A Mom for His Daughter

by Jean C. Gordon

  “My painting.” Stella tugged at her pant leg. “In the kitchen.”

  Her niece’s insistence stopped Fiona from saying anything more to the twins. Amelia led them into the spotless room.

  Guilt about her earlier harshness toward the twins washed over Fiona. The girls had obviously cleaned up after what Fiona was sure had been a messy painting session. What kid didn’t make a mess finger painting?

  “Here.” Stella pulled Fiona to the table and pointed at three finger paintings. “Dry?” the little girl asked.

  “They should be,” Amelia said. “Stella made them after lunch, before her nap.”

  Fiona glanced at Stella. And they’d cleaned up Stella, too, possibly even changed her clothes, since Fiona didn’t see any paint on her.

  “Wow! Nice job cleaning up,” Fiona said, still feeling small about her earlier criticisms. But the unlocked front door could have put Stella in danger.

  The twins stared at her for a moment before shrugging their shoulders and mumbling, “Thanks.”

  Stella touched the paint on one of the pictures. “All dry.” She picked it up. “For Daddy.”

  “Do you want to give it to me to take to Daddy?” Fiona asked. “We’re going to go to the store to buy things for a surprise picnic for him at your house.” Fiona held her breath while Stella digested what she’d said.

  The little girl cocked her head. “You, me, Daddy?”

  “Yes.”

  “With cookies?”

  “We could buy some cookies.”

  Stella’s expression turned serious. “Aimee and ’Melia said no cookies for snack.”

  “What did you have for a snack?” Fiona eyed the jar of crunchy peanut butter on the counter. Marc would have told the twins about Stella’s food restrictions, wouldn’t he?

  “Crackers and jam.”

  “What kind of jam?” Fiona asked Amelia.

  “Apricot. Why?”

  Fiona released her breath in relief. “Stella shouldn’t have any berry jams that might have seeds in them. Didn’t your uncle leave you a list of Stella’s food restrictions?”

  Amelia shrugged. “He said no apples, unless we peeled them, and nothing with nuts. He was in a rush when he dropped Stella off. Some kind of meeting or something he had to get to.”

  A spark of anger lit inside Fiona. Stella’s health was more important than any meeting he had to get to. Marc couldn’t be that casual when it came to Stella’s food restrictions. Not if he wanted to keep her symptoms in remission. Fiona took a deep breath to calm herself. She’d talk to Marc again. She’d told him that she’d say something if he was putting work first, and she would.

  “Here,” Stella said, pulling her from her thoughts. Her niece handed her the painting she’d made for her father and picked up another of the pictures. “Gammy’s.”

  “You can leave that here if you want,” Amelia said. “My mom will see Grandma at choir practice tonight.”

  “’Kay.” Stella picked up her last painting. “Feena’s,” she said with a dimpled smile that melted through Fiona.

  She took the picture. “Very nice. Thank you.”

  “Stella, Daddy and Feena.” The little girl pointed to each of the three stick figures holding hands. “Aimee helped me.”

  “Stella wanted to include the whole family. We told her that would take several pictures to fit them all.” Amelia laughed. “So she picked you and Uncle Marc.” Amelia raised an eyebrow in a look so much like the ones Fiona had received from Marc’s mother when she’d referred to the two of them as a couple that Fiona almost burst out laughing.

  “My family,” Stella said, patting the paper.

  “Let’s get going,” she said to try to calm all the different emotions swirling inside her. “Where’s your stuff?”

  “In my packpack.” Stella scampered off.

  “It’s in the living room,” Amelia said. “Uncle Marc didn’t leave her car seat for the car, though.”

  “That’s okay. I have one.”

  Amelia gave her the eyebrow lift again. The first time it was cute. The second verged on irritating. She’d had too many assumptions made about her in the past, and had too many disappointments when she’d allowed herself to accept people’s hopes for her.

  Fiona stopped midstep. Maybe her irritation was misdirected. She was irritated at Marc rather than his niece because he hadn’t made time for her—or Stella—this week.

  Fiona got Stella out to the car, and they made quick work of picking out their picnic food at the store. In the checkout line, Stella scrunched her face as if in pain.

  “What’s wrong, sweetpea?” Marc’s pet name came naturally.

  “Potty.”

  The last person ahead of them finished. “We’re almost done. Can you wait a minute?”

  “No!” Stella shouted. “My tummy hurts.”

  Fiona lifted Stella from the cart seat and looked at the woman behind the checkout counter. “I’m going to push my cart out of the way so the others can go ahead, and I’ll come back.”

  “Sure,” the woman said, and Fiona dashed for the ladies’ room at the back of the store.

  “Hurts,” Stella whimpered as Fiona cranked open the door, transported to another time and another little girl—Beth. She and Mairi had come home from school to their mother passed out in the bedroom and Beth crying uncontrollably in the bathroom from a combination of pain and fear of being disciplined for having an accident. She’d done the best she could for Beth. She’d do better for Stella.

  “I want my daddy!” Stella screamed, tears rolling down her baby cheeks.

  Someone knocked on the stall door. Fiona hadn’t even heard anyone come in. “Is everything okay?” a voice asked.

  “Yes, she’s not feeling well. We’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Do you need me to get someone? The emergency squad?”

  “My daddy,” Stella sobbed.

  Fiona hesitated a moment. “No, thanks. I’m her aunt. I’m trying to get ahold of her father.”

  She pressed Marc’s number. Her phone rang a couple of times before it clicked to an out-of-service area message. Where was his meeting? The question rang in her ears. Despite a new cell tower in the area, there were still a lot of pockets in the mountains with no cell service.

  “Daddy?” Stella’s voice had turned plaintive.

  “No, I didn’t get through, sweetpea. If you’re done, I’m going to take you home and call him again.”

  “Home.” Stella sniffed.

  Fiona felt every eye in the store on her as she carried Stella past the checkout. “I’m sorry, I don’t need the groceries.”

  “Hope everything is okay,” the cashier said with a sympathetic smile.

  The glass exit door opened. Maybe she should have accepted help, let the woman who’d come into the restroom call the emergency squad. But her parents’ lectures and reprimands had wired her to avoid letting people know any family business.

  Her foot caught on the metal threshold strip when she stepped out. Fiona tightened her grasp on the door with one hand and her grip on Stella with her other, drawing the little girl closer to her heart while she steadied her footing. Stella threw her arms around her and buried her face in Fiona’s shoulder. She needed to get in touch with Marc, to find out what he wanted her to do.

  Once in her car, Fiona tried Marc again and got the same message. She turned the key, and Stella cried out above the hum of the engine.

  “It’s okay, sweetpea. Daddy will be home soon.”

  “N’kay. It hurts.” Stella burst into loud, pain-laced tears. “Bad apples. Stella not bad.” She lapsed into baby talk.

  Fiona unbuckled her seatbelt and turned in her seat to stroke Stella’s cheek. “Of course you’re not bad. Did Aimee or Amelia give you an apple?”

  “One.”

 
Amelia had said Marc told them to peel any apples they gave the girl, but she had to ask anyway. “Did she peel it?”

  Stella scrunched her little face in disdain. “Yes, and said no more apples.” The little girl dropped her head to her chest. “I took free. Put them in Kanga’s pocket.”

  Stella’s stuffed kangaroo. Fiona swallowed the painful lump in her throat. Three? But everything was three to Stella.

  “You ate them?”

  Stella nodded. “Hurts.” She pressed her tummy and resumed crying.

  “I know. I’m going to try to call your daddy again.” Fiona dug in her purse. She had to do something. Stella’s discomfort was breaking her heart. In a side pocket, she found what she was looking for—the number to La Table Frais that she’d meant to add to her phone contacts. Maybe Marc was there now, or they could give her a number other than his cell where she could reach him.

  On the ninth ring, when Fiona was about to hang up, a male voice answered the restaurant phone. “Sean?” Fiona recognized his voice. “This is Fiona. Is Marc there, or do you know where I can reach him? His cell is out of service.”

  “No. He left before lunch. I heard him say something about meeting with the partners about the new chef they’re hiring. I don’t have a number. Sorry.”

  Neither did she. “All right. Thanks.” She pressed end.

  Marc went down to New York? He hadn’t said anything to her. If it was spur of the moment, wouldn’t he have called his nieces to let them know? They hadn’t said anything to her about Marc being late. Fiona dropped her head to the steering wheel. What should I do?

  Stella hiccupped. “Pray, Jesus.”

  Fiona’s head shot up. She must have spoken her thought. Fiona had let too many disappointments in life put her out of the habit of expecting answers to prayer. But praying might calm her and allow her to think rationally, rather than with her emotions as she was now. She bowed her head.

  Dear Lord, out of the mouth of babes, You have given strength. Let me use that strength to believe and see Your answer. Amen.

  Fiona lifted her head and checked the clock on the dashboard. Not quite five.

  Then it hit her. Dr. Franklin—she had his card in her purse and his office would still be open.

  * * *

  Marc whistled as he walked the shoveled path to his sister Andie’s house. Everything was falling into place. He and his partners had found the perfect second-in-command chef for La Table Frais. They’d come up to Albany this afternoon so they could all conduct a final interview with her. After the interview, he’d been able to report to his partners that the renovations were ahead of schedule and the other arrangements for the opening were on schedule.

  The extra hours he’d put in these past few weeks, personally meeting with the contacts Fiona and her program had put him in touch with, had paid off. He scratched his earlobe. He’d make it up to Stella—and Fiona—for the time he’d missed out with them. He’d hardly talked with Fiona in the past week, and when he had, it had been business. Driving to his various meetings had given him time to think. He was ready and eager to devote a lot more time to their personal relationship.

  “Hi, Uncle Marc.” His nephew Robbie looked up from the game he was playing on a tablet. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to pick up Stella.”

  “She’s not here.” He went back to his game.

  Not here? “Did the girls take her outside?” They better not have driven her anywhere. He’d purposely not left her car seat because he wasn’t comfortable with the teens taking her out in the car in the snow. Andie knew that, if Aimee and Amelia didn’t. But Andie’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Although it could be in the garage. He scratched his head. Robbie was here, so she must have come home from work at The Kids Place.

  Robbie shrugged.

  “Marc.” His sister walked in. “I thought I heard your voice. Didn’t Fiona get a hold of you?”

  “No. But my phone’s been wonky since yesterday, giving me out-of-service messages when I should have service. I was too busy to stop in the phone store in Ticonderoga, and my meeting in Albany lasted longer than I thought it would.”

  “Fiona picked up Stella about 3:30. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

  He frowned at her. “You should tell me everything about Stella.”

  “Amelia said Fiona was planning a surprise picnic at your house.”

  A weight lifted from him. He should have known it was something like that. Marc looked out the window at the waning sunlight. “I’d better head home and see if they’ve saved me any food.”

  Andie laughed. “I’m sure they have. Enjoy your evening.”

  “I plan to.”

  Andie gave him a knowing look, but he didn’t care. He enjoyed being with Fiona in whatever they were doing, and Stella was accepting Fiona into her life, too.

  When he got to his house, the driveway was empty and no lights were on inside. Maybe Andie had gotten the details from the twins wrong, and Fiona had taken Stella to her house. She didn’t have a yard for a picnic, but the park was close by her apartment. He relaxed back into the seat and texted Fiona. When he didn’t get a quick response, he called her. After a short ring, he got an out-of-service message. He clicked the phone off and tossed it into the passenger’s seat. He had to make time to get it fixed or replaced.

  A few minutes later he pulled into Fiona’s driveway, but saw no car there and no lights on inside. He slapped the top of the steering wheel. Where were they? He picked up his phone and texted his sister.

  Are the twins there?

  Yes.

  Now the phone was working.

  Keep them there. I’m coming back. Fiona and Stella aren’t at my house or hers.

  Marc tried texting and calling Fiona again with the same results. He pulled back onto Main Street and gunned the engine when he hit the village limits. Rationally, he knew there was some logical explanation as to where Fiona and Stella were, but all he could think was that an accident of some sort might have happened.

  Marc screeched to a halt in Andie’s driveway. His mom. Fiona might have called her if she hadn’t been able to get a hold of him. Once Mom had made her one-eighty about accepting Fiona, she’d treated her as another daughter—or daughter-in-law. Mom seemed to think of him, Fiona and Stella as one unit lately.

  He called his mother from the car.

  “Hi, Mom. By any chance are Fiona and Stella there?”

  She laughed. “Lost your girls? That’s what you get for neglecting them.”

  “Mom, I’m serious, and I haven’t neglected them. I’ve just been busier with work lately. They’re there, aren’t they?”

  “No, they’re not.”

  His phone beeped. “I’ve got a call, Mom. Hang on while I take it.” He glanced at the number, which he didn’t recognize, and, heart thumping in his throat, answered.

  “Mr. Delacroix?” a man said.

  “Yes.” Marc squeezed the phone.

  “This is James Fry, from the Schroon Lake Pharmacy. I have the prescription for Stella Delacroix that Dr. Franklin’s office called in this evening. It’s ready for pickup. If you want to stop by tonight, we’re open until nine.”

  “What prescription?”

  The pharmacy assistant rattled off a medication he’d never heard of.

  “Dr. Franklin sent it today?”

  “Yes, about an hour ago.” Impatience crept into the pharmacy assistant’s voice.

  “All right. Thank you. I’m not sure I can make it in tonight. I’ll pick it up first thing in the morning.” Right now, he had to find Stella and Fiona.

  “We’ll see you then.” The pharmacy assistant clicked off.

  “Mom, you still there?”

  “I’m here. Was that Fiona?”

  “No, it was the pharmacy with a new prescription for Stell
a.” He told her the name.

  “Dr. Franklin mentioned that when I took Stella for her appointment. I may not have mentioned it because he wanted to wait and see if it was needed before he prescribed it.”

  “Then why did he prescribe it now?” he said in a strained voice.

  “I don’t know. I’m surprised Fiona didn’t call you.”

  Mom’s not the only one. He bit his tongue so he didn’t take his frustration out on his mother. “She might have. My phone hasn’t been working right. But when Fiona couldn’t reach me, she could have called you instead of taking things into her own hands.”

  “Yeah, I’m a little surprised she didn’t. But she’s taken on a lot of responsibility for Stella the past couple weeks. I’ll text her now.”

  Marc didn’t know if that was a dig or his guilty conscience overreacting. But his current workload was temporary, and he was still Stella’s father, even if he’d signed the consent forms for Fiona to seek treatment for Stella.

  “If Fiona had tried to reach you and couldn’t, she may feel comfortable going with her own judgment.”

  Marc wasn’t as sure. At times, it seemed Fiona couldn’t separate Stella’s condition from her baby sister Beth’s. She needed to embrace the faith he knew she had inside her and let go of the shell of fear that colored her perception of Stella’s health and what needed to be done. Couldn’t she see that they, together with his family, had things in hand?

  He rubbed his chest. From what he’d gathered, her role model for mothering was a woman who ran toward an elusive “something better” whenever she faced a family challenge, leaving Fiona to be the adult in the family, the one who took control. But Stella wasn’t Beth, and Fiona wasn’t the only one able to take proper care of Stella. While the rational side of him knew he should be happy to have her act proactively if something was wrong with Stella, he couldn’t stop the resentment boiling inside him.

  Marc bit his tongue so he didn’t take that resentment out on his mother. “I’m at Andie’s. I’m going to talk with Aimee and Amelia to see if Stella wasn’t feeling well. All I can figure is Fiona took Stella to see Dr. Franklin.” He didn’t want to think about the other possibilities bouncing around in his head.