The Wish List

by Myrna Mackenzie

  “Cory?” he managed, his voice broken.

  “It’s my wish list,” Cory explained in a small, painfully small voice. “Mommy and me, we’re looking for a daddy, someone to marry us up and live with us forever. We need a daddy real bad. We need a daddy to come and be our own, a daddy that wants us bad.”

  Nathan’s heart did a somersault; his mind froze into ice cubes. “You need a daddy,” he repeated. “You do,” he said as if realizing it for the first time. “Well son,” he whispered, “I hope you get the very best daddy in the world. Because any man, any man, would be lucky, really lucky, to have a boy like you.”

  A tentative smile broke through the tension that wreathed Cory’s face. “Then,” he swallowed. “Then would you—”

  “Cory,” Faith drawled out the word, soothingly, stopping his speech, holding out her hand as she started around the table toward her son. “We talked about this, remember, and I told you—”

  “I know. I know.” Cory was rocking on his toes, swallowing hard, rubbing his arm across his eyes. “I know what you said, that Nathan could not be my daddy, but—but I didn’t ask him. And you always say you’ll never know if you don’t ask. I gotta ask, Mom. I gotta.”

  Whirling, Cory turned and flung himself toward Nathan. “You could be our daddy, Nathan. I wouldn’t win so many games at Cootie. I’d let you win sometimes, honest. I would.”

  The tears were streaming down the little boy’s face now, unheeded. His whole body was trembling.

  Nathan closed his eyes. My God, what have I done to this child? he asked. Please, don’t let me hurt him. Don’t let me hurt another child.

  Slowly, Nathan moved closer and sank to his knees. He pulled Cory onto his lap and wrapped his arms around the tiny, shaking body.

  “Cory,” he managed, his own voice weighted with tears. “Cory, I didn’t know you wanted a daddy. I didn’t know you wanted one so much or I wouldn’t have come and made you hope. Because, you see, Cory, I can’t be anybody’s daddy right now. I lost my own little girl not so long ago. I’m afraid I’m not good daddy material any more. I couldn’t be anyone’s daddy,” he repeated.

  Cory pushed tighter into the haven of Nathan’s body. “But I could wait,” he wailed. “I could wait until some day, when maybe you could be a daddy,” he promised.

  Nathan shook his head, squeezing Cory tightly. “No, Cory,” he said, pulling back then. “It wouldn’t work. I just can’t do it. I can’t be a daddy.

  “But Cory,” he continued at the child’s protest, thumbing the tears from the little boy’s eyes. “If I could be anyone’s daddy, I would be yours. You would be the boy I’d want to have. The way things are, though, I hope you know that I’m always going to be your friend. I always want to be your friend, your good friend. Even if I’m not always around, I’ll be that for you. All right?”

  The little boy stared up at him, snuffling softly.

  “Friends, Cory?” Nathan asked, holding out his hand for Cory to slap it.

  Cory bit his lip. When he finally reached out to Nathan, he grabbed his hand instead of slapping it. He took Nathan’s hand in both of his small ones. “I guess so,” he finally said, a defeated tone in his voice.

  Nathan took a deep breath. He closed his eyes once more, hoping that Cory hadn’t been ripped apart too much.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” Faith soothed. “It’s time for bed. It really is much later than you should be up. Say—say good-night to Nathan now.”

  Nathan steadied the little boy as Cory climbed off his lap, took his mother’s hand and turned to go.

  They were almost out of the room, moving slowly when Cory turned back.

  “I got—I got a birthday in two weeks,” he whispered. “I’ll be five—big then. Big boys don’t cry, Scotty Miller says.”

  Sucking in air, Nathan stared back, blinking hard. “Scotty Miller is wrong,” he said. “Big boys do cry. And Cory, I’ll remember that birthday. I would never forget.”

  When Faith returned, she looked tired. And wary. Her blue-green eyes were dark and bruised. Her gaze wavered when their eyes met. Then she looked away entirely.

  “I—I’m sorry about that,” she said. “He’s been having some hard times in school lately. Feeling left out without a father.”

  “A boy should have a father if he needs and wants one,” Nathan said, watching for her reaction.

  She nodded, swallowed hard and placed her fingers over her lips as if to guard her words, then slowly let them slip away. “I know. That’s why we started the list. I just didn’t know it would turn out this way. But don’t worry. It’s changed dramatically in the last few weeks. After you’re gone—after he’s used to you being gone—we’ll make more changes.”

  “You’ll look for someone to marry?” Nathan could barely force the words out. The thought of Faith searching want ad style for a husband, the thought of hordes of men, all kinds of men, passing through here and trying to win a place in Faith and Cory’s life—he didn’t want to carry that thought to its logical conclusion, but it happened anyway. In time there would be someone, one man, who would belong here. And that man would have the right to Cory and to Faith, to her time, her days...and all her nights.

  “You’ll marry,” he said simply.

  Faith bit her lip. “Like you said, a boy should have a father.”

  “And a woman should have someone to hold her at night?” It was true, so damn true, even if the thought of someone, any someone other than him, sharing Faith’s nights, made Nathan’s breath stick in his throat.

  Hot color flooded her face, and she raised one hand to her chest defensively.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out. “That’s none of my business.” It wasn’t, and he’d damn well better remember it.

  She started to shake her head, but he stopped her, resting his hand on the small of her back, hating the fact that she flinched when he did it. “Faith,” he told her, “don’t pay any attention to me. I’m sorry—especially about Cory. I guess I wasn’t thinking how this was going to affect him.”

  “No. Don’t,” she said. “If you weren’t thinking, I was. And I let it happen anyway. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t have. I knew he’d never understand that this had to end. He’s never met any of my patients before. He doesn’t know about beginnings and endings.”

  Nathan looked down into Faith’s face. For a moment she seemed wistful, open. He thought of that damn list, that list that meant someday soon another man would stand here with her at times like this when she was upset. Another man would be able to comfort her properly, to take her in his arms, take her lips and kiss her long and deep. Another man...a good man, one who deserved her, who’d never have to worry about hurting her the way he would. A man who wouldn’t fail her. That was what she deserved, what he wanted her to have.

  So why in hell did he feel more helpless than he’d felt before Faith came along? Why did his hands feel so empty and useless?

  He didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to think about that now. Angrily, he pushed back his thoughts.

  “I meant what I said about Cory’s birthday, Faith. And don’t worry,” he quickly added, when he saw the troubled look in her eyes. “I won’t come back and open the wounds, but I’ll send something. I couldn’t stand to have him think that I’d just forgotten him like that. He’s special, he really is. And little as he is, he’s helped me—so much. When I first came here, I used to tremble at the sound of the word kid. He got me past that. Tell him...someday. All right? He should know, but not just yet.”

  Faith nodded, keeping her head turned to the side.

  “Well, I guess I should go now,” he offered. “Do you think that Cory’s asleep?”

  “I—yes.” She turned, a concerned look in her misty eyes as she agreed. “I’m sure he is. He always goes right off, especially when he’s upset. It’s a kind of solace for him.”

  Nathan hesitated, clenching his fists at what her words meant, then plunged on. “Then—do you think—would it b
e all right if I looked in on him once before I go?”

  Faith took a deep breath, let it out on a trembling sigh, then nodded. She moved to the room and quietly opened the door.

  Nathan stepped inside. The room was dark except for the small circle of light that illuminated the far corner. Moving closer, Nathan gazed down on the small shadowy form on the bed, noting the places where the blanket outlined the thin legs and the bump that was Cory’s teddy bear. Bending low, Nathan gently touched the dark hair that lay across Cory’s forehead.

  “Nathan?” The sleepy little voice wound its way around him. Two little arms snaked out from beneath the covers and wrapped around his neck. Cory squeezed his face up against Nathan’s neck and held on tight.

  “Nathan,” the half-sleeping boy said, as if he had finally come home and could finally rest. “Nathan, you’re here.”

  “Shh, Cory. Go back to sleep.”

  With tears behind his eyes, Nathan drew Cory close, hugged him once, gently, then eased him back onto the bed. Faith followed him as he left the room.

  Deep breaths, Nathan. Deep breaths, don’t think.

  And he didn’t He couldn’t. He could only act. As soon as the door was closed, he turned, pulling Faith into his arms and levering her high against his body, fitting her lips to his own.

  His kiss was hungry, fierce, hard. He plunged his hands into her hair and held her tightly as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. For the last time, he knew. The last time.

  “It’s time, isn’t it?” he whispered against her lips. “It is,” he agreed, answering his own question as he loosened his hold on her, sliding her down until her feet were on firm ground. Gently he let her go and stepped back.

  She looked at him for long seconds, then slowly nodded. “It’s late,” she agreed. “Nathan?” She raised one hand and touched the front of his shirt. “Don’t blame yourself for Cory. Don’t let him become another regret, something you can’t forgive yourself for.”

  It was too late for that. He knew that, but chose not to say so. He already had regrets about Cory—how could he not—but at least he hadn’t hurt Faith. At least he had left her intact.

  “I—” She led him to the door, holding out one hand as if she didn’t know what to do. “I guess this is the final goodbye, then,” she said. “This is really the end.”

  A silent scream tore through Nathan’s heart, begging him to stay. But he pushed it back, knowing he had to get away.

  He’d be a fool to listen to his heart. Not when he knew all the facts. Not when he knew that if he could just leave, he’d be okay—in time.

  At least he hoped so. Looking at Faith now, and then remembering Cory and those little arms that had clutched at him moments ago, Nathan wondered how big a piece of his heart he’d lost to this woman, this child. Maybe it wasn’t as big as he thought. Maybe it just felt that way right now, because he was leaving. Perhaps it was just that he was facing the separation for the first time, and feeling the gratitude that Faith had always told him about.

  She could be right.

  She wasn’t right. This couldn’t be gratitude that he was feeling. This need to reach down and pull her close to tell her he wanted to stay with her and help her raise her son was more than gratitude, more than mere desire. He only hoped that time away from her would help and that he would soon forget.

  “Nathan?” she asked. “Don’t forget—don’t forget to take care of yourself, will you? Please?”

  He picked up her hands in his own strong, healthy ones. “I won’t forget.” Not any of it. His thoughts echoed his words. I won’t forget you, sweet Faith. Even though I want to.

  “I’ll remember Cory’s birthday,” he added, moving out the door. “I gave him my word, and I’ll keep it.”

  ~ ~ ~

  He was gone—really and truly gone. Out of her life.

  Faith paced the confines of her kitchen, holding her arms tightly against herself, not sure she could hold together otherwise. And she realized at last that she’d been hoping, desperately, that at the last moment, he would decide not to go.

  Fool.

  Faith pressed her hands to her mouth, stifling the cry, the sob that tried to crawl up her throat and escape. She leaned her forehead against the kitchen window, feeling the cold, unforgiving glass against her skin.

  Where was Nathan right this minute, and what was he feeling? Relief? That’s what he’d always said he would feel when things were finally over.

  He certainly wasn’t feeling love. Never love. He’d made it clear all along that he was no longer a man who loved or even wanted to.

  For a moment there when he had come out of Cory’s room and kissed her so desperately, she’d actually dared to hope. But no, that was something else. It had been a reaction to the fear that he had hurt her and Cory. Perhaps it had been desire, as well. It wouldn’t have been the first time Nathan had touched her and passion had flared.

  Relief. Regret. Desire. But nothing more. Because even after reading Cory’s list, he had gone. And he wouldn’t be back.

  Faith’s knuckles turned white as she pressed them hard against the glass.

  He wouldn’t be back. She had to live with it, and go on with her life—for her and Cory. She had to go on as if Nathan had never crept into her heart, as if Cory had never asked him to be his daddy.

  She had to accept the fact that she’d done what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do. She’d given her heart to a man who didn’t want it.

  At least he didn’t know that. And that had to make a difference. If there was any consolation to be had in this evening, it was that.

  In the morning she would pick up the pieces and go on. She’d begin to try to coax Cory into changing his list. She’d actually start making plans to do something about that list.

  Somehow, she would find a man for herself and a father for Cory.

  A woman should have someone to hold her at night.

  Nathan’s words slipped into Faith’s thoughts, jarring her, shaking her. The mere thought of a man holding her at night, a man who wasn’t Nathan...her heart spun.

  Who was she kidding? How could she think about finding a father for Cory when the mere thought of another man touching her made her feel dizzy and sick?

  Faith turned away from the window, and moved to the table. She picked up the dirty dishes that were still sitting there, then put them down again. All right, so she wasn’t ready to go one-on-one with a man...yet. She would do something else. She had to do something else.

  Somehow she had to move on.

  The answer came bright and early next morning.

  “Mom?” Cory wandered from his room, bleary-eyed and barefoot, dragging his teddy bear behind him.

  Faith looked up from the place at the kitchen table where she had finally landed early in the morning. She hadn’t slept, and it felt like a heavy stone had lodged in her chest. Somehow she dredged up a pitifully small smile. “What, love? Are you ready for breakfast?”

  Cory, ignoring her question, kept walking until he was standing close by her side.

  Faith pushed his sleep-tangled hair away from his forehead, and looked down into his worried eyes.

  “Mom, could we maybe, you know, invite Nathan to my birthday party? He said he wouldn’t forget it.”

  Taking a deep breath, Faith shook her head. “I’m sorry, Cory, but that wasn’t what Nathan meant when he said he wouldn’t forget. He can’t be here that day. Besides, I thought you were only inviting kids.”

  Cory nodded, his eyes silently pleading, his toes wiggling against the linoleum. “I know, but Nathan—”

  “No, Cory, no,” Faith repeated gently, tipping his chin up so that he would pay attention. “Nathan won’t be here.”

  The mention of Cory’s birthday party struck a faint, but welcome chord within Faith. She wasn’t ready to begin dating yet, couldn’t even think of it. But maybe she could ease into things somehow. It had been so long since she’d been socially involved at all
. Maybe if she started slowly, in a nonthreatening situation where she wasn’t forced into face-to-face contact with one man...maybe it would be a start. A tiny start, but all that she could handle right now.

  Faith looked down into Cory’s waiting eyes again. “What if I invited all your friends’ families and really make it into a big, special party?” she asked. “Would you like that? It might be fun, don’t you think?”

  Cory shrugged and sucked in his lip.

  Well, what had she expected? He was hurting. Really hurting. Nothing was going to change that overnight.

  “Cory?” she whispered, pulling him closer to her.

  “That would be okay, Mom,” he said dully as he pulled away. “And maybe if we told Nathan there wouldn’t just be kids—”

  Framing her son’s face with her hands, Faith gazed into his eyes. “We have to forget Nathan, Cory. We have to.”

  The furious look Cory gave her lanced through her like a sharp sword, making her gasp. “I don’t want to forget Nathan,” he said, wrenching himself away and running back to the safety of his room. “I don’t want to forget Nathan ever.”

  Faith wanted to go comfort him, but she didn’t. He needed to be alone right now, and besides, what could she say? She knew how he was feeling, because she didn’t want to forget Nathan, either. Still, she had to. She was at least wise enough to know that, and to know how difficult it was going to be.

  Her only hope was that the pain would ease a bit by the time Cory’s birthday had arrived. She prayed that her son would find some small amount of happiness in a day that ought to bring only joy.

  In the meantime, she had to keep going, somehow. She had a party to plan, a life to plan. One that didn’t include Nathan Murphy.

  Chapter Nine

  A week and more had passed, but Nathan had not made the kind of progress he’d anticipated, at least where forgetting Faith was concerned. He was back working at the hospital and had seen Faith several times from a distance. Each time he looked her way his system short-circuited.