Rescued by Mr. Wrong

by Cynthia Thomason

  “If we get close enough to an entrance, I won’t need my crutches. I can just use the walking boot.”

  So here he was, a man who had survived five days in the Superdome without sanitation or decent food, a guy who had dodged bullets and pulled injured bodies from numerous wrecks, a fellow who had reported on the devastating effects of earthquakes and tsunamis. And now he was darting around a nearly full parking lot with a woman who was playing the role of ruthless dictator over the next few minutes, not to mention days, of his life.

  “There’s a spot,” she said. “Oh, shoot, a motorcycle. Go down, turn right, take the next level. There’s a spot up ahead.”

  After fifteen minutes of riding around, Keegan finally pulled into a narrow parking place with barely enough room to open the Tahoe doors. “I hope this will suit, Your Highness,” he said as he got out of the car.

  “It’s fine. I knew we’d find something.” With some effort, Carrie managed to get out of the Tahoe without mishap. She met him at the back of the vehicle and grabbed his arm. “Hope you don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to trip.”

  He started toward the elevator.

  She chuckled nervously. “Everything all right, then?”

  They got in the elevator, and Keegan took a deep breath. “I’m not ready for this, Carrie,” he said. “Any time I’m going to see Taylor, I prepare.”

  She stared up at him with those wide, bottomless blue eyes. “You have to prepare to see your own son?”

  “I tried to tell you before, we have nothing in common, Taylor and I. We get together for a few days a year, usually in a place where entertainment abounds...”

  “So you don’t have to talk to him too much?”

  He grimaced. She was such a smarty. “We spend some time seeing exhibits or going on rides, and then I take him home where his mother probably checks him out for damages or contraband.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I told you she was overprotective.”

  “Yes, and I told you... I’ve had some experience with an overprotective parent, and even I would say that your opinion of Marta is exaggerated. She’s very nice, and she was quite willing to let him come.”

  He smirked. “Yeah. And your vast experience with an overprotective parent is why you haven’t called your father since you got in your accident.”

  “I’ve called him,” she said. “Several times. I’ve just let him think that I’m still in Michigan.”

  “So when do little white lies start turning into darker, more serious ones?” he said as the elevator door opened to the airport’s arrival deck.

  She grabbed his arm to step out. “This day isn’t about me. Quit turning everything into my problems. Today is about solving your problems.”

  “And the particular problem I have that you are attempting to solve is what, exactly?”

  “Your strained relationship with your son. You need to see him more often. He needs to see you, to get to know you. You only have one son. He only has one father. You both are missing a great opportunity. I’m hoping you will come to realize that for the price of one round-trip ticket, you could set up these days together many times during the year.”

  They walked slowly into the airport—her because she was navigating on her walking boot, him because every instinct told him to turn around and run back to the car. Patrick Breen, who’d seen it all, written about it all, hadn’t prepared to see his son, and he was scared to death.

  Carrie stopped to check the arrival board. “Gate C-6,” she said. “This way.”

  He followed, his footsteps heavy, his heart racing, his breath coming in short gasps. She was right. He didn’t know his own son, at least not in an intimate, closed-up-in-a-cabin kind of sense. It was one thing to take an exuberant kid to Disneyland and watch him have fun. It was entirely another to bring him to the boonies of northern Ohio in midwinter and have to talk about things. What if his son didn’t like the man he was cooped up with for three days? What if they didn’t like each other?

  From a bank of windows Keegan watched a large superjet taxi toward the terminal. Was it going to gate C-6? He paused. Having no alternative, Carrie paused next to him. “Come on, Keegan. Don’t you want to see him come down the escalator?”

  “Carrie...” He swallowed a huge lump in his throat.

  She stared up at him with eyes so full of sympathy that for a moment he considered that he might do anything she asked of him. “Keegan, pull yourself together. This is your son we’re meeting.”

  “What if we can’t think of anything to say to each other? What if he’s totally bored at the cabin? What if he truly doesn’t like me anymore? I mean he used to...”

  “I’m sure he loves you, just as you love him.”

  “I don’t know if he does. And I don’t have your confidence.”

  “Keegan, I’ve had problems with my father all my life. He doesn’t understand me. He thinks my lifestyle is foolish and dangerous. But so what? I adore him. He’s my dad. I wouldn’t trade him for anyone in the world.”

  “But that’s you,” he said.

  “No. That’s kids. Most kids, anyway. We get the father we’re dealt and generally we’re happy with the arrangement.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “I’m aware of that, but you’re the exception. Your father walked out on you, and that was totally wrong. Surely you can’t believe that Taylor thinks of you like you thought of your father?”

  He realized they’d been standing frozen in one spot, and he took a few steps forward. “I didn’t walk out on him,” Keegan said. “I was working. I came home when I could, and I always provided for him.”

  “Of course you did. I have an idea,” she said. “We’ll stop at one of those superstores on the way back. We’ll pick up a couple of games, some pizzas, another pair of cross-country skis if you both think that’s a good idea. We’ll find out what Taylor likes to do.”

  She squeezed his arm, and even through the thick fabric of his heavy winter jacket, he appreciated the comforting pressure. His breathing returned to normal. Maybe he could do this. But maybe he couldn’t. By Tuesday he didn’t know if he would want to strangle this woman for interfering in his life, or thank her for putting his relationship with his son on track. But now wasn’t the time to worry about Tuesday.

  People began coming down the escalator, one after another, until his son, fair-haired like his mother, tall and lanky, with a young teen’s awkward swagger, appeared with nothing but a jacket over his arm and a bulging backpack holding his weekend possessions. Keegan had to smile. At least in this respect, he and his son were alike. Keegan had often traveled the world with nothing but a backpack on his shoulders.

  * * *

  “HI, DAD.” TAYLOR stood about three feet from Keegan, his shoulders slightly slumped, hands in pockets, his legs bent at the knees—a typical teenage slouch, Carrie thought.

  Keegan put both hands on his son’s shoulders and pulled him toward his chest. Taylor’s feet didn’t move, so Keegan relaxed his hold. “Good to see you, Taylor,” he said.

  “Were you surprised?”

  “Sure was. I didn’t know you were coming until about an hour ago when this lady informed me we were on our way to the airport.” Keegan nodded to Carrie. “This is Carrie Foster, but I know you’ve already talked to her.”

  Taylor stuck out his hand. “Yeah, how you doing?”

  “Fine. How was your flight?”

  “Good. Saw a movie, listened to music.”

  Carrie noticed the earbuds dangling from his shirt pocket.

  “Is this it?” Keegan asked. “No other bags?”

  “This is it. Got my jacket, a hat, two pairs of jeans. Is it cold outside?”

  “About twenty-five degrees today,” Keegan said. “Always feels colder with the wind blowing off the
lake.”

  “Shoulda’ brought gloves,” Taylor said.

  “I’ve got spares.”

  Carrie waited for one of the guys to speak again. Neither did, so she figured a discussion of the flight and the weather was about all she was going to hear for now. She tugged them both away from the bottom of the escalator. “We’re sort of in the mainstream of traffic, fellas,” she said.

  “Might as well go to the car,” Keegan said. “We’ve got about a two-hour drive.”

  He took Carrie’s arm to help her. She lumbered her way to the exit.

  “What’s wrong with your leg?” Taylor asked.

  Whew. A conversation starter. By the time they’d reached the car, she’d told Taylor about her accident, his father’s rescue and kindnesses since. “I’m just waiting for the leg to heal and my car to be fixed so I can go back to my job in Michigan,” she said. “I’ll never be able to thank your father for all he’s done.”

  Keegan opened the back of the Tahoe and tossed the backpack inside.

  “That’s cool, Dad,” Taylor said. “Mom wondered if maybe you and Carrie were... Well, you know—if you had something going on.”

  Both Carrie and Keegan said a firm and overly loud “No” at the same time. “We’re just friends,” Carrie added. “I don’t know what I would have done if your dad hadn’t found me in that snowdrift.”

  No one spoke while Keegan navigated the congested airport traffic and headed west toward Sandusky. Once they were rolling along smoothly, Carrie did her best to keep up a conversation.

  “What do you like to do, Taylor?”

  “What books do you like?”

  “What movie did you see on the plane?”

  After hearing the boy’s short answers she didn’t argue when he stuck the listening devices in his ears, put his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. His fingers made drumming gestures on his thighs, so she knew he was into the music.

  Keegan was staring straight ahead.

  “It’s going great so far, don’t you think?” she said.

  “Just dandy.”

  “You’ve hardly said a word,” she pointed out.

  “Haven’t had the opportunity.”

  “Why? Because I’m talking so much?”

  He shrugged.

  “Someone has to keep the conversation flowing. If I waited for one of you to introduce a topic, we’d all have gray hair!”

  About a half hour from the campground, Keegan pulled into the parking lot of a supermart which carried everything from food to athletic equipment and games.

  “What are we doing here?” Taylor asked.

  “Carrie and I were thinking that it’s kind of quiet out at the campground. Figured you might want to pick up a few things to pass the time. Games maybe. Plus food. I don’t really know what you like to eat. Does your mother have you on a health food diet?”

  Taylor smiled. “Yeah, but she’s not here.”

  Thirty minutes later they exited the store with a loaded shopping cart. They’d bought Scrabble, Pictionary, two movies and enough food and soda to feed four teenagers for a week. The word no didn’t seem to be part of Keegan’s vocabulary. In fact, he kept asking, “Do you like burritos? How about tacos?” It was a good thing Carrie liked Mexican food and pizza in all of their varied forms.

  Taylor’s introduction to the cabin was underwhelming. After tossing his backpack on the sofa, he looked around briefly. “Is this all there is to it?” he asked his dad.

  “This is it,” Keegan said. “I’m only here temporarily. Soon I’ll be moving on.”

  “Where to this time?”

  Carrie couldn’t ignore the bitterness in Taylor’s tone. Obviously Keegan had “moved on” a lot.

  “Oh, here and there. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “What will happen to this place then?”

  “I’ll sell it,” Keegan said. “I already have an interested buyer. We’re just waiting for the weather to clear so the buyer can get a good look at the property. But the cabin will be torn down.”

  Taylor looked at the wood walls, beamed ceilings, stone fireplace. “And this is where my great-grandfather lived full-time?” he asked.

  “That’s right. Even after my grandmother died, he stayed on, running the campground as long as he was able. Eventually it just got to be too much for him.”

  Taylor nodded, a subtle gesture just like his father’s. “Sure, I understand. Not much here for an old guy to do...or anybody for that matter.” He walked over to the fireplace where Keegan had built a respectable blaze. “It’s kind of nice, though. I mean, with the right person...”

  Carrie quickly averted her gaze when Keegan stared at her.

  “How about that pizza?” Keegan said.

  They ate dinner, played a game of Scrabble and watched an action film. Tired and ready to suggest turning in, Carrie went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. The sleeping arrangements had been discussed and agreed upon. She would continue on the sofa, and the men would take the bed and an air mattress on the floor. By nearly eleven o’clock, the tension between Keegan and Taylor had mellowed to a comfortable level of almost wary companionship, and as she slipped on her nightie and robe, Carrie was cautiously optimistic about the future for them.

  When she came out of the bathroom, she found the main room empty. Where had the men gone? They had left the television on, and it was tuned to a network showing Times Square as the clock ticked toward midnight. She’d almost forgotten it was New Year’s Eve. She walked to the door and opened it a crack to peek outside.

  Keegan and Taylor stood across the road at the edge of Lake Erie. Both men were huddled into their winter coats and had stocking caps pulled low over their ears. They stood together but apart, just looking out at the waves crashing on shore in the cold wind. Occasionally one would turn to the other, say something, and receive a response.

  After a few minutes Keegan stepped sideways and as naturally as a mother bird might cover her young with her wing, he slipped his arm around Taylor’s shoulder. They remained that way for several minutes just looking out at the vastness of a wintry waterscape.

  Carrie’s cell phone rang, interrupting the peaceful scene across the road. She answered to hear her sister Jude’s fantastic news. She had received an engagement ring from the second love of her life, Liam Manning, and she was giddy with joy. Carrie was happy for her, just as she was happy for the father and son she’d helped bring together. She had no more doubts. She’d done the right thing when she called Taylor. She would remember this New Year’s Eve forever because of the joy she’d shared with others.

  “Hey, guys,” she called after disconnecting. “It’s almost midnight. You don’t want to miss the ball drop, do you?”

  “Heck, no,” Keegan said. He turned, waited for his son, and together they crossed the snow-blown road.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MONDAY MORNING KEEGAN reminded Carrie of her doctor’s appointment at ten o’clock. “Just enough time to grab breakfast at the diner first,” he said.

  The day was sunny and cold, the sky brilliant blue. A perfect winter atmosphere. Keegan asked Taylor if he’d like to rent some skis and try the slopes at Happy Valley later.

  “Not really,” the boy said. “I’m okay just hanging with you and watching movies.”

  Keegan glanced over at Carrie and raised his eyebrows in acceptance of Taylor’s decision.

  At the diner, the few people who recognized Keegan stared when he entered with an entourage. Jeanette wasn’t there, but an older gentleman came to the table, asked about Duke, and pointedly waited for an introduction. Their waitress was equally curious, and Keegan figured that by lunchtime, everyone in the county would know he had a son who, according to the waitress, was “cute as a button.”

  It was
n’t as if Keegan hid the fact that he was a father. There had just never been a time to announce Taylor’s existence to his neighbors, who from the beginning, and like everything in Keegan’s life, were only temporary. And besides, if left to himself, Keegan would never have thought to bring his son to this remote lake area.

  They continued to the hospital where Carrie was taken in for an X-ray. The doctor who had set her leg met with them in his office.

  “Everything looks good, Mrs. Breen,” he said. “That’s good, considering you’ve already stopped using the crutches.”

  Keegan had forgotten to tell Taylor that Carrie had introduced him as her husband when she’d been treated after the accident. He glared his son into swallowing a squawk of surprise.

  “The leg is healing nicely,” the doctor added. “In fact, I’m going to send a therapist to your place tomorrow to suggest some beginning exercises. You can remove the boot as he advises and try a few simple stretches. Where do you folks live?”

  “The actual address is 660 Shorelake Drive,” Keegan said. “It’s an old campground.”

  “A campground, eh? Can’t say as I’ve ever had a patient who lives in a campground.” The doctor quipped that modern GPS devices can find any old place these days. “Keep that walking boot on at all times,” he said, “unless you’re sitting in the shower.”

  Carrie asked when she would be able to drive, and the doctor muttered some old adage about putting a cart before a horse. “Not until I give you the all clear.”

  “Are you sure I can’t drive with the boot?”

  “Not unless you want to risk ruining all my good work.”

  They left the doctor’s office and drove back to the campground. Keegan expected Taylor to bring up the “Mrs. Breen” comment as soon as they got in the car, but he merely attached his earbuds and listened to music.

  Once at home, Keegan asked Taylor to help him replace some shingles on Duke’s trailer. “He’s got a leak over his bed,” Keegan said, “and I promised to patch it.”

  “Sure, I’ll help,” Taylor offered. He stared at the platter of scones Delores had left this morning. “Maybe we should take these in case we run out of shingles.”