The Sweetheart Rules

by Shirley Jump

  Talked to her son.

  That’s what she did best—her sister had pointed it out, Mike had pointed it out. She avoided the hard subjects and procrastinated on the difficult conversations. If she had sat down with Jackson and told him about her past alcoholism, would it have provided the warning she wanted? If she had been honest with Jackson about his father, rather than always making excuses and covering for Sean’s irresponsibility, would he have headed off the other night?

  She wasn’t sure. But what she did know was that doing things the way she’d always done them wasn’t working. At all.

  Because deep down inside, she wanted the whole enchilada, too. The marriage. The white picket fence, the twin rockers on the porch in their old age. The trouble was crossing the divide between where she was now and where she wanted to be.

  She flipped open her cell phone, made a call, then cleared her schedule for the rest of the day. It was her first step in what Diana prayed was the right direction.

  A little after four, Frank arrived at her office as promised, wearing the same suit as before. It had to be ninety-five degrees outside, and she couldn’t understand why he didn’t choose something more comfortable. His lined face carried trepidation and tentative hope. He’d combed his gray hair away from his face, and shaved so recently Diana could see a red nick under his jaw. He had kind, soft eyes, a lighter green than her own, that set her at ease and told her he was just as nervous as she was.

  “I ordered in some dinner,” she said, gesturing toward the takeout on her desk. “I worked straight through lunch today and I thought you might be hungry, too.”

  “I can always eat.” He patted his stomach and gave her a grin. “Thank you.”

  They sat on either side of her desk and traded off boxes of Chinese food. She discovered her father was as big a fan of General Tso’s chicken as she was, and that he always put salt on his fried rice, just like she did. Frank was a thoughtful man who didn’t rush his meals or his conversations. She could see why Bridget, who had been spontaneous, hyper, and passionate, might have fallen for someone who brought a measure of calm balance to her life.

  But what Diana still didn’t know or understand was why her father had waited so long to meet her. As a mother, Diana couldn’t imagine waiting five minutes to meet her child.

  “That was great. Thank you again,” Frank said.

  “You’re welcome.” She put her plate to the side and crumpled her napkin into the trash. Silence extended between them, filling the small office with heavy air. She was the one who had wanted this, who had waited so long for this moment, for the answers, and yet a part of her didn’t want to go beyond sharing takeout.

  “Why did you wait so many years to see me?” The question was out before she could stop it, but Frank seemed to take it in stride, as if he’d been expecting it. “You said you needed time before you saw me. But why?”

  “I wanted to wait. I wanted to”—he let out a breath and cast his gaze toward the ceiling—“be a father you could be proud of.”

  “You’re a broker on Wall Street. Of course I’m proud of that.”

  “I was a broker. I lost my job.”

  She waved that off. “That happens to lots of people. The economy is rebounding, I’m sure you’ll find another.”

  He looked down at his hands for a long time, then seemed to reach some kind of decision deep in his heart. He raised his gaze to hers, and in those eyes that were so much like her own, Diana saw resignation, sorrow, and apology. “I lost my job twenty-five years ago and I’ve been mostly unemployed since then. But that wasn’t why I didn’t come see you. Why it took me the better part of three decades to work up the courage to come down here.” He paused again and his gaze went to the wall, away from her. “I’m an addict, Diana.”

  “A… what?” Then the pieces filled in on the puzzle, and everything made sense. The years of silence, the distance between them, the discomfort Frank had with the world she took for granted. All these years she’d been so angry with her mother for keeping Frank’s identity a secret, when maybe Bridget had just been protecting her daughter from heartbreak. “An addict?”

  He let out a long, slow breath, as if shedding a great weight. “When I was in college, I started doing drugs to keep up with the schedule and my job and everything else. It was crazy. Going to classes, interning at a brokerage firm, studying for tests, and trying to have a social life. I couldn’t keep up with it all. By the time I graduated, I needed the speed to get through the day. When your mom found out, she left me. She said she’d be back if and when I got myself straightened out.”

  Her mother had never said a word. Maybe deep in her heart, Bridget had loved Frank and hadn’t wanted to smudge his image in Diana’s eyes. Whenever she’d asked about her father, Bridget had always said he lived far away and maybe someday he’d come back. “And did you get straightened out?”

  “Took me twenty years, but yeah, I did. At least the sober part. The rest”—he let out a little laugh—“is a work in progress. I’ve been living on the streets for so long, it’s hard to go back to being a normal person, though the last few days in the motel have begun to remind me of what it’s like to have a bed, a roof over my head. At first, I wanted to sleep outside, or on the floor, but now I’ve kind of adapted. Found my groove again, I guess. I still have a long ways to go.” He patted his jacket, then put out his hands. “I don’t own this suit; I don’t own that car. Everything I do own fits in a couple grocery bags. I borrowed all of it, so that I could impress you.”

  “You… you’re homeless?” Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that hadn’t even made the list.

  The answer shone in the embarrassment that crept into his cheeks. “That’s why I waited so long to see you. I wanted to…” He threw up his hands. “I wanted to be more than I am. You’ve made me so proud, becoming this amazing veterinarian and a mother, and just so successful… you’re everything I imagined and more.”

  She shook her head and swiped at the tears that sprang to her eyes. She bit her lip, her throat clogged, the words caught.

  “I’m sorry, Diana. This was probably a bad idea. I’m sorry I lied to you and I’m sorry I disappointed you.” He started to get to his feet.

  She reached for his hand, her father’s hand, and thought how odd that it felt strange yet familiar, as if she’d known him all her life. “You didn’t need to borrow a suit or a car to impress me. All I wanted to do was get to know you. I don’t care if you work on Wall Street or live on Wall Street. I just wanted… a chance to know my father. Don’t go, Dad. Please.”

  Surprise lit his features. He hesitated a moment longer, his gaze dropping to her hand on his. A tentative smile wobbled on his face, and he sat back down. She hadn’t even realized she was going to call him Dad until she did. The word had slipped from her tongue as easy as riding a bike. It felt natural, right.

  If the roles had been reversed, she might have waited years to see her child, too. She understood that shame, that burden of the secret of being a former addict. She knew how people looked at her differently when they knew, with that judging, are-you-going-to-fail again look. Not everyone, but enough people to keep Diana from talking about her past.

  “I’m not what you think, either,” she said, taking a deep breath before she forged forward and peeled away the layers protecting her deepest secrets. This was what she hadn’t told Mike or Jackson, because she couldn’t take the recrimination that would surely show in their eyes. That fear was what had made her keep a bottle in a cabinet instead of facing her problems in the open. Maybe taking a step into the light would ease the guilt that held her heart in a vise. “When I was fourteen, I was pretty much always in trouble. Going to parties, skipping school. Mom… well, she was busy with the shelter and everything, and when she was with those animals…”

  “People took second place.” He nodded his understanding.

  “Yeah.” Her mother had a big heart, but most of the time, that heart had gone to the
innocent and helpless animals she rescued, instead of to her family. As a vet, Diana could understand and sympathize, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. “I fell in with the wrong crowd, started drinking, and got pregnant at fifteen. I quit, relapsed, quit again, and stayed sober for fifteen years. But then a few days ago, things kind of fell apart and I came close to drinking again.” She closed her eyes and thought of that night in the kitchen. If the dog hadn’t brushed up against her, if she hadn’t called Olivia… “Very, very close.”

  “Everybody falls.” Frank reached for her hand and held tight. “It’s whether you get up again or not.”

  “We both fell and got up again.” She let out a little laugh. “We’re more alike than we ever knew.”

  “Is it enough to build a relationship on, to move forward from here?” Frank’s face filled with hope.

  “It is to me, Dad.” A smile extended between them, mirrors of each other. The tension evaporated, and seconds later they were talking, laughing, and filling in the gaps of thirty years, one word at a time.

  • • •

  Mike caved thirty minutes into the drive. He blamed his lack of resistance on a distracted mind, focused on that afternoon at the beach with Diana. She hadn’t called, hadn’t come by, and though it had taken every ounce of his self-control, he had stayed away, too.

  He missed her with a deep, burning fierceness. She’d become a part of his life, this complicated, frustrating, engaging woman who had asked more from him than anyone he knew. Now he’d asked the same of her—for her to open up, to trust, and to take that leap of faith that a real relationship required.

  Didn’t mean he had everything figured out yet. He was still a flight mechanic in the Coast Guard, stationed in Alaska, with kids living in Georgia and a woman he loved in Florida. Either he needed to come up with a new career path or figure out how to teletransport. If only Star Trek were real.

  Ellie and Jenny sat in the backseat, flipping through the pile of new books he’d picked up for them. He’d gone a little nuts at the bookstore, loading each of the girls down with at least a dozen books each. Okay, maybe closer to two dozen each. They’d hit a toy store after that, where he’d outfitted two Barbie dolls and bought a whole stack of friends for Teddy, along with coloring books and crayons and all the busy stuff kids needed—and he hadn’t even thought to stock up on until now. The girls also had a shiny new bucket full of sand castle–building tools, and a promise to hit the beach at least one more time before he took them back home.

  The month was almost over, and Mike could feel the end of his leave ticking off like a countdown to a rocket launch. Only there was no exciting space exploration attached to the end of this thirty days—there was leaving his girls behind, and saying good-bye to Rescue Bay.

  And to Diana.

  If he could find a way to merge Alaska, Georgia, and Florida into one neighborhood, he would. Because he wasn’t so sure he was going to be able to leave this time without leaving a piece of his heart behind, too.

  “Daddy?” Jenny’s voice, from the backseat. She’d stuck with calling him Daddy ever since that night on the sofa. He liked the sound of that. A lot.

  “Yup?”

  “You know that dog at the animal shelter?”

  He should have seen the question coming, heard it in the oh-so-innocent way Jenny asked him, but he was as clueless as the next guy, and had no idea he was about to get suckered into another permanent connection. “That one you’ve been walking? Cinderella?”

  Jenny nodded. She fiddled with the edge of her book. “Nobody came to get her yet. And she’s really sad, like all the time. I think she misses her family. So I was wondering if…”

  “If what?” He switched lanes, diverting around a slow tractor-trailer hogging the middle lane.

  “If we could adopt her. I know Jasmine doesn’t want a dog, but if you adopted it, then maybe if I came to Alaska to visit you, I could play with her, and she could keep you company when I’m not there.”

  “Jelly Bean, I live on a base with a bunch of noisy, rowdy guys. I don’t need a dog to keep me company.”

  “Yeah, but you said today that you’d be awful lonely when you left us. If you had Cinderella, you wouldn’t be so lonely.”

  “Puppies are good comp’ny,” Ellie said. “So are kitties. You should get a kittie, too, Daddy. Then they could be friends.”

  “Two pets? I’m not so sure about that, El. But a dog…” He considered the idea. He’d never had a dog. How did a man get to his mid-thirties and never own a dog? He had the room in his base housing, a little two-bedroom house that had always been too big for one man. Room for a dog, and for a set of bunk beds for the girls to come visit. It’d be a long stretch of time, between school schedules and his deployments, until he saw the girls. Jenny was right. A dog might be nice company. He’d have to find someone to watch the dog when he was on a mission or deployed, of course, but it was doable.

  A man with a dog would need a vet he could consult with, too. A nice, friendly, small-town vet who could help him make the transition to dog owner. Yeah, that’s why he wanted the dog. So he’d have an excuse to call Diana.

  He met Jenny’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “You’d have to promise to visit a lot.”

  “I would.” She nodded several times. “As often as I could.”

  Ellie bounced up and down in her seat. “Me too, Daddy! Me too!”

  He chuckled. “I guess I’m taking a dog back to Alaska with me and making lots of room for two little girls.”

  A smile spread across Jenny’s face like fresh butter on warm toast. “That’s going to be awesome. Thank you, Daddy.”

  Daddy. For that word, he’d adopt an entire Noah’s ark of pets.

  “Guess this means I’ll have to adapt my slogan, too,” he said to Jenny.

  “What slogan?”

  “‘Where you guys go, I go.’ Now it’ll be ‘wherever you guys go, Cinderella and I go.’”

  “You promise?” she asked again, just as she had all those weeks ago, but this time her voice wasn’t filled with wariness or hurt, but with confident teasing.

  “Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers. Jenny matched them with her own hand, and the two of them shared a momentary connection through the mirror’s eye before he went back to watching the road.

  An hour and a half later—and a lot of discussion about the best way to scratch Cinderella behind the ears and how to make her do tricks—Mike pulled into the cracked driveway of the house where he’d grown up. It was the same squat bungalow he remembered, only painted light blue now instead of the off-white he remembered. An older model Taurus sat in the driveway, below a cheery, sunflower-decorated flag that read WELCOME. Bright pink and red flowers bloomed beneath giant shrubs in the front yard.

  Mike turned off the car and stared at an image from his past. The rental clicked as the engine cooled.

  “Daddy, how’s come we’re not getting out of the car?” Ellie said.

  “Oh, sorry. Let’s go.” He unbuckled, then got out and helped the girls out of the backseat. Jenny grabbed the bag he’d picked up on the way here, then took Ellie’s opposite hand.

  The front door opened and Mike’s mother stepped out onto the porch. She was wiping her hands on a floral apron, something she always did when she was nervous. One hand sliding over the other with the fabric caught between, back and forth, back and forth. A fine dusting of flour covered the front of the apron, dulling the flowers’ vibrant colors. A tentative smile trembled on her lips, but when the girls rounded the car, the smile burst like a sunrise on her face.

  He remembered that smile. That apron. It warmed him deep inside, but he held those emotions in check, a practiced response that came from years of disappointment. He wasn’t getting his hopes up—and yet he had, just by coming here.

  Mike followed behind his daughters as they climbed up the three wooden steps and stopped on the porch. “Hi, Mom,” he said.

  “It’s so good to see you.” Helen
Stark’s smile wobbled, and tears shimmered in her eyes. She held her gaze on his face for a long time, as if she couldn’t believe he was there, then bent down and smiled at the girls. “And you girls must be Jenny and Ellie.”

  “I’m Jenny,” Jenny said, pointing to her chest. “And this is Ellie.”

  “Are you my grandma?” Ellie asked.

  Pride bloomed in Helen’s eyes. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Good. Cuz I need anotha grandma.” Ellie propped her fists on her hips. “Tucker’s grandma makes him cookies. Do you make cookies?”

  “Your dad told me all about Tucker’s grandma when he called yesterday. And I think I have her beat.” Mike’s mother grinned, then tapped Ellie on the nose. “I made chocolate chip cookies and peanut butter cookies.”

  Ellie jumped up and down, her flip-flops slapping the porch. “Those are my favorite!”

  “Which ones?”

  “All cookies!” Ellie laughed. Jenny, Mike, and his mother joined in, the sound filling the small porch like sunshine.

  “Come on in and we’ll get some cookies while they’re still warm. I have iced tea, too”—she glanced at her son—“and I baked that chocolate peanut butter cake you used to like, Michael.”

  Was it weird to be so touched that his mother had remembered his favorite childhood treat? “I still like it, Mom. Haven’t had it in a really long time, though.”

  She nodded, her eyes welling. “Well, come in, come in, and get out of the heat.”

  The girls scampered ahead of them, beelining for the kitchen and the promised cookies. Mike walked beside his mother, noting that her steps were slower now, and that there was a slight hitch in her gait. “I was surprised to hear you moved back into the old house.”

  He’d expected her to keep the fancy house on the hill after the divorce. But she’d returned to the house of his youth, and as he looked around, he saw the same pictures marching down the walls of the hall, the same collection of porcelain figurines in the dining room hutch, the same bench his grandfather had made sitting by the front door.