by Donna Fasano
He tied the boat to the mooring, lowered and secured the sail, and eased over the side into the dinghy. As he rowed toward shore, Derrick felt more alone than at any other time in his life.
He dragged the small rowboat until most of its hull was out of the water. When he turned, he saw Timmy sitting on the back porch.
The boy waved at him, and Derrick waved back as he made his way up the grassy incline toward the house.
"Is Chrissy inside?" he asked as he stepped up onto the deck.
"Yeah," Timmy said. "She's texting with her boyfriend."
"Oh."
The news didn't really bother Derrick. Chrissy was always good about keeping a close eye on Timmy, so he didn't mind if she chatted with her friends for a few minutes.
"Can I ask you somethin'?"
"Sure, pal," Derrick said, sitting down next to Timmy on the wooden chaise. "What is it?"
"Well," the boy began, "I been wonderin' about something." He looked up at Derrick. "All of my friends..." He paused, then started again. "Well, most of my friends are always talkin' about their dads. How their dads go places with 'em, and do stuff with 'em. And... well... I was wonderin' if maybe..."
Derrick had to smile at the difficulty Timmy seemed to be having with communicating what it was he wanted. Finally he thought it might be nice if he helped out just a little bit.
"You have someplace you want us to go?" Derrick asked. "Something you want us to do?" He patted Timmy on the leg. "Just say the word, pal, and it's done. Whatever you want. We can make it happen."
"Well, that'd be great and all... but that wasn't what I meant."
"Oh," Derrick said. And when Timmy didn't respond right away, Derrick went on, "Come on, Tim. You can talk to me about anything. What's on your mind?"
"I was wonderin' if maybe—" the child looked up at him with vulnerable, almost pleading eyes "—maybe I could call you Dad."
Derrick was absolutely stunned. He didn't know what to say. The request had come at him like a lightning bolt from a clear, sunny sky. Timmy wanted to call him Dad.
With his heart twisting painfully and lovingly in his chest, Derrick blinked several times to clear the moisture from his eyes. He was so glad that the sun was setting and the deck was shrouded in shadow.
Then sudden thoughts of his cousin James popped into his head. Timmy's real father had a right to be remembered, and Derrick didn't want to do anything that might diminish the child's memories of James.
"Tim, you know... you had a great dad." Then he realized that bringing James into the conversation might make Timmy feel guilty. "What I mean is... well..." He fumbled for words. Finally he leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at his godson. "Would it bother you?" he asked. "Calling me Dad?"
"Gee, no," Timmy said, shrugging nonchalantly. "It's not like I called my father Dad, or anything."
Derrick couldn't stop the frown that creased his brow. "You didn't?"
Timmy shook his head.
"Well—" his words came slowly because he was hesitant to ask this question "—Tim, what did you call him?"
The boy shrugged again. "Sir," he said. "I called him Sir."
A lump the size of a huge rock lodged itself in Derrick's throat. What kind of father-son relationship had Timmy shared with James? How could it have been close or loving with such a formal—
Derrick stopped the thought. He couldn't worry about that right now. At this moment he needed to direct all his energy and compassion to this little boy. Then suddenly, emotion overwhelmed him as he realized just what it was Tim was asking. Joy, pure and unadulterated, washed through him as he thought of this child calling him Dad.
"Well, Tim..." He coughed into his closed fist, swallowed stiffly, and then tried again. "Tim, I think it would be great."
"Really? Awesome!" Timmy slid down from the chair and hurried to the sliding glass door. "I can't wait to tell Eric." Then he turned back to Derrick and grinned. "I'm going to call him. Right now."
Derrick chuckled as he watched Timmy slide the door shut. He sat there in the dusky light and let the love he felt in his heart for the little boy warm him to the bone. He knew without a doubt that he couldn't possibly love Timmy more, not even if the wave of a magic wand or sprinkling of fairy dust could make the boy his very own, biological child.
Realizing that this wasn't the first time this afternoon that he'd thought those words, he leaned back against the chaise and stared out at the deep pinks and purples of the sunset reflected on the bay.
The love he felt for Timmy was, quite simply, immeasurable. It mattered not one wit that the child was his godson rather than his biological son.
If he could feel such strong emotions for Timmy, why couldn't he feel that same intense love for other children—other adopted children.
Anna had said that he'd make a wonderful father. And, damn it, she'd make a wonderful mother. The fact that she couldn't have children of her own shouldn't keep her from becoming a mother.
His heart flipped in his chest as the revelation struck—he could spend the rest of his life with Anna, and they could have children together.
If she wanted children. Hell, of course she did. Why else would she have guarded her secret so well? Why would revealing it have mortified her to the point that she'd felt the need to flee?
He wondered why adoption had never occurred to her.
Granted, adopted kids were somebody else's children, but the love he and Anna would feel for them would quickly make them theirs. Wouldn't it? Of course, it would. He felt so light, he thought he just might fly. The answer was so easy, he wondered why it had taken him hours to see it.
But then, he realized, he'd probably never have seen the answer if it hadn't been for his discussion with Timmy. Then another revelation hit him. If Tim called him Dad, that meant he could call Tim his son. God, how he loved that kid! How he loved his son!
Okay, he thought to himself, back to Anna. So he saw the answer to her problem. Their problem. Now the question was, how could he go about ripping off her blinders so that she could see it, too?
* * *
Anna hefted the strap of her canvas pack farther up on her shoulder. She was certain she'd remembered everything she needed for the day, because last night she'd lost herself—or she'd tried to lose herself—in making the detailed list of supplies.
The elaborate note had been a futile attempt to keep thoughts of Derrick at bay.
She swallowed hard. Just thinking his name caused the sadness and sense of loss to lump in her throat in a firm, fist-like knot. She shoved him from her thoughts. Doing so was the only way for her to survive.
Reaching out for the large, metal door latch, Anna froze. There, standing in the wide vestibule, was Derrick. She saw him through the thick glass. He was talking with the principal.
An emotional vise clamped around her heart, squeezing until she thought she heard herself moan. The sight of him was wonderful, but that wasn't what caused her reaction. It was the fact that their breakup hadn't affected Derrick in the least. If it had, how could he converse with Mr. Styes with such animation, such vivacity?
Why should he be bothered? a silent voice in her head intoned. It wasn't as if the two of you had been a real couple. Your relationship had barely had time to bud. The way you've been mooning and grieving, you'd think some careless gardener had hacked off some rare, fully-bloomed rose.
Whatever. Bud or beautiful flower. Anna couldn't help feeling like something important had died, or been snuffed out before it had a chance to blossom.
Yet there Derrick stood, smiling, waving his arms to make some breezy point or other. He stuffed one fist into his well-cut dress trousers and chuckled, his shoulders hitching as he laughed in response to something the other man said. The mere sight of the light-hearted exchange depressed Anna even further.
Just as she was about to back away from the door with thoughts of entering the building through a side entrance, Derrick happened to glance her way. How she wished the earth wo
uld just open up and swallow her whole!
The huge grin Derrick had directed at Mr. Styes waned, diminishing to a small smile that looked forced, literally plastered on his mouth. The principal turned to look at her also.
She felt like an interloper who was caught in the act of spying. There was no getting around speaking to Derrick now.
Feeling as though she were walking the slow, agonizing trail toward the guillotine, Anna pulled open the heavy door and went inside.
"Miss Maxwell." Mr. Styes nodded a morning greeting. Then he turned to Derrick. "It's been nice talking to you, Mr. Richmond," he said. "I'll be looking forward to seeing you next week."
Derrick reached out and shook the man's hand. "Looking forward to it."
Then the strangest thing happened; Anna thought she saw Mr. Styes wink at Derrick.
"Good luck today," Mr. Styes murmured. Then he turned on his heel and walked away.
Anna frowned. Her completely natural curiosity forced her to ask, "What was that all about?"
"Oh... well..." Derrick hedged, "um... Mr. Styes invited me to join the monthly meeting of the room mothers—" then he quickly corrected "—room parents."
"Ah. That's nice." But did it deserve a wink?
She got the distinct feeling that she was missing something here, that Derrick wasn't telling her everything.
"But... what are you doing here at seven forty-five in the morning?" she asked. "Is there a problem with Timmy?"
The mention of his godson brought a grimace to his face.
"No," he admitted, "Timmy's fine. Although I am feeling a little guilty. You see, I wanted to get here early so I could talk to you, and that left Tim to get on the bus by himself. I know he's fully capable, and there are other mothers on the street who wait at the bus stop. I asked them to keep an eye on him—" he shrugged "—but I'm still feeling a little guilty."
Ah, guilt. What a damnable emotion. It occurred whenever a person believed that they'd compromised some moral standard. However, parental guilt was an ugly monster that attacked with a vengeance whenever a mom or dad felt they'd violated their duties and responsibilities to their children. Vicious stuff. And she'd seen it expressed from almost every parent of the students she taught.
Over the course of the past few weeks, she'd watched Derrick go from an insecure guardian to a full-fledged parent, complete with a tiny guilt troll sitting on his shoulder.
"Anna, can we talk?"
She blinked once, twice. "There's really nothing left to say between us, Derrick." Her words were tight and full to bursting with suppressed emotion.
"Sure there is," Derrick told her gently. "Talk to me, Anna. Please."
"Derrick, the busses will be arriving in ten minutes," she said, her agitation growing by the moment. She didn't want to be alone with him.
He reached out and touched her sleeve. "Then give me eight minutes." He paused, then said, "I'm worth eight minutes of your time, right?" When she didn't smile at his quip, he said, "Anna, I really want to understand. Help me to understand."
Instantly, she knew what he was asking. He wanted details on her condition. He wanted a diagnosis. A name. He wanted to know the scientific facts behind her inability to bear children. It was only natural, she decided, that someone as analytical as Derrick would want to know why and how she was barren.
"Okay," she said, too tired to argue. Then she indicated the tiny alcove off the vestibule. "Let's sit down."
He waited for her to set her canvas bag down on the tiled floor and sit, before easing down next to her on the bench.
She looked off into the far corner of the alcove, feeling almost comfortable with the task that lay before her, yet unable to look him in the eye as she performed it.
"My condition," she began softly, "is called endometriosis. My doctor uses terms such as 'displaced uterine tissue,' 'cysts,' 'pelvic adhesions,' 'chemical irritation' and 'lesions' to describe it. But the bottom line is that the lesions—" she did look at him now, feeling he needed to really understand what she was saying "—are... alteration of tissue. It's like... scarring. And it makes it absolutely impossible for me to conceive a child. Ever." Her chin dipped a tiny fraction, although she held his gaze steady. "The doctor wasn't able to explain why fate chose me. I'm just one of the unlucky women who have this condition. It's in my genes, maybe? In my DNA? Or just the Fickle Finger of Fate? I don't know, but there's nothing that can change it. Nothing."
Derrick sat quiet for a moment. Then he slid forward until he was sitting on the edge of the bench.
"Okay," he said. "I think I understand now."
"Listen, you don't have to say anything more," she told him. "In fact, I'd rather you didn't. I've been in this situation before. I've had men rage at me, and I've had them pity me. I don't want you to do either. I want us to just—"
"Wait." His sharp tone cut her sentence like a knife. "You've explained this to men in the past? Men you've dated? And they've been angry?"
Anna pressed her lips together, and after a moment, she nodded.
"What complete and total idiots," he said. "No wonder you didn't want to tell me."
She watched his throat convulse as he swallowed, and even though she was feeling engulfed by a gray cloud, she couldn't help thinking how the small movement of his neck muscles was deliciously sexy.
Stop it! she silently commanded. Stop torturing yourself!
"Anna, what if I were to tell you," he said, his voice whisper soft, "that you could have kids. That we could have kids."
Her jaw clenched and rushed to continue.
"Not right away. I mean, we've hardly had a chance to get to know each other. But what I'm trying to say is… that your… endo… endoment…"
"Endometriosis," she supplied tightly.
He nodded. "It shouldn't keep us from being together, Anna. We shouldn't pass up a good thing just because—"
"Oh, Derrick." Her mouth pulled into a frown. "Please don't do this. I just told you, it's impossible."
The front door of the school opened, and the first children began to arrive. She could discern the faint smell of bus exhaust as the boys and girls rushed past her.
"I have to go," she said, recklessly grasping any excuse that might keep her from hearing anything more that Derrick might have to say.
"Please, Anna. Give me one more minute."
There was something deep, something frantic, in his voice that made her focus her attention back on him.
"I have a kid, Anna," he said. "A kid I love with all my heart. Timmy's not of my body, but I love him with every cell of my being."
Anna felt her hands begin to tremble.
"It's like he's mine. I feel as if he's always been mine."
She moistened her dry lips, but remained staunchly silent.
"I don't care that I wasn't at the hospital to watch him come into the world," Derrick said. "It doesn't matter that I didn't get to hold him during his first hours of life. I still care. And I love him so much, hell, Anna, I'd move heaven and earth for the kid."
Seconds ticked by, until she finally murmured, "I'm glad, Derrick. I'm glad it's working out for you. And Timmy."
He heaved a sigh as if he were exasperated with her. "Adoption," he said.
The single word hung between them. She could think of no way to respond. So she simply didn't.
"It's the answer, Anna," he said. "Adoption is the answer to our problem."
Everything suddenly clicked into place, and all the tension in her muscles seemed to seep right out of her body as if it flowed through the soles of her feet. Anna wanted desperately to smile. She wanted to slide into his lap. To hug him and kiss every inch of his handsome face. The fact that he'd worried over her problem—and it was her problem, her problem alone—told her a lot about how he felt about her.
But she couldn't do that to him. She couldn't allow him to settle for a less-than-perfect life. He deserved more. He deserved to have it all. He deserved babies that had his dark eyes, his sandy hair,
his strong jaw.
She, too, slid to the edge of the bench. Placing her palms ever so gently over his hands, she gazed intently at him. "Listen to me, Derrick. I appreciate all that you've said. But I can't let you... I can't let this happen. I have to look ahead. In the here and now, not being able to have biological children might seem unimportant. But the future would be different. The future would be full of bitterness and regret." She shook her head. "I don't want that for you. Or for me."
His face lifted and tilted a little to one side. "I want to ask you a—"
"Hey, Dad," Timmy called out to Derrick as he entered the school, his best friend Eric close on his heels.
"Hi, pal." Derrick smiled and waved. "You have a good day, okay?"
Timmy nodded as he passed them and scurried down the hall toward the classrooms.
"Derrick," Anna said, "he called you Dad."
"Yeah, he did."
She nearly smiled at his wide grin.
Ah, pride. The opposing force to guilt. As powerful as it was craved, that parental puff was the good warrior that slew the troll, over and over again, and kept the all-important balance for every mother and father. That there-goes-my-kid expression made every parent beam with love.
"He asked me if he could," Derrick went on. Then he shrugged. "I told him I'd love it if he called me Dad."
"That's wonderful," Anna said. "Things will be great between the two of you now."
She started to draw back away from him, but he captured her hands in his.
"Can things be great for us now, too?" he asked. "Anna—" he squeezed her hand slightly "—will you marry me?"
"Derrick!" His name came out in a breathless gasp. "Don't," she said in a painful, croaking whisper. "You hardly know me. I have to go."
He pressed her palm to his chest directly over his heart. "I know you. I feel like I've always known you. You're the woman for me." His voice lowered. "You feel the same about me. You know you do. I know you know. And I know you know that I know that you know." He chuckled. "Sometimes the truth just punches you right in the gut."