Anything for You

by Kristan Higgins

  Dad liked babies, too. Connor watched as his father leaned his cheek against Isabelle's head and patted her back.

  "How's Gail feeling?" Connor asked.

  "Oh, a little tired. The morning sickness is pretty bad. But she's good. The baby looks healthy."

  "Good." The breeze came up off the lake, and the sound of laughter drifted in with it. The band was playing "SexyBack" by Justin Timberlake, and Connor winced at the thought of his mother dancing to it.

  "Dad," he said unexpectedly.

  "Yes?"

  Huh. He didn't really have anything planned to say. "Uh...I just wanted to say something."

  "Yeah, sure! Go ahead."

  His father was a grandfather now. Despite the trophy wife, despite having a ten-year-old daughter and a new baby on the way, his father was getting old.

  "You weren't that bad of a father," Connor said, then gave a little laugh at the lame compliment. "You were a good provider. You were hard on me to do well and in some ways, that was a really good thing."

  Pete swallowed. Patted Izzy's back, same as Connor had done.

  "And you're a really great father to Savannah. I'm sure you'll be the same with the new baby, too."

  His dad's mouth wobbled a little. "Thank you," he whispered.

  Connor stood up. "Now give me back my niece," he said. "I think I hear someone puking over by the green chicken statue, and I bet it's Gail."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  A PACKAGE ARRIVED for Davey three days after the fire. Jess didn't recognize the handwriting, but the postmark was local. "Davey," she called. "You got something in the mail, hon."

  He came galumphing down the stairs, sounding as ever like he was falling. It never failed to make her adrenaline spurt in familiar panic. "What is it?"

  "I don't know. Want me to open it for you?"

  "I can do it."

  His hands were better. He said they felt tight, but they didn't hurt anymore. His face burn was a little more severe, so Jess had covered it with antibiotic cream and a four-by-four bandage.

  He got the scissors out of the drawer. "Let me do that for you, sweetie," she said.

  "I can do it, Jess." He sounded a little...patronizing, actually. She tensed as he ran the scissor blade across the tape. Didn't cut himself.

  Inside the box was a blue knit scarf and a card. "It's from Miranda!" Davey said. His face lit up. "It's a get-well present!"

  Now that was a shock. Jess had always thought the relationship was completely one-sided. "That's so sweet."

  Davey grabbed the phone and, clutching the box, went into the living room. A second later, Jess heard him say, "Hi, Miranda! It's me, Davey!"

  He had her number?

  "Dave, I mean. Dave Dunn. Thanks for the scarf! Blue is my favorite color!"

  Until a few seconds ago, red had been his favorite color. Jess smiled.

  "It doesn't hurt much," Davey was saying. "I'll be back to work tomorrow. Hey, who's your favorite Avenger? Mine's Iron Man."

  Looked like Miranda did talk after all. Or maybe she didn't need to, since Davey was going a mile a minute.

  "Jess, can Miranda come over and watch a movie with us?" he yelled.

  "Of course," she said. "Anytime. As long as it's okay with her mother."

  Davey relayed the information, barely pausing for breath. "You can come now if you want. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Oh, okay. Sure! Bye!" His face was so happy, bandage or not. Unable to contain his happiness, he ran out of the room and clattered into the backyard with Chico Three, the dog's happy barks echoing Davey's laughter.

  So maybe Connor knew a little more on the subject of Miranda than Jessica did.

  The door opened, and in came Ned. "Dry your tears, Jess, but I'm here for the last of my stuff."

  "The new house has an extra bedroom, just in case you go back to your spendthrift ways."

  "Good to know. When are you moving in?"

  "Next weekend."

  "Are you excited?"

  "You bet." She really wasn't. She was tired, that was what she was.

  Davey came galloping into the kitchen again. "I have a girlfriend! Ned! I have a girlfriend!" Davey yelled. Chico Three barked happily and jumped against his beloved. "I have a girlfriend, Ned!"

  "Bring it here, my man," Ned said, fist-bumping him. "You'll come visit me in my new place, right? It's really nice. We can hang and chill."

  "Hang and chill! Yeah!"

  Davey seemed so happy, he was practically floating.

  That night, as Jess was getting ready for bed, she saw Davey standing in front of the bathroom mirror, taking off his bandage. "Let me do that for you, pal," she said.

  "I got it," he said, carefully peeling the tape away. He looked at the burn, which already seemed better. "Do you think I'll have a scar?"

  "No, I don't."

  "Connor says chicks love scars. Like his. From Chico One."

  So they'd talked about Chico One during their mysterious cooking classes. And Davey had handled it. No meltdown.

  He had a girlfriend. He had an age-appropriate male friend with an apartment. He had a good relationship with their father, and he had a steady job.

  And he didn't need her help to take off a bandage anymore.

  Jess knew that while those were all good things, her throat was unbearably tight nonetheless.

  *

  KEITH'S CAR WAS parked in front of the house when Jess got home from work the next day. Since the fire, she'd been letting him visit without supervision, just for small bits of time, a half hour here, fifteen minutes there, before she'd get home or if she had to run an errand.

  "Hi, guys," she said as she came in, then nearly dropped the bag of groceries she was holding.

  Davey was at the stove. Keith was sitting at the table.

  "What-- Davey, be careful," she said.

  "Dinner is ready," he said grandly. "Scrambled eggs and toast. And ketchup."

  Jess put the bag down. "You cooked?"

  "I know how."

  She glanced at her father. "Don't look at me," he said. "I've just been sitting here, listening and learning."

  Okay, so Davey hadn't done anything alone. That was good.

  But in a way, he kinda sorta had.

  There was that vise on her throat again. She sat down at the table. Davey had drawn pictures on the paper napkins. Hers was a picture of a smiley-faced heart.

  Davey put the plate of eggs on the table, then brought over the toast. Two pieces were just this side of charcoal, but the truth was, the toaster was finicky. "It smells fantastic," Jess said, her voice wobbling a little. She served herself some eggs, then passed the spoon to her father. Took a piece of the dark toast.

  "This is the best supper I ever had," she said.

  "You haven't even eaten it," Davey said, grinning that sweet smile.

  "I already know."

  "Perfect eggs," Keith said. "You did good, son."

  After supper, they walked up to Ellis Farm Nature Preserve so Chico could get some exercise, and Davey could, too. He and the dog ran ahead, and Jess found herself a little jealous of Davey's endless energy.

  It was a beautiful summer night, the sun beginning its slow descent over the hills, the clouds turning creamy, the sky behind them softening, pink and lavender edging the horizon. A rabbit ran across the path a few yards ahead, and a wood thrush was showing off from high in a treetop.

  "Jessie," her father said, "I want to talk to you about something. I'd like Davey to spend some time with me. At my place. To stay with me part-time."

  She jolted to a stop. "What?"

  "I've been sober for almost three years now. I have a steady job and a decent apartment and a reliable car. I'd like to see my son more."

  Jess closed her mouth. "Oh, really."

  "Yes."

  There was a bench nearby, overlooking the small pond. Davey was throwing a tennis ball in the water for Chico, who loved to swim. Jess sat down, keeping her eyes on her brother, making sure he did
n't get too close to the edge of the pond. He could swim. But still.

  "So you want...custody?" she asked. Her legs were shaking.

  Her father sat, too. "I don't want to take him away from you, honey. I just... I'd like to see him more. Be more of a real father and less of a guest."

  "A real father."

  "That's right."

  John Holland was a real father. Bet he never got drunk and threw up in one of his kids' beds. Levi Cooper was a real father. Lucas Campbell, too.

  Keith Dunn was not a real father.

  Chico Three barked joyfully from down the hill. Davey waved, and Jess and her father both waved back.

  "That's a nice thought," she managed to say through the anger that was twisting through her like razor wire. "About thirty years too late--twenty-five for Davey, but still, a nice thought."

  "I can't rewrite the past," he said.

  "Save the euphemisms, Dad," she hissed. "You gambled away what little money you did make. I wore hand-me-downs from the rich kids in town. I never had a friend over in case you or Mom were drunk." Her chest started to jerk. "I've worked a full-time job since I was fifteen years old, and you stole my savings and put me in debt. I've never had a vacation. I slept with half the boys in my high school so they'd look out for Davey, because you were off in a bar somewhere, and I've never had fewer than two jobs. And you let me. Why didn't you want to be a real father back then?" Tears burned down her face like acid.

  "Oh, baby," he said, his voice wobbling.

  "You don't get to cry," she said, starting to sob. "Why didn't you want to be a real father when I needed one? Where were you when I tried to be a stripper so I could afford Davey's medicine? Where were you after Mom died and Davey fell apart? He needed a real father then. Not now." The sobs were out now, galloping through her entire body, kicking their way out of her throat. "Why weren't you a real father when Mommy was pregnant and I was bringing her drinks? Why didn't you stop me, Dad? Why didn't you stop me? Look at him! That's all my fault."

  She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around herself and it hurt, this crying. It was horrible. It was like being trampled, and she had no idea how to stop.

  Then there were arms around her, and her father was rocking her. "It's all right, baby," he murmured. "It's okay to cry. You're such a good girl. Such a good girl."

  That just made her cry harder. She bent her head and just gave up, letting the hurt run through her, and sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed.

  But eventually, the sobs slowed. Her head throbbed, and she just didn't have anything left, not even enough energy to sit up straight.

  Instead, she leaned against her skinny father. There was nowhere else to go. Couldn't remember the last time he hugged her. It had been decades.

  Miraculously, Davey was still down at the pond with Chico. The best dog in the world, endlessly happy, always wanting to play and utterly, completely devoted.

  She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

  "You know what I see when I look at Davey?" her father said, his reedy voice quiet. "I see the best kid in the world. He's kind, he's happy, he's healthy. He has a good job--better than a lot of the jobs I've had, honestly--and everyone likes him. He grew up feeling safe. That's all because of you, Jessie. You did that. No one but you." Her father held her a little tighter. "It wasn't fair, what your mother and I put on your shoulders. It wasn't right. But my God, what a good job you've done! I'm so sorry you had to do it, and at the same time, I'm so glad it was you. I would've ruined him."

  More tears now, but these didn't hurt as much.

  The past was so heavy. Too heavy to drag with her anymore. She was so tired of being Jessica Does. So tired of being afraid and alone and taking care of everything all the time. She just wanted to be. To be normal, to be happy, to be light.

  A yellow swallowtail butterfly landed on Jess's knee and rested there, flexing its black-laced wings.

  Her mother had loved butterflies.

  "I'm so, so sorry, baby," her father said. "Davey being the way he is, that's all on me and Mom. Davey isn't your fault. He's proof of your goodness. Let me help, Jessie. Let me take care of Davey. Let me take care of you, even. Just a little bit."

  Her eyes welled up again. "I'm not so good at that."

  "You could be. You could try."

  Davey came lumbering up the hill, panting, sweaty and filthy, happy as peach pie. His face fell at the sight of her tears, and his own eyes filled. "Why are we crying?"

  She laughed a little. "I don't know."

  "Is it happy crying?"

  She sat up and wiped her eyes. Glanced at her father. "I think it is." She took a shaky breath. "Can I have another minute with Dad?"

  He leaned down and hugged her. "I love you, Jess. Don't cry."

  "Okay. I love you, too." She hugged him back and kissed his cheek. "My best boy."

  He straightened up. "Come on, Chico Three! Come on! Let's go!"

  She took another breath, less shaky this time. "Okay, Dad. We'll give it a shot. But I'm telling you, if you fall off the wagon, you never see either of us again. Ever. You have to stay in AA. I want someone to sign your time card or something. At least three meetings a week."

  "I have no intention of stopping now."

  "You get a breathalyzer for your car, so you can't start it up without a clean reading."

  Her father smiled. "I already have one installed. Anything else?"

  Her brain was soggy and tired. "Probably. I can't think of anything else right now, though."

  He nodded and stood up, then offered his hand. "I love you, Jessica. I know I did a shitty job as a father, but I love you more than I can ever say."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CONNOR WAS THE last person to leave O'Rourke's on Saturday night. He'd been working extra hours lately; Rafe had gone to Texas to visit his family, and the busboys were tired from a long run of packed nights at the pub. Monica and Hannah left after the kitchen closed, and Jordan had a date.

  He scrubbed down the kitchen with more than his usual attention, then scrubbed down the bar, too, because while Jordan was a perfectly fine bartender, she lacked the OCD gene both he and Colleen had about cleanliness in the workplace.

  He knew he was stalling. His house seemed to have grown in the past few weeks. He should probably rent out the apartment, too. "Ten more minutes, Fluff," he said out loud, even though the dog couldn't hear him; she was home, probably asleep on his pillow.

  Thinking of his dog made him think of Davey.

  He'd stopped by the candle factory the other day and practically sagged with relief at the sight of the kid, who ran over to see him. "How you doing, big man?" Connor had asked.

  "I'm great! Did you hear I had a fire! And I put it out. And guess what? I have a girlfriend now. Miranda!" he called, "Want to meet my friend? This is Connor! Connor, this is my girlfriend, Miranda."

  "Very nice to meet you," Connor said, though the girl opted not to come over. "Way to go," he said in a lower voice.

  "I made her toast on Wednesday," Davey said. "With cinnamon and sugar. She liked it."

  "Of course she did," Connor said, giving him a fist-bump. "So you doing okay, Dave?"

  "I'm great!"

  "I heard you got hurt in the fire."

  Davey held up his hands. "I got burned. But it's better now."

  Connor nodded. "Good. Glad to hear it. Well. I just wanted to say hi."

  "Okay," Davey said. "I have to get back to work! See you later!"

  Since his mother's wedding--it was easier than thinking since Jess had dumped his ass, or since Davey had been in a fire--Connor had made dinner for Colleen and Lucas when the pub was closed, and played with his niece, which basically consisted of holding her and seeing if he could get her to smile. He failed, but she did burp, which was pretty cute, too. He visited his mom and Ronnie in the Chicken Palace across the way. Went for a swim every day when he woke up. And even though the brewery was stalled, he spent his free time at the building, hauling
out the burned floorboards and trash. May as well make it look nicer.

  Anything to avoid thinking about Jessica.

  The bar gleamed under the amber lights. There really wasn't anything else he could do here. He'd go home, wake up Lady Fluffernutter and take her for a walk, avoiding Putney Street, so he wouldn't have to see Jessica's new house.

  He went out the back door, locked it and breathed in the smell of shale and water, a little garlic lingering in the air from the pasta carbonara special.

  The night was as quiet as a closed casket. Aren't we cheerful, Colleen's voice said in his head.

  "Hey, Connor."

  He jumped. "Jess."

  She was sitting on the split rail fence between O'Rourke's and the library courtyard, and got down. "How's it going?"

  "Uh...good." As it had for the past twenty years, her beauty hit him right in the chest. Even now, when she wasn't smiling and was wearing that three feet away face he knew so well.

  He guessed she was here to chew him out about going to see Davey at work the other day. "How's your new place?"

  "Oh. Um, it's nice. We moved in this past weekend."

  "I saw. You had quite a crew helping you." She hadn't asked him, needless to say. She had asked the rest of the fire department, more or less. "How is it, living in the Village?"

  "It's...it's fine. It's good. Look, I'll get right to it. Would you like to get back together?"

  He blinked. Twice.

  One thing he could say about Jessica Dunn. There was no predicting her.

  She grabbed her thumb and twisted the ring she always wore. "I'm sorry I freaked out about the cooking classes. I mean, I think I had some valid points, but... Anyway. I overreacted."

  He didn't say anything. Felt his heart pumping too hard.

  "So what do you think?" She cleared her throat. "We could go back to how things were."

  Ah. Wasn't there an old movie called something like that? The Way We Were? His mother had watched it a lot after Dad first left. It didn't end well, Connor was pretty sure.

  "What do you say?" she asked.

  "I don't think so, Jess." Maybe he was a little unpredictable, too. "I can't. I still love you. But I... No."

  She pushed her hair back with both hands, tucking it behind her ears, and he caught the faint aroma of her lemony shampoo.

  "Why?" Her voice was small.

  He rubbed his forehead. Good question. "I can't keep doing this. You've been leaving me for the better part of a decade, Jessica. You leave me. It's what you do. And here we are again, right? In a month or two, or three or five, you'll break up with me. Something will come up. Something big. I'm not saying you've ever done anything shallow. And I'll be right back here again. And I want...more."