A Dad for Billie

by Susan Mallery

  She felt as broken and battered as a board washed ashore from a shipwreck. She supposed it was possible to have handled the situation worse than she had, but she couldn’t figure out how. After Adam had threatened her, she’d fled the room. Charlene had agreed to keep a bewildered Billie for the night. That left Jane free to deal with her emotions and the tears that refused to be halted. Every time she thought she couldn’t possibly cry anymore, she would start again.

  Her life lay crumpled around her. She had no one to blame but herself. Adam was right—so many of her choices had been wrong ones. She had deprived him and Billie of each other. Had she been a bad mother as well? She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her bent knees. She recalled the months she’d struggled to make ends meet, to pay the rent and provide food and utilities for their tiny apartment. Billie’s face flashed before her, the four-year-old’s tantrums when her mother had left for work. Had she damaged Billie? Had she chosen incorrectly? She was willing to admit to some of the blame, but all of it? She groaned softly. She just didn’t know.

  Was Adam right? Should she have come home? Was living in a big house better, even if that house didn’t have any love to fill it? Could he have learned to care about her and his child? Could she have lived with the knowledge that she was little more than an obligation?

  She’d only ever wanted Adam to love her. That’s all. Not want her because she was appropriate, or easily trained, or because he’d felt obligated. She’d wanted to be loved. For herself. Was that wrong? Selfish? Wrapping her arms around her legs, she wished she could disappear.

  From her left came the soft crunch of footsteps on the path between the two houses. Jane sat perfectly still, as if her lack of motion would make her invisible.

  Adam. She sensed it was him even before he sat next to her and she could smell his after-shave and the unique male essence of his body.

  “Go away,” she murmured, refusing to look up.

  “I had dinner with Billie,” he said without warning.

  Oh, God. Her heart froze in her chest. Had he—

  “I didn’t tell her.”

  Thank you, she prayed.

  “I wanted to,” he said, anger still apparent in his voice. “I was going to blurt it out over the salad. I even thought about kidnapping her and running until you couldn’t find us.”

  She turned her head so she could see him. He sat next to her on the steps of her front porch. Two feet separated them. He mimicked her pose—he’d drawn his legs up close to his chest and rested his arms on his knees.

  “I couldn’t.” He looked at her then. She saw that she’d been wrong about hearing anger in his voice. It wasn’t rage—it was pain. The loss he’d suffered deepened the lines around his eyes and the hollows in his cheeks. “I don’t give a damn about you, but I couldn’t hurt her.”

  “Thank you.”

  He looked straight ahead. “Where do we go from here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t have any ideas?”

  “No.”

  “You never planned to tell me.”

  “Oh, Adam, I can’t convince you of it, but for what it’s worth, yes, I did want to tell you about Billie. Today, believe it or not. Telling you is one of the reasons I came home. I wanted her to grow up here with a family, like she’d always wanted. But I didn’t know how to say it without risking it all. I was afraid you’d use Billie to get back at me. That you’d hate me so much that you’d punish her. The longer I was gone, the more time passed, the harder it got.”

  “I do hate you.”

  She forced herself not to cry out. Of course he did. But telling herself that he would and hearing the words were two very different things. He still got to her. She’d been foolish to think she’d escaped that.

  “How dare you,” he said. “How dare you assume I would punish an innocent child.”

  She stared at her lap. He sounded cold and angry. Worse, he sounded like a stranger. “You have every right to be furious with me,” she said. “I should have known you’d never do anything like that.”

  “Why do you keep agreeing with me?”

  “You’re telling the truth.”

  “But it makes it damn hard to hold on to the rage.”

  “Good.”

  He turned toward her. The anger and the bravado were gone. “Damn it, Jane, you hurt me.”

  She bowed her head. The tears flowed fast and hot, trickling down her arms and dampening a spot on her skirt.

  “Say something,” he demanded.

  “I…I can’t.”

  He swore. She heard him slide on the step, then felt his hands on her arms, pulling her close. He angled their bodies so that her head rested on his shoulder. Their legs touched, from hip to knee. She clutched at his T-shirt, bunching the soft fabric in her hands. The tears continued, replenished by the aching in her heart.

  “I’m s-sorry,” she said, her voice cracking with a sob. “So sorry, Adam. I l—loved you so much. I never wanted to hurt you. Or B-Billie. I was afraid for her, I swear.”

  “I know. Hush.” He enfolded her in his strength, rocking back and forth while she cried. The minutes passed. She struggled for control. Finally the tears subsided.

  She sniffed and forced herself to straighten. Unshed tears darkened his brown eyes. His words earlier in the day—his speech about stolen time and memories missed—had made her feel bad, but she hadn’t had the chance to really think about what he was saying. Now, seeing him emotionally exposed for the first time in her life, she felt what he felt and knew that her crime was far greater than she’d imagined. It hadn’t been a speech. He had lost all those times she’d taken for granted. And even meeting Billie now couldn’t make up for that. She’d cheated them both. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t forgive her; she’d never forgive herself.

  He cupped her face and brushed away her tears with his thumbs. “Where do we go from here?” he asked, repeating his earlier question.

  “I wish I knew.”

  His touch comforted her. She didn’t deserve it, but couldn’t bring herself to pull away. Still, when Adam straightened, she forced herself to smile slightly and wipe her face.

  “I guess we should tell Billie,” she said, shifting on the step.

  “What is she going to say?”

  “I don’t know.” Jane thought for a moment. “She’ll be happy about getting a dad. She’s wanted one since she figured out most kids have two parents. But she’ll be angry that I lied to her.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  She smoothed her skirt over her knees. “That depends on you. Are you going to say things?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Are you going to tell her that I’m the worst mother since the invention of the institution, that I’ve deprived her of her birthright and family?” She closed her eyes and waited.

  “You must think I’m a real bastard.”

  Now it was her turn to be surprised. “No. Why would you think that?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t have a very high opinion of me.”

  “You’re still angry and I thought you might—”

  “I don’t plan to bad-mouth you to Billie. She’s the innocent one in all this. She might be pleased to take my side at first, but in the end it would only confuse her.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m not doing it for you.”

  Right. She couldn’t allow herself to forget that.

  “What about her name?” he asked.

  “You don’t like Billie?”

  “Her last name. You didn’t give her mine.”

  “I didn’t want you to know. It would have been pretty obvious if I’d named her Belle Charlene Barrington.”

  He sprang to his feet. “You named her Belle Charlene? After Aunt Charlene?”

  “Yes. Is that okay?”

  He jammed his hands into his pockets. “I don’t even know my kid’s name.”

  Jane wanted to bite off her to
ngue. She’d already hurt him enough—couldn’t she stop saying things without thinking? “Adam, I—”

  “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say anything. We’ll deal with the name thing later. What about custody? We live next door, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Am I listed as a father on the birth certificate?”

  He was moving too fast. All this talk about living arrangements and legalities. “Yes, but we need to deal with this later.”

  “Why? Are you going to disappear again?”

  “I didn’t come all the way back just to leave. I had planned to have a life here with my daughter.”

  “My daughter.”

  “Our daughter.” What was going on with him? Why did he have to—

  Control. He was trying to control an uncontrollable situation. Of course. What else would Adam do?

  She rose to her feet and moved next to him. When he didn’t step back, she risked putting a hand on his arm. His skin felt warm to the touch. Alive. The black hairs tickled her palm. Stubble outlined the strong line of his square jaw. The young woman who’d left him would have been allowed to touch that skin and stubble, but she wouldn’t have appreciated the contrast of smooth and rough, warm and cool. She wouldn’t have noticed the shape of his mouth, or that his muscles coiled when he was tense. She hadn’t learned that losing, even if by choice, was hard to get over.

  It had been nine years and Jane still hadn’t gotten over Adam.

  “Billie is our first priority,” she said. “We have to tell her that you’re her father.”

  He stiffened. “Father. How am I going to be her father? I don’t know how.”

  “You’ll be fine.” She was about to go on with the logistics of where and when to tell Billie, when he cut her off.

  “What if I say something wrong? What if she decides she doesn’t want me for her dad?”

  She stared at him. Adam Barrington, the Adam Barrington, expressing doubt?

  He shrugged out of her touch. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I’m surprised you’re worried.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t know Billie that well and she doesn’t know me. What if she doesn’t like me?”

  “She adores you.”

  “Maybe.”

  She shook her head.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I was just thinking I wish you’d been like this nine years ago.”

  “Like what?”

  “Insecure. Scared.”

  His eyes met hers and for the second time that night she saw into his soul. “You scared the hell out of me, Jane.”

  The confession came nine years too late.

  “Hell of a day,” she said, blinking frantically and ordering herself not to cry.

  “You’re telling me.” He sighed. “Tomorrow, over breakfast?”

  “Okay.”

  “What do you want to say?”

  “I haven’t a clue.” She forced herself to smile. “Maybe we should wing it.”

  He nodded. “Nine. My kitchen.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She stood in front of her house until he walked through the hedges that separated their properties. Her mind raced. Thoughts of Billie and what her daughter would say competed with those eight simple words. “You scared the hell out of me, Jane.”

  Had he been frightened of losing her? Had he cared? Had she destroyed three lives to get away from a demon that didn’t even exist?

  *

  Adam stepped quickly through the dark night. He’d grown up on this land, he knew every inch of the path from his house to Charlene’s. Even without the moon to guide him, he made his way through the trees and up the brick-lined walkway to her back door. He knocked softly and waited. She’d still be up. They had a lot to talk about.

  “Come in,” she called.

  He opened the door and stepped into her kitchen. Charlene stood at the stove stirring a pot. Long red hair tumbled around her shoulders. Her full-length burgundy robe clashed with her hair color. Usually he teased her about the combination. Not tonight.

  “Is Billie asleep?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t turn around to look at him. The silence between them lengthened. “You knew,” he said at last.

  “Yes.”

  “She told you?”

  “I guessed.”

  “When?”

  With a sigh she tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot, then placed it on the counter. Turning slowly, she raised her chin and looked up at him. “The day she arrived.”

  He cursed. All the emotion of the past few hours had left him feeling drained, as if someone had pulled the plug on his energy. He didn’t have enough in him to sustain anger. He could only feel disappointment and hurt.

  Charlene continued to watch him. Her blue eyes, less vivid without any makeup to accentuate the color, didn’t show remorse. “I didn’t tell you,” she said as she leaned against the counter. “Because that wasn’t my decision to make. I warned Jane she didn’t have much time. If she didn’t say something you’d figure it out.”

  God, he was tired. “You betrayed me.”

  “How?”

  “You’re my aunt. You should have been looking out for me. How dare you keep Billie a secret?”

  “Adam, I understand your pain. Believe me, this was not an easy thing to keep quiet about. Yes, you’re family. But by virtue of having Billie, so is Jane. It wasn’t my secret to share or not. It was hers.” She picked up the spoon and began stirring the pot again. “Do you want some cocoa?”

  “You can’t fix this problem that easily,” he said, moving into the kitchen and pulling out one of the chairs in front of the window. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “You haven’t been for much too long. But cocoa can still make you feel better. Trust me.”

  He looked at her.

  “Adam, I love you. I also love Jane and Billie. Please don’t trap me in the middle.”

  He wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t. There was too much at stake. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “About Billie?”

  “About all of it. What am I supposed to say when she finds out I’m her father?”

  “When are you going to tell her?”

  “Tomorrow. At breakfast.”

  Charlene took down two cups, then measured out cocoa and sugar. “You’ll think of something. Billie is a bright girl. She’ll handle this better than you imagine.”

  “I hope so.”

  She poured the steaming milk into the mugs and stirred. After handing him one, she took the other and sat opposite him at the round oak table. “You’ll be a fine father.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know the kind of man you are, Adam Barrington. Have a little faith in yourself.” She picked up her cup. “To fatherhood and one more generation of Barringtons.”

  They tapped mugs. In the corner of her kitchen, the CB unit squawked. “Breaker, breaker, I’m lookin’ for my redheaded Southern belle. Charlene, you listenin’ to me, darlin’?”

  Adam raised one eyebrow.

  Charlene tossed her head as she rose to her feet. “I’m just keeping busy.”

  Chapter Ten

  Adam laid out the dozen cinnamon rolls Charlene had brought over, then set the plate in the center of the kitchen island. He moved them slightly to the left. Next he put out place mats, some fruit and napkins. He was about to check the front window to see if Billie and Jane were coming over yet when he remembered that he had to start the coffee.

  He hadn’t been this nervous since he—He shook his head. He’d never been this nervous. It wasn’t every day a man was introduced to his child. Usually it happened in the hospital while the kid was an infant and too little to make judgments about liking and not liking. Billie was eight and very opinionated. What if she decided she didn’t want him for her father? He couldn’t force himself onto her. It hadn’t taken a hell of a lot of soul-searching to realize how very much he wanted to be pa
rt of her life.

  He gave the kitchen a quick once-over, realized he’d forgotten plates, then set them on the place mats. As he straightened the napkins, he heard a knock on the back door.

  Billie didn’t bother to wait for him to answer. She barreled into the room and grinned. “I told her we didn’t have to knock. We have breakfast together almost every day. I said you were ‘specting me.”

  “Expecting,” he answered, before bending over and giving her a hug.

  “Whatever,” Billie said as she hugged him back, then wiggled out of his embrace and climbed up onto a stool at the center island. “All right! Cinnamon rolls. My favorite.” She picked one up and began licking the icing.

  “Good morning, Adam,” Jane said as she hovered in the doorway. The shadows under her eyes told him she, too, had had a sleepless night.

  The nervousness, anticipation and concern swirling in his stomach didn’t leave any room for other emotions like anger or resentment. He and Jane were in this together. The first order of business was to tell Billie the truth. Once that was taken care of, he and Jane would have plenty of time to work through everything else. He knew he’d have to come to terms with what Jane had done. He couldn’t continue to hate the mother of his child; not without hurting Billie. And she was his main priority.

  “Morning.” He waved toward the chairs. “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you.”

  She sounded as awkward as he felt. As she walked by him, the hem of her floral-print skirt brushed his bare leg. The cotton tickled. He’d thought about dressing up for their talk with Billie, but had decided shorts and a polo shirt would look less as though he was interviewing for the job of father.

  “I made coffee. It’s almost ready,” he said. “Would you like some juice?”