Devon followed her inside, and while he waited, he rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. Under the sink, there was a bottle of soap, so he added some before turning it on. There. What girl could stay mad at a guy who did the dishes? Helping himself to another handful of sugar, he walked back out to the patio and whistled for the birds.
“Thanks for doing the dishes,” Stella said, sinking down onto a chair.
“It’s the least I could do after such a terrific meal.”
“I couldn’t let you leave Australia without tasting meat pies.”
“Or Vegemite,” Devon reminded her, pulling out the other chair. “Although I’m not about to thank you for that one.”
“Hey, Ryan loves it too. In fact, you should take some back with you—” She winced. “I’m sorry. I keep doing that, don’t I?”
“Yeah, you do.” And Devon was tired of it—more than tired. He’d made it more than clear that he wouldn’t become Ryan’s guardian. Couldn’t. It was time for her to stop assuming. Time to accept the situation for what it was. Lindsay had chosen wrong, and Stella needed to deal with that and focus on finding Ryan a good home with two great parents. He deserved nothing less.
Devon settled back in his seat and crossed his arms. “Why don’t you just tell me whatever it is you want to say. Then I can tell you once and for all that I can’t become Ryan’s guardian.”
Her expression solemn, Stella nodded. “If you don’t take Ryan, our state government will become his guardian and will be responsible to find him carers.” She paused. “And they’ll start with Ryan’s nearest relatives.”
At least she was finally being open with him. “And his nearest relatives are . . . ?”
“Lindsay’s parents. George and Betty Caldwell.”
“And that’s bad because . . . ?”
“Because they aren’t nice people, Devon,” she said. “They’re religious and devout Catholics, but they’re also cold, strict, and unfeeling. Sounds contradictory, I know, but I really don’t think there’s a speck of love in either one of them. That’s why Lindsay hated religion so much.”
“Have you met them?”
“A few times. Lindsay used to tell me stories about her life with them. Although they never physically hurt her, they yelled a lot and berated her—even in front of me. Lindsay was raised to think of herself as ugly, brainless, clumsy, and annoying.
“In middle grade, she heard about a foreign-exchange program offered through her school. She jumped at the chance and somehow managed to convince her parents to let her go. Lindsay described those nine months with your family as the best ones of her life. Your mother treated her with love and kindness, and your sister was a great friend who taught her about hair, makeup, and clothes.
“And you—well, Lindsay said you’d smile and say hi. That you told her she was smart when she came to you with a math question, and that she was talented when she drew you a picture to say thanks. She said you opened doors for her and told her that ladies were always first. She called you her prince, you know.
“Although we grew up in the same town, we didn’t really become friends until the tenth grade. I found her crying in the bathroom one day after some guy she went out with had slapped her around. She didn’t think much of herself, which was why she picked losers. She said they were all she was good enough for.
“After graduation, she ran away from home and got a waitressing job in Sydney. We kept in touch, and a few years later I found out she was pregnant. At the time, I thought it was the worst thing that could have happened to her—another setback. But I was wrong. Ryan transformed her. Lindsay stopped dating, found a decent job, and became . . . almost confident. She used to say that her baby would have the best mother in the world.” Stella choked on the last words and fell silent.
Which was good because Devon wasn’t sure he wanted to hear any more. He hadn’t known what Lindsay’s life had been like, what struggles she’d had to face. Nor had he known that a few kind words spoken so long ago would have meant so much. A one-time comment of, “you’re smart,” shouldn’t be a highlight of someone’s life. Devon should’ve made more of an effort to befriend her back then.
If only he’d known.
“And Lindsay was the best mother,” Stella continued. “When Ryan was born, she started working part-time from home, and with a little help from the government, she got by okay. She doted on Ryan and showered him with love, affection, and compliments. The first time Lindsay held him in her arms, she called him her handsome and brilliant little man. I know, because I was there.
“She was over one time and Ryan spilled his milk. Lindsay immediately tipped her own glass over and said something like, ‘How fun! You are the best game-inventor!’ He giggled, and for the next couple of months, until the ‘game’ got old, Lindsay constantly cleaned up spilled drinks. I told her she was crazy, but she said that her son would never hear a negative word from her. Ever. And I’m sure he never did.”
No more, please no more. Devon wished he’d never come. He wanted to forget everything or somehow make Stella take it all back. Erase. Delete. Strikethrough. Whatever it took, he wanted it gone.
There had to be another alternative. Some other way. “If you know all this about the Caldwells, why can’t you get Ryan placed somewhere else, with parents who can give him the kind of home he deserves? You’ve got to have some connections.”
Stella shook her head. “You don’t understand. If the Caldwells want to take and raise Ryan, there’s not much I can do to stop them. Sure, I can take them to court and challenge the placement, but I can’t prove anything. On paper they’re the perfect choice. All I have are a bunch of secondhand stories from a deceased friend. It would be their word against mine, and you have to know how those types of cases play out.”
“So what you’re saying is that if I don’t become Ryan’s guardian, he’ll end up with the Caldwells?”
“Unless they, like you, don’t want him.”
“What are the chances of that happening?”
“To be honest, they don’t even know they have a grandson. Lindsay would die all over again if she thought they’d ever meet.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s because I don’t have an answer. Your guess is as good as mine.”
Devon let out a breath. This was too much to take in. Too much pressure. “So why me? Why not you? I get that Lindsay thought I was a nice person, but that was ten years ago. You were her best friend and already knew and loved Ryan. Why did you let her list my name?”
“Ironically, Lindsay didn’t choose me for the same reasons you say you can’t take Ryan. I work full-time and I’m single. She couldn’t see me making the situation work, and she didn’t want Ryan being raised by a nanny or a care center. She also wanted Ryan to be part of an extended family, which I don’t have.”
Devon clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t prepared for this.
“Listen.” Stella leaned across the table and covered his hand with hers. “Lindsay promised me she would contact you before she passed away. I’m not sure why she didn’t, but I do know she felt right about choosing you. She knew you came from a wonderful family, and I’m sure she assumed you still lived near them. Maybe she even thought you were married.”
Unseen walls closed in around Devon. The humid air felt hot and sticky. Thick. “Why didn’t she pick my sister then? Emily’s married, she’s a stay-at-home-mom, and she has a couple of kids. She would have been a way better choice.”
“She wanted you.”
“But she hardly knew me! I don’t get it.” Devon stood and paced the small patio, wishing now it was bigger. The arguments he’d come prepared with were no longer valid. He’d been broadsided. Stella had known all of this from the get-go and kept it from him, choosing to dump it on him three days before his scheduled flight home. Why?
The answer came in an instant. She’d wanted Devon to get to know Ryan and care about him. She wanted him to feel r
esponsible. Because if he cared, he couldn’t possibly let Ryan go to the Caldwells.
Which left only one choice.
Him.
Devon was thrust back to the ninth grade when Nancy, the prettiest girl in school, had flirted with him. He’d felt flattered, even a little arrogant. But then he found out she’d only acted that way to make his best friend jealous. It had been his first real and painful experience with manipulation—but it was nothing to what Stella had done.
“Exactly why did you want me to take Ryan for two weeks?” Devon’s eyes dared her to be honest.
With a pleading look, she said, “I needed you to come to love Ryan the way I do—to care about the outcome of his life.”
“And you think his life will be that much better with me?” Devon almost shouted the words.
“Yes,” Stella said, her voice shaking. “I do.”
“You know, you’ve got some nerve—”
“I’ve got nerve?” Shoving her chair back, Stella stood. “I don’t know why you’re blaming me for this. I wasn’t the one who lived with your family for nine months. I wasn’t the one who had a baby on my own. I wasn’t the one who listed you in her will. And I wasn’t the one who died!” With her palms planted on the table, she dropped her head, shoulders shaking. When her eyes finally met his again, tears coursed down her cheeks. “I was the one who tried to convince Lindsay to choose me.”
Devon felt an almost physical impact, as if her words had literally struck him. He took a step back. He needed to get away. He needed time to think and less suffocating air to breathe. He needed Stella’s tear-filled eyes to look at someone else.
So he turned and walked away.
Through the patio door and into the kitchen—Devon stopped short when he saw bubbles. Lots of bubbles. They oozed from the dishwasher, covered the floor, and seeped into the great room.
“What the heck?” This couldn’t be happening. Not now.
“Oh look, you mopped the floor too,” Stella said from behind.
Devon struggled to push the claustrophobia aside, at least long enough to deal with the mess. “There was only one kind of soap under your sink. I figured it was dishwashing detergent.”
“I’m out of dishwashing soap.”
Devon turned on her. “Why didn’t you say anything? You knew I loaded the dishes.”
Pushing past him, Stella said, “I didn’t know you turned the dishwasher on.”
“For crying out loud! Who washes dishes and doesn’t turn it on?”
“It wasn’t even full!”
“So?”
Stella glared before she stepped through the bubbles to stop the machine. “Just go. Please. Just go.”
Gladly. Devon didn’t need to be told twice and practically bolted for the front door.
“Wait,” her voice called out as he grabbed the handle. What now?
“Please.” Stella shoved a wrinkled envelope into his hand. “Read this before you make any decisions.”
Stuffing it into his pocket, Devon flung open the door and left.
Chapter Ten
Devon didn’t know how long he’d been on the train or where it was headed. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was getting away from Stella. And Ryan too. As if distance would alleviate the pressure and allow him to think.
If only Lindsay Caldwell had never come to America.
Devon knew it was harsh, but he didn’t care. He wanted to confront Lindsay and tell her she’d made a mistake—a horrible mistake. That she needed to come back and set it straight. But Lindsay was gone. And like a squashed bug on a windshield, she’d left a big splat behind.
Devon’s palm hit the back of the seat in front of him, and several passengers turned to stare. At the next stop, he left the train behind. Crossing a street, he looked up at the sky. Why God? Why me? It was as though he was being punished, but for what? Committing an act of kindness? If Devon had been rude to Lindsay or simply ignored her, he wouldn’t be in this situation now. But he’d been nice, complimentary even.
And how had she thanked him?
By messing up his life from her grave.
⇐ ⇑ ⇒
“I’m sorry I’m so late.” Devon left the door open, hoping Colleen would take the hint.
No such luck. Colleen smiled but remained seated in the armchair. “I don’t mind. Ryan is a delight, and we’ve had a wonderful time together. He’s now snug as a bug in bed.”
“Thanks for watching him for me.”
“Did you have a nice time with Stella?”
“Sure.” Until she shoved me under the bus.
Eyebrows raised, Colleen said, “For someone who just spent the majority of the day with a pretty girl, you don’t look happy.”
“It’s been a long day.”
“So you don’t like her then?”
Was this really happening to him after the day he’d been through? “I do like her. She just told me some things that made me angry. In fact, if you want to know the truth, we had lunch together and then I spent the rest of the day riding around on a train and walking.” Devon collapsed on the couch. “On a positive note, I now feel as though I’m learning my way around downtown Sydney.”
Colleen’s expression fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Would you like to talk about it?”
“No, but thanks for asking. And thanks again for taking care of Ryan. I owe you.”
Colleen stood and picked up something she’d been crocheting. It looked like a blanket. “You should call your mom.”
Devon wanted to laugh at her random, unasked-for advice. He wanted to smile. But finding humor in anything now felt too foreign. Too impossible. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that.”
“Good.” Colleen patted his cheek. “Mothers always know the right thing to say. They’re a gift straight from heaven, you know. And I’m not just saying that because I’m a mom.”
The door closed, and Devon tossed aside her advice. What could his mother possibly say, anyway? Nothing. She could only listen and worry, which was exactly why he wouldn’t call. Why make someone else shoulder his problems?
They’re a gift straight from heaven. The words echoed in Devon’s mind.
It was true. His mom was a gift from heaven. How many times had she been there for Devon? Hugged him when he was sad. Helped him with school projects, read to him, listened to him. Given him advice. And right now, more than ever, Devon needed some advice. Some good advice.
So he pulled out his phone and called Lydia Pierce.
“Devon, is that you?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”
“Why does something have to be wrong for me to call you?”
“It’s five in the morning, sweetie. Usually you call at a reasonable hour.”
Could nothing go right today? “I’m sorry, Mom. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll call back in a few hours.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “I’m already awake and headed to the family room so I won’t wake your father. Now what’s going on? Is Ryan okay? I really wish you’d call more often.”
“I talked to you three days ago.”
“Exactly.”
Devon sighed. “Sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“I know and I understand. What can I do for you?”
“I need some advice, Mom.”
“Well you came to the right place,” Lydia teased. “I really should write a book one of these days.”
Devon actually smiled. It felt good. Even managed to release some of the aching pressure from his head—enough to get him talking, at least. The words gushed out as Devon told his mother everything. From the Caldwell’s nastiness to Stella’s duplicity, Lydia heard it all.
When he finished, Devon waited for her words of wisdom. She’d know what to do. How to turn it all around so that Ryan would end up with a good family and Devon could return to America alone.
But no answers came. No words of wisdom. “Mom? Are you still there?”
“Yes,” Lydia said. “I’m just wondering what it is you want
me to say.”
“How should I know? You’re the one who could write a book. You tell me.”
Her throaty chuckle spanned the globe and sounded loud in his ear. “Ah, sweetheart, I’m afraid this is one of those situations where I can’t tell you what to do. It’s your life. You need to decide what the right thing is for yourself.”
“That’s just it. No decision is a good one. Ryan gets screwed either way.”
“I disagree,” Lydia said. “I think you’d make a wonderful father.”
Of course she would think that—she was his mother. “And what about my job? Am I supposed to take him with me to work?”
Silence.
“Mom?”
“Honey, in your mind, this is a lose-lose situation. You’re not seeing the big picture. All you’re seeing is the here and now, when what you really need to do is think about the future. Regardless of what you decide, everyone’s life will continue to move forward. Whether Ryan comes home with you or not, he’ll grow up and live his life, with you or with someone else. If you decide to bring him back with you, you’ll find a way to make it work. In other words, stop worrying about the now and focus on making a decision you can live with.”
Devon felt like cursing. Where was the door number three? The “everyone goes home a winner” solution? Nowhere. There wasn’t one. Not even his gift of a mother could find one.
“Uh, thanks, Mom, but I should go.”
“I know you’ll make the right choice. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Devon dropped his head to his hands. Why wish for a third door when there really wasn’t even a second?
Why hadn’t Lindsey added a contingency? Something to the effect of: “If Devon can’t or won’t take Ryan, I want my son to be raised by Stella Walker.” It was like Lindsay had kept it out on purpose, knowing it would force Devon to take her son. The ultimate manipulation. The ultimate trap. And it had worked. A ball and chain was now clamped around Devon’s ankle, and there was no way to break it free—not if he wanted to live with himself.
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