From her he’d learned to focus with an intensity most people couldn’t manage. A single-minded commitment to work brought success. He’d learned the power of words and books and ideas. He’d grown up to be self-sufficient.
He hadn’t learned a thing about parenting. Especially about parenting a little girl.
Adam envied and resented Lynn Chanak’s ease with both Shelly and Rose. He doubted she ever wondered whether she was doing everything wrong. Her ability to talk warmly and directly to a child without patronizing was exactly why he didn’t want her here. In comparison, he felt wooden, even less capable of appearing to be the perfect father-figure than usual.
Her same ability explained his relief when she’d graciously agreed to stay.
It didn’t explain why he couldn’t seem to take his gaze from her nicely rounded hips and tiny waist as he followed her down the hall. Today she wore a little black skirt that exposed plenty of leg.
He swallowed.
Then there was her hair, gathered into a high ponytail that spilled thick auburn curls to the middle of her back. The wanton disorder of those curls was an intriguing contrast to her slender, pale neck and firm chin. Her hair would be glorious loose and tumbling over her bare shoulders.
Adam almost groaned.
Think of Rose, he told himself. Think of Shelly, and the awful mess all their lives already had become.
His mouth twisted. Add even a flirtation, and he and Lynn wouldn’t have a hope of achieving the friendly, flexible, rational relationship they would need to make this bizarre attempt to share their daughters work.
Through his preoccupation Adam finally became aware that Lynn had been silent for too long. Still on the threshold of Rose’s bedroom, Lynn studied every shelf, every corner, with a care that made him nervous. What was wrong? Had he tried too hard?
"Does she know how lucky she is?" Lynn asked.
He plumbed her tone for sarcasm and came up with sadness. Because she’d never be able to buy as much for Shelly?
"I wanted everything to be perfect for her." He took a step closer, looking over her shoulder into his daughter’s room, where both girls crouched in front of the Barbie house and talked animatedly. "I wasn’t trying to spoil her."
"I didn’t say you were."
"But you don’t like her room."
She gave him an anguished look. "It’s fairyland. What little girl wouldn’t be thrilled?"
He still didn’t get it. "You think Shelly will be jealous?"
Her smile trembled. "I think she won’t want to come home."
Adam felt stupid for not understanding. "You can’t buy love." Although Rose’s room looked as if he’d tried, he saw suddenly.
The next instant, he squashed his chagrin. He’d worked hard for his success! He sure wasn’t going to be ashamed of his ability to buy his daughter what she wanted.
"No. You can’t buy love." But she didn’t sound certain. "It’s all so neat. Did you clean specially for Shelly’s visit?"
His grunt held little amusement. Here was the kicker. "Rose doesn’t play with most of this stuff. She doesn’t want to be up here by herself. She has friends over once in a while, but otherwise..." He shrugged.
Rose still cried at night, too. A couple of times a week she crept down the hall, whimpering, and slipped into bed with him. The books he’d read said parents should never let their children sleep with them, but sometimes he weakened. He’d never been good at listening to his Rosebud cry herself to sleep.
One more thing he wished he could ask other parents, but didn’t have the nerve. Did other three-year-olds need a diaper at night? Did they wake with nightmares, fear the shadows in the closet?
He had done everything he could to make Rose’s bedroom beautiful and friendly. Obviously he lacked the knack. If Jennifer had been here...
But she wasn’t. All he could do was his best.
“I’d better go work on lunch," he said abruptly.
Lynn gave him a distracted glance. "Can I help you?"
"It’s a one-man job."
As he turned away, she went into Rose’s bedroom. All the way back to the kitchen he could hear her voice, sweetly feminine and bubbling with delight, as she chattered with the girls. He had no doubt she would admire everything Rose most loved and succeed in entrancing his daughter. She would know exactly what to say, would feel perfectly comfortable sitting cross-legged on the floor joining in their games.
He’d expected Rose to talk about Shelly this past week, and she had. What he hadn’t anticipated was that she’d also keep bringing up Lynn’s name.
Tuesday, on the way home from day care, she had pulled her thumb from her mouth and said out of the blue, "Lynn is prettier than Amanda’s mommy."
Amanda’s mommy was sensational, but as it happened he agreed with Rose. Lynn was prettier.
Wednesday, in the middle of Ann’s dinner, Rose had said shyly, "Lynn is funny, isn’t she?"
Lynn had freckles, Rose had also told him another day, as if he hadn’t noticed. And she ran fast, didn’t she?
Lynn, it appeared, had acquired a fan club. And he was jealous. Adam scowled and savagely chopped a green pepper, then scraped it into a bowl.
He’d moved on to whacking an onion when he realized he was no longer alone.
She stood hesitantly just inside the kitchen. "You could use help."
"I can chop. It’s one of my few kitchen skills."
Her smile looked too much like Rose’s. "Are you sure you have enough for me? Shelly is more comfortable now. I could probably get away."
"No. I should have suggested this in the first place."
She nodded seriously, her ponytail bobbing. "Why don’t we do the same next week? You join us for lunch, then slip away for a bit. There’s no reason not to take it slowly."
He resented her wisdom, as well as the implicit truth: they had years to get to know their respective daughters. This relationship was nearly as permanent as marriage.
"You’re right," he said curtly.
She bit her lip. "I’m sorry."
"For what?" He looked up, jaw muscles locked.
Antagonism flared to life in Lynn’s eyes. "No. I have nothing to be sorry for, except that this happened in the first place. I won’t apologize again."
Adam shoved the cutting board away, setting down the knife. "Well, I will. I’m being a jerk. I just... I had visions of my two daughters and I having a carefree day. The truth is, I have no idea how to talk to Shelly. I’m not exactly a natural parent. Not the way you are."
Shock replaced the hostility. "But Rose obviously adores you. Why on earth would you think..."
He immediately regretted having opened his big mouth. "Forget it. I’m just not used to kids. You think when you have your first baby that the two of you will learn together."
"Yes," Lynn said softly, that indefinable sadness creeping over her. "You do."
He wasn’t the only one raising a daughter alone, he belatedly remembered. "How long ago were you divorced?"
"Six months after Shelly was born—" She stopped abruptly. Shelly, of course, was not the baby born to her that day. "Three years ago," Lynn amended.
"What happened?" None of his business, of course, but he found himself unexpectedly curious about her, not just Shelly.
"Oh, it was a mistake from the beginning," she said vaguely. "Having a baby didn’t help. It wasn’t his idea."
He made a sound and reached for the fresh mushrooms. "Jennifer wanted a baby so badly. She had a couple of miscarriages." Now why had he told her that? "When she got past four months with her pregnancy, she was so happy." His throat closed.
"And then she never knew..." Lynn pressed her lips together. "That must haunt you."
"You could say so." He cleared his throat. "I want you to understand why I need to be part of Shelly’s life."
"I do," she said so quietly he just heard her. Lynn had bowed her head and was staring down at the pattern she was tracing on the tile counter. Her face
was colorless and vulnerable when she looked up. "But I still won’t let you have her."
Was that what he’d hoped? If so, he’d been a fool.
“We’re stuck with each other," he said.
"It would seem so." She sounded as conflicted as he felt.
Adam set down the knife for the second time. He held out his hand across the kitchen island. "Well, Ms. Chanak, I suggest we make the best of it."
This smile, a twist of her lips, didn’t produce dimples or the tiny crinkle of lines on the bridge of her nose. Her gray-green eyes remained grave as she took his hand, her own small and fragile in his stronger grip. "You have a deal."
Somehow her hand lingered in his; somehow he was reluctant to let her go. Solidarity, he told himself. Relief. Maybe they could be friends.
"Tell you what," he said. "Why don’t you call the girls? This is a do-it-yourself pizza lunch, and I’m ready for everybody to make some hard decisions."
This smile was more natural, dimples and a curve of cheek as she started from the kitchen. "That kind of decision," she agreed, "I can make."
He didn’t have to wonder what she meant.
CHAPTER SIX
DESPITE THEIR LITTLE TALK, the next couple of visits were no easier. Rose definitely didn’t want Daddy to leave her, although she and Shelly had a grand time together so long as he stayed near. When he did leave, she cried inconsolably. Brave Shelly did somewhat better after that first time at the Landrys’ house, but the third time Lynn came back, after an absence of five hours, only to be met at the door by a grim Adam.
His formerly pristine shirt was rumpled, rolled up at the sleeves and wet. His hair stood on end and an unpleasant odor wafted from him.
"Shelly’s throwing up," he said bluntly. "I was about ready to call the doctor."
"Oh, no." Panic, well out of proportion, surged through her. Lynn whisked past him. "Where is she?"
"Lying down in Rose’s bed." Although she moved fast, he was right behind her. "She has a big bowl next to her. For what good it does."
Lynn paused in the hall a few steps from Rose’s open bedroom door. "She missed?"
He made a sound in his throat. "She’s puked on the floor, Rose’s bed and me. Rose is crying because she’s scared. I think Shelly has a fever, but she doesn’t want me taking her temperature. I couldn’t give her anything to lower her temp anyway. It would just come right back up."
The panic had begun to subside. Or, more accurately, she had recognized it for what it was: guilt. Her little girl had needed her, and she wasn’t here.
"I wondered why she was so tired this morning," Lynn said, remembering. "Her friend Laura has been sick."
"Now you tell me," Adam muttered.
She ignored him and went in to see her daughter. The girls had done some damage, she saw on the way. Puzzle pieces were jumbled on the floor and unkempt Barbies strewn as if a tornado had swept through the room. It almost looked normal for a child’s bedroom.
Rose curled, teary eyed, on the window seat. Face wan, Shelly lay in bed, looking so small and fragile and miserable that Lynn’s own eyes burned.
"Oh, sweetie!" She detoured to give Rose a quick kiss on the head and murmured, "Shelly will be okay. Don’t worry." Then she sat on the edge of the bed and laid the back of her hand on Shelly’s forehead. "You’re toaster hot. Gracious, you’ve had an awful day, haven’t you?"
Her daughter’s face crumpled. "Where were you?" she wailed. "I wanted you!"
Gathering Shelly into her arms, Lynn whispered, "I know, I know. But Adam has taken good care of you, hasn’t he?"
The three-year-old shook her head hard. "I wanna go home!"
Lynn glanced toward the doorway and saw the hurt in Adam’s eyes before he shuttered his expression.
Hugging and swaying, Lynn said softly, "I don’t know, sweet pea. The drive would be awful if you’re throwing up."
"Don’t go!" Her daughter latched convulsively onto her.
In a friendly voice that gave away nothing of what he must be feeling, Adam said, "Why don’t you two spend the night? Your mom can have a room down the hall, and you can either stay here in Rose’s bed, or share with Mom."
Lynn hated the alternatives. How could she say no and subject poor Shelly to the long, winding drive home over the Coast Range? But to stay, when she at least must be unwelcome...
Of course, she had no choice. As, she thought grimly, she so rarely did these days. Of course, it was unreasonable to blame Adam, who must be chafing as much as she was at losing control over such a hunk of his life.
As much? Who was she kidding? He was a man. Men wanted and expected to be in charge. Oh, yeah. If she resented him sometimes, he was probably angry enough to hire a hit man to rid himself of her.
"Thank you." She was just as capable as he was at putting on a good front. "I think we’d probably better stay."
She carried Shelly down the hall, helped her into a borrowed nightgown and bathed her forehead while he changed the bedding. Rose shyly came to visit Shelly while Daddy took a shower.
"Are you gonna pook again?" she asked.
Shelly nodded vigorously and shot to a half-sitting position. "Mama?" she begged in a strangled voice.
Lynn positioned the bowl in the nick of time. Rose watched wide-eyed. She hoped this flu bug wouldn’t be a two-week affair instead of a twenty-four-hour quickie! Especially if—or should she say, when—Rose caught it.
Lynn was helping Shelly rinse out her mouth when Adam appeared in the doorway. In faded sweatpants and a T-shirt, hair wet and finger-combed, he was breathtakingly handsome and a world more human than he usually seemed to Lynn.
"Do you want me to call the doctor?" he asked.
Lynn shook her head. "Not unless she keeps heaving once she’s emptied her stomach. I take it they had lunch before she got sick?" Unfortunately, she could have itemized the menu.
"Yeah." His expression was sheepish. "They had macaroni and cheese, and hot dogs. Ice-cream bars. Oh, yeah. And Kool-Aid. Lots of lime Kool-Aid."
"I noticed," she said dryly.
Poor Shelly’s face was flushed, but her eyes had become heavy. Lynn clicked on a bedside lamp at its lowest setting and motioned to him to switch off the overhead light. When she glanced back, he and Rose were gone.
She sang softly, smoothing Shelly’s hair back from her hot forehead, until her daughter slept. Even then she sat there, just touched by lamplight in the dim room, thinking in despair, How can we keep doing this? What if she told him it just wasn’t working?
Yes, but how could she? She saw Rose, scared and sad, hugging herself on the window seat in that gorgeous bedroom that was still strangely sterile. Her face, always so serious. Her need to hold on tight to Daddy, because who else did she have?
Me. She has me, Lynn’s heart cried.
So, of course, she had no solution to the dilemma. They had to keep doing this. It was no worse, she told herself, than what many parents subjected their children to after a divorce. As long as those children grew up knowing they were loved, they forgot about the weekends when they didn’t want to go to Daddy’s, or the summers when they were packed off to Mom’s. Love was what counted.
Lynn slipped out of the room, surprised, when she checked her watch, to find that it was seven-thirty. Shelly’s usual bedtime was eight, so no wonder after her wretched and exhausting afternoon that she was already sound asleep! Muffled by a wall, Lynn heard splashes of water, a giggle followed by a deeper voice. Bath time. Maybe Rose had been "pooked on," too.
She left the door open a crack. Two steps down the hall, Lynn turned back for another look. Shelly hadn’t stirred. Fingers crossed that she stayed that way, Lynn went into Rose’s room and sat cross-legged on the floor, putting puzzles back together. How helpful, she mocked herself, and felt like a thirteen-year-old girl who just happened to be hanging out in front of a cute boy’s house. Oh, do you live here?
Well, she wanted just once to tuck her daughter into bed. She closed her eyes
briefly, imagining herself smoothing back Rose’s curls, kissing the freckles on her nose, whispering, "Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite," seeing a soft, sleepy smile light the face of this child she had carried for nine months.
Was that too much to ask?
Adam appeared with Rose in flowered flannel pajamas. For a moment, he hesitated, then nodded stiffly. "Thank you."
"No problem." Keeping her voice low, Lynn set the last completed puzzle on the pile.
"For some mysterious reason, Pansy here lost her appetite. She doesn’t think she wants any dinner."
A sleepy chuckle as Adam settled her into bed. "Rose, Daddy! Not Pansy."
Lynn made a face. "I think I lost my appetite, too."
"And you didn’t eat the same things
Shel—" With a harrumph, he stopped. "Never mind. Rosebud, I’ll bet Lynn would like to say good-night, too."
Instantly feeling kindlier, Lynn said, "I’d love to."
"Sleep well, honey." He kissed his daughter tenderly, carefully tucked blankets around her, and quietly left the room.
Lynn asked, "Do you have a night-light?"
"Daddy forgot to turn it on." Rose sounded puzzled. "Daddy never forgets."
Daddy had left her something useful to do. Grateful, Lynn turned on the bright porcelain light and then sat on the edge of the bed. "Sleep tight," she said softly. "Don’t let the bedbugs bite."
A small giggle rewarded her. "’Kay."
Lynn let herself feel the intense pain and delight she usually denied, the bone-deep connection to this child. She hungrily looked, and saw herself as she never would in Shelly, who might be prettier and who she loved unshakably, but who did not look back sleepily with Brian’s eyes, whose forehead didn’t have a curve as familiar as the ache in her heart.
Am I as bad as Brian? Is passing on my genes so important to me? she wondered.
But, no, of course it wasn’t. She felt the same as she ever had about Shelly. What she had to accept was that she could so quickly also love a child she hadn’t known a month ago.
For the Girls' Sake Page 8