The Good Father

by Tara Taylor Quinn

The words cut into him with a sharpness he could hardly withstand. And even then, he knew she was right. Knew there was nothing he could do to change things.

  She was right on all counts.

  For once in his life, he wanted to be angry. Wanted to fight back.

  There was nothing to fight.

  “You were right about one other thing,” he told her as she turned to go.

  “What?” She paused at the door, looking back at him.

  “Nothing’s changed.”

  He meant between them. Her needing things he couldn’t give. Him trying to do the right thing and hurting her in the process. It wasn’t until later, after he’d calmed down enough to think and was replaying their exchange over and over in his mind, that it dawned on him that she could have taken his statement another way.

  “Nothing’s changed,” he’d said. Had she thought he was referring to how he’d felt the last time she’d told him she was pregnant? Referring to the things he’d told her by the pool that afternoon? About him not wanting the child? Not wanting to be a father? The panic and dread.

  He hadn’t been. And didn’t ask himself if those same feelings even applied. At the moment, they were moot.

  He tried to call her. To apologize. And explain.

  She didn’t pick up.

  * * *

  BRETT WAITED FOR Ella after work on Saturday. He’d rescheduled a dinner meeting and given away courtside basketball tickets to be back in Santa Raquel by three so he could find her car before she got to it and drove away. Luckily she’d found a spot in the on-site lot. He didn’t have access to the garage.

  He wasn’t going to call and just be sent to voice mail. And he didn’t want to risk having to make small talk with Chloe at the apartment.

  She stopped short when she saw him standing there among all the vehicles lining the lot. She’d made it to about five feet from her car.

  “It’s okay,” he said, holding up both hands as he went to meet her. Her scrubs were purple again, with primary-colored teddy bears, and her hair was up in its usual ponytail. “I’m just here to apologize. And to explain. When I said that nothing’s changed, I was referring to me trying to do the right thing and hurting you instead. I wasn’t talking about the baby or my feelings about the pregnancy in any way.”

  She nodded. Looked toward her car but didn’t leave.

  “Ella? Can we talk about this?” he asked, following her. “I was up most of the night and don’t imagine you got much sleep, either. We’re having a baby. We need to figure this out.”

  Her expression closed to him, Ella tilted up her face. “You’re right. I was up most of the night and after a full shift, I’m exhausted. But I know this, Brett. I’m going to be happy. I’m sorry for the cards you were dealt. I’m sorry for me that you are my one and only. But I’m not going to spend my life unhappy because things aren’t different. I’ve been given a second chance. I’m embracing it for what it is. Thrilled that it’s here at all. And I can’t afford to deal with your issues anymore. I can’t keep opening myself up to being hurt when you can’t come through for me. And I can’t keep hurting you, either, making you feel like you’re doing something wrong all the time, just because you don’t need the same things I do, or feel as I do, or think like I do.”

  Her blows bounced off him like arrows against steel. He stood and took every one of them. Because he’d spent one of the most uncomfortable nights of his life. And that was saying a lot. Because Ella’s shocking news was forcing him to face up to the life he’d been dealt.

  “I withhold affection when you need it most. You can’t trust me to be caring when you need to be cared for.”

  “Maybe. Probably.”

  “When you miscarried, I thought I’d been given a sign. A reprieve. I could be a selfish bastard and stay regardless of who got hurt because it was what I wanted. In spite of the fact that you knew I’d seen a divorce lawyer, you weren’t going to kick me out. But I saw what it was doing to you, El. Every time I got quiet, your shoulders would hunch. Your face got tight. It’s like a little more of you died every day. I’d try to think of something to say and just came up blank. And I knew my reprieve, my second chance, was to set you free.”

  “Maybe, but you wanted out, Brett. That’s the truth that finally dawned on me. You didn’t try to get help. You just saw an attorney. And later, just left. You aren’t your dad, you know. You’re your mom. You check out. And maybe you can’t help that. I just know I can’t do it anymore.

  “I’m sorry,” she said then, her eyes warming and glistening, as if she might cry again. But then her shoulders slumped and the softness came back into her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said again, giving her head a little shake. “I’m not myself right now. I don’t mean to be so hard on you. Or so harsh. It’s just...I’m... I have to be strong, Brett.”

  He nodded. Wanted to take her in his arms and promise her that everything would be all right. That he’d be strong for her when she couldn’t be.

  But he knew he couldn’t.

  Ella couldn’t take any more empty promises.

  “I was going to call you,” she said, her voice gentle. “I was wrong yesterday. So wrong. I want you to know that as far as I’m concerned, you have no obligation here, at all. I’m perfectly okay and capable of doing this on my own. But I have no right to keep you out of your child’s life. This baby is yours as much as mine and you are welcome to whatever involvement you want to have. If that’s financial, then so be it. This baby is mine, but only on loan. I can’t control every aspect of his or life—including his relationship with his father. And I just can’t do...you and me...anymore.”

  She was beautiful. And so far away. And so right. Again.

  “Let me ask you something...”

  She waited.

  He stood in the employee parking lot of a children’s hospital and felt as though he was somehow fighting for his life.

  “Knowing what you know about me, if I was around, would you really trust me not to abuse my child?” The question was purely hypothetical, but one that had repeated itself over and over as he relived the last time she’d carried his child.

  “Of course I would. It’s not a matter of what I think of you, Brett, it’s a matter of what you think of yourself that’s always been the problem.”

  The arrows hit flesh that time.

  “Who knows, maybe with you living separately from us, if you are involved in the baby’s life, you won’t feel so afraid of getting out of control. You’ll have your own place to go to when you’re angry, so maybe you won’t be so paranoid about what you might or might not have in you. All I know is that you’ve taken almost thirteen years of my life, Brett. You can’t have any more.”

  Unlocking her car, she flung her bag over to the passenger seat, climbed in and drove away.

  But not before Brett had seen the tears in her eyes.

  And he knew she meant every word she’d said. If, upon hearing the night before that Ella was having his baby, he’d had even half a hope that they might find some kind of future together, she’d just snuffed it out.

  * * *

  ELLA WAS CLIMBING into bed the next night—Sunday, one day after Brett had met her outside work—when her phone rang.

  Recognizing his number, she slid her legs under the covers and sat back against her headboard while she answered.

  Best not to deal with Brett lying down.

  “Is this too late?”

  “No.”

  “I’m in a little town in Kansas, getting ready to attend the meeting of a potential new client in the morning, a nonprofit delegation of farmers, and my concentration is not what I need it to be. I want to help you. And it occurs to me that I don’t know how. I know that I can’t give you what you need most, but surely there are ways I can help.”

  Oh, God. Her emotions were too vulnerable right now...she couldn’t let herself get soft. But soft was exactly how Brett’s words made her feel.

  “I don’t have the answer to that
, Brett,” she said, giving him complete sincerity when what would have been better for both of them was more of her stiff upper lip. “You are who you are. It’s not fair to you that you try to be anyone else. None of this is fair.”

  “So...I was thinking...I would like updates on the baby. I want to know everything. Every step of the way. I just don’t want to make things more difficult for you.”

  He sounded so stilted. So unnatural. Because he was trying to be something he was not?

  Was trying too hard?

  Biting off the words this is difficult for me, she said instead, “How about if I text or call when I have something to report?” she asked, picturing a relationship similar to the one he shared with his mother.

  “That would be good.”

  “Good...so...good...”

  “I’d like to start now,” he said before she could get the “‘night” part of her salutation out of her mouth.

  “You’re two months along. Based on what my memory’s telling me, you’ll soon be hearing the heartbeat and having an ultrasound. At some point, you’ll be able to choose whether or not you want to know the sex. And you need to be thinking about birthing classes...”

  Whoa. He’d remembered all that? She started to smile. And then sobered. What was she getting herself into here?

  He was the baby’s father. What choice did she have?

  “I have my first appointment tomorrow. And when the time comes, I’m thinking of opting not to know the sex...” At least not until she was further along and had more assurance that she was actually going to carry the baby to term. “And I’m thinking about having the baby here, in the apartment, in my garden tub.”

  “At home? Is that safe?” She wanted to be able to ignore his concern, not to be warmed by it, but failed. Miserably.

  And spent the next ten minutes discussing details of the birthing process as she’d heard it described by the mother of one of her patients a few months before—an option many women were choosing these days.

  “Can I be there?”

  Heart pounding, she took a deep breath. “If you want to be.” This was his child. He had rights, though not the right to be present at the actual birth if she didn’t want him there.

  “I think I do.”

  He felt that way now. But she knew him. If he started to get too uptight, he’d change his mind. When Brett’s emotions started to get out of control, Brett got going.

  Just as Jeff was learning ways to be accountable to and responsible for his negative emotions, Brett had been learning to avoid his since he was a little boy.

  She’d finally started really listening to him.

  He couldn’t help how he felt or what he needed. Not any more than she could help loving him. She got that now, too.

  And wished him good-night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  HE STOOD NAKED and let the water sluice over him. Eyes closed, arms raised with his hands splayed above him on the porcelain tile in his hotel room, Brett dropped his chin to his chest. Monday morning after the longest weekend of his life and he wasn’t ready to face the week ahead. Water pressure that was fine for cleansing, wasn’t strong enough to wash away the tension knotting the muscles along the back of his neck.

  He knew how to stay in control. Of himself and of his life. He had his rules clearly established. When emotion threatened to get the better of him, he headed for a hot shower. A completely private and personal relaxation that would allow his emotion to dissipate without hurting anyone else.

  The water swirled down the drain. But it didn’t take his emotions with it.

  He stood there anyway. Planned to let the hot water run out and then to remain in the cold for as long as he could take it.

  Anything to ease the tension.

  Maybe if he’d been home, in his own shower, his own space, he would have found some peace. He’d shaped his life, made his choices, so that he had a place he could always return to when he needed to find calm.

  His phone rang. Brett wanted to let it ring. To stay right where he was and give every drop of that water a chance to help him feel better.

  But Ella was pregnant. And Jeff was in therapy. And they both might need him.

  His phone was always ringing. Because he’d given his life to the outside world, rather than creating one in his own space. Another conscious decision.

  He stood with droplets running down his body, a towel held to his front side, when he saw the name on his caller ID.

  “Hello.”

  He prepared himself for a cryptic message. Followed by a hang-up.

  An important message. But one he could get from the voice mail she’d leave if he let the phone ring.

  “How are you?”

  Trembling, Brett almost dropped the phone. Almost fifteen years he’d waited.

  And on a normal day, out of the blue...

  I’m fine, Ma. How are you? The millions of words he wanted to say were there, but none of them came.

  With the silence hanging on the line, he pulled on his robe. Avoiding looking at himself in the mirror as he left the bathroom part of his suite.

  “Ella’s pregnant.” He finally said what mattered most and choked up.

  He was ashamed. She’d told him to let Ella go.

  “I know. You’re going to see the announcement in this morning’s High Risk report. She sent in a notice by email early this morning. She’ll be taking a leave from the team after the baby is born.”

  His mother’s voice. Speaking a full sentence to him. He’d begun to think he’d never hear that sound again. Tears filled his eyes, and he felt like a fool.

  “It’s mine.”

  “I wondered.”

  He stood at the French doors in his room, looking out at the artificially lit garden beyond his balcony. The sun had not yet risen. “It was one night,” he said, his hand squeezing the back of his neck. “Jeff is having anger issues. You know Chloe, the cook at the Stand. She’s his wife. She left him until he gets help.”

  She’d have seen all the paperwork regarding Chloe. Approved everything on his behalf.

  It was all so damned complicated.

  “I didn’t believe Ella at first when she told me how Jeff had been treating Chloe. Ella asked me to look into it. We ended up spending a weekend at a cabin on the lake, all four of us. It seemed like Chloe and Jeff were going to be fine. I drank more than normal. Left the cabin. Was going to spend the night outside by myself. Then Ella came out.”

  “You loved her once.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now?”

  “More than ever.”

  “How does she feel?”

  “I think she loves me. I’m afraid she’s never going to love anyone else. But she doesn’t want a relationship any more than I do. She’s been hurt too much. She knows my limitations.”

  “What limitations? Have you done something, Brett?”

  “No! Come on, Ma. You know every move I make. You know how I live, what food is in my fridge, what flight I’m on and probably what I order from room service since you do the expense accounts.”

  “So what limitations?” She was his mother. And she wasn’t. She was something ethereal. Not real. Like talking to an angel in a dream.

  “She calls it my inability to be all in. I call it being accountable to the dangers that lurk within me.”

  “So you have them?”

  “I’m sure I do.”

  “Have you felt the burning rage?”

  “I think so.” The night he’d thought Ella was being accosted. “I don’t let myself get that emotionally invested,” he said now. And then he told her about the tension that had built within him during his marriage. A tension that had had him snapping at Ella more often than not after they’d found out she was pregnant. The nightmares that had felt so real to him.

  “Did you ever feel like hitting her?”

  “No. Unlike Dad, I got out before it got to that point.”

  “Burning rage doesn’t listen to
reason.”

  Which was what made it so frightening.

  He had so much to tell her. To ask her. And was afraid that every sentence she uttered might be followed by a click.

  “Can I see you?” If they could just sit down. Have a real talk. If he could give her a hug and tell her—

  “No. Nothing’s changed, son.”

  “You’re talking to me.”

  “I just found out you’re going to be a father. I thought you might have issues with that.”

  Okay. He got the parameters now. It was a start.

  “I do.”

  “Can I help?”

  Yeah, come into my life. Meet the mother of my child. Be a grandmother.

  Thinking of Ella reminded him of that horrible conversation when she’d asked him his true feelings about the first time she’d been pregnant. He’d told her about his father being a wonderful father all those years...

  “Were there signs, Ma? Before Livia got sick? Every memory I have of Dad back then is good.”

  “He was a good father, Brett.”

  “And a good husband.”

  “As good as he could be.”

  “What does that mean? Are you telling me he hit you when I was little? How could I not have known that?”

  “No, son. He didn’t. But he’d fly into rages. Say horrible things. Call me names. Threaten to leave me. He told me once that he understood his father’s need to hit something.”

  “I never heard any of it.”

  “Because I learned his triggers. Learned how to manage them.”

  “Manage them?”

  “I’d get you kids out of the house. Or I’d leave a room, and he’d follow me.”

  “This was before Livia got sick? Why’d you stay with him, then?”

  “A lot of reasons. I loved him, for one. I understood that he was only spewing what had been spewed at him. I knew he didn’t mean any of it. He’d scream obscenities, accusing me of all kinds of horrible things, and I’d hear the translation, you know, it would go something like, ‘Help, I’m feeling in over my head here. I’m afraid I’m not good enough for you. As smart as you. I’m bad and you’re going to leave me. I need to know you love me.’ He also acknowledged afterward that he’d been wrong. He’d beg me to forgive him and promised that he’d learn to keep his mouth closed when he started to feel like he was losing control.”