The Good Father

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  He’d never known. “How could a kid live in a house with that going on and not know?”

  “It didn’t happen often.”

  “And the rest of the time?”

  “He was just as you remember. A great father. A good provider. And for the most part, my best friend.”

  “So what are my chances?” Might as well just put the problem right out on the table.

  “They are what you make them, Brett.”

  “You told me to let her go.”

  “Because you weren’t going to marry her.”

  “Do you think I should?”

  “Only you can know that.”

  “What would make you proud of me?” What the hell? Where had that come from?

  “Ah, Brett. You are above and beyond anything I could have ever hoped to produce. It goes way beyond pride, son. You make me a better person just by getting up in the morning and taking the next breath. I can’t tell you what to do because I don’t know the answer. But there’s one thing I do know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Whatever choice you make, you’ll make it for the right reasons.”

  “I love you, Ma.”

  “I love you, too, son.”

  “Will you call again?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not.”

  He’d known her answer before she gave it.

  There were some things that would never change.

  * * *

  ELLA WAS AT work Monday, eating crackers for lunch, when her pager went off.

  She’d had her first checkup with the obstetrician. Everything looked perfect. She could expect to give birth to a healthy son or daughter in thirty weeks.

  Other than Ella’s medical history, the doctor didn’t know the circumstances of the baby’s conception.

  Ella didn’t share them with her. There was no need.

  Rounding the corner into the B pod, the area to which she’d been paged, she expected to see a nurse there waiting for her.

  Instead, it was Jason. Standing with a charting tablet.

  “How are you?” he asked, his glance more intimate than she’d have expected.

  “Good.” She smiled. Because she was going to have a baby. She was being given a new life. One she desperately wanted.

  “I’ve been...well, thinking...” He looked down at the tablet, dropped his hand, tablet dangling at his side, and said, “Did you speak to the baby’s father?”

  A couple of the people at work already knew what was going on with her. Partially because she’d been sick at work. And because a doctor on the ward—Jason—knew. She walked Jason into her office.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “He wants to help where he can.”

  “Are you getting back together?”

  “No!” When she heard the sharpness of her response, she tempered it with a softer one. “We aren’t getting back together. I told you, it was a one-night thing,” she said. Adding that she’d had her first appointment and that everything was fine.

  “So...I guess this is kind of strange, but...would you be willing to have dinner with me sometime?”

  Her mouth fell open. “I’m pregnant, Jason.”

  “I know. I was there.” He blushed. And grinned. “When you found out, that is.”

  “You don’t want children.”

  He shrugged. “There is that.”

  So what was he doing?

  “The thing is I want you in my life.”

  “I’m pregnant.” She repeated the obvious, but only because he didn’t seem to be getting it. Or she wasn’t.

  “Yeah, and I’m not as appalled by that idea as I’d thought I would be.”

  Really.

  A small flower bloomed inside Ella. Right alongside the baby that was growing there. She was wanted. Her baby wasn’t appalling.

  That concept shouldn’t be so unfamiliar to her.

  But it was. And in that moment, standing there, Ella realized just how much of an effect Brett’s inability to love fully had had on her.

  “I’m not in love with you, Jason.” She couldn’t do to him what had been done to her. Couldn’t promise something she was incapable of giving.

  “I figured that out as soon as I knew you’d just slept with someone else before going out with me,” he said. “You aren’t the type of woman who has sex lightly. You’re still in love with your ex.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who doesn’t want you.”

  “Correct.”

  “Well, I do. And I’m willing to take my chances that when you’ve gotten over him, you’ll see that I’m quite lovable, too.”

  Her eyes filling with tears, Ella hated to tell him no when, once again, he asked her out to dinner.

  * * *

  BRETT DIDN’T SLEEP WELL. He wasn’t sure he slept at all. He spent the rest of that week and much of the next flying around the country, airport to airport, city to city, convincing himself his life was perfect as it was.

  From Chicago to Philadelphia, Texas to Miami to Memphis, he did good work. Helped others help others. His life was full. Challenging. And he was making a meaningful contribution to society.

  And in his hotel room at night, when he finished preparing for the next day’s meetings and turned out the light, he replayed those early days of Ella’s first pregnancy. She’d shared her every thought with him. Every feeling. Every fear. He hadn’t realized how much he’d stored away until that week.

  He dozed. In bed and on planes. But he couldn’t find a place of restfulness. Nervous energy pushed him forward. From responsibility to responsibility.

  He heard about Jeff’s meeting with Chloe. From Jeff and from Ella. By all accounts the meeting had been a success.

  And he was glad.

  He actually spoke to Jeff.

  Ella, he let go to voice mail.

  And then replayed her message three times.

  She’d told him her doctor’s appointment had gone well. Gave him her due date. And told him she’d heard the heartbeat already.

  She’d sounded excited. And he was glad for her.

  Glad that things were finally working out.

  And yet, when he landed in LA the third Wednesday night in December, and drove home with Christmas lights glittering on homes and businesses in the distance, he couldn’t find any of the joy that was supposed to come with the season.

  All he felt was alone.

  Sad.

  Cut adrift.

  Jeff and Chloe were going to be spending the holiday with Ella at a hotel in LA. Ella and Chloe’s room would be on a separate floor—and there’d be no question about changing sleeping arrangements.

  Jeff was thrilled to know he’d get to see his family over the holiday.

  He’d invited Brett.

  Brett had told him he was busy.

  If Ella wanted him there she’d have asked. At least that was what he’d told himself.

  Brett spent the holiday at home. Working.

  He texted his mother.

  She didn’t text back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  IN JANUARY, CHLOE invited her husband to Santa Raquel for the weekend, on the grounds that he either stayed with Brett or in a hotel.

  She told him that weekend, when he was there, that she’d been staying with Ella all along, leaving Jeff feeling stunned.

  “It’s not that I blame El,” he said Saturday evening as he lounged with Brett at the poolside fireplace in Brett’s backyard, watching the flames and drinking a beer.

  Brett had started drinking beer again over Christmas. It had been his present to himself.

  And only so long as he limited his intake.

  “It’s just...I feel kind of betrayed, you know?” Jeff’s frown spoke of confusion more than anything else.

  And still Brett asked, “Did it make you mad?”

  “You know—” Jeff turned to look at him “—it didn’t. I didn’t really think about it until you asked, but no. I’m hurt. I fee
l stupid, really. I encouraged Chloe to confide in El. And I know my sister was looking out for my best interests. It’s just...she’s my sister.”

  “Who was looking out for your best interests,” Brett reminded. “She was trying to keep control of the situation to give you time to get help.”

  “Yeah. I think I’m most upset with myself,” he said. “Knowing that my little sister had to do that for me, that I put her in that situation...I can’t stand that.” He shook his head and took a sip of beer. He was still on his first one, and they’d been out by the pool for over an hour. Brett asked Jeff about the counseling. About his support group. And knew that Jeff was being completely up front with him when he told him that the therapy had saved his life.

  “What do you think your chances are for getting complete control over your anger issues?” Brett asked, studying Jeff closely. Three to eleven percent. He knew the statistical answer. Wasn’t sure Jeff did.

  “So here’s where my expected response would be that I anticipate a full recovery,” Jeff told him. “Most abusers are going to say that while they’re in the program, right? A lot of them probably believe it, too. Why be in the program if you don’t think it’s going to work? Unless you’re doing it for the wrong reasons to begin with, and then there’s no hope for you anyway...”

  Jeff leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and turned back toward Brett. “But in my case, I think I have better chances than most. I’m not fighting years of alcohol or drug addiction or a gambling or debt problem.” Standing, Jeff put another log on the fire. “In some ways I almost wish I did have some concrete problem to blame this all on. But mostly, I’m just so thankful that I have such an incredible family, and friend, who saw what I couldn’t see and forced me to get help.”

  “So you really think you can beat this?”

  Brett needed to hear the answer.

  “I do. I’m going to stay involved in the support group—even after I complete my therapy. I’ve already been approached about the possibility of facilitating a group, and I think I might like to try that, later, if I can do it without creating stress at home.”

  “So what’s the magic secret?” Brett asked. He’d read all the books he could find. He’d been through counseling as a kid and as an adult, too. He knew the rhetoric. The facts.

  “For me, it’s self-awareness. I know what I want and need. I see what I became, which has made me aware of my vulnerability. And I’m arming myself with tools to prevent me from falling into it again. I know how stress feels inside, and I know now that if I’m feeling that way driving home, I shouldn’t go home. I’m going to drive out to the golf course, park and call Chloe.”

  Something told Brett that Jeff’s confidence didn’t just come from the thought of the idea. “You’ve been doing that already, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. But only at her bidding. She wanted to know if it helped.”

  “And has it?”

  “Weirdly enough, yes. I love to golf. The course, even just the smell of it, relaxes me. And talking to Chloe usually clarifies whatever it was that was building up inside me.”

  The way a shower relaxed Brett?

  “So what happens if sometime you guys disagree, and talking to her only makes you angry?”

  “I hang up and calm down. If I can’t, I go home and sleep in the guesthouse. And if there comes a day when this doesn’t work, I find something else that does.”

  It sounded so...doable.

  But there were those statistics. The three-to-eleven-percent success rate among abusers who sought treatment.

  Brett listened. He was pleased for his friend.

  And he’d never felt so incomplete in his life.

  * * *

  ELLA’S MORNING SICKNESS WORSENED. She texted Brett. Told him she was throwing up a lot, and that the doctor said it was normal.

  She went for her regular monthly visit and texted a healthy baby report. She’d passed the first trimester and was well into the second with no sign of fetal distress. He was like her insurance adjuster. She just had to keep him informed of facts.

  Nothing more.

  She told herself she was happy. And only let herself think about the baby she was carrying, not the man who’d fathered it.

  Nora Burbank had filed charges against her husband. And filed for divorce, too. She was working at a computer center owned by The Lemonade Stand. She’d be living at the Stand for a while. Nora had suffered too long without any kind of support.

  Ella was thrilled to know that she’d helped give the woman another chance at a happy life.

  She wanted the same for her brother, as well.

  Jeff was a regular visitor in her home these days. Chloe had asked for weekly visits, clearing it with Ella first, and her brother now slept over every Saturday night and made them all breakfast every Sunday morning.

  The second Sunday in February, Ella walked into the kitchen to find her brother there alone.

  “Chloe’s packing,” he said, turning potatoes that she’d just seen him drop into the pan. He didn’t look in her direction.

  “Where’s she going?” Ella asked, grabbing hold of the small distention of her stomach as she felt a flutter. The sensation had been happening on and off for a couple days.

  “Home.”

  She’d known, of course. Chloe hadn’t said anything. But she hadn’t looked Ella in the eye for the past few days.

  Was she that much of a stick in the mud? So rigid that people were constantly worrying they were going to disappoint her?

  “Did she talk to Sara about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what Sara said?”

  “She said that I had to make my own decision,” Chloe said, joining them, fully dressed. She smiled at her husband. “She also said that she thinks I’m ready to make my own decisions.”

  Ella felt the words as a jab to her. But knew they weren’t. Ella looked at Jeff. “Did you talk to your therapist?”

  She loved them both so much. And they might not get another chance if they screwed this up. Moved too quickly.

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “I’m going to be okay, sis,” he said. “I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’m not perfect. I can’t handle everything. And that doesn’t make me less of a man. I always thought I could do anything I put my mind to. But when Cody was born, all that wasn’t easy. I didn’t know how to cope.”

  “You could have asked for help. I’m a nurse, Jeff. I’d have been there in an instant,” Ella said.

  Jeff yanked on a strand of her hair. Kissed the top of her head. “I know that now,” he said, going back to his potatoes. “I’d just never had to ask before. It didn’t occur to me that that was what I was supposed to do. My natural instinct was to believe I could handle it. That I was supposed to be able to handle it.”

  Looking at her brother in her kitchen—making breakfast for them, mixing pancake batter for Cody and making lovey eyes at his wife—Ella fully believed he could handle anything.

  That was the Jeff she knew.

  The man he’d always been. It stood to reason that he’d just take for granted that he could handle whatever came his way.

  Just as being the son of an abusive man, being a victim, having his mother turn on him, were all things Brett knew about himself. And Ella had expected Brett to fit her concept of what a husband would be like in a normal, loving relationship. She’d expected a partner who could be open with her. Because that was all she’d ever known because of the relationships she’d witnessed. It was what she wanted and needed.

  No wonder they hadn’t been able to stay together.

  “We’re going to make it,” Jeff said now, putting his arm around Chloe’s waist as she joined him at the stove, watching as he cracked eggs into the pan over the potatoes.

  “I hope so.”

  What he said made sense. Ella wanted to believe.

  She just wasn’t sure she had it in her anymore.

  * * *<
br />
  BRETT WAS HOME Sunday evening, having just hung up the phone from Jeff, who was also at home, his family settled back in with him, when his phone indicated an incoming text message.

  He’d heard happiness in Jeff’s voice, but an equal amount of apprehension, as well. Because Jeff feared that he could slip back into his old ways again.

  Truth was he could. But in Jeff’s case, Brett didn’t think so. Now that Jeff was aware of his problem, now that both he and Chloe were tending to it, now that they were around others who knew to watch for the signs, he was going to be fine.

  He’d told Jeff to text him anytime he had doubts. But this text wasn’t from Jeff.

  I think the baby’s moving.

  He read it again. And realized his hand was shaking. Not out of panic. Or fear. He wasn’t feeling tense. Just...nervous.

  They’d never reached this point the last time. Movement indicated life. A growing human being.

  He pushed speed dial.

  “Hello?”

  Was she at home alone? He wanted to share the moment with her. It was theirs.

  And he wanted to make certain there wasn’t anything wrong. For her sake. Ella couldn’t take another miscarriage. Didn’t deserve one.

  “What does it feel like?”

  “Like air bubbles. It’s been going on for a couple days—a lot more today than before. The way I’m feeling is exactly how the internet describes first baby movement. You said you wanted to be kept informed.”

  Yes, and there was a warmth to her voice that had been missing from her recent communications.

  “When you put your hand on your stomach, do you feel any movement against your hand?” And how did that stomach look? He hadn’t seen her in weeks.

  She’d lost their first child before she’d started to show.

  “No. Apparently it will be a bit before he gets that big and strong.”

  Brett had an image of very tiny arms and legs trying to stretch. Thoughts raced through his mind. All of them coming at once. Good ones. Bad ones. His breathing got shallower.

  And he said, “I’m giving you my house.”

  “What?”

  “I said I’m giving you my house.”