by Abby Gaines
So, yes, Kyle would be home early this evening. But every other night he’d walked in the door at five to eight, just in time to say good-night to his daughter, having gone to work on the new house after putting in a full day at city hall. Then he’d microwave himself a meal, or reheat some of what Jane had cooked. At which point Jane would retire to her bedroom to read or do some work.
Jane was perfectly happy to see so little of Kyle. But though she had little experience of normal family life, she suspected it was a problem that Daisy seemed equally content.
Jane couldn’t help thinking the way she and Kyle had made things work—largely due to her desire to avoid proximity to him—wasn’t what Lissa would have had in mind. Lissa had been an only child, like Daisy, and she’d been devoted to both her parents. As they were to her.
“Maybe we should call in to your dad’s office to remind him about tonight’s barbecue,” she suggested as she followed Daisy inside. It would mean going out again, and no doubt Kyle would consider it odd. But once they got to Charles’s house, he would be in demand from his dad, his brother and Micki—Daisy wouldn’t get a look in.
Daisy wasn’t the kind of kid to say an outright no to the suggestion, but she made a negative noise.
Jane dithered. Should she force the issue? Was it too late to engineer a token conversation at this stage? It wasn’t as if Kyle was a bad father. He was working to get a new home ready for his daughter—that was a good thing. And when the house was done, in a few weeks’ time—and after next month’s election—he’d have a lot more time for Daisy.
She would let it go, she decided. But before she left town tomorrow morning she’d tell Kyle he needed to get home earlier every night, even if it meant the house took a little longer to finish.
She set out cookies and milk while Daisy took her backpack upstairs, then called the girl down for her snack. It took a couple of minutes for Daisy to arrive, and when she entered the kitchen, she was carrying a red spiral-bound notebook.
“This is Mommy’s book,” she said accusingly.
Jane put the cookie jar back in the pantry and closed the door. “That’s right, it is. Did you go into my room, Daisy?”
Daisy looked sheepish. “I saw it on your bed when I went past.”
Jane decided to let the invasion of privacy slide. “It’s your mom’s diary. I found it when I was tidying her things.” Barb had asked Jane to start sorting through Lissa’s effects—she was too upset to do it herself and she didn’t think it was right for Lissa’s ex-husband to go through her belongings. “I’m going to give it to your nana to look after until you’re old enough to read it.”
Daisy bit her lip. She set the book on the table next to her glass of milk while she climbed onto a chair. “I opened it.”
“You opened the diary?” Jane pulled out a chair opposite and sat. “That’s okay this time, Daisy, but people’s diaries are private and in the future you shouldn’t peek.”
Daisy stared down at her cookie, her cheeks flushed.
“Did you read it?” Jane asked, alarmed. “Did something upset you?” Daisy couldn’t read, could she? Jane hadn’t read the diary at all herself, beyond opening the notebook to verify what it was.
“I found a picture,” Daisy mumbled.
Oh, heck. Jane tried to imagine what kind of image might have disturbed her so badly. “Maybe you should show it to me.”
The speed with which Daisy flipped open the book and pulled out a photo suggested she’d been hoping for the invitation.
Jane took the snapshot from her.
“It’s you, with your mommy and daddy, when you were a baby,” she said, relieved. “It’s lovely.” Lissa was holding the newborn Daisy, wrapped in white, with a white woolen hat on her tiny head, two wrinkled fists tucked beneath her chin. Lissa and Kyle were beaming down at her, entranced.
Jane cleared her throat to ease a sudden scratchiness.
“I think...” Daisy murmured, so quietly Jane had to strain to hear.
“What do you think?” she asked, when nothing else was forthcoming.
“Mommy loves me,” Daisy whispered.
Jane’s jaw sagged; she snapped her mouth shut. “Of course she loves you, Daisy. Always.” The use of the present tense felt awkward, but anything else was too hard.
Daisy nodded, head down, her eyes focused on the edge of the table.
“Look at me, Daisy,” Jane ordered.
Daisy’s natural obedience had her complying.
“Your mommy loves you a lot. I’m sure she told you that.” Please let Lissa have told you that.
Daisy nodded.
Phew.
“Sometimes,” Daisy said, “she comes into my bedroom at night when I’m pretending to be asleep, and she cries.”
Jane froze. Was she saying Lissa was haunting her?
Damn Kyle, why was he never around? How was Jane supposed to handle a haunted five-year-old? Her throat was dry, her palms sweaty. “You know, sweetie, your mom’s not really here in this house now.”
“I know,” Daisy said. “She’s deaded.”
“I—uh, yes.” Jane grabbed Daisy’s glass and took a swig of milk before she remembered she hated the stuff. She swallowed a gag. “So when you say your mom comes into your bedroom...”
“Before,” Daisy said. “Before the car crash. She can’t come now.”
“N-no, that’s right.” Jane felt as if she were groping through fog. “Maybe you were only dreaming about her coming—” She broke off at the uncharacteristically mutinous set of Daisy’s mouth. “Okay.” She let out a slow breath. Beneath the table, she rubbed her damp palms against her jeans. “Okay, so your mom was crying. That...that’s because mommies worry about their children growing up and, uh, leaving their mommies. They think about how much they’re going to miss them and it makes them cry.” She was fairly sure her own mom had never had that kind of thought. Please, let her believe me.
Slowly, Daisy nodded.
Thank you.
“My daddy doesn’t love me,” Daisy said.
The downturn of her sweet little mouth grabbed Jane by the heart and squeezed. Hard. She resisted as long as she could—a pathetic few seconds. Then she undid two weeks of avoiding physical contact by reaching, reluctantly, across the table for Daisy’s hand. It was so small, half the size of her own.
“He does love you, Daisy. I promise.” To her horror, not only did her voice shake, but the words also lacked conviction. Kyle was determined to provide a home for his daughter, no doubt about that. But had his doubts that he was Daisy’s father compromised his ability to love her?
Daisy shook her head. “You don’t love me, either.”
“I, uh...” Danger signals flashed red lights and rang bells in Jane’s head. Runaway train, get out of the way.
She couldn’t do it. Though her fingers were slippery; she held tighter to Daisy’s. “You and I don’t know each other that well, but we’re, uh, friends.” It was like trying to stop that runaway train by waving a handkerchief at it. Useless.
“Mrs. Mason said you’re going away.” Daisy pulled her hand out of Jane’s and reclaimed her milk glass.
“You knew that. We’re going to Grandpa’s house tonight because it’s my last night, remember?” Hadn’t she explained the reason for the barbecue clearly? “When I got here, I told you I was here for two weeks, and last Monday I reminded you I’d be leaving on Saturday. Tomorrow morning.”
Daisy’s blank look told Jane,
too late, that days and dates meant nothing to a five-year-old. “I need to go home to Denver,” she explained. “But you can come visit me.” Chances were, once Jane left, Daisy would forget all about her.
The thought didn’t bring the relief she’d expected.
“Doesn’t matter.” Daisy’s voice turned distant, her demeanor so completely closed it was disturbing.
And familiar.
Jane recognized the expression she had cultivated herself as a girl. The aloof stare that said, “I’m not here, not listening to your hurtful words.”
All of a sudden, Daisy’s introverted nature made perfect sense. Jane couldn’t believe she—a supposed expert in reading people—hadn’t figured it out before.
Daisy withdrew to protect herself from rejection by the parents whose love she doubted. From rejection by Charles Everson, who worried her quietness might be regarded as bad manners, among goodness knows what other subtle criticisms. By Jane, who was about to leave.
Jane wanted to haul Daisy into her arms and squeeze her tight. Assure her she was loved, as every child should be.
But...
Lissa was gone, her love only a memory. Jane had little faith in Charles’s ability to love Daisy the way she deserved. And Kyle...Kyle was going about fatherhood the wrong way, and Jane had been so intent on protecting herself and her secret, she hadn’t confronted him about it.
And now she was about to abandon Daisy to this life—this half life—of protecting herself from hurt. Jane pulled her thoughts up. My life’s not a half life. Okay, wrong term. But Daisy shouldn’t have to grow up that way—no kid should.
“Get in the car, Daisy.” Jane’s voice was tight.
Daisy blinked. “I’m eating my cookie.”
“You’re going to visit with Nana for an hour.”
Daisy’s face lit up at the thought of Barb—the only person whose love was beyond question. Though even Barb had been forced to pull back from Daisy, due to Hal’s condition.
“But where are you going?” Daisy asked anxiously, as if Jane might already be on her way to Denver.
“To see your dad.”
Daisy’s eyes widened, more at Jane’s gritted teeth than the actual words, Jane suspected.
“Um...” Daisy said uncertainly.
“Nothing to worry about,” Jane assured her. “It’s just, your daddy loves you, Daisy, and I’m not leaving here until you know it.”
Ding-ding-ding. The alarm bells again. This time sounding a warning that rule number four of her protocol might be about to be shattered. Don’t promise what you can’t deliver.
* * *
THE MEETING OF THE COUNCIL’S economic development and planning committee had started late. Five minutes in, it went south, when two of the councilors shared objections from “a concerned citizen” about the proposal Kyle was developing for the future of Pinyon Ridge.
“Would this concerned citizen happen to be Wayne Tully?” Kyle asked.
He didn’t need an answer; the councilors’ truculent expressions gave it away. Tully had served three terms as mayor before Kyle took the gold chain off him, and now he was running again. His campaign involved playing on the boom time Pinyon Ridge had enjoyed before Kyle took over, and blaming the entire global financial crisis on Kyle’s term in office. Which would be laughable if a whole bunch of people whose wallets were hurting didn’t respond to that kind of propaganda.
They seemed to have forgotten that under Tully, the town’s budget had been spent acquiring products and services from businesses run by Tully’s friends, rather than on long-term plans that would build a sustainable future.
For a town that sold itself to visitors on the strength of its natural beauty and pure environment, committing to a carefully planned development program that allowed growth while retaining history and protecting and enhancing the landscape should be a no-brainer.
Instead, certain councilors thought the town should aim to fill the coffers with tourist dollars as fast as possible, without worrying too much about how the place might look with a bunch of tacky high-rises obscuring the view. Said high-rises would doubtless be built by contractors who were good friends of Wayne Tully, using cheap, temporary labor from out of town. Kyle’s vision was for a slower pace of development, employing local workers—craftspeople—and attracting new families to the area to fill any gaps in the workforce.
Whose dumb idea had it been to appoint a cross section of political views to the economic development and planning committee, rather than stacking it with people who agreed with the mayor? Oh, yeah, that would have been mine. Kyle had taken office determined to be different from Tully and his rampant cronyism. Now, the thought of easy committee meetings with a bunch of yes-men made a hell of a lot of sense.
When his secretary interrupted, his first reaction was relief. “Kyle, Jane Slater is here. Apparently, it’s about Daisy, and it’s urgent.” She said Jane Slater with obvious disapproval.
Whatever the reason for Jane’s visit, it couldn’t be life or death, or even serious injury—the police or fire department would have contacted him directly. Still, the thought of escaping this deadlocked meeting had him getting to his feet.
“You guys finish the discussion of Tully’s letter without me,” he told the committee. “I’ll summarize when I get back.”
“How can you summarize if you’re not here?” his deputy asked.
“I’ll just repeat the waffle Wayne Tully’s been spouting since he lost the last election.” Kyle strode from the room.
He switched his mind into dad mode as he entered his office. The change in gears hadn’t got any easier over the past couple of weeks.
With Jane leaving, he’d need to pick up his game.
She was inspecting the photo on the wall behind his desk, taken by the Pinyon Ridge Gazette the day he was sworn in as mayor. Him, Gabe and their dad, all smiling.
She wore denim cutoffs, which showed off her slim legs. Kyle sighed. No matter how few words they exchanged, no matter how much she irritated him, he couldn’t stop noticing her...physical details. A three-year stint of celibacy probably didn’t help on that score.
“What’s the problem with Daisy?” he asked abruptly.
Instead of answering, she pointed to the photo. “The town triumvirate—mayor, police chief and pastor. You must be so proud.”
That was definitely not admiration in her voice.
Over the past two weeks, he’d kept his distance from her, in every sense—except for those pesky physical observations. The distance thing had been her call, and it had annoyed him when she’d made it, but she’d been right. He didn’t need an argument now when she was about to leave town.
“Daisy?” he prompted.
She came around from behind his desk. Her white T-shirt, with a splodge of what might have been orange juice on the front, suggested this was an unplanned visit.
“There’s no easy way to say this,” she began.
Great, he might as well have stayed in with the committee. “How about you just spit it out? I have meetings out the wazoo today.”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s a surprise.”
“You know I’m busy,” he said. “That’s why Barb wanted you to stay.”
“Barb wanted me to make sure you and Daisy could get along.”
“That’s not exactly what she said.” Though perhaps the gist was correct.
“Instead, I’ve done nothing,” she said, “except let you off the h
ook of being a dad to Daisy.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but he was fairly certain he didn’t like it. “If you’re trying to say you wish you’d done things differently, don’t beat yourself up. I think you’ve done a great job.”
She gave that platitude the withering look it deserved. “Daisy thinks Lissa didn’t love her.”
Kyle recoiled. “That’s ridiculous. Lissa was devoted to her. They were inseparable, they—”
Jane spoke over the top of him. “She also thinks you don’t love her. And since Lissa’s not here, this is your problem, Kyle.”
She’d spent two weeks here, and she waited until now to deliver her judgment. Was it her idea of a parting shot?
“If you’ve come to tell me I’m a terrible father, that’s old news,” he said. “Just ask Barb. But for the record, you’re wrong. I love Daisy, and I know Lissa did, too. What I don’t know is why you’re starting this conversation now, when you’re about to leave town. Other than to make trouble. I guess you’re playing to the Slater strength.”
Her hiss confirmed that was a low blow. “Daisy started the conversation now,” she said. “And thank goodness she did, since I’ve been too blind—willfully blind—to see the problem. And too busy avoiding you.”
“That was your choice.”
“All I said was, we’re not friends,” she corrected. “I didn’t say you had to spend every waking moment away from Daisy.”
Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose. “I admit I took advantage of having you here to make some progress on the new house so I can give Daisy a proper home. Clearly, that makes me evil.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “The home she needs is one filled with love.” She leaned her butt against Kyle’s desk, as if she were settling in for a long discussion. “I’m not necessarily saying you don’t love Daisy.”