Holiday in Your Heart

by Susan Fox

  Voice taut with anger, Robin said, “I found out who my real dad is.”

  Her real dad? That was Dave. Wasn’t it? Maybe not, from the pained expression on the man’s face.

  Dave’s mother, Sheila, spoke first, gently, sounding puzzled. “Honey, Dave’s your dad.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you all wanted me to think, wasn’t it? That’s the stupid big lie!”

  “It’s not a lie,” Sheila said, the slightest quaver in her voice. She turned to her son. “It’s not. Is it?”

  Dave squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them their hazel was glossed with moisture. “I’m afraid it is, Mom. I’m sorry. And, Robin, you’re wrong. Your grandparents didn’t lie. They didn’t know the truth. None of them did.”

  What was the truth? Mo felt like he’d gone to a movie and was too dumb to follow the plot. From the puzzled expressions on others’ faces, he wasn’t the only one.

  “How stupid do you think I am?” Robin raged, her cheeks even brighter. “Like I’d never learn about DNA?”

  DNA? What was the girl talking about?

  Miriam gave a soft gasp. “Your school assignment. You called me to ask about your mother’s blood type.”

  Robin nodded. “Lucky thing I couldn’t get Mom, Dad, or Evan on the phone this afternoon, right? If I’d have asked them, they’d have lied. But Cassidy told me the truth when I called her to ask his”—she glared at Dave—“blood type. And I realized he couldn’t be my real dad.”

  Cassidy said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to spill the big secret. I was distracted, in the middle of dealing with a supplier crisis, and when Robin asked I didn’t think about the implications.”

  Dave sighed. “We should’ve thought about the DNA thing, and that Robin would be studying it in school one day. I guess we figured we had time . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Ostriches. Heads in the sand. Stupid.”

  Mo exchanged glances with Maribeth, who looked as stunned as he felt. Dave really wasn’t Robin’s biological father. Dave had known that and had obviously told Cassidy, but it seemed that they and Jess had been the only ones who knew the truth. And maybe Evan? Mo studied his son’s face, which bore just as tortured an expression as Dave’s. Had Evan shared the secret or been just as in the dark as Robin?

  Mo had to wonder who had fathered Robin, and what the circumstances had been.

  Robin had been echoing Dave, saying “Yeah, stupid, stupid, stupid.” She sneered, her pretty face twisting in a far too adult expression. “Like I didn’t know I have this really weird blood type.”

  Weird blood type? Mo had a rare one, inherited from his mother. His son had inherited it from him . . . But no, surely Evan couldn’t be the girl’s biological father.

  Mo had almost forgotten that he was holding little Alex. The child had been happily playing with his makeshift toy, and Mo’d been intent on Robin and the unfolding drama. But now his grandson moved restlessly, as if the tension in the room was getting to him. Mo jiggled the scarf-bunny absently, not wanting to miss a second of the conversation.

  “After all,” Robin said, “we always stockpile some of my blood so the hospital has it frozen in case I need it. Like when I had the splenectomy three years ago.”

  Jess’s sad gaze met her daughter’s. “That night, there wasn’t enough blood on hand and there was a storm, so we weren’t sure that more could be flown in. So we had to ask”—she paused, and tears slid down her cheeks—“your biological father. It was just sheer blind luck that he happened to be in town.”

  At the sound of a feminine gasp, Mo’s gaze turned to Brooke.

  “Evan?” she asked in a squeaky, disbelieving voice.

  Mo, along with everyone else, stared at his son. Evan had knocked up teenage Jess and run out on her? Oh shit, the apple didn’t fall far from that tree.

  A memory flashed into Mo’s mind. When he and Evan had first talked, Mo had said that every child deserved to have two responsible, loving parents—and his words had taken his son aback. Now he understood why.

  “Yeah,” Robin said. “Evan.” She spoke the name with disgust. Even so, her voice trembled when she said, “The father who didn’t want me.”

  “He didn’t know!” Jess cried. “He never knew. I didn’t tell him. Not until the night you needed surgery.”

  Robin’s eyes widened. “Mom! How could you do that?”

  “I meant well.” Tears rolled freely down Jess’s cheeks. “I swear, I honestly meant well. And so did Dave. He loved us, Robin. Dave loved you as his own daughter, from way before you were even born.”

  “Oh yeah, right!” The girl was crying and almost yelling. “None of you love me. You’re all just a bunch of liars!”

  Alex twisted in Mo’s grip, opened his round little mouth, and began to wail.

  Nicki, in the sling across Jake’s torso, promptly did the same.

  Maribeth rose, gave Mo a tiny, pained smile, and then lifted Alex from his lap and set the toddler on his feet. She took his hand. “Come with me, little one. Tee Bee will find us some toys to play with or read you and Nicki a story.” Towing the whimpering little boy, she walked over to Jake as he unbundled Nicki and put her down so Maribeth could take her hand, too. Maribeth glanced around the group of on-edge adults. “We’ll be in the playroom.”

  “Thank you,” Jess said fervently.

  Mo, realizing his mouth was dry from stress, picked up his can of ginger ale and took a long swallow.

  There were a few moments of silence as the threesome left the room, and then Brooke, her voice firm now, said, “Evan, tell us how this happened.”

  The obvious answer would have been, “In the usual way,” but clearly Brooke meant much more than that.

  Evan sighed. “It was once. Just once. Right after, I realized it was a big mistake. I felt like I’d betrayed my friendship with Jess, Miriam, and Wade.” He glanced warily at Robin, who’d perched on the edge of a chair and was glaring at him. “We did use protection, but it failed. Anyhow, this happened right before I left for university. After that, Jess and I didn’t really keep in touch. She didn’t tell me and she had good reasons for that. Anyhow, the first I knew was when she came to me the night of Robin’s accident, saying they needed blood. I was . . . in shock.”

  Evan hadn’t known. He hadn’t run out on Jess and the baby. Mo felt horrible for having imagined that his son might have done such a thing.

  “Jessica?” Miriam said in a firm mother-to-daughter voice. “Why didn’t you tell Evan? Surely he had a right to know.”

  “You think?” Robin said sarcastically.

  Evan put a supporting arm around his wife as she began to speak. “Maybe he did. But all he’d ever wanted to do was leave Caribou Crossing and make a new life.”

  “That’s true,” Brooke said softly, sadly.

  Mo caught her eye and gave her a sympathetic half-smile.

  Jess went on. “If I’d told him, he’d have done what he thought was the right thing. He’d have married me, been stuck in Caribou Crossing, and been miserable. Which meant I’d have been unhappy, too.” She glanced over at her daughter. “And probably so would Robin.”

  Just as had happened when Mo and Brooke wed. His ex, still gazing at Mo, nodded slightly, confirming that they shared the thought.

  Dave coughed, drawing attention. “Jess came to me,” he said. “We were good friends and she wanted a guy’s opinion.”

  “Why didn’t you come to us, Jessica?” Miriam cried in a hurt tone.

  “Oh, Mom,” Jess said. “I wanted to, and I knew you and Dad would support me, but I felt so stupid and I was so confused and . . . I don’t even remember what I was thinking. Just that Dave was someone I trusted totally.”

  “People have always taken their problems to our son,” Sheila said with both pride and a touch of ruefulness.

  “When I thought about Jess’s situation,” Dave said quietly, “the solution seemed obvious. She and I liked each other a lot and were really compatibl
e. More suited to each other than her and Evan, I thought at the time.”

  “And that was true,” Jess said. “Back then, Ev and I were so different, even though we were such good friends.”

  “Friends,” Robin said bitterly.

  “When I thought about Jess’s baby,” Dave said, “I felt something I’d never felt before. Like I could be that child’s father, and I wanted to be.” He gazed at Robin with her red, tear-streaked face. “I did love you, sweetheart. From before you were born. I have never, not for one moment, loved you anything less than wholeheartedly. And when Evan came back and we had to tell him the truth, it almost broke my heart.”

  Mo read the truth of that on Dave’s face, but he felt sorry for Evan as well. What a shock, to find out that he had a daughter. That Jess, his best friend and onetime lover, had betrayed him, even if her intentions had been good. To learn that another man had raised his child as his own.

  “Good,” Robin said to Dave. “You deserve it. You all deserve to feel crappy.”

  “Robin,” Dave said warningly. “Language.”

  “Ha! Like you have any right to order me around. You’re not even my real f-father!” Her angry words came out chokily, mixed with sobs. “And Evan doesn’t deserve to be my father because he r-ran out! And Mom’s a liar, and Cassidy kept this huge, giant secret from me, and everyone else is, is—” She broke off, either crying so hard she couldn’t speak or unable to find the words she wanted. The poor kid was obviously heartbroken and looked to be on the verge of an all-out temper tantrum.

  Somehow, Mo found himself on his feet, walking over to Robin. His granddaughter in all senses of that word, as proved by the flaky blood she’d inherited.

  He kneeled in front of the chair where she sat, not daring to touch her. “Robin, look around this room. Right now, you’re really mad at all of us.”

  “I’m so mad I could, could . . .” Again, it seemed words failed her.

  “Look at each person,” Mo said. “Every single one is here tonight because of you. Because they—” He took a breath, realizing the truth and finding the courage to speak it. “Because we love you so much.” He stared into her glazed, bloodshot eyes and realized she was actually paying attention.

  “It tears us apart that you’re hurt,” he said, “but believe me, no one here ever wanted to hurt you. We want to protect you, but that isn’t always possible. Right now, we’d do anything to make it better, but things happened in the past that can’t be undone. But here’s the thing. Because of what happened, you’ve ended up with even more people who love you and who’d do anything for you. And you know what?”

  Her tears had eased, her cheeks were a little less red, and she shook her head slowly.

  “In my books, that makes you one very lucky girl.”

  She frowned. “L-lucky?” It came out hiccupy, but questioning rather than angry.

  “Lucky.” As he said it, he realized that what he’d told her was, in fact, a little bit true for him, too. He’d gone from being all alone in the world to being connected to everyone in this room. “Robin, you already know that family can be complicated. Remember when you met me and had to figure out what to call me because you already had so many grandparents?”

  For the first time since he’d seen her that night, a hint of a smile flickered on her face. “Yeah. I remember, Mo-Mo.”

  That softening gave him the courage to rest his hand on her arm when he went on. “So, what you learned tonight about Evan is just one more little complication that makes your family even more special. But it doesn’t change any of the love. You’re a smart girl, Robin. You know that nothing’s going to change the love.”

  “I guess you’re right,” she said wonderingly. And then she launched herself off the chair and into his arms.

  He caught her, awkwardly but firmly. As he hugged his granddaughter, this time it was his eyes that were moist.

  Then the others were there, gathering around them hug upon hug, with tears and words of love. Mo’s only regret was that Maribeth wasn’t there to be part of the family embrace.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next evening, Saturday, the friends Maribeth had been babysitting for returned home just after nine. When she climbed into her car, she called Mo. “I’m finished and am heading over to your place. Should I pick up anything on the way?”

  “You’re the only thing Caruso and I want.”

  She smiled as she put her phone back in her purse. How lovely that sounded, and she really hoped he meant it.

  Last night, she’d been a bit worried. When she and Mo had driven back from Jess and Evan’s house, he’d filled her in on what had happened after she’d taken the toddlers to the playroom. She’d been shocked by the evening’s revelations, and clearly Mo was feeling stunned, too.

  When she’d asked if he wanted to come to her place, he’d said, “Not tonight, thanks. I need some time to process everything. Besides, I have to get up early because I promised Hank I’d be at the garage at six. We’ve got a bunch of jobs to finish up before the holidays.”

  His kiss had been perfunctory when she dropped him off, and she’d tried to tell herself he was just distracted and she shouldn’t take it personally. Like Caruso, Mo was a creature who needed space and freedom.

  Earlier today, Mo had called to ask if she was free tonight, and she’d immediately hoped that he really wanted to see her, not that he was having third thoughts about their involvement. She had told him she’d promised friends she’d babysit while they went to the wife’s office party—and also said that the couple hated the obligatory event and planned to be home early. Mo had invited her to his place when she was finished, saying, “I’ll sweeten the pot with a Sunday brunch invitation from Daphne and Irene.”

  “As if the pot needed any sweetening,” she’d told him sincerely, relieved that it seemed he had no intention of breaking up.

  And now here she was, pulling up in front of his house and reaching for her bulging tote bag. In it were a change of clothes, a few toiletries and cosmetics, and her contribution to tomorrow’s brunch: the makings for nonalcoholic mimosas.

  At the front of his landladies’ house, the curtains were closed and the outside Christmas lights lit. As she walked around the side, Caruso came running to greet her with a warble. She squatted to greet him and was delighted to receive his latest gesture of affection: a cheek rub.

  By the time the two of them had reached Mo’s door, it was open and he stood there, lean and handsome in jeans and a gray Henley. Smiling a welcome.

  Barely pausing to put down her heavy tote, she stepped into his arms and clung tight as he wrapped her in a warm hug. “I missed you,” she said. “Last night was so strange.”

  He eased her away, gestured for Caruso to come inside, and closed the door. As she unbuttoned her coat, he said, “You can say that again. I was overwhelmed. Sorry, I didn’t mean to shove you away, but I guess I’m still a bit of the lone wolf. Sometimes I need to process stuff on my own.”

  “It’s fine. I understand, Mo. Believe it or not, I even do that myself sometimes.” After all, she’d been alone since her late teens. As great as her grandparents were, they lived so far away. And her friends might be a “family of the heart,” people to call on for support and to provide support to in return, but she didn’t want to burden them with every woe, setback, or doubt.

  Mo had slipped her coat off her shoulders and was hanging it up while she bent to unzip her boots. When she straightened, he was studying her with an appreciative smile. “You are always such a treat for my eyes,” he said.

  “Same goes for you, Mr. Kincaid.”

  “Me?”

  She snorted. “Don’t give me that. You have to know that you’re serious eye candy.”

  “Maribeth, I’m fifty.”

  “And some things get better with age.”

  “Flatterer. You must want something from me.” He said it teasingly, unthinkingly, and then his face sobered.

  He knew what she want
ed. Everything.

  “Right now, a nice cup of tea or hot chocolate would be perfect,” she said, to take the pressure off.

  “I think I’ve learned how to make decent hot chocolate.”

  She could have made it herself, and probably more efficiently, but she liked that he was waiting on her. So, after she put the nonalcoholic bubbly wine and the organic orange juice in the small fridge, she settled herself on the comfortable couch that unfolded into a less comfortable but acceptable bed. With a sigh of relief, she put her sock-clad feet up on the coffee table. Her friends’ three kids had been little monsters tonight. With only two days to go until Christmas, they’d been hyped up.

  She glanced over to watch Mo as he heated milk on the hot plate. Aside from a small bathroom with a shower and no tub, the apartment was a single room. The kitchen had a little fridge, a sink, a microwave, and a two-burner hot plate. The rest of the room held the couch, a coffee table and end table, a small table with a couple of chairs, and a TV. The furniture was simple and the decor gender neutral. If Maribeth lived here, she’d add books, knickknacks, colored pillows and throws, and some art on the walls. Now the only personal touches were Mo’s tablet on the coffee table, and the box with an old blanket where Caruso now curled up.

  Still, the very fact of the man’s and dog’s presence, not to mention the scent of chocolate as Mo stirred cocoa into the hot milk, made the place feel homey.

  She smiled gratefully up at Mo as he brought her a steaming mug. “This is just what I needed. Thank you.” Did he know she meant much more than just the beverage?

  “Long day?” he asked as he seated himself beside her, put his own sock-clad feet on the coffee table, and reached for her free hand.

  She twined her fingers with his and squeezed. “Oh, yes. The store was crazy busy, lots of last-minute shopping happening. And the babysitting—well, let’s just say I’ve seen those kids on better days.” She blew on the hot beverage and took a tentative sip.