Nowhere, Carolina

by Tamara Leigh

  “You’re right.” He smiles at her. “So I’d better get a move on, hmm?”

  She nods. “God Himself says it’s not good for man to be alone.”

  I lower my chopsticks to my plate. “I’m full.”

  “I’m not.” Devyn pops the piece in her mouth.

  Reece meets my gaze, shakes his head, and inserts salmon.

  I check my watch: 8:45. Though we didn’t sit down to eat until 8:00, we should be finished. And would be if not for all this lingering over raw fish. Is this how sushi’s done? A precaution against food poisoning—see how it settles before getting in over one’s head, er, stomach? Or is conversation the culprit? Although I’m all for mixing meals with talk, this is extreme. Especially under the circumstances.

  I stand. “How about I make some tea while you finish up here?”

  “None for me, thanks,” Reece says. “Perhaps later.”

  “Me neither.” Devyn returns her attention to Reece. “Want to hear some other interesting statistics?”

  I sit back down. Fortunately, the next round of statistics focuses on admission to Ivy League schools. Unfortunately, our evening continues with a game of Scrabble that does little to showcase my improved vocabulary and much to make me ache over the banter between Devyn and Reece that often ends in laughter—Devyn’s sweet and high, Reece’s rumbly and low. And then Les Misérables is in the DVD player despite my reminder of church tomorrow.

  Halfway through Liam Neeson’s amazing performance, my stomach orders up two antacids. “Tea anybody?” I try again.

  “Sounds good,” Reece says.

  Devyn shakes her head and refocuses on the movie.

  Five minutes later, as I stand in the kitchen chewing the chalk and scrolling through the memories made this night, the phone rings, and I don’t know why I pick it up without checking caller ID. As I press the receiver to my ear, I realize where I might have just landed and hold my breath.

  “Maggie?”

  Yep, hot water.

  “You there?” Concern quickens Seth’s words.

  The temptation to press the Off button is overwhelming, but more overwhelming is the possibility that it would bring Seth to my door. “What’s up?”

  He sighs. “You had me worried there a minute.”

  “Sorry. Um, everything all right?”

  “Is he still there?”

  “Yes, Reece is here. Why don’t we talk tomorrow?”

  “I’d like to get this over with. Can we talk in private—away from him?”

  I look around. “Actually, I’m alone in the kitchen.”

  “Well, then, all right.” He draws a noisy breath. “I’ve decided to take the job in Japan.”

  There’s relief in that, not only because he won’t be able to pressure me into spending time with him, but because it’s what he needs—a new beginning away from Pickwick and me. “Congratulations. You must be excited.”

  “I am, but that brings me to you.”

  Oh dear.

  “And Devyn, of course.”

  “Of course.” I wish there were some way to apply brakes to where this car is heading, but it’s best to let it reach its destination so I can get out in one piece.

  “What I want to say would be better in person, but since he’s there, I’m reduced to doing it over the phone.” Seth clears his throat. “The reason I came to see you at the auction house was to ask you to come with me. And Devyn, of course.”

  “Of course.” If my daughter hasn’t always been just that to him—an “of course”—I might have accepted him years ago, but nothing doing.

  “I was pretty sure what your answer would be, but the news that your auction house is going under gave me hope.”

  Should I be offended? No, though he sees what he perceives to be the end of my business as an advantage to be used in his favor, I know he doesn’t wish me ill. Still, a little concern and regret would be nice.

  “So I’m going out on a limb here and praying it doesn’t snap back and whack me in the face. I’m asking you to marry me, Maggie.”

  And I have to turn him down. Again. While it seems wrong to do it over the phone, if I postpone it until we get together, it will only lead him on. Thus, after a long pause meant to convey thoughtful consideration, I say, “I’m honored, Seth, but you deserve someone who loves you as much as you love her. And as fond as I am of you, I am not that woman.”

  He blows out a breath, and I’m panged that he was holding it. “You’re sure? ’Cause I’m not going to ask again.”

  That’s what I’m aiming for. “I’m sure.”

  He blows some more. “Then I’m off to Japan alone.”

  “Maybe you’ll meet someone over there.”

  “Someone who’ll appreciate me, hmm?”

  “That’s what I wish for you.”

  “Thanks. Well, I’ll let you go.”

  “Good-bye, Seth.” I return the receiver to its base and my mind to the memories made tonight—the sound of a father delighting in his daughter and a daughter delighting in her father. That is, if…

  Yes, if.

  I don’t know how long that word echoes through me, and my distorted reflection stares at me from the stainless-steel kettle I set on the back burner, but I don’t move until I hear a groan. Compressing my lips to keep the sound from escaping again, I grip the kitchen counter with both hands and lower my forehead to its cool surface.

  Lord, I have to know. And so does Reece. No matter what he thinks of me, I can’t let this continue. Can’t let him eke out a relationship with Devyn if she isn’t his. If I do and it proves a waste of his time, the more hurt Devyn will be when he pulls back. And surely he will if he isn’t her father. It’s all good and noble to take responsibility for your own child, but another’s? Sure, Seth would, but only because he wants me, and Devyn and I are “not labeled for individual retail sale.”

  Oh, God. Forgive me for trying to take the easy way out. I should never have turned this into deception.

  “Are you sick?”

  I flip around to find Reece in the doorway. Though moisture blurs my vision, I can see his brow is furrowed.

  “No, I…Devyn?”

  “Asleep on the sofa.” He steps farther into the kitchen. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  His concern causes a fresh well of tears. I drop my chin. “Yes, I just…” I breathe deeply, and the silence between us stretches like so many years—thirteen going on fourteen. That’s a long time. Despite my moist eyes, I look up at where he stands tensely on the other side of the kitchen, as if struggling against an unseen hand.

  “We were doing just fine without you. Not perfect, some bumps and detours and sharp turns along the way, but fine. Why…” I shake my head. “Why does she matter to you? Why do you care? Is this like a new puppy, loved for its novelty but soon reduced to an inconvenience that needs to be cleaned up after?” I lower my chin again. “I don’t understand.”

  I hear his footsteps, and then he’s in front of me, his hand gently lifting my chin. “I’m sorry.” His green eyes search mine. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed this on you, but thirteen years…There’s so much catching up to do and not just with Devyn, but you.”

  “Me?”

  He looks toward the French doors that lead onto the back patio. “Let’s take this outside.” He releases my chin, and as I start to follow him, I remember my reason for being in the kitchen. “Let me get your—” The glow beneath the kettle is nonexistent, the knob in the Off position. “I forgot to turn on the stove.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He motions me forward, and shortly I switch on the patio light and step past him into the chilly night. He joins me at the small café table that overlooks our pretty little backyard, and I startle when he takes the chair beside mine.

  He clasps his hands on the table. “I’ve been thinking. The day I ran into you at my hotel, I asked why you were so set on keeping Devyn away from me.”

  I close my eyes for a moment. “Yes.”
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  “You said I wouldn’t understand, that you doubted I’d made the mistakes you had made or hurt people the way you had.”

  “Yes.” It’s all I can say.

  “You were wrong, Maggie. That day at school when Yule fell on the steps—”

  I cringe.

  “—there was something I wanted to share with you.”

  My behavior made certain he never did.

  He angles nearer, and the patio light fingers his dark hair. “I want to tell you now so you’ll understand why I’m here and why I was so angry when I learned Devyn is mine.”

  I should stop him right now and tell him—

  “When I drove you home from Skippy’s, you asked about my brother.”

  A memory of the boy who was three years younger than Reece rises—a fair-headed, sharp-faced youth who was not happy at being uprooted and moved to Pickwick. “Yes.”

  “I didn’t answer you because other than secondhand accounts, I don’t know how he is.” Reece’s jaw shifts. “I haven’t spoken with him in years.”

  The strain in his voice tempts me to reach to him, but I clasp my hands in my lap. “You had a falling out?”

  “We did. I don’t know if you remember, but my brother resented leaving his friends when we moved here, and Jacob and my father started butting heads.”

  “Teenage rebellion.”

  “Yes, but the night before you got on Yule, it became something else. My dad wanted to free up room in the garage for his car and asked Jacob and me to finish unpacking the boxes from our move. Jacob was in one of his moods, boiling with resentment as he tossed around books and pictures and cursed. And because I was so tired of prying him out of his moods and walking around under the cloud he cast over our family, I started to boil too.”

  Reece boil? I’d seen him simmer but never boil.

  “I struggled to get the job done so I could put distance between us, but then he thrust a picture in my face. It was one of Dad standing between the two of us when we were in grade school, an arm around our shoulders.”

  Reece swallows loud, and I long to squeeze his arm, but something tells me that would make it hard for him to continue.

  “Jacob said, ‘I hate him,’ and dropped the picture. The glass shattered, and I nearly hit him. He knew it—I could see it in his eyes—but he didn’t pull back. He laughed and stomped on the picture, and I lost it. I grabbed him and said, ‘Then it’s a good thing he’s not your father.’”

  Not his—? Oh.

  After a long moment, Reece continues. “Ironically, it wasn’t until our family was packing to move to Pickwick that I learned Jacob and I didn’t share a biological father. One day I got home from school ahead of Jacob and heard an argument between my parents. It was about some love letters my father had found while packing. I knew my parents had separated when I was two, but what I didn’t know was that my mother met someone.” He draws a deep breath. “My father knew about the other man, but he chose to raise Jacob as his own, and my brother and I probably would never have known any different if I hadn’t overheard their argument and acted out of anger.”

  I lay a hand over his.

  He allows it, his only acknowledgment a slight pause. “Jacob ran into the house and told Mom and Dad what I’d told him. He accused our father of favoring me over him, said that was the reason their relationship had gone bad.” Reece looks hard at me. “If there was favoritism, I never saw it, and I don’t believe Jacob did either. Our father loved both of us, but nothing he said would change my brother’s mind. It got uglier—Jacob raging, my mother crying, my father shaking, and me—standing there, hating myself for betraying a confidence my parents didn’t know they had entrusted to me, feeling the wounds I had caused.”

  Now I understand the reason he looked the way he did that morning on the school steps—eyes bloodshot, hair a mess.

  “Jacob demanded to know the identity of his biological father, but my parents refused to tell him. They said when he was older and more mature, they would, and he could decide then whether to contact him.”

  Devyn…

  “It wasn’t just the trouble at the textile mill that made us leave Pickwick. It was Jacob. He made life miserable until my parents relented in hopes that once he was back among his friends, he would settle down.”

  “Did he?”

  “Some. My father tried, but Jacob didn’t want much to do with him beyond his wallet. I tried, but things were never the same between us. When he turned eighteen, my parents told him who his father was.” Reece’s hand beneath mine tenses. “But it was too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His father had passed away a year earlier. Jacob vowed he would never forgive my parents for denying him the chance to know him, and in all the years since, he’s kept alive his fantasy of the perfect father. He slips in and out of my parents’ lives when he needs something, and each time he leaves them scarred by more guilt. And for years I took that guilt onto myself, beating myself up for my betrayal, taking the blame for the state of our family.”

  I know where this is going. “That’s why you started drinking.”

  “Mostly.” There’s a rough edge to his voice. “A heavy burden of guilt and being alone too much with oneself is a bad combination.”

  “Your parents are still together?”

  “They are, though after one of Jacob’s visits—like the night I was late for your uncle’s dinner party—the strain returns. Fortunately, their faith always puts them back together.”

  And Reece, it would seem. “I see.”

  “Maybe now you can understand why I acted the way I did when I found out I have a daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know when the timing will be right for her to know the truth, but you can’t put her off forever, Maggie. She’s mature, especially for her age, and you need to start making plans.”

  I nod. “I am.”

  He stares at me, and something swells between us that makes it hard to breathe. Pulling his hand from beneath mine, he reaches up and runs his thumb across my bottom lip. “Maybe we can make this work.”

  Harder yet to breathe. This?

  A moment later, this becomes a kiss, and I lean in and let myself feel it, not as a teenager heady with her ability to make a guy so crazy he’ll forget his values and his faith, but as a woman who longs to be loved. Still, I shouldn’t let this happen, not with what stands large between us even if he can’t see it.

  Please be Devyn’s father. I slide my hands over his chest and curl them around his shoulders. Be the one.

  And if he isn’t? What will you do with what’s happening between you now? What about when he finds out?

  I told him there were others, and he chose not to believe me. He had his chance—

  So speaks the old Maggie.

  But I want this.

  Temporary happiness followed by acres of hurt for everyone, especially Devyn.

  “Maggie?”

  I open my eyes to find Reece has pulled back.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  Show him.

  I’ll lose him.

  Better now than later.

  “Is it my drinking problem?”

  I blink. “What?”

  “The night I attended the recovery group and sat with you in the sanctuary, I sensed you wanted to say something. But then you ran off. Were you going to tell me about Devyn?”

  “I wanted to, but…” Pulling my hands away, I shake my head. “It wasn’t your drinking. I was just scared. Like I’m scared now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of what I need to show you.”

  Wariness enters his eyes, and I feel bad that he has no idea how wary he ought to be. “What?”

  Is this how Marie Antoinette felt when told it was time to keep her date with the guillotine? Setting my teeth, I push back my chair, and Reece follows me inside and into the living room, where I pause at the sight of Devyn. I meant to cover her with a throw, but Re
ece beat me to it, and the fatherly gesture deepens my conviction that this can’t go on.

  I enter my office and flip on the light. “Close the door.”

  I hear the soft click as I go around my desk, and when I look up, Reece is standing on the other side, eyebrows raised.

  Knees weakening, I lower to my chair. “I’m sorry.”

  He frowns.

  “More sorry than you can know.”

  His lids narrow, and though I can barely see his eyes, I feel the sharp edge of his gaze.

  “I was straight with you.” I open the bottom desk drawer and reach to the back. “Or nearly so.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Closing my hand over the envelope, I nod at the chair in front of my desk. “Would you sit down?”

  “That bad?”

  Worse. “Please.”

  His suspicion is so thick, it’s as if the pressure has changed in the room. However, he finally lowers into the chair.

  Hands in my lap, I press the envelope between my palms. “Promise me you’ll finish the statue for Uncle Obe.”

  “I always honor my commitments.”

  “Thank you.” I rub the envelope between my hands, trying to warm my cooling self with the heat generated by friction.

  “What is it?” Reece prompts.

  “I…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well…” So much for my mouth being my best asset. The loquacious one is loquacious no more. “I wasn’t lying when I said you may not have fathered Devyn.”

  His jaw hardens.

  “The lying was done when we were seventeen and I so wanted you to take me back that I denied the rumors about Gary Winsome.” I swallow. “One night after a game, he offered to take me home. We got to drinking and…as you know, drinking and being lonely—wanting to be with someone who isn’t there—is a bad combination.”

  Reece doesn’t say anything for a long time, but when his lids lift, his eyes are like cold dark pools. “All right, so Devyn could be Gary’s.”

  Hands beginning to shake, I slide the envelope across my desk. “Please look at that.”

  “What is it?”

  “I received it the day you found out Devyn’s age and jumped to the conclusion you’re her father.”