“We would’ve been happy to share the burden.” Reenie’s mad had given way to hurt. “Mom and Dad, Iona and me . . . we would’ve been here for you.”
“I think maybe instead of rehashing what happened back then, we should let Ali and Flynn figure out what they’re going to do from here on out.” Meghan stood behind Maureen.
Flynn sat down again across from me, on the sofa. “I want to see her. Does she know about me? Does she think Craig is her father?”
I shook my head. “She doesn’t really know anything. Bridget never knew Craig, because he left when she was an infant. I’ve never mentioned him to her. She asked me about her father a few years back, and I told her . . .” I took a deep breath. “I told her that her father loved her very much, but that he couldn’t be with us. I never gave her anyone’s name.”
He nodded once, short and curt. “So you tell her now that I’m here. And I’ll come out to see her.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Today. I want this to happen now.”
“How do you think she’s going to take it?” Maureen glanced at me. “Should you have someone there? Like a professional?”
“Bridget is one of the most well-adjusted kids I’ve ever met.” Meghan dared a smile. “I think if you’re honest with her, and keep it simple, she’ll be fine.” She paused, as though debating whether or not to go on. “I understand it hurts you both that you didn’t know Bridget was part of you. But I want you to know that this child is loved, and she’s happy. Sam is an amazing uncle, and Ali . . . she’s like super-mom. Bridge is smart and funny and respectful . . . she’s already a talented artist.” Meghan turned to Maureen. “She probably got it from your dad, like you told me last summer. Didn’t you say he used to be a mason?”
Reenie nodded. “Yeah, when he first came over to this country, and then during the summers after he started teaching. He made the prettiest fireplaces and stone walls.” She sniffled, making me wonder if she was choking back sobs.
“Okay.” I stood up, looping my purse over my shoulder. “So the first step is telling Bridget.” I twisted the strap of the bag around my fingers. “I’ll call you when we’re ready for you to come over.”
“Don’t drag your feet on this.” If there was a subtle threat in Flynn’s words, I chose to ignore it. “I’ve already been robbed of eight years with my daughter. I don’t want to miss anymore.” He dug into the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out a brown leather wallet, slid out a white business card. “My number’s on there.”
“I don’t want you to miss any more, either. Believe it or not, Flynn, I want my daughter to know her father.” I was surprised to realize it was true. Now that the hardest part was over, I was relieved and ready to move on.
For a moment, we all stood awkwardly, staring at each other. There wasn’t anything to say, and yet just walking out the door felt wrong. I could tell Meghan was itching to go; she’d missed another day of classes today in order to come here with me, and now she wanted to get back to Sam.
I glanced at Flynn. “I know this is going to take a while to digest. I understand that you’re angry and hurt. I hope that we can get past it and . . .” I tried to think of what I wanted to say. “Parent our child together. If that’s what you want.”
I didn’t know what I expected from him. Maybe on some level I hoped he’d take two steps closer and pull me into his arms. Not anything lusty or leading to a declaration of life-long love, but maybe just comfort. Understanding.
Instead he raised one eyebrow. “I’ll be waiting for that call.”
Sam was sitting on the front porch when we got home. Meghan and I pulled around to the back door and walked through the house to find him.
Meghan opened the screen door and went straight for the swing, sitting down next to my brother and curling her body into him. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, glancing up at me. “So how’d it go?”
I dropped into a wicker chair. “It went. I told him. He hates me. So does Maureen.” I leaned my forehead into my hand and massaged. I had a wicked headache brewing there. “I have to talk to Bridge when she gets home, then he’s coming over to see her.”
“That’s fast.” Sam rubbed the side of Meghan’s arm and then tilted her chin up with one finger. “You okay?”
“Maureen is so mad at me.” Her voice was muffled against his arm. “She asked me how I could keep something like that from her.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” I was so tired, so completely exhausted. And the fun wasn’t quite over yet today. “If I hadn’t told you last year, you wouldn’t have known either. All of this comes down to me, and the decisions I made.” I nudged Meghan’s knee with the tip of my shoe. “Don’t sweat it, kiddo. Reenie’ll come around. She gets mad fast but never holds a grudge. It’s the Irish, I think.”
“That’s why she didn’t talk to you for almost nine years?”
Ouch. “That was as much me as her. I think she started to thaw toward me after Craig left town, but I never let her. I was afraid if I did, I’d end up telling her the truth.” A loud whoosh of air brakes signaled the arrival of Bridget’s bus. My stomach tumbled. “Guess it’s time to face the music. Again.”
“Ali, do you want to talk to her alone? Sam and I can go upstairs.”
I shook my head. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather you stay. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”
Within a few minutes, my beautiful daughter came bounding up the long driveway. Her dark curls bounced on top of her backpack, and her red sneakers kicked up a cloud of dirt behind her. My heart swelled; this child was the love of my life, the one shining gift in decades of loss and pain. There wasn’t a blessed thing I wouldn’t do for her.
She began calling me as soon as she spotted us on the porch. “Mommy! Maisie invited me to her birthday party next month and it’s going to be in Savannah at the pirate restaurant where you went with Uncle Sam and Aunt Meghan last year and we’re gong to walk around and maybe even see ghosts.” She finished in a burst of breath as she climbed the steps to the porch. “I can go, right? Please?”
I pulled her up onto my lap, remembering with a pang when she’d fit so easily under my chin, tucked in a ball. Now her arms and legs were becoming gangly, and her face was losing some of the sweet baby chub. My little one was growing up. And now I had to learn how to share her.
“We’ll talk about it, sugar, okay?” I stroked back her hair. “Listen, do you want a snack? Some milk and some of those yummy peanut butter cookies Aunt Meghan made?”
“Yes, please!” She made to wriggle off my lap, but I held on, glancing at Meghan. She nodded and pushed off Sam’s chest.
“Why don’t you stay out here with your mom, and I’ll bring all of us a snack? Babe, you want milk or coffee?”
“There’s still some in the pot from earlier. I can just heat that up.” He began to rise, but Meghan gently pushed him back.
“No, you stay out here with the girls.” She leaned down to kiss his cheek, causing my daughter to fake gag.
Meghan tugged on one of her curls as she passed. “Watch it there, Miss Bridget, or I’ll sit on his lap when I come back out.”
“No!” Bridge clutched her throat and pretended to pass out.
“All right, Sarah Heartburn.” My brother shifted, making the swing screech. “So tell us what else happened today besides Maisie’s party invite. How did the math test go?”
“Good. I think I got it all right.” Bridget slid off my lap onto the porch floor and shrugged off her backpack. Unzipping it, she pulled out her folder. “No homework this weekend ‘cause we all turned in our projects this week.”
“Sounds good.” I opened the folder and flipped through the papers without really seeing them. Meghan backed through the door carrying a tray with cups and a plate of cookies.
After she’d passed around the goodies, I leaned down to squeeze my daughter’s shoulder. “Hey, sweetie, I need to talk to you.”
“Uh huh.” She broke her cookie in half and
dipped into her milk.
I took a deep breath. “I want to tell you about your father.”
“Okay.” She didn’t even look up at me, absorbed in her snack.
“Bridge. This is kind of important. Your dad’s here. He wants to see you.”
Now she did turn her head to look at me. “Here? At the farm?”
“No, in town.” I paused. “Do you want to see him?”
Bridget stretched out her legs. “Yeah. Is he nice?”
I quirked one eyebrow. Well, that remains to be seen. “Of course he is. He’s very nice, and he has a wonderful family.” I hesitated a minute and then added, “You know Graham Fowler? From your class? Your father is his uncle. Which makes Graham your cousin.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I have a cousin?” She spoke with breathless surprise. “What else do I have?”
Sam turned a laugh into a cough, and I shot him a warning look. “Well, you have two other aunts. And a grandmother.”
“A grandma?” Bridget’s eyes shone. “So next time it’s Grandparents Day at school, can I bring my grandma?”
The excitement in her face made my heart drop. I’d never realized how much my daughter had felt she was missing, how much I’d denied her by keeping the truth from both Flynn and her.
“Well, honey, we can ask.”
“Cool. When is my dad coming over?”
It was, apparently, as easy as that. “I have to call him. You’re ready to see him now? Today?”
“Uh huh.” Bridget stuffed the last cookie into her mouth and then talked around it. “Uncle Sam, do you know my dad?”
Sam’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped. “Uh . . . yeah, I do. At least, I knew him before, when he lived in Burton.”
“Is he nice? Do you like him?”
Sam glanced at me. A mix of expressions crossed his face. “Yes. Yes, he’s very nice. He’s a good man, and you should be proud to have him as your father. He loves you very much.” My brother grinned at me, and I knew he meant to be encouraging. “But you have lots of people who love you. Your mom, of course, who’s been here for you every single day of your life, and Aunt Meghan, who’s the coolest aunt ever—” He winked at his girlfriend, who rolled her eyes. “And me. I’ve loved you since the day you were born. Even though you screamed at night and kept me awake when you were a baby.”
I stood up. “True that. Okay, let me make this call. And then someone’s going to get me some more cookies, since some little piggy ate them all up.” I tickled Bridget under her arm as I walked past, dialing Flynn’s number to the sweet accompaniment of my daughter’s laughter.
THE LAST TIME I’D driven down this driveway, I was eighteen years old and thought I had life by the balls. I remembered that day with crystal-clear high-def precision: we’d graduated earlier in the day, and I was meeting Ali at the farm so we could talk to Sam, let him know that we were leaving town. Together. Thanks to our newspaper advisor, Mr. Wilder, I’d secured an internship with a photographer in New York, and we’d planned that Ali would go to college up there. We’d both work part-time, and that combined with the money I’d been saving would see us through until I starting making money by taking pictures.
I was walking on air that day as I’d pulled my old Chevy Chevette around to the back of the house, like I always did. I took the steps to the kitchen door in one leap and gave a cursory knock before I threw open the screen and went into the kitchen. When I spotted Ali sitting at the table, the grin on my face got even bigger and brighter . . . until I got a good look at her face.
My world started to crumble to pieces at that moment.
Today, though . . . today was different. Today I drove my Audi A7—okay, yeah, it was a rental, but I could’ve had one of my own, if I ever stayed in one place long enough to need a car. And today I wasn’t nervous about the idea of talking to Sam Reynolds. I wasn’t that boy anymore, the one who was stupid in love with a pretty girl. Now I was a man who knew love like that didn’t last.
The old farmhouse was right in front of me as I rounded the last bend in the driveway. Ali was sitting there on the porch, curled up in a chair I was pretty sure had been there when we were in high school. It was a weird kind of been-there, done that; I couldn’t count how many times my girl had been waiting for me, right in that chair, when I’d come by on a weeknight for a study date. She’d wave and blow me a kiss as I drove up, and then meet me at my car, throwing her arms around me as soon as I climbed out of the driver’s seat. I could almost feel the sweetness of her body pressed against me, soft and promising, and her scent filling my senses.
With no little effort, I pushed that image from my head, reminding myself that the same girl who’d greeted me with such love had broken my heart and denied me my own child. That was what I had to keep front and center. I couldn’t let her get under my skin again. Not ever.
I pulled up to the side of the house and turned off the car. I got out and slammed the door, hesitating just a minute to make sure I was ready. I needed to keep it all together and remember I was here for Bridget. For my daughter.
Fuck. I had a daughter. It’d been hitting me today, over and over. Like someone had taken the life I thought I had all figured out and turned it upside down. Funny how just one small piece of information could do that. Yesterday, I’d been Flynn Evans, photo-journalist. Well-known in certain circles, with my name mentioned among the up-and-comers in my field. Opportunities coming out my ears. As footloose and fancy-free as a guy could be in the early twenty-first century.
Today, I was a father. The word still felt foreign. I didn’t know how to deal with kids. Shit, half the time I could barely stand to be around my nephew Graham. And a girl? How the hell was I going to talk to her? What did I have to say to an eight-year old female?
“Flynn?” Ali had come down off the porch and stood leaning about the brick balustrade alongside the steps. “You okay?”
I straightened up. “Yeah. Just making sure the car’s locked.” I angled my body slightly and pulled the clicker out of my pocket.
Ali raised one eyebrow. “I think it’s safe out here. No one’s going to bother your car.”
“Just habit, I guess.” I managed a tight-lipped smile. “I’m used to living in the city, where you lock anything you want to see again.”
“Oh, sure.” She nodded, but I was fairly certain she wasn’t buying my excuse. Whatever. I didn’t have to justify my actions to Ali Reynolds. “Well, you don’t have to be nervous, you know. Bridget’s really excited to meet you.”
“I’m not nervous.” I frowned. “Why would I be?”
Ali crossed her arms, throwing her boobs into prominence. Damn. Some part of me wondered if she’d done it on purpose. I’d always been a sucker for this girl’s rack. I dragged my eyes back up to her face as she spoke.
“I don’t know, Flynn. I thought maybe today’s been a tad traumatic for you. It wouldn’t be unusual for any guy to be a little on edge.” She pushed off the wall and pivoted to climb up the porch steps. “But clearly you’ve got it all under control. Come on in. Bridge is upstairs.”
I followed her, pointedly not looking at her perfect little ass swaying inside her tight faded jeans. “Uh, Ali.” I coughed, trying to clear out the crack in my voice. “How did it go when you told her about me? Was she okay?”
Ali stopped just before opening the screen door. She looked back at me, studying my face as though trying to decide how much to tell me. “She was fine. Actually, she was . . . really great. Just a warning, though she’s thrilled with the idea of having a grandmother. And a cousin. So I hope you’re planning to tell the rest of your family about the new addition, because it’d crush her to find out she can’t meet them.”
I nodded. “No worries on that front. I told Mom before I came over here. And Reenie told Iona.”
Panic flittered across her face. “Do they hate me, too?” She spoke low, worry in her voice.
I sighed and rubbed my chin. “No. Mom was . . . surprised. And I thin
k a little sad that she didn’t know until now. But she’s happy about it. She said a new grandchild is always reason for celebrating, and I’m pretty sure by the time I left, she was getting excited about buying Bridget clothes.”
Ali smiled a little. “Good luck with that. This kid lives in jeans and sneakers. But maybe a grandma would be able to change her mind.” She reached for the door handle but paused again before opening it. “What about Iona?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “She told Maureen that she’d suspected it for a while, but she figured that there was no way you wouldn’t tell me. Or Reenie, at least. I think she’s happy Graham’ll finally have another kid in the family, so close to his own age.”
“Yeah, they’re only a few months apart.” This time, she opened the door and went inside, holding it for me as I came behind.
The living room hadn’t changed, not one bit. The sofa was the same faded rose pink, the area rug the same worn green. I almost expected to run into my old self, perched on the edge of the checked wing chair, waiting for Ali to be ready for a date.
Instead, she stood at the bottom of the steps, one hand on the newel post as she called upstairs. “Bridget! Come on down, honey.”
Loud scrambling footsteps echoed above us, and within a few seconds, a dark-haired tornado raced down. She came to a screeching halt at the bottom of the stairs, breathing hard and staring up me. And just like that, I was looking down into my daughter’s face.
Her eyes were the first things I saw. They were wide and brown, the exact same color and shape of Ali’s. Her nose was a cute little button, and I realized it reminded me of Maureen’s. Perfect rosebud lips were slightly parted, and then they curved into a grin, and my breath stopped.
My daughter had my dad’s smile, the mischievous curl of the mouth and the answering twinkle in her eye. I never thought I’d see it again, and yet . . . here it was.
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