Hank waited out the punch to his gut, then said, "You sure?"
"What I'm not sure about is putting it off any longer." When he didn't say something fast enough to suit her, she said, "Let me guess. You're still not ready."
"Hell, Jenna, I'll never be ready. Not so's I'd know I was, anyway. But it's Blair I'm thinking about. Not me. I mean, we just barely started to get to know each other—"
"And continuing under false pretenses could really backfire on us."
At that, he twisted around, meeting her troubled gaze. "You're not exactly bein' consistent here, honey."
"I know, I know." She sighed. "I just wish the right answer would drop out of the sky and hit me on the head."
"Don't hold your breath."
A rueful smile pulled at her mouth. "Don't worry. I'm not."
He refocused his attention on the woods across the road. "So…when?"
"Tomorrow? If you're planning on working on the house, I could bring lunch, and we could tell her then?"
"Sure. Fine," he said. Then he felt the bench shift when she stood.
Hank got up, too, to walk her to the edge of the driveway. The humidity was up some; the air smelled like rain, maybe. And Jenna's scent, definitely.
"There's no easy way to do this, is there?" he said.
Looking toward the cottages, she shook her head. "The older I get, the more I think there's no easy way to do anything." She took a deep breath, then turned to him. "I'm sorry I can't…follow through on your suggestion. I mean, I'm really, really sorry. But I just…" Shaking her head, she glanced away again. "I just can't."
He watched her walk away—if she didn't like it, tough—recalling with a definite fondness the good old days when lust was enough.
* * *
The next day, Blair's bad feeling had not only not gone away, it was worse. Jenna had been acting weird the night before, distracted, as if she only half heard whatever Blair said to her. When Blair asked her what was wrong, she said the galleys were making her nuts, which Blair knew they sometimes did, but still. Usually, Jenna had like this button she turned off and on when it came to her work. But last night, Jenna was being so strange Blair was almost—almost—glad to go back to work for Hank.
Except then he started acting funny, too, getting on her case about all kinds of stupid stuff, like when she started complaining about her reading list and he took the school's side. God. Or when he asked her what she liked to do for fun, and she said hanging out at the mall with her friends, and he got this real ticked look on his face. And then he started in on how she needed to be careful about her diet if she wanted to be a vegetarian. Like he should talk, with his smoking and everything.
Other than that, though, it wasn't too bad. He didn't go ballistic if she spilled paint on the floor or complain if she didn't do it exactly right. She could've done without the dumb music, but she kinda got used to it after a while. And most of the time, he didn't talk to her like she was a kid, or—worse—try too hard to be her "pal," the way some of her teachers did. But then, what difference did it make? In a couple of weeks, they'd be gone and she'd probably never see him again.
Anyway, she'd just about gotten over the icky feelings when Jenna showed up with lunch, and it was like these prickly things sprang up all up and down her spine. Especially when she caught the strange looks Jenna and Hank gave each other when they thought she wasn't looking.
They were upstairs in the smaller bedroom, just finishing off the last wall, when Jenna arrived. "Where do you want to eat?" she asked. "Outside on the porch? It's not too hot."
"I'm not hungry," Blair said, smashing her roller into the pan, so mad she could actually taste it, like something bitter and dry in her mouth. It was so obvious they were into each other. Did they think she was blind?
"Half a sandwich," Jenna said. "And some juice. You can't keep working on an empty stomach, honey."
Eyes stinging, she slapped the roller onto the wall, grinding in the paint. "I'm not hungry, okay?"
"Then at least come out onto the porch with us while we eat," she heard Hank say quietly behind her. "Have something to drink before you get dehydrated."
She felt like there were too many thoughts stuffed inside her head. But she also realized if she didn't join them, they'd only start asking questions, and then she'd ask a question she didn't want to hear the answer to. Because, maybe, if she just kept her mouth shut, if she pretended she didn't know what was going on, this would all blow over by the time they went home. Because they would have to go home, back to their real lives where everything was normal and Jenna had her teaching job and they didn't need anybody but each other. So she took a deep breath, dumped the roller in the bucket of water so it wouldn't dry out, went downstairs and pretended everything was fine.
For a long time, she simply sat there, saying nothing but listening to Jenna and Hank talk about stuff, mostly about the town and some of the people in it and how Jenna should go to the local library and make the librarian's day. Then they got to talking about the Fraziers and Libby's father, and Blair remembered she'd totally forgotten to ask Jenna about the overnight Libby had invited her to.
"I don't see why not," Jenna said, wiping her mouth with a napkin, then tucking it neatly into her empty sandwich bag. "Whose birthday is it?"
"April something. Guntherman?"
"Gundersen," Hank said, then shook his head. "Tell her thanks, but no."
"Why?" Blair said, puzzled. "I already told her I was coming."
"Then tell her you changed your mind, or your aunt had plans you didn't know about. Besides, where do you get off accepting an invitation before you checked with your aunt?"
"Since she's never said 'no,' I didn't think it was any big deal."
"Probably because she knew who you were staying with. She doesn't this time. I…it's not a good idea, you spending the night over there. April's okay, I suppose, but those brothers of hers are bad news."
"They seemed okay to me."
Hank's eyebrows crashed over his nose. "When'd you meet the Gundersen boys?"
"At Ruby's the other day when Libby and I walked into town? The two youngest ones came in, and Libby introduced them to me." Her brow puckered, she glanced from one to the other. "Why? What's wrong with them?"
"They just bear watching, is all. Billy, the oldest one, has been linked to a couple burglaries over in Pryor, though nothin' stuck. And there was some vandalism up at the high school last year, couple of the kids said they heard the Gundersen boys making noises about breaking in, messing things up."
"But nothing's been proven?" Blair asked.
"No. But…" He paused. "They're not exactly what you'd call gentlemen, Blair. I don't like the idea of you bein' around them, that's all."
"That's so not fair! It's their sister giving the overnight, not them! And I've met her and most of the other girls who'll be there, and I don't think they're anything like that! Besides, if Libby's father lets her go, what's the problem?"
"Libby's known the Gundersens her whole life. I doubt any of the boys would dare mess with her." A half smile touched his lips. "She's knocked the stuffing out of more than one bully who tried to mess with her younger brothers. But you're not Libby."
Blair had her mouth open to protest when she felt Jenna's hand on her arm. "Maybe Hank has a point, honey—"
"Oh, so now you're taking his side?"
"This isn't about sides—"
"Then what is it about?" She glared at Hank. "All day long you've been bugging me about stuff that's none of your business, and now you're acting like you've got some right to tell me who I can or can't see! Well, you don't!" She jumped to her feet, her fists clenched, tears burning her eyes as she looked at Jenna, who was sitting there with that worried look that Blair hated so, so much. But she had to get it out, she had to, never mind what she'd said before, about trying to ignore it, because there was no way she could look the other way for the next two weeks.
"I don't care what's going on between t
he two of you—and please don't say there isn't, Jenna, I'm not blind and I'm not stupid and I can see the way you look at each other—but whatever. That doesn't give him the right to tell me what to do! He might be your boyfriend, but he's not my father!"
Blair watched all the blood drain from Jenna's face, saw her and Hank exchange another glance, then her aunt gave Hank a nod that for some reason made something jolt in Blair's stomach.
Hank slowly got to his feet and stuck his hands in his pockets, while Jenna just sat there, her eyes fixed on Blair, one hand knotted on her lap. Here it comes, Blair thought, her vision blurring as anger clogged her throat.
"I'm not your aunt's boyfriend," Hank said quietly. Blair whipped her head back around to Hank, her mouth open to argue when he added, "But I am your father."
She froze, her mouth still open. Inside her head, something started to pound.
"What did you say?"
He didn't look too good, but he said again, "I'm your father. That's why Jenna brought you here. So we could meet each other."
Blair stumbled backward, clutching her stomach, a memory from when she was four or five pushing past her jumbled thoughts, a memory of her asking her mother where her real father was, of her mother's tears when she told her. "You can't be," she said, shaking her head. "My father is dead!"
Chapter 10
Only once before in his life had Hank felt this helpless. Hearing Jenna's breathing hitch behind him, he figured she wasn't feeling much better.
"Oh, dear God, sweetie," she said. "Sandy told you that?"
"Yes," Blair hissed, scrubbing at her tears with the palm of her hand. "W-when I was real little. She…she said he didn't want me, that he left her to deal with me by herself. And that she later heard he'd died."
"She was wrong," Hank said softly, figuring anger about things that had been none of his doing was wasted energy at this point. "On all counts."
Blair's gaze limped back to him. Judging from the fury in her eyes, she had not come to the same conclusion. "My mother must have really hated you to tell me you were dead."
"Blair—!"
"Maybe she did," he said, briefly touching Jenna's arm, empathizing with his daughter more than she could possibly understand right now. "Though I swear to you I never gave her cause. She walked out on me, Blair, I'm guessin' before she even knew she was pregnant. But she never came back to tell me, either. As God is my witness, I never knew about you until a few days ago."
Her focus shifted to Jenna. "Why did you let me believe all these years my father was dead?"
"Blair, please believe me, I had no idea your mother told you that. She never said anything. And neither did you, sweetie. How would I have known?" The agony in her voice speared straight to Hank's heart. "And even if I had, I didn't know the truth, either. Sandy absolutely refused to tell anybody who your father was. So I didn't know about Hank. Not until…"
Jenna's eyes lifted to Hank, twin worry lines carved between her brows. But Blair intercepted the glance, severing it with a raw-voiced, "What?"
God almighty—why couldn't he think of a single thing to do, or say, to straighten this mess out? It was obvious from the distrust blazing in his daughter's eyes that, with every word he or Jenna said, they were only digging themselves in deeper.
Jenna's shoulders lifted with the force of her inhalation. "There was a diary in your mother's things. After she died. In one of the entries, right around the time you were born, she named Hank as your father. If it hadn't been for that, I still wouldn't know who your father was."
"She died in March," Blair said coldly. "Why didn't you tell me then?"
"It wasn't that easy, honey—"
"God, Jenna—I'm not a baby! Why didn't you just come right out and tell me, instead of making up some stupid story so you could drag me out here like this! Why did you lie to me?" She swiped at the tears coursing down her cheeks. "Why does everybody lie to me?"
"I didn't lie to you, Blair—"
"You didn't exactly tell me the truth, either, did you? I mean, are you even setting a book here, like you told me?"
After a moment, Jenna shook her head.
"God—I hate you! Both of you!" Blair screamed, then took off down the steps and away from the house as fast as her long legs would carry her.
* * *
"Blair!" Panic shrilled the word as Jenna called after her niece, her senses short-circuiting completely when she felt Hank's hands on her shoulders.
"Let her go, honey," his voice rumbled, stirring her hair inches from her ear. "Give her time to work some of this off."
"She shouldn't be alone, not now—"
"Yes, she should." Gentle pressure on her shoulders momentarily quelled what she realized was mounting hysteria. "And you're gonna let her because you know she needs to be alone, too."
On a strangled cry, she yanked away, spinning around to face him. "How can I let her be that unhappy? And how the hell can you be so damn calm about this?"
"Calm?" He barked out a humorless laugh. "Honey, if my stomach produced any more acid, I'd melt. I'd always kinda figured I'd have a few years grace period with my kids before one of 'em told me they hated me. I had, what? Five minutes?"
"My point exactly."
Hank propped one hand on one of the support posts, the other on his hip. "She's pissed, Jenna. And hurt and confused, just like I was when I found out. But she's a smart kid. She's not gonna go off half-cocked—"
"I should have told her," Jenna said, not hearing him, now prowling the porch like a crazed beast. "Or at least warned her, something, so this wouldn't have been such a shock. Why didn't I figure out that Sandy must have said something, that that's why Blair never asked about her father? Oh, God—!"
Having reached the edge of the porch, she dropped onto the top step like a marionette with its strings cut, burying her face in her hands, only now aware of the tremors spasmodically racking her body. "How could I have screwed up so sp-spectactularly?"
After an ominous, too-long silence behind her, Hank joined her on the steps. Draped an arm around her shoulders. Further eroded what little common sense she had left.
"You did not screw up, honey."
"How can you say that?" she mumbled into her palms. "You saw what happened, the way she looked at me…."
"Jenna? You're really ticking me off. So shut up."
Oh, goody. Just what she needed right now, Mr. Macho. Except she wasn't exactly minding the way he was gently massaging that knotted muscle between her shoulder blades.
She sat up. He moved his hand to the top of her arm and tugged. Still trembling, she leaned, right into that man-smelling, Mack-truck solidity. "Or what?"
"Or I'm gonna have to get mean."
Months' worth of anxiety pushed an odd, not-pretty sound that was more snort than laugh out of her mouth.
"What's so blamed funny?"
"You couldn't even swat the dog the other day when he peed on your shoe." Jenna tilted her head to see into dark eyes every bit as worried as hers must have been, and felt her heart stumble and weave perilously close to the In-Love pit. "I don't think I've got much to worry about."
She saw his eyes dip to her mouth, just for a second, and she decided she was very glad that neither of them could read minds. Then he abruptly let go of her shoulder, shifting them both so that there was now a good three, four inches of sticky, steamy air between them. "I don't suppose you do at that. You know Sam Frazier's number?"
She frowned. "It's programmed into my cell. Why?"
"Call him. Betcha dollars to doughnuts that's where Blair's headed."
With an "oh," she reached around and got her phone, made the call. A half minute later, she clipped her phone back to her belt and said, "Sam said he'd keep an eye out, call us when she shows up. If she shows up."
"She will."
"And you know this how?"
His broad shoulders lifted, dropped. "Instinct."
She looped her hands around her knees, gazing out over the matt
ed, tangled yard. "What they don't tell you is, the older you get, the less you realize you know. At the rate I'm going, I should be a total idiot by the time I'm seventy." Beside her, Hank grunted, she assumed in agreement. She glanced over. "So what do we do now?"
"Why are you asking me?"
"Because you're younger. Fewer worn-out brain cells."
He met her gaze, amusement taking the edge off all those uncompromisingly harsh features. "Play it by ear, I suppose."
"That's the best you can come up with?"
"'Fraid so." She jumped when he reached across her lap and captured her left hand, entwining their fingers. A feeling that was half-scary, half-safe lapped through her veins. "Still feel like a screw-up?"
Her mouth twisted. "What do you think?"
Hank shifted her hand in his, his thumb grazing her wedding rings. Then he looked at her. "Well, honey…at least you're not alone."
Jenna's heart stumbled again, this time teetering close enough to the edge of the pit to see right to the center of it.
And she knew, if she fell, there would be no crawling out.
* * *
"Hey, Sam," Hank said with a nod when he entered the Fraziers' clean but cluttered living room. "She know I'm here?"
As good as his word, Sam had called the minute Blair showed up. Jenna had been all for going right over, but Hank had—at great peril to his blood pressure—persuaded her not only to hang tough long enough for Blair to calm down, but that he should be the one to talk to her first.
You know, for a man who wasn't much for talking, he sure as hell seemed to be doing a powerful lot of it these days.
Taller and leaner than Hank, with strands of pale half-gray, half-blond hair drifting over a high forehead, Sam's shoulders lifted underneath a loose white T-shirt. "Depends if she heard your truck pull up or not."
Curiosity beamed from the man's light-brown eyes; Hank inwardly acknowledged it wasn't fair, keeping the truth from somebody inadvertently plopped in the middle of this mess. He reached out, squeezed Sam's shoulder. "I'll explain soon," he said, and the smile that used to be a permanent fixture on Sam's high-cheek-boned face made a sudden reappearance.
Fathers and Other Strangers Page 15