Bachelor Father

by Jean C. Gordon

  “Wait a second. We’ve got to get you cleaned up first.” She took a quick detour to the kitchen and scrubbed the paint off Jake’s hands and face, then stopped to explain the situation to Charles before she and Jake headed upstairs.

  When they hit the top of the stairs, Jake tried to pull away. Chunks of plaster and nails littered the floor of the big square hall.

  “Oh, no you don’t. I’m keeping a firm grip on you.” She squeezed his little hand.

  Molly smiled “hi” to the two men working in the hall before peeking in the first room for Brett. She found him working alone amidst a cloud of plaster dust. He’d removed his flannel shirt. The white dust covered his hair and black T-shirt, turning both to gray. Alternative rock blared from a radio on the floor.

  Brett slammed the claw of the hammer into the plaster in time with the hard beat of the music, until he had opened a good size hole. He slipped the hammer into his tool belt. His damp shirt clung to him defining the ripple of muscles as he gripped the edge of the hole he’d created and tore out a large piece of wall. Molly watched in fascination.

  “Unca!” Jake pulled his hand from hers and ran toward Brett. Startled, Brett dropped the chunk of plaster. He gave Molly a half smile before scooping Jake up.

  “Quick, isn’t he?” Brett asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Molly stammered. Great! She sounded just like the teen who’d apologized to her for letting Jake get away from the supervised children’s group.

  “Like I said, he’s a quick little bugger. How’d you end up with him?”

  “He wandered away from the children’s group and—

  “Wasn’t someone watching him?” Brett demanded.

  “The girl watching him wasn’t at fault,” she replied a trifle defensively. He didn’t like the children’s group. Most of the other kids were older.”

  At Brett’s dark look, she hurried on, concerned that he’d taken what she’d just said as a criticism of him bringing Jake. “I let him stay with me and paint, until he got more paint on himself than on the wall.”

  “My Boo pay,” Jake said in agreement.

  Brett looked at Jake’s paint spattered overalls and laughed. “I guess you did paint, Bud.” He turned to Molly. “I’m almost done here. I should finish and get Jake home for his lunch and afternoon nap.”

  For some reason, Molly was surprised at Brett’s concern for getting Jake home, fed, and in for his nap. She chided herself. She shouldn’t be. But there was something incongruous in her mind about this forceful, very masculine man arranging his time around a baby.

  “I’ll take Jake so you can finish. We’ll sit over on the other side of the room out of your way and maybe play a couple of rounds of patty-cake.”

  Jake clapped his pudgy hands at the words patty-cake.

  Laughing, Molly reached to take Jake from Brett. His little round face started to crumple. Acting instinctively, Molly rubbed noses with Jake until he started giggling. For someone who didn’t have much experience with toddlers, she was learning fast.

  Brett gave her an approving smile and went back to work, flexing his biceps—on purpose, she’d swear—when he pulled the hammer from his toolbelt. With a loud crash, he tore the last of the plaster from the wall. Wiping his brow with a bandanna, he crossed the room to Molly and Jake. He stuffed the bandanna in the back pocket of his jeans and stood towering over her. “I’m all done.”

  I know. I’ve been watching your every move, Molly thought, fanning herself. The day must be warming up if the heat in this room was any indication.

  Starting to reply, she sneezed twice quickly, instead. “It must be the dust,” she said, trying not to sniffle. She searched her sweatshirt pocket unsuccessfully for a tissue and sneezed again.

  Brett handed her his bandanna, which Molly took reluctantly.

  “Go ahead and use it,” he said.

  “Thanks.” The bandanna was warm, slightly damp, and scented with an odd combination of baby powder and male sweat. It should have grossed her out. Instead, she reveled in the intimacy of the smell, holding the cloth to her face longer than necessary.

  “Ahem.” Brett cleared his throat.

  Lord, this was embarrassing. Molly didn’t know whether to hand the bandanna back, offer to clean it, or what.

  Brett seemed to read her mind—or expression. “Keep it.”

  She folded the bandanna and tucked it in her sweatshirt pocket. The room felt overly warm again. Maybe she was coming down with something more than embarrassment.

  When she looked back at Brett, he offered her a hand up.

  Accepting, she couldn’t help noticing the contrast between the soft plaster dust that covered his fingers and palm and the hard calluses beneath. Everything about Brett appeared hard and soft at the same time.

  Not to be left out, Jake called, “Unca Unca,” reaching his arm up to Brett.

  “There you go.” Brett gently pulled Jake to his feet and bent to pick him up.

  “No, walk,” Jake protested, looking to Molly for support.

  Brett lifted Jake. “You can walk once we get down the stairs.” Turning to Molly, he asked, “Are you coming down?”

  “Yeah, my tour of duty is done here, too. We still need to set up a meeting for Monday. Why don’t I walk out with you?”

  “Sure,” Brett agreed. “Let’s go.”

  Molly got her coat while Brett his and Jake’s and checked out with Charles.

  As the three of them walked to the street corner, Molly and Brett agreed to meet first thing Monday morning.

  “See you Monday, then,” Molly said starting to step off the curb to cross the street to her Neon.

  “Nooo!” Jake screeched, causing her to stop mid-step. “Hand.” He showed Molly his own hand tightly gripped in Brett’s.

  “Oh, you want me to hold your other hand while we cross the street.” She stepped back and took Jake’s free hand.

  He dug his heels in and shook his head. “Car whoosh. Unca hand.” Jake looked to Brett for approval.

  “That’s a good idea, Bud. The cars do go whoosh.” Brett tried to keep a straight face. “I’d better take Molly’s hand and make sure she gets across the street safely.”

  Molly didn’t think it was such a good idea. After admiring Brett’s work all morning, she was ready to put a little distance between them.

  Brett stepped around and took her hand in his. “We look both ways before we cross.” He made a point of directing his words to both Jake and Molly. “No cars. We can cross.”

  When they reached the other side, Molly turned to Brett. “So, we’re safely across. Can I have my hand back, now?”

  Brett kept her hand firmly in his, ignoring her question. “Which car is yours? We’ll walk you over.”

  “The metallic green Civic,” she answered, wanting nothing more than to be in her car and on her way. Brett seemed to be enjoying this togetherness a tad too much.

  They walked hand in hand to the car. “See you Monday, then,” Molly said, pulling her hand free and reaching in her satchel for her key.

  “Right.” Brett watched her unlock her car before walking to his Jeep.

  Brett held his head in his hands and rubbed his temples as he stared at the registered letter on the table.

  At the direction of Korean Child Welfare, it said, we regret to inform you that Thayer House is instituting steps to reassume custody of Shin, Keebok, ne Jacob Keebok Peterson. You have a legal right to contest our custody claim Please respond within ten days.

  When he’d first read the letter from the director of adoptions and foster care at Thayer House, he’d wanted to smash something to blow off his anger. Now, he was beyond angry. He felt like he did when he was thirteen and his little sister Kate had beaten him in a karate tournament. Knocked flat on his back, out of breath, and wondering how he could let a girl do this to him.

  What a fool he'd been to think Molly Hennessey wanted to help Jake and him. Obviously, she’d been jerking him around all along with her social-w
orker reassurances given in that low sexy voice of hers. That's what he got for letting his hormones think for him. He should have stuck with his first impression that, for whatever reason, Molly Hennessey didn't think he was parent material.

  Brett wondered for the hundredth time what Molly had said in her follow-up report to Korean Child Welfare. Rising wearily, he picked up the letter, went to the wall phone, and dialed the Thayer House number. When he'd called Molly yesterday, the receptionist had transferred him to Charles Brown who said she was out ill, had been all week. Brett supposed he could have talked with Charles. Tina had told him he should file his custody challenge as soon as possible. But he did have ten days. He'd wait for Molly. They had other business to settle.

  “Thayer House. How may I direct your call?”

  “Molly Hennessey, please.”

  “I’m sorry. She’s not in the office today. Would you like to leave a message on her voice mail?”

  No, he wouldn’t like to leave a message on her voice mail. Anything Brett had to say to Molly, he wanted to say in person.

  “Sir?” the receptionist asked at his lack of response.

  “No,” he said. I’ll try to reach her another time. Do you expect her back on Monday?”

  “Yes, she’s been out ill all this week, but we do expect her back on Monday.”

  So, Molly wasn’t dodging his phone calls. That took a little of the edge off his anger. Still, she had all but assured him that he wouldn’t lose Jake. He slapped the letter against the wall.

  The receptionist continued, “Are you one of Ms. Hennessey’s clients? You could speak with Charles Brown. He’s covering her cases while she’s out.”

  Brett rubbed his forehead and thought. “No, thanks. I don’t need to talk with Charles, but would you leave Molly a note that I’ll meet with her first thing Monday morning?”

  “You don’t want to leave her a voice mail message?” the receptionist pressed.

  “I’d rather not.” Brett etched the word NO! on a pad that hung next to the phone, breaking the pencil point. He wanted Molly to get his message straight off on Monday. He didn’t want to be the last message on a week’s worth of voice mail.

  “All right. Your name please?”

  “Brett Cahill.”

  “Okay, Mr. Cahill. May I tell Molly what the meeting is concerning?”

  “She’ll know,” Brett said gruffly, feeling his chest tighten. “And thanks for your help,” he added. After all, none of this was the poor receptionist’s doing. He shouldn’t vent his feelings on her. He’d save that for the person responsible.

  Molly opened the desk drawer, dropped in her satchel, and sat. Where to start? She sized up the stack of folders and correspondence in her in-box, then reached over to switch on her computer. The computer beeped that she had e-mail messages, while the voice mail light on her phone flashed for her attention. If the quantity of paper in her box was any indication, she’d probably need half the day to return phone calls alone. Who would have thought missing a few days work would back everything up so?

  Turning to the computer, she saw a post-it message stuck on the monitor. How odd. Since Thayer house had installed voice mail on everyone's phone, the receptionist rarely took written phone messages anymore. Molly pulled the message from the screen, read it, and smiled. Brett certainly was anxious to meet with her and get started on the new adoption application.

  And Molly admitted to herself that she was just as anxious to see him. He’d been in her thoughts a lot this past week, especially the first couple of days when the flu had her laid so low, she couldn’t do much more than sleep, think, and dream. She’d drift off thinking about his case and have the most fascinating dreams. Dreams she wouldn’t want Freud scrutinizing.

  Darn, she still didn’t know the answer to her question whether Korean Child Welfare would let Brett submit his application immediately, or if he would have to wait until the new rules went into effect in January. Molly started rifling through her in-box to see if she’d received a reply fax.

  The phone buzzed. “Molly,” the receptionist said, “a Mr. Cahill is on his way up to see you. I left a message on your computer.”

  “Got it, and I hear him coming up the stairs now. Bye.”

  Molly looked up as Brett entered the office. He certainly was handsome. She him a big welcoming smile—a smile he didn’t return.

  “Brett.” She started to stand and motion him in, but he was already there, looming over her.

  “What do you know about this?” he demanded, tossing an envelope on her desk.

  Now what, she thought unable to escape the wave of déjà vu. Glancing at the envelope, she recognized the Child Welfare Logo in the left corner. Add nausea to the déjà vu.

  “Well.” He glared at her.

  “Brett, sit down. I don’t know anything about it. I just got in and haven’t even begun to go through my correspondence or messages from last week. May I? She motioned to the envelope.

  “Go ahead.” His expression clearly said he didn’t believe her.

  Molly unfolded the letter and skimmed down the page. “Oh, no.” She dropped the sheet, feeling she really might be ill.

  “You didn’t know.” Brett’s voice softened. The anger in his eyes was gone, replaced by raw pain. “They’re going to take Jake.”

  “I don't understand. Give me a moment to re-read the letter.” She read it through twice, feeling his heated gaze on her the whole time. “I don't understand,” she repeated. “Didn't they consider any of my recommendations? I'd thought I'd made a good case in your favor.”

  “Sure. I’d say you made a real good case. Korean Child Welfare read your report and immediately directed Thayer House to take custody of Jake. You must have made some kind of case.”

  “Brett,” she soothed, trying to get him to sit. I understand you’re upset.” The words sounded as small and powerless to her as the apparent effect they had on Brett.

  He glared at her and paced the length of her desk like a caged cat, radiating fury and helplessness.

  Molly rose, and stepping in front of Brett, she placed her hand on his upper arm. A jolt of uncertainty coursed through her the second she touched his rock-tense biceps. He might as well be a statue. Her breath caught and they stood for what seemed like an eternity before Molly dropped her hands.

  “Let me talk with the director,” she said, her gaze still locked with his.

  He shook his head violently, whether as a reply or to clear his thoughts, Molly wasn’t sure.

  “Don’t bother,” he said, finally. “We’ve been here before. I talk with you, you talk with them, you talk with me. Where’s it gotten us? Nowhere.”

  “But, I—”

  “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer, Tina Cannon. She’s filing a counter action for custody. I’d like to say it’s been nice, but it hasn’t.”

  Molly thought she saw a flicker of something—regret, maybe—in his eyes before his expression settled to stone again. They stood silent for a moment before Brett turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Molly said. “I'll call you when I know more.”

  He muttered something indiscernible on his way out.

  Charles plunked down his briefcase on his desk. “Good to see you back. How are you feeling?”

  “Okay,” she said distractedly.

  “Say, was that your favorite client I saw stalking out of here?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She shook her head. “I mean no. I don’t know what I mean.” He’d done it again. Brett had left her totally flustered. She took a calming breath. “Yes, that was Brett Cahill, but I don’t think he’s a client any longer.”

  “How’s that?”

  Molly squirmed, thinking that Charles might in some way think this was her fault, that she’d fallen down on the job. Perhaps it was. Had she said something in the home study update that caused KCW to take action against Brett?

  Evading Charles’ question, Molly asked, “Did you know KCW has directed us to reassume custody o
f Brett’s nephew Jake?”

  “No, the director hasn’t said anything to me, but she was down in New York on Thursday and Friday.”

  “His situation really bothers me, Charles. It’s so uncaring on KCW’s part to deny him the opportunity to adopt his nephew.”

  “Wait a minute. Aren’t you the person who a couple of weeks ago thought it would be in the child’s best interest to place him with a couple, rather than his single uncle?”

  “I know.” Molly shook her head in defeat. “That was before I saw how good Brett is with Jake. Jake might not be of his own blood, but he’s the only family Brett has left.”

  Charles started to say something, but was interrupted by the phone. “Yes. Okay. I’ll tell her.”

  Hanging up, he turned to Molly. “The director wants to meet with us in her office right now. Hopefully, we’ll find out what’s going on with your Mr. Cahill.

  That evening Molly sat curled on the couch in her soft flannel robe, sipping herbal tea and ostensibly reading the newspaper classifieds. A cheery fire crackled in the fireplace. Folding the paper and putting it aside, she thought about the reminder she’d received from the condominium management board today. The board wanted her answer on the sale offer within thirty days.

  When she’d taken the caseworker position at Thayer House, Molly had carefully combed the available rental listings to find the right place, somewhere she could call home. Fortunately, Charles and Linda had let her stay with them until she did.

  The condo, with its fireplace, cathedral ceiling, and large loft bedroom was perfect—even though the mortgage payments would stretch her paycheck to the limit. And owning the condo would give her roots, make her feel like she belonged somewhere. But she needed a 20% down payment.

  Restless, she walked across the chocolate brown carpet to the window, the thick pile soft beneath her bare feet. Funny, the power little pieces of paper had to wreak havoc in peoples’ lives. Her mother’s trust agreement, the management corporation’s reminder, the letter the director of adoptions had sent to Brett.