by Marlie May
Welcome color rose into Cara’s cheeks. When I found her on the bench outside my restaurant, she’d been beyond pale. “We did the paternity test a month before we got married.”
“Why a paternity test if you were with Jason?” Mom held up her hand. “I’m sorry. That part is none of my business.”
“It’s okay,” Cara said. “I’d…been with someone else. Just once, though. I waited until it was the safest time to do the test while pregnant because I needed to be sure.”
I held in my groan. The realization that I had messed things up for them sank through me, a cement weight on my chest. Why had I given into my need to be with her that night?
Cara cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “The results proved Jason was Arie’s father.”
What if the test had shown otherwise? For one moment, my heart led me down a different path, one where I was Arie’s father. Any man would be proud to claim her as a daughter. And to claim Cara as…
Stop. I was doing it again. Wishing for something I could never have. Something I’d told myself I’d never try to take again.
Mom dropped the letter. “Under Maine law, grandparents can sue for reasonable visitation with a grandchild if they’re denied access.”
Cara huffed, and I was glad to see her spine stiffen because it implied she was letting anger take over her grief. Seeing her beaten had shoved my heart against my ribcage. “I’ve never denied them access to Arie. In fact, they’re coming this summer to take her for two weeks on a vacation to Cape Cod. And I offered to fly her out after Christmas and let her stay until New Year’s.”
Mom steepled her fingers underneath her chin. “Grandparents can’t gain custody of a grandchild without terminating the parent’s custodial rights first. Which normally means they’d have to prove both parents are unfit.”
“Jason’s dead. Of cancer. Eight months ago.”
“I’m sorry. I heard that from your dad.” Mom swallowed and flashed another speculative look my way. It was clear what she was thinking, but she couldn’t be more wrong. There would never be anything serious between me and Cara. Even if I got down on my knees, it wasn’t what Cara wanted. She’d offered me friendship again, and I’d gratefully take that.
“I’ve known you most of your life, Cara,” Mom said. “I can’t imagine anyone finding grounds to prove you’re an unfit parent. But I have to ask.” Her throat moved with her swallow. “Any substance abuse issues?”
“Never.” Cara’s fingers blanched where she pinched them together on her lap.
“OUIs?” Mom asked. “It’s okay if you have. Please be honest so I can advise you fully.”
“I don’t drink much, let alone drive while drunk. So, no.”
“Affairs?” No glance my way this time, thankfully.
Mom couldn’t know I’d buried my grief from Cara’s loss and never revisited it. Until she walked into the Brew House and it all came rushing back in a heavy wave. My feelings for her along with it.
“I never cheated on my marriage to Jason,” Cara whispered.
I knew what Cara was thinking. Or assumed what she was thinking. Internally, I cringed. Despite what she might believe, she hadn’t cheated on Jason when she slept with me. We’d both been single at the time, even if her heart had still belonged to another.
I’d jumped into the void and taken advantage of her when she was feeling down about their break-up. Jason told me that. Berated me for pushing for something she hadn’t been prepared to give.
“I was faithful throughout my marriage,” Cara blurted out. “Even after his death, I’ve remained true to his memory.”
Mom tapped her pen on the paper. “That’s irrelevant, but I’ll note your comment in my record.”
Cara had removed her coat but still wore my scarf. She clung to the fringe, gliding her fingers through the strands. I’d like to think it gave her comfort, but she’d probably only kept it on because she was chilled through to the bone.
“I buried my husband, grieved, and then moved back to Maine,” she said firmly. “I haven’t dated anyone. And I don’t plan to.”
Still faithful to Jason, then. The thought severed something vital inside me, making it difficult to breathe. Jason was dead, but he would always hold her heart. Accepting this fact would make things a lot easier for me. Why had I hoped…Had I really started hoping there could be more than friendship between us?
Mom wrote a few notes, then looked up. “I’ll get in touch with your in-laws’ lawyer and see where we go from here. Do you have any questions for me?”
“Not right now. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.” Cara opened her purse. “How much do I owe you?”
Mom waved her hand. “Nothing.”
“I can’t let you handle this for free.”
A chuckle shifted the pearls clasped around Mom’s neck. “Why not? You’ve slept, played, eaten, and even bled at my house—at least that one time, when you fell off the swing and scraped your arm. I can’t accept payment from someone who’s like one of my own children, now can I?”
If I knew my mother, Cara would never owe a cent. Like I’d assumed, she’d do this pro bono because she cared for Cara. Almost as much as I did.
Larson knocked on the door and tucked his head inside. “Your two-o-clock is here, Camila.”
“I can’t thank you enough.” The relief in Cara’s eyes shone through in her voice, but the smile she gave me was pure gold. “While nothing’s settled, I feel so much better already.”
“When I have more details, we’ll talk,” Mom said. “I’ll call you when it’s time to get together again to set up a strategy. A winning strategy.”
We all stood.
“Do you think I have a chance of maintaining custody of my daughter?” Cara asked.
“I can’t imagine any court taking a child away from a decent mother.” Mom shook her head, making her dark waves bob. She had my grannie Sofia’s hair and skin color, the latter a rich brown. My lighter skin color came from Dad. “This is just my opinion, but they don’t have a good case.”
“Thank you.” Tears sprang up in Cara’s eyes when she turned them my way. “And thank you, too.” Reaching out, she took my hand. Her squeeze reached inside my chest and cupped my heart like it was something she ached to hold close. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“Any time.” Truly. All I’d ever wanted was to see her happy. Always would.
“I do have a little advice to offer until we go to court.” Mom walked with us toward the door. “Play it quiet. Take care of your daughter and focus on opening your new business. If they can’t find anything sordid to present in court, the judge will never consider denying you your full rights to retain custody of Arie.”
“I will,” Cara said. She hugged my mother. “Thank you again.”
“So glad I could help, sweetie,” Mom said.
Cara and I walked out the door and started down the hall but paused when Mom spoke. “One last thing.”
“Yes?” Cara asked.
“This sounds silly, but try to avoid getting involved in any scandal.”
Cara
I was going to freeze to death, I just knew it.
On Friday afternoon, I stood on the sidewalk in front of my building, waiting for Arie to arrive home from school. I stomped my feet and rubbed my coat sleeves to keep warm, and my breath created puffs of steam the breeze swept away in seconds. Only my neck was warm—courtesy of Roan’s scarf. I’d sort of forgotten to give it to him when he dropped me off after speaking with Camila.
I lifted it closer and took a big whiff. So, maybe I hadn’t forgotten. I’d clung to it like a lifeline to…To nothing. We were just friends.
Damn, but I was hopeless.
Working on my building had kept me busy, but nothing could keep my mind off Roan. What was I supposed to think about him, let alone do with him? Not that he’d extended an opportunity for the latter. In fact, I hadn’t seen him in days.
All thos
e years ago, he’d dealt me a mortal blow. Fatal enough, I’d barely recovered. One night had cost me not only my heart but also my best friend. Both equally valuable to me.
With my in-laws suing for custody of Arie, I needed friends more than ever.
My sigh chugged out, clouding the air in front of me again, but the patterns I created gave me no answers before swirling away.
Decisions about Roan could wait. It wasn’t as if I’d see him in the foreseeable future.
While lifting 1950s linoleum off the downstairs bathroom floor, I’d rehashed the lawyer’s letter. And dragged through my memories from the past six years. Did they really expect me to give up and hand over my daughter like she was theirs already? Maybe. I’d never given them any indication that I possessed a spine. It had always been easier to give in to whatever they demanded.
No one enjoyed standing up to strong-willed people, and Bethany and Jason were more solid than the faces on Mt. Rushmore.
It wasn’t until Jason died that I realized I’d spent too long suppressing my own needs. Moving home was my first step toward rediscovering myself.
While I’d wanted to call my in-laws every other second while lifting that floor, I’d resisted. Screaming at them wouldn’t help the situation. And Roan’s mother would probably consider a phone call like that the same as creating a scandal.
I’d do anything to keep my child, and part of that meant keeping my mouth shut.
The bus stalled at the curb with a squeal of brakes. Arie hopped down the steps and skipped toward me, her backpack in hand.
“How’d it go?” After giving Arie a quick hug, I took the pack and hoisted it onto my shoulder.
She beamed. “My teacher has a bajillion markers for coloring. And we get to play games on an iPad whenever we want—”
“Whenever you want?”
“Nah.” As we walked along the path, she dragged her boots and her shoulders drooped. “I wanted to play Dinodoo, but my teacher said we can only play ed…edacaton games.”
“Educational.” I followed her up the stairs.
“Yeah, that.”
“So, boring games, then.”
“Not too bad. There’s a cool one with gears. And one with math.”
Her favorite subject.
“Learning can be fun, you know,” I said with a laugh.
She groaned, and, on her face, I saw hints of the independent teenager she’d someday be. “Spose so.” Never one to be down for long, however, her grin rose. “But my teacher read to us, and we sang a bajillion songs.”
“Like what?”
As I opened the door, she launched into a rhyming song about frogs.
I clapped my hands when she finished, and she took a bow.
“I love that one,” I said.
Flinging off her coat, she barreled forward and hugged my thighs. “I like it here in Maine, Mom. Our house is smaller, but I’ve got lots of new friends already.”
“Like who?” Stooping down, I wrapped my arms around her. If only I could hold on tight and never let her go. Reminded of how uncertain our future could be, anguish tore through me, a raging wildfire I couldn’t contain. How could Bethany and John want to take my child away from me?
Too soon, Arie tugged out of my embrace. “There’s Jenny and Alex and Nate and Trina. But my new best friend is Jamal. He’s older than me, though, ’cuz he already turned five.” Said as if a few months equaled a lifetime of sophistication. To Arie, it probably did.
“You’ll turn five soon, too.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and wiped my tears aside, setting the looming court battle from my mind to focus on now. Arie was here with me, and I had to trust in Camila to keep that permanent. She’d stop Bethany and John from stealing my daughter away.
Finding normal became my next struggle because I needed to pretend as if nothing horrible was happening. If I had my say, Arie would never learn about the custody battle. “So, you sang and colored and listened to a book. And played a game on an iPad. What else did you do today?”
“Added up numbers. I like numbers.” Her boots flopped on the mat, and she raced for the sofa and TV.
“Don’t get too settled,” I said as she switched the channel from the news to cartoons. “We’re going to Gramps’ house for dinner tonight.”
Her eyes lit up. “Yay. I miss Gramps.”
And my dad missed Arie. Whenever we shared dinner, Arie begged to stay overnight. While I was desperate to cling to a child I might lose, I wanted my daughter to grow up loving Dad as much as I did. To help them get to know each other better, Arie would stay at Dad’s place through the coming weekend.
Right after speaking with Camila, I’d called and told Dad about the lawsuit. He’d been equally furious. I loved that he’d offered to stand up as a character witness for me, even though I assumed they’d never use family. I’d hug him until he begged to be let go, the minute I saw him.
After organizing things in the kitchen, I poked my head through the doorway into the living room. “Get your boots and coat back on. We’re leaving.” I strode over and turned off the television while Arie dressed in her winter clothes.
“Take this.” I handed her a bag with homemade bread and cookies. With a crockpot filled with beef stew propped on my hip, I nodded for her step outside ahead of me. I locked the door behind us, and we loaded everything into my car and drove out of town.
Dad swung the door wide before Arie could knock, and shouted, “Dearling.”
His lifelong nickname for me. It bugged me when I was fifteen, but my heart warmed to it now.
“How’re things?” I bustled into the foyer behind him, set down the crockpot, and delivered that hug, which Dad returned tenfold.
We stepped apart.
“Can’t get much better,” he said, rubbing his graying beard.
This was our second time here this week. I loved to cook, and we all had to eat. No reason not to enjoy the meal together.
While I lifted the crockpot, Arie surged forward to wrangle Dad’s legs. “I missed you, Gramps.”
Dad stumbled but righted himself with a palm on the wall. His laughter boomed. “Well, you just saw me the other night.” He rubbed Arie’s back and grinned at me.
As I dropped Arie’s bag of clothing on the stairs, my smile slipped. When I left later, I’d drive home alone. Tomorrow, Arie and Dad had plans to go out on Dad’s boat. Not for true lobstering, since Dad only pulled traps during the week. They’d bundle up and take a chilly tour of the coast. Arie said she needed to catch some fish, and Dad was more than willing to indulge whatever his granddaughter asked for. Maybe Dad would have someone to follow him into lobstering, after all.
I pictured them baiting hooks, tossing the lines overboard, and then hauling in their catch. Arie insisted we’d cook whatever they brought home for dinner, but Dad didn’t like seafood. A fisherman who didn’t like fish. There had to be a joke in there somewhere.
Crockpot in hand, I followed them down the hall to the kitchen. Arie skipped; Dad limped. He’d wrenched his knee years ago.
“You ready to become a seaman tomorrow, kiddo?” Dad asked Arie.
“Yes, sir.” She saluted like a true sailor.
Without Arie, my weekend loomed ahead starkly. If I planned things right, I could blur the time apart with physical labor. I needed to paint the kitchen trim and rip up the old floor there before I could lay new tile. The downstairs bathrooms were studded, insulated, and had been covered with sheetrock, but they needed paint, trim, and new flooring, too. Since the front room was huge, I’d save it for late February. I’d tackle the exterior early April, after it warmed up, just in time for my grand opening.
Lowering the crockpot onto the kitchen table, I took in the lace tablecloth, a vase with flowers sitting in the center. “Looks pretty, Dad.” Mom’s things. I smiled, remembering her using them for fancy occasions.
“Take a seat.” Dad’s arm swept wide, and his warm glance delivered all the hugs I’d longed for while living out west. �
��Smells good, Cara. What’s on the menu tonight?”
“Beef stew. Crusty rosemary bread. Molasses cookies.”
He eyed the bag Arie had dropped on the counter. “You remembered my favorite. You’re a doll.”
“I’d never forget.” Dad always said no meal was complete unless you topped it off with a sweet. I’d leave the rest so he’d have dessert for days.
My two favorite people grunted while snatching slices of bread from the basket, their hands meeting, sharing laughter.
“This weekend, I’m going to paint and unpack,” I announced while removing the lid from the crockpot. I swore, when I turned out the lights, the boxes got together and made baby boxes. Then loaded them with more stuff for me to sort through. I placed Arie’s bowl of stew in front of her, then ladled more for Dad. “Speaking of odd jobs, I noticed you fixed that broken board on your front porch.” I’d nearly fallen through yesterday.
Dad looked up, a hunk of bread on the way to his mouth. “Roan did it this morning.”
I paused while filling my own bowl. “Why Roan?”
“Why not Roan?”
“But…but…” Why was I flustered? Dad and Roan had been close when I was growing up, just like I’d been close to Roan’s mom. I guessed it was…disconcerting to think that they’d maintained their friendship while we’d severed ours. “I moved away.”
Dad slathered butter on his bread until it resembled snowy trails at a ski area. “You two were friends for years. You moved away, but no reason we couldn’t stay in touch. Besides, he does a good job.”
Surely, I wasn’t jealous because he’d been here to help Dad when I hadn’t? Maybe that was the reason for my unsettled feeling. “I didn’t think you had contact with him anymore.” If Dad had mentioned it during one of our phone calls, I hadn’t heard. But I could’ve blocked it out, unwilling to hear anything about Roan.
“He’s come out to visit quite a bit since he graduated from college.”
“That’s nice of him.” I stared down at the ladle dripping beef stew, before topping off my bowl.
“By the way, what else is on your agenda this weekend outside of painting and unpacking?” Dad cleared his throat and glanced at Arie as if making sure she was busy with her food. Arie seemed oblivious to our conversation. “Got a date?”