Screwball

by Linda Morris

  It seemed simple. Very simple. They were a family—or they could be, if he’d let them.

  Unfortunately, the idyllic scene was at odds with the fury churning in his gut.

  Willow moved to settle into a rocker with Jack in her lap and nestled a pillow under the baby to support him. Jack settled into a rhythm of sucking as Willow stroked one of his plump cheeks with a fingertip. This was the first time he’d seen this, but they had a routine, the two of them—one he hadn’t been a part of. One he hadn’t even had an opportunity to be a part of.

  No, things definitely weren’t simple.

  As the child calmed, his eyes crept open and he made contented “hmmm” sounds that might have amused Paul if his stomach hadn’t been knotted tighter than the laces on a brand-new fielder’s glove.

  His gaze sharpened as he took in little Jack’s unfocused eyes. The light in the room wasn’t great. “What color are they?” he asked abruptly.

  Willow stared.

  “His eyes,” he said. “What color are they?”

  “Bluish-gray.”

  Like yours. That part remained unspoken, but he knew she was thinking it.

  He moved closer, trying to ignore the swell of a lush breast against the child’s face. Checking Willow out was the last thing he needed to be doing. His out-of-control sexual attraction to her had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He stood directly over them, until his knee brushed against Jack’s sock-covered foot, and looked into his eyes.

  Stone-blue. A memory came back to him, of something his Grandma Dudley used to say to him. “Your eyes are stone-blue, honey, like the limestone they take out of the quarries up at Bedford. Same as my father had.”

  Jack’s eyes were stone-blue too.

  Did that mean … No. It couldn’t possibly be that easy. He couldn’t trust Willow. She’d kept the truth from him way too long. Who knew what other unpleasant revelations she hadn’t made yet? She could have been with another guy around that time. That thought made him queasy, and not just because he wanted to know who Jack’s father was.

  A part of him desperately hoped she was lying. He didn’t know if he was ready to be a father, especially under these circumstances. But the idea that Willow had been with another man at the same time she’d been with him made his fists clench. Not only would he want to punch the other guy’s lights out, but he also couldn’t stand the prospect of another lie from her lips.

  He took a step back, his breath leaving him in a rush.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I want a paternity test.”

  “What?” Her head reared back.

  “A paternity test. You know, like DNA.”

  “I know what you mean. I can’t believe you’d be such a jerk. Isn’t it obvious he’s yours? The resemblance is unmistakable.”

  “I want the test done.” Only a fool would take her word for it.

  “Don’t you want him?” The words came out low, hurt. She didn’t meet his gaze. “Don’t you even want him to be yours?”

  “Oh, no. Don’t turn this around on me. This has nothing to do with him. It has to do with you. You lied to me when you could have as easily told the truth. If I don’t trust you—and I don’t—you have only yourself to blame.”

  She compressed her lips together. “I suppose I deserve that. But don’t make this about him. Don’t take your anger at me out on him.”

  “I won’t. I have no intention of paying child support to you until I know for certain he’s mine.”

  “I didn’t ask you for a damn dime,” she said in a whisper, her face reddening. “I can support him. I didn’t tell you because I want your money.”

  “As I recall, you didn’t tell me at all. If you hadn’t leaked breast milk, I still wouldn’t know.”

  “I was going to tell you. I didn’t know how to tell you.” She bit her lip.

  “Yeah, well, it seems like telling me verbally would have worked. Sending me a text. An email. There are lots of communication methods in the modern age.” He crossed his arms.

  She looked at Jack, her brow low in a scowl. “Fine. No need to be sarcastic. I’ll cooperate with whatever kind of DNA test you want. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  He rolled his eyes. “We’ll see.”

  Her jaw went taut, brown eyes simmering with resentment. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to put him back to bed as soon as he’s finished. Maybe you ought to head home.” She looked away, stroking one hand over Jack’s downy soft baby hair.

  “Fine. I’ll see myself out.” Paul felt a pang, wishing he had the right to stroke Jack’s head too, or to press a kiss to the boy’s plump cheek. But he’d insulted the baby’s mother and cast doubt on his paternity. Even he knew gestures of affection wouldn’t be welcome right now.

  Besides, he had to get out of here, to put some distance between himself and Willow and Jack. He needed to get his mind right and sort through the dozen different emotions yanking him in different directions. He left the room and walked down the stairs and slowly through the silent house. He let himself out the front door, careful to lock it behind him. Twilight had passed and full dark had settled in Plainview. A pool of light from the street lamp, swarming with summer bugs drawn to the brightness, illuminated his car. As he walked to his car in the dark, he had to admit the lonely walk felt wrong.

  It felt like he was leaving family.

  *

  Three days later, as Willow finished up Jack’s morning nursing, Paul showed up on Willow’s porch with a brown paper bag and a pugnacious expression.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” She turned and went back into the kitchen, not bothering to see if he followed. “I was getting ready to give Jack a bath. Come on.”

  “Oh. If you’re busy, I can come back another time.”

  “No, it’s fine. As long as you don’t mind talking to me while I bathe him.”

  She turned on the kitchen sink faucet and tested the water temperature, making a few adjustments, and then putting the stopper in to let the sink fill.

  A few feet away, Jack lolled on the doubled-over fluffy blanket she’d placed on the floor.

  “You’re going to wash him in the kitchen sink?”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “It seems cold. Don’t you have one of those little baby tubs?”

  Her breath left in a rush. “Oh, so you’re the baby expert now? A couple of days ago, you didn’t even believe he was yours. Now you’re going to tell me how to take care of him?” Her voice rose with every syllable, but she didn’t care. How dare he butt in with advice?

  He must have realized he’d gone a bit too far. He lifted both hands in a peacemaking gesture. “Hey, fine. Whatever. You’re the boss. I just brought this kit by. I hoped we could do this now.”

  “Kit?” She frowned at the paper bag in his hand.

  “It’s a paternity test. I found it at the drugstore.”

  She crossed her arms, oddly disappointed in him. She’d known he wanted this test. Known he hadn’t believed her. In some tiny part of her brain where she was willing to push aside hurt feelings and be fair, she’d even admitted he had reason to doubt her honesty. So then why did it hurt so much to realize he fully intended to go through with it?

  “They sell those at drugstores now?”

  “Yeah. Kinda depressing, huh?”

  “Must be a lot of deadbeat dads out there.” She caught his gaze with a lift of her chin.

  “Or untrustworthy moms,” he shot back.

  She sighed. “Let’s get this over with, shall we? The sooner you get over the notion he’s not yours, the sooner we can get on with …” What? A relationship? He was furious with her, and she felt no more kindly toward him. “… parenting Jack,” she finished.

  He withdrew a box and tore it open, removing some small bags, plastic sticks that looked suspiciously like cocktail swizzles, a padded envelope and instructions.

  “I’m surprised you bought this in Plainview. It coul
d be all over town by nightfall you bought a paternity test.”

  “I drove over to Taylorsville. They don’t know me there. I didn’t see the need to start rumors. Not just for my sake, but for yours, and Jack’s too.”

  “I understand perfectly.” She crossed her arms. Oh, he was something else. “You doubt his paternity, but you don’t want anyone knowing you do, in case it turns out he’s really yours.”

  “I’m trying to keep him from getting hurt, Willow. I don’t want people talking about him. It’s you I don’t trust.”

  “So you’re fine if they gossip about me and slander my name. Gotcha.”

  “I’d prefer they don’t do that either, but I have to admit, I’m more concerned about him. He’s the innocent in all this.”

  She slammed one hand on the countertop. “Get the damn kit out and let’s get this over with, shall we?”

  “I’ll read the instructions. They’re longer than Moby Dick. Go ahead and give him his bath.”

  “Fine.” She squirted the baby body wash into the running water and then shut it off. She spread a towel on the kitchen counter and lifted Jack onto it, quickly unzipping his onesie and undressing him. She pulled off the barely wet diaper and dumped it in the nearby trash, all the while keeping an arm on Jack to make sure he didn’t roll.

  Testing the water one more time to make sure it wasn’t too hot, she eased his body into the water. He fussed for a moment but soon settled in, smiling and eyeing the water in wonder. One arm waved, creating a splash, and he smiled at his accomplishment. For a moment, she thought he might laugh, which would be a first, but no. The smile subsided into a thoughtful examination of his plump, wet toes.

  His sweetness blunted her anger.

  “Such a clever boy,” she cooed.

  Behind her, Paul stirred, but she ignored him. Her arm beneath Jack’s little head kept it from clunking against the sink. She fumbled for a washcloth and began to wash the plump folds of his soft skin. When she finished, she squirted a bit of the baby wash directly onto his scalp and swished it around with her fingertips, smiling when he frowned at the sensation.

  The telephone rang. “Oh, get that, will you? Kendra’s still in bed. She was up last night watching Jack while I covered the game.”

  Paul answered the phone. “It’s for you,” he said a second later, holding out the phone.

  “Who is it?”

  He relayed the question and then held out the phone again. “It’s your mother.”

  “Oh, I ought to talk to her. She left a message last night and I forgot to call her back. Can you keep an eye on Jack for a bit?”

  His eyes widened but, after a beat, he put the phone down and rolled up the cuffs of his button-up without argument.

  Moving in close to her, he slipped his arm behind Jack’s head. His hand slid along the back of hers under the water, warm and fluid, and she couldn’t help it. Her eyes flew to his and her skin heated. He met her gaze, letting his other hand slip under the water to brace Jack’s body. He handled Jack gently but never took his eyes off her.

  “My mother’s waiting,” she muttered uselessly and then stepped away, hands dripping.

  He moved in more closely to the sink to balance Jack. “What should I do?”

  She fetched a cup from the cabinet and handed it to him. “Use this to rinse the soap out of his hair. Don’t let it get in his eyes. It’s supposed to be tear-free, but I don’t trust it.” She lingered by his side as he scooped up some water and poured it carefully over the back of Jack’s head.

  Her son looked up at his father, wide-eyed.

  Her boy was so beautiful. Paul would come to love him. He would have to, wouldn’t he?

  “I’ve got him. Take your phone call.”

  He thought she didn’t trust him. As usual, he had pegged her wrong. Instead, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  She wiped her hands on her jeans and took the call.

  “Who was that?” She might have known those would be the first words out of her mom’s mouth. Ellen Bourne didn’t waste time with preliminaries. Or trifling niceties, like minding her own business.

  “Paul Dudley. He’s the president of the Thrashers.” She edged to the other side of the kitchen, close enough that she could keep an eye on Paul and Jack, but far enough to at least hope for a shred of privacy.

  “Uh-huh. What is the president of the Thrashers doing answering your phone at seven on a Wednesday morning?”

  “He just dropped by.” True enough, as far as it went, but she heard her mother’s brain spinning with unasked questions in the silence that followed. With any luck, they’d stay that way.

  “Well, I certainly hoping you’re being careful this time. Jack is a sweetheart, but he’s plenty for you to handle. Did you ever go on the pill like I told you?”

  Oh, Lord. If her mother could be counted on to do one thing, it was to dispense unwanted advice. Especially unwanted, embarrassing advice. She edged completely out of the kitchen and down the hall. No way did she want Paul overhearing this conversation.

  “No need, Mother. It’s not like that.” It almost had been like that, but no point explaining that to her mom. It would be a frosty day in hell before Paul Dudley would get anywhere near her panties again. “Now why did you call again?”

  “I was wondering how Jack was doing. Does he need any more of those onesies I got him?”

  This was the reason for repeated voice messages and a 7 a.m. call? Willow loved her mother, but she made her crazy sometimes.

  “Sure, but buy them the next size up this time. He’s growing fast.”

  “My darling grandboy. I’m missing so much. When do you think you’ll have the profile wrapped up so you can bring him home to me?”

  “Not sure. A couple more weeks, maybe?”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. He misses his grandma, I’m sure. He needs to come home to me.”

  Maybe he did miss his grandmother, but he also had another grandparent he knew nothing about. Willow would have to introduce the two before she left town, whether Walter Dudley welcomed it or not. The prospect of that encounter made her stomach burn.

  After a few more minutes of chatting with her mom, she ended the call and reentered the kitchen in time to see Paul hunched over the sink, humming some tune.

  Whatever it was, it was as flat as a pancake. Paul Dudley might have many talents, but music wasn’t one of them.

  As she drew closer, though, she realized he wasn’t just humming but was singing actual words. “The itsy-bitsy spider crawled up the water spout,” he sang, his voice a low rasp. His fingers walked up Jack’s bare belly, and just like that, a loud gurgling burst from Jack’s throat.

  “He laughed!” Willow moved in close, eyes wide, looking between Paul and Jack. “You got him to laugh.”

  Paul looked at her, his eyes blank with surprise. “I think he liked my song.”

  “He’s never laughed for me before.” She tried not to sound hurt and failed utterly. “I can’t believe you got him to laugh for the first time.”

  Paul shrugged. “I didn’t know he’d never laughed before. I remember my mom singing that song to me in the tub when I was a kid.” He did it again, and like clockwork, another giggle emerged from Jack’s mouth.

  “Here, let me try.” She sang the same tune, walking her fingers up Jack’s stomach, making faces and giving the song’s tune all the pitch Paul’s flat warble lacked. Nothing.

  Paul did it again, and Jack laughed.

  She scowled. “Dammit. You can’t even sing.”

  Paul lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Jealous much?”

  “I’m not jealous. Here, let me finish. His hair is still full of soap.” She moved in to take over, and Paul obligingly stepped back as she neared, but Jack let out a cry. She quickly began to coo a soothing rhythm, but Jack’s cries grew louder and more intense. His face reddened, screwing up into a tight mask of frustration.

  “I guess he wants you.” She moved away, letting Paul take over again
.

  “I’m sure he likes the novelty of having someone new look after him.” Paul was being nice, but it barely eased the sting of Jack’s rejection. She wouldn’t be the only parent in his life from now on, and that hurt, no matter how many times she had told herself a child needed a father.

  Her eyes stung. She’d never had to worry about being the most popular parent—she’d been the only parent. That was about to change once those DNA results came back.

  Speaking of which …

  “Don’t you have a DNA test you want to perform?” The words came out with a nasty edge, even though she hadn’t meant it that way.

  Paul straightened, his pleased expression vanishing. “Of course.” Reminding him of his doubts about his paternity certainly had a way of abruptly breaking up a father-son bonding moment.

  He drained the sink, and together, they dried Jack and smoothed lotion over his delicate skin. Willow moved in to diaper and dress him while Paul read the instructions on the DNA kit.

  When she finished dressing Jack, she caught Paul looking at her with an odd, arrested expression on his face.

  “You know, maybe we should forget about this.”

  “Forget about what?” Her heart rate doubled. Forget about parenting? Each other? Trying to get along?

  “Forget about the DNA test.” He brandished the box. “I don’t really think you’d lie about something like that. It’s too important.” He didn’t let his gaze slip away from hers. “You’re too good a mom to lie about something like that.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Her heart rate returned to something like normal. He was holding out an olive branch, giving her a chance to mend their rift. Giving her the gift of trust, which, after all, was the bedrock of any relationship. Maybe that was why she found herself unwilling, or unable, to take it. “But I think you’d better go ahead with it.”

  “What?”

  “If you don’t, you might wonder later. Your heart is telling you to trust me, probably because you’re here playing with Jack, and you see how sweet he is. But someday down the road, you might be mad at me again.”

  “Surely not.” His lips quirked, and she had to smile. At least he still had a sense of humor.