by Terese Ramin
And Kate.
Because married or not, Hank told his daughter, Kate was in their lives, a part of them—a part of him—with or without Megan’s approval.
Heart in her throat, Kate studied him while he said it, when he turned to hold her gaze and wordlessly hand himself into her keeping. Her throat burned and stung with emotion it was the wrong time to voice. But she held onto him, his hand, his arm, tucked herself under his shoulder and hugged his waist one armed when he led her out of Megan’s room.
Outraged, Megan screamed defiant epithets after them, demanding Hank’s return—then, when he didn’t, shouting that he was just like Gen, that he hated her the way he must have hated her mother because he was always leaving them. that he was deserting her the same as always.
That he was killing her the same way he’d killed Gen, by not being around when he was needed.
He stiffened at that but didn’t stop, shutting Megan’s hospital door behind him.
Staring wide-eyed at the solid wood panel, Megan felt her first flicker of fear. He really wasn’t going to make what she’d done okay, wasn’t going to stop. She’d gone too far this time and he didn’t care, wouldn’t let her punch his buttons anymore.
She was on her own.
“You all right?” Kate asked, a short time later when he put her in the van and told her to go home. He planned to stay at the hospital until Megan was released, then follow her through booking. She might not see it as much—certainty not what she thought she wanted from him—but it was what he could do.
For what that was worth.
“No.” He shook his head. “But I’ll survive.”
“Hank...” She hesitated, lifted gentle fingers to his face, smoothed them over the stubble along his jaw. “I didn’t mean—”
“No.” He shushed her with his mouth on hers in a heartfelt but undemanding kiss that accepted as it gave. “Not now. If it’s important, you can tell me later. I’ve got things to tell you, too.”
She cupped his chin. brushed her lips along his jaw. Not to stimulate, but to love. “I could stay with you.”
He shook his head and eased her hands away, then stepped back. “No. We’ve got more kids than Megan who need some attention and I have to do this one by myself.”
“Okay.” She reached up to kiss him once more. “But if you want me—”
“I’ll call,” he assured her.
Kate believed him.
It didn’t occur to her until she was pulling into the driveway at home that Hank had used the we, claiming her kids at the same time that he accepted her suggestion on how to handle Megan.
A slow, wry smile curved her mouth. On the other side of darkness and indecision lay light.
It was easily one of the longest nights of his life.
He prowled the hospital corridors never far from Megan’s door, exchanging nods with the cop on guard there as if she was some big-time criminal posing a flight risk. But then, that was what he’d asked for, all the show they could give him.
Give her.
She looked scared-still mouthy and defiant, but with fear setting in—when she was released in the morning, wheeled out of the hospital, handcuffed and put in the back of the squad car for transport. Dry mouthed, Hank watched her with his hands fisted tight at the bottom of his pockets to prevent himself from trying to take her away from the police. This was for her own good, he reminded himself, a drastic response to Megan’s drastic behavior.
No justification made the vision of his daughter in handcuffs easier to bear.
He followed the squad car to the station, requested courtesy and walked through Megan’s booking with her—fingerprints, photos, questioning, the works. She lifted her chin and kept her eyes on him the entire time, accusing and somehow amused, as though she’d decided that the show was boring, she knew he’d never leave her to spend any kind of time locked up. And the truth was he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to. But he was wrong.
So was she.
She spent the long weekend waiting for her Monday-morning arraignment in juvie. He spent the weekend in hell.
He asked to see her Saturday morning. She refused to see him. By Saturday evening she agreed to the visit, then cursed him roundly when he wouldn’t agree to spring her. Cursing didn’t work, so she tried tears. The tears nearly undid him, but he swallowed the ache in his chest and stood firm. After the tears her mercurial emotions went from sly, to derisive, to abusively hateful, to one of her unnerving rages. He steeled himself, moved table and chairs in the interview room out of her way so she couldn’t hurt herself, requested a counselor but flashed his badge and refused to let any of the detention staff into the room or to remove the hysterical Megan from his company.
When she’d played herself out enough to be coherent, she accused Hank of a multitude of things, including attempting to kill Kate by getting her pregnant the same way he’d killed Gen.
It was at that point he lost it.
In front of the youth psychologist who’d sat through the end of her rage with him, Hank hauled Megan bodily into a chair and made her stay there while he told her he’d had more than enough, that it was about damn time she got what had really happened to Gen through her head.
Then while Megan tried hard not to listen, he told her.
Then he left.
He didn’t see her at all on Sunday.
On Monday morning, a much quieter and more reasonable Megan asked to see him with the psychologist before her court appearance.
Although moderately repentant, she offered no apologies for what had gone before and Hank expected none—offered none of his own. Locked up with no place to escape herself or her thoughts, she’d been forced to confront five years’ worth of feelings she’d been avoiding. About her mother, her father, herself. Found herself recognizing the misinterpretations she’d long put on some of the things Gen had once said to her, understood the justifications she’d made for her mother to live with some of Gen’s more bizarre behaviors—behaviors Hank had rarely if ever witnessed.
With no one but herself to verbally abuse, she’d remained in the interview room with the psychologist long after Hank had gone, cycling through the stages of grief, crying and disbelieving at first, then denying, then angry again. She’d gone from anger to a bargaining of the if-you’ll-just-let-me-go-I’ll-be-good-from-now-on type. Acceptance was harder to come by. She was sixteen years old and acceptance wasn’t yet part of her make-up-was, in fact, genetically lacking in her personality. Gen had never accepted less than what she wanted out of life and Hank himself was not good at accepting what he didn’t like. Megan did, however, accept and recognize her own need to do things differently, to change her negative point of view—to undergo not only counseling but therapy to help make herself whole.
There were no guarantees, but Hank sat and listened to her, watched the psychologist nod and felt the roots of hope wedge open a closed place inside him.
Megan also asked for alternatives to juvenile detention-no matter how tough.
So, instead of winding up in the courtroom, they wound up in judge’s chambers. The judge, a father with teenage daughters of his own, reviewed the case and Megan’s history, the psychologist’s suggestions, spoke briefly with Hank alone, talked individually with Megan, then called everybody back in and suggested a stiffer solution than he was inclined toward: one month in a halfway house for troubled teens, two years of court-monitored probation, the loss of Megan’s driver’s license until she was eighteen and individual, family and group therapy.
Face pale and knuckles white with the strain of physically holding onto her nerves, Megan gulped, glanced once at Hank beside her and nodded agreement. The attorneys accepted the bargain and the sentence was set to begin immediately. Megan was released to her father’s temporary custody and admonished to deport to the halfway house by the end of the school day with a small bag and all the schoolwork she’d missed over the past week.
Kate and company—from Tai and Carly to Bele, Mike a
nd the dog—met Megan and Hank outside in the courthouse gardens. Megan reddened, embarrassed, when she saw them, ready to flee but for Hank’s arm about her shoulder. Still, when Mike, Bele and Taz launched themselves at her, she hesitated only a moment before stooping to hug them tightly.
“We were worried about you,” Bele said, disengaging himself from her stranglehold.
“Yeah,” Mike agreed. “We didn’t want you to die from doing something stupid.”
“Especially not until we could tell you Harvey got a baby on Annabeth and Mum says if it’s built right we can train for a marathon llama like those ones that run in the llamathons, but we have to ask you first cuz you trained Harvey to run with you and know how to do it.”
The middle boys were more awkward but nearly as welcoming.
Grisha—Mess his tactlessly curious mind—skipped the welcome and went straight to the questions, wanting to know what being arrested in America was like.
Li was standoffish, worried about Megan and afraid to trust her.
Tai uncustomarily held his tongue instead of saying what he thought of what Megan had put his mother and her father through.
Carly gave Megan a quick hug and told her to pay no attention to what Tai was thinking.
Kate smiled a welcome but stood back, letting Megan make the first move. The teen hesitated a moment, glancing at the younger kids then at Li, Carly and Tai. Carly got the message first.
“Come on, guys,” she urged. “Meg needs to talk to Ma. Let’s go exercise the dog.”
When they were gone, Megan moistened her mouth and looked at Kate. “I need to apologize for what I did and the way I behaved,” she said tentatively. Looking as if she hoped somehow Kate would disagree.
Kate didn’t. In fact, all she did was regard Megan steadily and wait.
Megan licked her lips again, compressed them, gathering courage. “The judge said I have to do a bunch of things like go to a halfway house and lose my license till I’m eighteen and have therapy.” She glanced at Hank. Swallowed. “Some of it’s family therapy, and I was just wondering—” Another uncomfortable peek at her father. “I don’t like the way things—” She shook her head, impatient with the half truth. “I don’t like the way I’ve been lately and I know you don’t have much reason to want me around anymore but 1...1 was wondering if you could maybe come to some of the family stuff with me an-and D-dad because you’ve kind of been part of my family for a long time and now you’re having my little brother or sister and maybe...maybe...” Suddenly she pleaded, “I mean it couldn’t hurt, could it?”
Stunned by the request, Kate studied Megan for a moment before raising a questioning brow at Hank. He blew out a breath of his own surprise, gave her a barely perceptible nod. In his bed or out, she’d be a part of him and Megan one way or the other.
And more importantly, they’d be part of her and hers.
Reading more in Hank’s face than she was prepared to see at the moment, Kate slid her gaze quickly back to Megan. “Sure,” she agreed. Breathlessly. Smiling. Not quite comfortable, but more willing than she’d expected to be. “Just let me know when.”
She was waiting on the front porch for Hank when he returned from taking Megan to the halfway house.
They hadn’t had a chance to say more than a few words to each other in days—and those words had been within range of radar-eared children, so even then they hadn’t said much. She came to greet him when he tiredly mounted the steps, slipping her arms around his waist in a full-body hug. Her tummy felt snug and full against his belly, and she had, he could feel, undone the top button of her pants under her T-shirt to accommodate the baby.
He stroked a hand through her loose hair, set her away from him and splayed the other across her abdomen. “Getting big already, is he?”
Kate shrugged. “I’ve gained five pounds in the past month. She must be.”
He bent and kissed her. “He, she, the only thing I care is that it’s healthy and has your eyes and hair.”
“And your mouth,” Kate added, tracing a pinky around his.
“And an easier time getting through adolescence than Meg,” Hank said softly. He kissed her little finger. “But you’ll be there from the start, so it probably will.”
Kate stroked his face. “So will you.”
“I’m not sure my presence’ll be as necessary as yours.”
She pulled back, viewing him with surprise. “Doubts, Hank? That’s not like you.”
He shook his head and grinned wryly. “Not doubts, self-pity more likely. I just put my only daughter in a halfway home, you know. You’ve never had to do that with any of yours.”
“Strictly prayer and luck,” Kate assured him, half laughing. “That and twenty-four hours a day spent in their shadows will get you a lot.”
“Like an abbreviated vocabulary and a nervous breakdown?”
She grinned. “Exactly.”
For a moment they shared silence, then turned as one and moved to sit together on the swing.
“How was the house?” Kate asked.
“Oh, you know.” Hank shrugged. “Noisy. Chaotic. Lots of kids, but it seems to be pretty well run. Good house parents, psychiatrist in residence, strict rules—it’s not here but what is? I think—I hope—it’ll do her some good until they let me bring her home.”
Kate nodded, then rested her head in the hollow of Hank’s shoulder. She shoved a foot against the porch floor to rock the swing. “Speaking of home...” she said tentatively.
He shifted to rest his head on hers. “Were we?”
“If we weren’t, we’re about to.” She pushed herself up on his chest, close to his face. “Hank, if I said yes would you remember the question?”
He stared at her uncomprehending for a moment, then with gradually dawning hope. “Kate...are you saying yes?”
“I think so.”
“God, lady, you’d better know, because this isn’t going to be easy. Meg’s started to come around, but they warn you about backsliding and you and the kids might be better off if you could just walk away, no attachments—”
“Too late,” she said softly.
“What’s too late?”
“The no-attachments part. I’m already attached to you and so are the kids.”
“It’ll be rough,” he warned, doing his best to talk her out of it, praying he wouldn’t succeed.
Kate laughed. “Rough was never in question, Hank. Good grief, we’ve got eight kids between us at the moment and one on the way and by definition that’s not easy, but you know, a united front, an us-against-them has a certain appeal. Not to mention...” She looked down at the buttons on his shirt. “I love you and I love Megan. Mostly I love you.”
“You do.” Not a question.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “And I think I said no before because I was half worried about not hearing the words from you—which was stupid, when I thought about it, because everything you do, you do with love and, really, words like I love you and I’m sorry don’t mean anything without the feeling behind them and—”
Hank cupped her head in a hand and bent toward her. “Shut up, Kate,” he said thickly and kissed her.
Long and hard and again. Then he said what had been on his mind for quite some time. Hotly. Against her mouth. “I love you, lady, now and for the rest of my life. Tell me again that you’ll marry me.”
She did.
Postlude
The bathtub drain was clogged again and he was standing in water to his ankles.
Sighing, Hank shut off the shower’s sibilant spray, bent and unscrewed the drain, reached into the well and pulled out clumps of long sunset-colored hair. His wife had forgotten to empty the drain again.
“Kate!”
“In hem, Hank.”
Annoyed, Hank wrapped a towel about his hips and padded, dripping, into the sitting-room-cum-nursery he’d added onto their bedroom just after their daughter was born. October dusk crowded the nursery, carried him back the long hard year it had taken
to get them here.
They’d married last All Hallows’ Eve while Megan had been in the midst of a major backslide. But it had been that backslide and the psychiatrist who’d been able to observe her at the halfway house that had pinpointed the root of Megan’s violent mood swings: a big-time chemical imbalance called manic-depression.
A daily dose of lithium and a lot of family and individual therapy had helped tremendously. All was not perfect, but it was a damn sight closer than Hank had ever expected.
Of the other kids...
Tai and Carly were blissfully, happily married and still living in the guesthouse. Tai in fact had taken out a few trees to make room for the sizable addition they’d need when their triplets were born next February. He and Carly had been more than a little stunned to learn about the multiple babies, but were now taking it in stride—and simply planning in threes. Excited aunts, Li and Megan, had already volunteered for nanny duty, while uncles Mike and Bele had once again reiterated their refusal to mess with poopy diapers or boy babies until they were potty trained.
Always brighter than her peers, Li was graduating from high school a year early and looking at a full ride to Chicago’s Northwestern University, courtesy of their music department.
Megan was both envious of and ecstatic for her. Her own high-school career was a bit more up again, down again, but after a session of summer school she was caught up and passing her junior classes.
Grisha had won a scholarship to a private high school that specialized in science and went around with his head in the clouds and his feet catching in every rut and raised up bit of carpeting he passed.
Ilya was happy with life and doing well, which was everything that could be wished and more.
Sadly, Jamal was once more back with them—permanently this time. He was a joy in their lives, but they had all hoped that the last time his mother had gone for help to beat her crack habit she’d had it licked. Unfortunately the crack had other ideas. She lived day to day now in a group home, her mind gone. Jamal visited her often, but it was hard on the fourteen-year-old. Sometimes she knew him, but usually she didn’t. He went anyway—and almost always Ilya and some of the other kids went with him.