A Mom for His Daughter

by Jean C. Gordon

  “You work with Claire at the farm. She’s mentioned you.”

  “Yes.”

  Natalie said something in reply that Marc didn’t hear. He was too busy rolling his shoulders in relief from the weight that had lifted from them. He’d made the right decision to ask Fiona to the family’s Sunday dinner. No way were his nerves up to him not knowing who knew about her and who didn’t know or making individual introductions repeatedly. Sunday dinner couldn’t come fast enough, assuming Fiona agreed to go.

  * * *

  A teenaged girl with long dark hair answered Fiona’s knock on the front door of the rambling white farmhouse.

  “Hi, you must be Uncle Marc’s girlfriend, Fiona. I’m Aimee.”

  Fiona stumbled on the small step into the house. Is that what the Delacroixs thought? That Marc had invited her to dinner because they were dating? She’d tried to decline the family dinner invitation and explained how she thought getting together with family members individually would be better. But he’d been adamant.

  “I’m Fiona Bryce. I work with your aunt Claire, and I’m not your uncle’s girlfriend.” Had her words sounded as strident to the girl as they had to her?

  Aimee shrugged. “Uncle Marc! Fiona’s here!” she shouted from the front hall into the adjacent room.

  Fiona followed Aimee into the living room where Marc, Stella, Luc and another dark-haired boy were gathered around the coffee table playing Candyland. With all the electronic games available these days, Fiona didn’t know kids still played board games. An older man, who had to be Marc’s father, sat in a recliner watching.

  Marc rose from the couch. “Fiona, hi. Join us.” He motioned to the seat beside where he’d been sitting. “This is my dad.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Delacroix.”

  “Call me John.” He glanced at Stella and back to Fiona.

  Her welcoming smile froze. Was he sizing her up?

  “I’ve read all about your program at the Willsboro farm. Let’s talk later with my other son, Paul. We’re partners. Most of our milk is going into yogurt, but we might want to get in on your program, too.”

  “Sounds good.” Fiona walked by John, around the coffee table where the game was set up and perched on the edge of the couch.

  Marc sat. “You met Aimee.” The teen had already left the room. “She’s my oldest niece. Her sister, Amelia, is a few minutes younger.”

  “More twins.”

  “Yep,” he said, “the only ones in that generation so far.” He pointed at the older boy kneeling across the table. “This guy is their younger brother. Robbie, Fiona is my and Aunt Claire’s friend.”

  “Hi, Robbie.”

  “Hi. Do you want to play the next game?”

  “No,” Stella said.

  Fiona made the eye contact she’d been avoiding since she’d entered the room. She stiffened at the defiance on the little girl’s face.

  “Stella, that wasn’t nice,” Marc said. “Tell Fiona you’re sorry.”

  The little girl stuck out her lower lip.

  “That’s okay,” Fiona said, not wanting to make the relationship any worse.

  “No, it’s not. Stella, tell Fiona you’re sorry or go to time-out.”

  “Sorry,” she spat.

  “That’s Luc next to Robbie,” Marc continued.

  “Ah, the star of Pastor Connor’s video.”

  “The one with Luc dancing?” Marc’s father asked. “That was a hoot, wasn’t it?”

  “It was.”

  “Did you see the one with Stella somersaulting?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Although at the meeting with Pastor Connor, she remembered wanting to.

  Marc leaned forward. “It’s your turn, Stella. Pick a card and I’ll help you move.”

  “Red.” She waved the card.

  “Right. Where’s the next red space?” Marc asked.

  “Here.” Stella pointed with a big grin that pierced Fiona’s heart. What she wouldn’t give for that smile to be for her. In time, she hoped.

  “Hey, Stella’s hair is the same color as yours,” Robbie said.

  Stella dropped her card and covered her hair with her hands, as if to protect it from being snatched from her head. “My hair.”

  Marc and his father exchanged a look, and the corners of Marc’s lips curved up at Stella’s comical gesture before he opened his mouth to speak.

  “Okay, everybody,” Claire interrupted from the doorway to the dining room. “Paul’s in from the barn. We can eat. Hey, Fiona, glad you could come.”

  Fiona rose, wondering how glad Claire would be after Marc shared their news.

  Marc and his dad walked her to the dining room, while Claire herded the three kids. Most of the rest of the family was already seated. Fiona hung back while Marc and Claire set up the kids at a small table.

  His nephew beamed when Marc said, “You’re in charge here, Robbie,” before stepping to the family table and pulling out an empty chair for Fiona and one next to it for Claire.

  She was a little surprised that Marc seemed as good with his nephews as he was with Stella. Her frame of reference for men was that they tolerated their own children—period.

  “You’re a good influence, Fiona,” Claire said. “I can’t remember when, if ever, Marc has pulled a chair out for me.”

  Fiona slipped into her seat, stomach churning. If only all of them could agree with Claire and still feel that way after dinner.

  Marc sat on her other side. “I think you know everyone but my sister Andie, Robbie and the twins’ mother, her husband, Rob, and Renee’s husband, Rhys.”

  They welcomed her so warmly that for a moment Fiona let down the guard she’d perfected as a child and allowed herself to think maybe, just maybe, she could be a part of this family.

  “What’s keeping Mom?” Marc asked.

  As if in answer, a woman who looked like an older version of Marc’s sister Andie walked in carrying a huge bowl of mashed potatoes. “The potatoes got done early. I had to warm them up in the microwave.” She placed the bowl on the table and sat next to her husband.

  “You must be Fiona,” Marc’s mother stated, her voice lacking the warmth of the others’ greetings.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Delacroix,” Fiona said. Marc’s mother’s silence—no invitation to call her by her first name—struck Fiona as a thrown gauntlet. And the puzzled looks on most of her children’s faces intensified the hurt Fiona should’ve been able to throw off, but couldn’t.

  Marc shifted in his seat, bumping her knee with his. “If you don’t mind, Dad, I’d like to say grace.”

  “Go for it.”

  Claire and Marc reached for her hands. He wrapped his hand around hers, and a warm rush of strength flowed through her when he gave it a squeeze.

  Fiona bowed her head and cleared her mind.

  “Dear Lord,” Marc said, “thank you for this bountiful spread of food before us and for allowing us to be together to enjoy it. Open our hearts and minds to Your will and Your service. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

  Please let this go well, Fiona entreated in her mind before whispering, “Amen.”

  Everyone started passing dishes around and jumping in and out of several different conversations going on.

  Marc handed her a dish of green beans. “It can be overwhelming. That’s one of the reasons I bought the little table for the kids. The first couple meals, I couldn’t get Stella off my lap.”

  Fiona spooned out some beans and passed the dish on to Claire.

  “I’ll admit that family dinners of...” Fiona did a quick look around the table for a head count that ended on Marc’s mother, giving her a seemingly disapproving stare.

  “Sixteen,” Claire filled in.

  Fiona broke eye contact. “Of sixteen aren’t what I’m used to.” She couldn’t
say she’d even been to a family dinner half that large before, even when her grandparents had been alive.

  For the rest of the meal, Fiona fielded a few questions about her job and where she was from. She’d answered, “Ticonderoga, originally,” without providing further details. But she mostly picked at her food and listened to everyone talking and laughing around her. She’d never been good at small talk. Her mother had taught her to be closemouthed about their family life, and she’d had trouble shaking that as an adult.

  When they’d finished eating, Marc’s dad pushed his chair back a couple inches and patted his flat stomach. “You outdid yourself today, Terry.”

  Claire nudged her and whispered in Fiona’s ear, “He says that every Sunday.”

  But Fiona’s attention was on Marc’s mother, who was smiling for the first smile Fiona had seen. This was more how she’d pictured Mrs. Delacroix.

  “I’ll help you get dessert and coffee, Mom.” Claire stood and gave Marc a look that appeared to be some kind of secret communication.

  Once Claire and his mother were in the kitchen, he cleared his throat. “I have something to tell you all.”

  Fiona gripped the napkin on her lap. Claire knew and hadn’t said anything. But why would she? They were only casual work friends, and maybe Marc had asked her not to.

  “Aimee and Amelia, please take your brother and Stella and Luc into the TV room and put a DVR on for them.”

  “Uncle Marc,” the teens said in unison.

  “We’re not little kids like them,” Amelia said.

  “Your mother can tell you later, if she wants.”

  “You heard your uncle,” their father said.

  “Go ahead, son,” Marc’s father said when the kids were out of earshot.

  “Fiona—Fiona and I—that is, we—” He seemed to catch his breath on the word we. “Fiona is Stella’s birth mother’s sister.”

  From their faces, Fiona could tell immediately who had already known and who hadn’t. She took solace in the fact that she didn’t face any stronger emotion than surprise.

  “Stella doesn’t know yet,” Marc said. “Fiona and I are working with Renee and Noah and will tell her when we all feel she’s ready and can understand.”

  Her heart pulsed in her chest at Marc’s emphasis on her inclusion in the decision.

  “And none of this leaves this room until we know what’s true,” Marc’s mother interjected as she placed a silver coffeepot on the table in front of Fiona with a thump.

  “Mom.” Marc pushed his chair back.

  “Terry,” his dad cautioned.

  Fiona drew back inside herself to the old place where she was that Bryce girl, never fully accepted, always a little suspect. Marc touched her arm, and she returned to the present.

  “I should have DNA results this week,” she said. “Autumn Hanlon did the testing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go and let you discuss things in private.”

  “You don’t have to,” Marc said, his gaze fixed on his mother.

  “Stay,” Claire said.

  Fiona didn’t know if Claire was supporting her or Marc, but she’d take it. She rose. “Thank you for the delicious meal.” For all her faults, her mother had done her best to teach her and her sisters manners as she knew them, and kindness. Kindness that wasn’t often returned.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Marc said.

  “No. No, thank you.” She didn’t need any help escaping situations where she wasn’t wanted. She had years of practice.

  Chapter Five

  Three days later, Marc paced the kitchen area of La Table Frais, checking the progress the contractor had made on enlarging the area and visualizing the placement of the new appliances he’d ordered. Except his mind kept replaying Sunday dinner rather than seeing the state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances installed. Despite prayers for understanding, he couldn’t completely rid himself of his anger at Mom or his confusion about her attitude toward Fiona. Mom had always been open to all of their friends, making their home a haven to any of them who might have needed one.

  From the bits of Fiona’s life he’d picked up on, from conversations with her, their meeting with Connor and the online search he’d done, it sounded to him like Fiona could use a haven. He couldn’t be that haven, as much as the thought tempted him at times. But he’d seen a yearning in Fiona when she was around Stella that both scared him and drew him to her. He’d hoped, still hoped, his family as a whole could assuage the yearning so it wasn’t all focused on his daughter.

  Marc pulled out his phone. How’d it go? he texted Natalie, feeling like he was back in high school trying to pull something over on Mom.

  Yesterday, while Mom was at the Adirondack Medical Center with the church visitation committee visiting a couple of members there, he’d had Dad watch Stella while he’d gone to pick out and arrange for the delivery of the appliances. Today, rather than asking Mom, he’d arranged for Natalie to pick up Stella from The Kids Place for a playdate with Luc so he could meet with Fiona and Autumn at the birthing center to go over the DNA testing. The testing had been Fiona’s idea, but it could help with Mom’s resistance.

  Having to deal with family dynamics was one of the reasons he’d stayed away from Paradox Lake so long.

  His phone pinged.

  Fine, but she kind of picked at her lunch. Of course, my only comparison is chowhound Luc.

  OK. I’ll text when I leave the center.

  He clasped his hands behind his neck and stretched. Stella hadn’t said anything about her tummy this morning but had only eaten half of her cereal. It could have been because she liked school and was so excited about going to Luc’s that she wasn’t hungry—or because she didn’t want to complain about not feeling well because he might keep her home.

  He dropped his arms.

  “How’s it look, boss?” The work foreman and his crew had returned from lunch.

  “Great. I’ve got the appliances coming next Thursday. Are you still on schedule for that?”

  “No problem.”

  “All right. I’ll let you guys get back to work.” Marc took his time walking through the yet-to-be remodeled dining area and out to his SUV, then drove toward Ticonderoga.

  As he closed in on the birthing center, he first lifted one hand from the grip he held on the steering wheel and flexed it, and then the other. Marc could see the scenario if the DNA testing showed Fiona was Stella’s birth aunt. What might happen if the testing was negative was another story, except that it would make Mom happy. Would Fiona fade from his life, except for consulting on the restaurant opening? His hands tightened on the wheel again. But that’s what he wanted, a business relationship. The friendly gestures at the Bridges meeting and Sunday dinner were for Stella’s sake, not his.

  He pulled into the center parking lot and looked for Fiona’s car before he realized he didn’t know what kind she drove. He didn’t know much of anything about Fiona herself, beyond what he’d found online—old news stories about her mother’s fatal accident and her sister’s death, information about her academic and professional life—and the bits and pieces she’d reluctantly shared. Not that it excused Mom’s uncharacteristic rudeness on Sunday, but she may have been on point when she questioned him on what he knew about Fiona.

  He parked and stared at the building before throwing open the vehicle door, stepping out and slamming it behind him. Well, at least he’d learn something today.

  Nostalgia flooded Marc as he walked to the check-in window. He and Cate hadn’t used this center for their infertility testing, but the one they’d used hadn’t looked substantially different. Check-in window, waiting room filled predominately with women and a health video playing on a television. Here, a corner with bright stencils on the wall delineated a children’s area with books, toys and puzzles. At the bigger center he and Cate had used downstate, there h
ad been a separate children’s room off the waiting room.

  “Hi,” said the clerk at the window.

  “Hi. Marc Delacroix to see Autumn. I...we have a one-thirty appointment.”

  The clerk looked behind him.

  “I’m meeting the other person here.”

  “Have you been here before?” the clerk asked, reaching for a clipboard.

  “No, but the person I’m meeting has.”

  “Okay, take a seat, and a nurse will call you.”

  Marc escaped through the archway into the waiting room and looked for Fiona, but she wasn’t there yet.

  “Hi, Marc,” said Tessa Donnelly, his friend Josh’s wife.

  “Tessa. How’s business at the Majestic?” He struck first to direct their conversation to business rather than why he was here.

  “Not bad. But I have to say, I’m glad you chose Lake George for your restaurant, so you’re not competing for my dinner theater patrons.”

  “Hey, isn’t that what friends are for, looking out for each other?” The lightness of his reply faded. Was that why his mother’s behavior disturbed him so much? He’d expected her, of all his family members, to have his back about Fiona for no other reason than he wanted her to. Was that why he’d felt so protective of Fiona at dinner? Because Mom wasn’t? Marc pinched the bridge of his nose. Mom probably thought she was protecting him by being skeptical of Fiona. Couldn’t she see he didn’t need that kind of support, but that Fiona did?

  “So how’s the restaurant coming?”

  “Good. I was down there this morning checking out the renovation progress. The kitchen equipment is arriving next week.”

  “Marc.”

  He and Tessa looked toward the doorway. “Hi, Fiona, have you met Tessa Donnelly?” he asked.

  “Yes, hi, Tessa. I rent my apartment from her grandmother.”

  Marc filed away that piece of information. “We might as well take a seat.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe on the flat gray rug as Tessa looked back and forth from him to Fiona.