the store, and Tyler released a long, silent breath, that at least that was over. Only to nearly choke when Laurel said, “We should have her over for dinner sometime.”

  “What?”

  “Why not? You said you’d known her since you were a kid, right? And I bet she’d love to hang out with Jonny.”

  “I’m...sure she would—”

  “I mean, this would be totally up to her, but...Jonny could use a grandmother figure in his life.”

  “Aside from yours, you mean?”

  “Gran’s my grandmother. Not Jonny’s. And...” When she hesitated again, Tyler glanced over to see a small, sad smile curving her lips. “Sometimes, it absolutely rips me up inside, that my own mother will never know Jonny.”

  “And you think Starla could fill the gap?”

  He hoped to hell that hadn’t come out as harsh as it sounded in his head, because he hadn’t meant it to. Because, weirdly, he got where she was coming from—that if major players were missing from your own family, what was wrong with piecing one together from scraps of other people’s?

  “No,” she said, surprising him. “Not for me, anyway. Or Gran. Starla’s a sweetie, but she can’t replace my mother. But maybe... I don’t know.” Her eyes briefly cut to his, then away. “Jonny and I could fill a gap in Starla’s life?”

  Not for the first time, Tyler wondered at the apparent disconnect between Laurel’s practical nature and her big heart. And yet, to her, more or less “adopting” Starla, thereby meeting a mutual need, probably made perfect sense.

  To her, anyway.

  “So...you’ll ask her? Maybe for sometime next week?”

  “Sure,” he said, and she might’ve rolled her eyes, he couldn’t quite tell. Although at least she dropped the subject. But what else was he gonna say? Because “Let me think about it,” or worse, a flat-out “no,” would have only raised flags.

  Flags that kept flapping in his own face, anyway, when Laurel got real quiet again as they shopped. That still fluttered hours later as Laurel fixed dinner for them while he put up the few Halloween decorations they’d found cowering in a back corner in Target’s Seasonal department, already burgeoning with Christmas crap. But they did have pumpkins, oh, yeah. And they’d bought enough Halloween candy to keep every dentist in Jersey busy for years—

  They.

  Them.

  In the midst of stringing a set of skeleton lights across Laurel’s porch, Tyler stopped, listening to the words dance through his brain.

  We...

  Us...

  And, once again, almost.

  He remembered that morning after he’d stayed up with Jonny, and he’d awakened to find Laurel standing there, all pink and sleep-creased and rumpled, so tender-eyed when she’d looked at her sleeping baby his heart had practically jumped into his throat...and she’d turned that gaze on him, like he was her savior or something, and...

  Hell.

  His fingers nearly frozen by now, he plugged in the lights, the soft purple glow appropriately spooky, especially when blurred by wisps of that webbing stuff he’d stretched all over the porch. It wasn’t nearly as awesome as he’d seen it in his head, but there was always next year—

  His throat clogged.

  Next year?

  He knocked on the window—Laurel hadn’t pulled the blinds shut yet—gesturing for her to come outside. A moment later, wrapped up in that same big shirt she’d been wearing when they’d first talked—hell, yeah, he remembered—she joined him, her lips barely tilted as she touched a hunk of web, floating like a fake-spider-infested glob of cotton candy.

  “This is really cool,” she said, sounding a little subdued, a little sad.

  And Tyler heard, like the words were coming out of somebody else’s mouth, “I think we should get married.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Laurel didn’t know whether to laugh or stick a sharp object in her eye. Or shove Tyler over the porch railing. As it was, all afternoon she’d been swallowing down her frustration with his refusal to admit Starla was his birth mother—about which, after that conversation with the woman in her car, she now had no doubt. Then he does this? Good God.

  “What did you say?”

  He looked a little ill—although, granted, that might’ve been from the purple lights—but damned if he didn’t say it again. “We should get married. Hey,” he said when she laughed, “you’re the one who keeps harping on what makes the most sense. What’s practical.”

  “For whom, Tyler? Especially since you’ve made it plain enough you don’t even want marriage and family—”

  “So, what? I can’t change my mind?”

  Lord love a duck, the man had lost his marbles. And she was freezing. Not to mention still mad about the other thing. Which, actually, she’d planned on confronting him about after dinner. Also, probably heartbroken, but at this point that was so far down the list she couldn’t even see it, let alone react. Shaking her head, Laurel went back inside, half hoping Tyler would stay out until the cold air cleared the craziness from his brain.

  No such luck.

  “And anyway,” he said, following her and shutting the door behind him, “this isn’t about me...it’s about Jonny. And...you. What you said earlier, about piecing together a family—”

  “And I just went from flabbergasted to pissed,” she whispered so she wouldn’t wake Jonny, asleep in his swing. Then she tramped back to the kitchen, where she was attempting to duplicate Kelly’s spaghetti and meatballs. Boomer lifted his head then heaved himself to his feet, plodding back to the living room to collapse by the swing.

  “This isn’t exactly going the way I’d hoped it would,” Tyler said behind Laurel from the kitchen doorway.

  “Oh, no?” she said, the sauce splattering everywhere as she stirred. He came closer, removing the spoon from her hand and setting it down. Then he turned her around to tuck her against his chest, holding her close. You know, like a brother. Or something.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and she sighed.

  “Where is this coming from, Tyler?” she said, pulling away. “I mean, really?”

  He streaked a hand through his hair then pointed to the porch. “I was out there, after I put up everything, all right? And it’s not everything I hoped it would be, it’s kinda lame, actually, but I thought, well, there’s always next year....” His hand dropped. “And then I thought, what if there isn’t a next year? For us, I mean. And I felt like I needed to do something. So I wouldn’t lose this. So we wouldn’t.”

  Oh, dear God. Kill her now, why not?

  “And what, exactly,” Laurel said gently, “are you afraid you’ll lose?”

  His mouth pulled taut before he rammed his fingers into his pockets. “Feeling like...like I’m part of something. Something I had
a hand in putting together, I mean. Not something I was thrown into.”

  Her eyes stung. “And you won’t lose my friendship. I promise. But marriage...” She swallowed, refusing to cry. Keeping the flush from sweeping up her neck and face, however, was something else again. “You don’t love me, Ty.”

  His eyes lowered. “Maybe not in the traditional sense, but—”

  “Tyler. Please. Maybe you’re willing to settle for ‘good enough,’ but I’m not.” She paused, feeling her face heat again. “Not with someone I’d be sharing a bed with.”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “Yeah, your grandmother said something about you being picky.”

  “After what I just went through? You betcha.” She exhaled sharply. “Look...heaven knows I’m no expert on marriage, but I’ve witnessed firsthand the difference between a union that was really a union, and one that hobbled along for a dozen years using obligation as its crutch. I refuse to follow my parents’ example, refuse to do to Jonathon what they did to me—”

  “Except if it’s my idea, how would this be about obligation?”

  “Because you’re not the kind of person who breaks his promises. And I wouldn’t dream of trapping you in something I don’t think you’ve thought through. Living in a loveless house sucks.”

  “This wouldn’t be like that, I swear—”

  “Tyler.” Laurel curled her hands around his biceps to look him straight in the eye. Whether he was ready to come clean or not, it was time she did. For everybody’s sake. “When you realized Jonny might not ever meet, let alone know, his father...that really struck home, didn’t it? Because you never knew who your father was. Then your mother let the Nobles adopt you—”

  “How do you know about that?” he said, looking like he’d been sucker punched, before he loudly exhaled. “Kelly. Right?”

  “She thinks the world of you, you know,” she said quietly. “They all do. Because they’re your family.” She gave his arms a quick squeeze, then folded her own across her stomach. “But this out-of-the-blue proposal... What comes to me, is that you’re seeing Jonny and me as some kind of compensation for whatever you feel you’ve missed in your own life—”

  “What? No—”

  “And that somehow this is tied in with Starla’s giving you up.”

  Tyler froze, his eyes boring into hers, before, with a muttered curse, he walked out of the kitchen. Laurel found him perched on the edge of the recliner, his head in his hands.

  “If you knew,” he said, dropping his hands but not looking at her, “why didn’t you say something before?”

  “Because—here’s a thought—maybe I was hoping you’d tell me yourself? Seriously, Ty...don’t you think this is kind of major stuff to keep from someone you ask to marry you? Kelly shouldn’t have had to tell me anything. And I shouldn’t have had to guess about Starla—”

  “So maybe I didn’t want to burden you with my crap,” he said, his eyes finally meeting hers.

  “You mean, the crap you’ve been lugging around with you since you were a little kid? The crap everybody who’s ever known you can smell a mile away?”

  He almost smiled. “You are something else, you know that?”

  “Yeah. I do, actually. Meaning I can handle the crap. Share the burden. You know, like couples are supposed to? But clearly you’re not there. Not yet—”

  “I want to take care of you, Laurel!” he said, surging to his feet again. “You and Jonathon!” His gaze veered to the baby, sweetly oblivious to the goings-on, before returning to Laurel. “Look, it’s not like I don’t know how everybody thinks I’m just some big kid, that I missed the bus when they boarded for adulthood. So here I am, ready and willing—”

  “To take care of us. Got it. Setting aside the issue that, hey, maybe that’s not exactly what I had in mind for a marriage proposal, perhaps I also have a different take on what it means to be responsible. To be an adult.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Laurel sat on the sofa in front of a mountain of clean baby clothes, sorting them as she tried to sort her thoughts. “Okay,” she said, holding a little sleeper dotted with tiny Tiggers to her chest, “when my father basically abandoned me after my mother died, I couldn’t shake the hurt.” She folded the sleeper, set it on a pile with a half dozen others. “Like...I’d been slapped, but the sting wouldn’t go away. But I felt so...justified in hating him—and believe me, I did, for a long time—that even the idea of letting it all go felt wrong.”

  Tyler gave her a brief, hard stare, then turned away to stand in front of her picture window, where, outside, everything glowed a soft, eerie purple. Laurel folded the last sleeper then started in on a tangle of receiving blankets. “I didn’t talk about it a lot, but Gran knew, of course. And one day she said—very casually—something about how hard it is to fully love if even part of your heart is all wrinkled and black with resentment.”

  Tyler was silent for several beats then grunted in that way a man does when he doesn’t want to admit someone else might be right.

  “Of course, being a stubborn teenager by then, I was convinced Gran was talking through her hat. Until one day, well after the worst of the grief should have been long over, I realized...I wanted to be happy again. And that I never would be unless I changed my thinking. Since I obviously couldn’t change my father’s.”

  “So, what?” Tyler turned, glowering at her. “You forgave him, just like that?”

  “Of course not. But I did decide that whether or not I was happy was my choice. Not his.”

  He turned back to the window. “Like you did with Barry.”

  “Pretty much, yeah,” she said, imagining the tussle he and his pride were having right about now. “Because it was either that or spend the rest of my life miserable.” When he didn’t reply, she said, “Ty, I’m not telling you what to do. That’s not my place, even if I could. But whatever you need to work out with your mother, about your childhood, can’t be sidestepped by faking something with me and Jonathon. By...by trying to take Barry’s place. It won’t work—”

  “Yeah, well,” he said, wheeling on her, “epiphanies aren’t one size fits all, are they? Your mother died, and that sucks, and your father dumped you on your grandmother...but at least you knew who he was. He wasn’t some secret to apparently be kept at all costs. And your mother didn’t give you up because her habit was more important than her kid. Or let some other family adopt you even after she was clean. Or tell you why she did that, no matter how many times you ask—”

  Tyler faced the window again, but she could see his Adam’s apple work overtime as he desperately tried to keep his emotions in check. And she hurt so much for him she could barely breathe. Especially since she knew what he’d sacrificed, opening up to her like this: not only that pride, but whatever wall he’d built around himself, however flimsy, to keep the pain from destroying him completely.

  Then, on a long sigh, he cupped the back of his neck. “What I feel for you,” he said softly, “for Jonathon...it’s not fake. That much I can tell you. Maybe you’re right, maybe it’s not enough...but it sure as hell is real. As real as I can make it, anyway. I’m not trying to take anybody’s place. I’m trying to find my own.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “I really do—”

  “I’d be good to you,” he said, turning, his throat working again. “I’d never hurt you. Or leave you. I swear.”

  His plea nearly destroyed her. Because nobody understood more than she did his longing for a real family, a complete family, even if he’d been in denial about that for so long. True, he’d had a damn good approximation of that with the Nobles—whether he could admit that or not—same as she’d had with Gran. But it wasn’t the same as, well, what they’d both lost. If they’d ever really had it. And his willingness to sacrifice his autonomy only made her...

  Only ma
de her love him more.

  Except...

  “I know that, too. But you still don’t love me. Not the way I want—no, deserve—to be loved.”

  Laurel felt as though she could have written several pages of her next book before he finally muttered, “Not sure I even know what that is.”

  “Don’t know?” she said gently. “Or afraid to let go enough to find out?”

  Another long pause preceded, “Does it matter?”

  Her eyes stinging, Laurel stood and went to him, threading her arms around his waist. “You are one of the most honorable men I’ve ever known,” she said softly. “And you have no idea how much it’s tearing me up inside to turn you down. Your goodness isn’t the issue. It never was. But I honestly don’t believe you’re in the right place to take on a ready-made family, no matter how well intentioned your motives. And in the long run, I don’t think any of us would be happy.”

  His tortured gaze bored into hers. “In other words, you don’t think I’m mature enough for you.”

  “I don’t think you’re whole enough.” She palmed the center of his pounding chest. “In here. Big difference.” Letting go, she slipped her hands into her back pockets. “Jonny and I...we can’t fix you. Only you can do that.”

  They stood together for several seconds, gazes locked, before, on a long breath, Tyler nodded. Then, after pressing a light kiss to the top of her head, he walked to the front door and let himself out, just as Jonny’s little jungle bird squawk from the swing snagged Laurel’s attention.

  Scrubbing tears off her cheeks, Laurel scooped up her burbling son to hold him close, letting his sweet warmth soothe her mangled heart.

  * * *

  A chilly, light mist had begun to sheen Tyler’s skin by the time he and a panting Boomer sprinted onto the Colonel’s street, which was dotted with the occasional Halloween remnant—a crumpled pumpkin, a wisp of webbing. His legs and lungs burned, but it was a good burn, the kind that seared not only his limbs but hopefully his brain. At least enough to keep him from getting into it with the old man. For once.