No Kind of Hero (Portland Devils Book 2)

by Rosalind James

  He seemed to have it under control, so Beth headed into the kitchen without asking and began to fix a bottle. When Evan appeared, his hand splayed securely over Gracie’s back as she continued to cry, Beth handed the bottle to him, and he sat in the rocker, murmured something soothing and low, and offered his daughter the bottle.

  Beth made coffee to the creak of wicker interspersed with squalls, and wondered how on earth you did this. How alone would you feel? What choice would you have, though? That was obvious, looking at Evan. No choice at all. You could do more than you’d thought, because it had to be done and there was nobody else. But what would that responsibility take out of you? She didn’t know how big a three-week-old baby was, but surely tiny. Surely.

  “I know you probably wanted to do something today,” Evan said when she brought him his coffee and set it on the side table, “but it looks like I’m headed to urgent care. She won’t even take her bottle.”

  “This looks so—so wrong,” Beth said as Gracie started crying again and shoved the bottle away with an impatient hand. “It seems bad. What do you do?”

  “Take her temperature,” Evan said. “She’s pretty hot. As long as it’s not too bad, I sponge her down and wait until eight when I can take her in. She’s sick, that’s all, and ‘sick’ looks worse in babies, because they can’t tell you, and because they cry.”

  And because you care so much, Beth thought. “Here,” she said. “Give her to me so you can get dressed.”

  “Thanks.” He handed her over. “Try with the bottle again, will you? I’ll take her temperature before anything else, though. I need to check that.”

  By the time Evan was carrying a still-crying Gracie into the Quick Care office at eight-oh-five, Beth was thoroughly frazzled. Who’d known that something as simple as soothing a sick baby could be so tiring? Evan had said, somewhere between coffee and breakfast, “You don’t have to stay. Not much fun,” and she’d just looked at him. Since she’d been pulling eggs out of the fridge at the time, he still hadn’t shaved, and Gracie’s temperature had registered 103, she didn’t think she was leaving.

  “Ah, yes. Our old friend the ear infection,” the doctor said when they’d finally got Gracie into a room and he’d taken a look down her throat and into her ears, which had caused a whole lot more screaming at a decibel level that Beth was surprised anybody could maintain. “And it’s a pretty good one. How long has she had a cold?”

  “All week,” Evan said. He looked a whole lot calmer than Beth felt, but Beth had seen him half-dressed, his hair sticking up, sponging Gracie’s squirming body down with cool water while he talked to her about ponies. She knew better.

  “Uh-huh,” the doctor said. “We’re going to figure this is bacterial, then, and get her on some antibiotics. She should be feeling better in a day or so, but don’t stop giving her the antibiotic until the bottle’s gone. Meanwhile, you could try some baby Tylenol for the fever and discomfort.”

  “Got that. Thanks,” Evan said, taking the prescription slip the doctor handed over, stuffing it into his wallet, and picking Gracie up once more. He snuggled her close and ran his hand over her back. Her wails changed to snuffly, hiccupping sobs, and Beth felt her own neck muscles relaxing.

  It was all right. Gracie would get better. It was what Evan said. It looked worse than it was, because babies cried.

  When they were in the drugstore and Evan was bouncing Gracie some more while they waited for the prescription to be filled, Beth said, “I know that being calm is a big part of who you are, but how do you stay calm about this? The doctor didn’t act like it was a big deal, and you’re not panicking either. But it seemed so . . . so bad this morning.”

  Evan smiled faintly. “Yeah, well, if you’d seen me the first time, you might change your mind about how calm I am. I think she was about five weeks, which would’ve put me about two weeks post-April. Dakota hadn’t been working with me that long, and business wasn’t all that hot. It never is in winter. Little babies don’t sleep that well anyway, at least she didn’t. Man, there were a couple nights there . . .”

  “Bad thoughts,” Beth suggested. “Middle-of-the-night gremlins.”

  “That’s about it. Low points. Nights when I thought I couldn’t do it. Lucky I had my mom. This wasn’t what she signed up for either, that’s for sure. But that’s another thing about kids. I don’t think it ends when they turn eighteen.”

  “Are you sorry?” She asked it quietly, and then wasn’t sure if she should have.

  “See,” he said, “that’s the other thing. You can’t be sorry. It’s like that deal in The Wizard of Oz.”

  “Uh . . . if I only had a brain?”

  Evan laughed, but softly, because Gracie had relaxed, her big blue eyes opening, then closing again, as if she were trying to fall asleep, or trying not to. “No. Well, that too. You get pretty fuzzy there, all that sleep deprivation. But when Dorothy opens the door and it goes from black and white to color, and she’s never seen color before. It’s like that.”

  She studied his face. Still not expressive, but his body was different. The way he swayed, the way his big palm rubbed over Gracie’s back. Evan could say so much without words. And this time, he’d even talked. “Like you thought you knew what life was about,” she said slowly, “and then realized you’d only seen part of it.”

  “Maybe. It’s not all good. It can be too much, and you can be too tired, and then another bill comes in that you wonder how you’ll pay. But you can’t imagine what it would be like to go through your life without it.” He glanced down. “She fall asleep?”

  “Yeah.” The lump in Beth’s throat was big enough to require medical attention. “She did.”

  She did some reading that afternoon, as she’d done all during this odd vacation of hers. But she did it at Evan’s, lying on his couch while he and Gracie watched baseball, and for once, she found she could focus. At one point, when the baby had fallen asleep again, she looked over to see Evan asleep, too. Stretched out in the recliner with Gracie sprawled across his chest, his arm still securely around her. And she wondered how deep that protectiveness ran that even sleep couldn’t shift it.

  When he woke up a half hour later, she set down her e-reader and asked, “Want a sandwich or something?”

  He ran a hand over his jaw and blinked. “Yeah. That’d be good. Not what we had in mind.”

  “No. But not so bad.” She got up and fixed them lunch, and said, when she’d brought her plate back to him and sat down again, “I don’t have to stay if you’d rather I didn’t.”

  “You kidding?” He stretched out a little more, shifted the still-sleeping Gracie. “It’s great. But you know what would be even better? If you got some clothes, maybe picked up Henry, and let me know you were sticking around for the weekend. That’d be something to look forward to.”

  She smiled. “Desperate for entertainment, are you?”

  He smiled, too. Making her feel, as always, special that she could get that from him. “Maybe so. Gracie loves that dog. We could go for a walk, put her in her stroller and Henry on his leash. Give us all something new to look at. Call out for pizza, watch a movie. I realize it’s one more night when I’m not coming through your bedroom window, but what are you going to do.”

  “If my mom will let me take Henry, now that I wrecked her dinner party and all.”

  “Oh,” Evan said, “I think she will.”

  “You weren’t there. I was pretty, ah, forthright.”

  “Yep. But she’s still your mom. Go on and take the van if you want.”

  She stood up and stretched. “Nope. I’ve hardly moved all day. I’m walking to Dakota’s, I’m changing, because like somebody said, these sandals weren’t made for running. I’m dognapping Henry. And then I’m coming back to you.”

  Her parents weren’t home, which was a major relief. She and her mom would have that conversation, but Beth was just as glad it wasn’t today. She ended up back at Evan’s with Henry in tow, having a day that was not
hing like her work self, nothing like her vacation self, and nothing like any self she knew.

  When she asked, “What would you do if I weren’t here?” and Evan gave her a lopsided smile and said, “Clean the house,” and she ran the vacuum cleaner and emptied wastebaskets while he scrubbed the bathroom and mopped the floors? Not glamorous. A long walk by the lake when the day had cooled toward evening, and Gracie’s fever had cooled with it? Also not glamorous, but such a relief after the way the day had started. Eating pizza on the couch, finishing up Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and watching Gracie attempt to crawl over Henry as he flopped over onto his side and endured her clinging hands? Not glamorous one little bit, but so comfortable.

  And if she thought, while she was doing any of it, Four more days—she put the thought out of her head.

  Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. She didn’t need to think about four days from now. Wednesday would come whether she thought about it or not, and she’d deal with it then. Meanwhile, she had this day. And when she and Evan climbed into bed at barely nine o’clock, they had each other.

  No fantasies, and no fights. Comfort and connection, soft touches and soft words. A sigh, a murmur, a kiss, and your eyes closing to feel it better. Half asleep, drifting on slow waves of pleasure, letting them build, surrendering to their rhythm.

  A slow rock. A gentle build, winding you up, and up higher, carrying you onward before it tumbled you, half-dreaming, over that blissful edge. And then lying, eyes still closed, with the aftershocks rippling through you. Your hand on a shoulder, a bicep, and his hands on you. Letting sleep take you down, safe in each other’s arms, your hands relaxing into stillness, letting the day go.

  Release.

  One minute, Evan was feeding Gracie her rice cereal in her high chair while she kept leaning over the side and trying to pat Henry, who was hanging out below her hoping for spills. The next, he was fishing his ringing phone out of his pocket without looking at it.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  Silence, and he said, “Hello?”

  Good. Wrong number. Beth was sitting on the other side of the kitchen table drinking her coffee, her silver hair falling around her face, wearing those little black shorts and a tiny yellow tank, looking not at all like a lawyer and exactly like a relaxed woman who wanted to spend a lazy Sunday with him, and Gracie’s fever was down. Life was good.

  He realized he was still holding the phone and had put out a thumb to end the call when the voice said, “Evan?”

  His thumb froze above that tempting red circle. He wanted to press it.

  He wanted lots of things. He lifted the phone to his ear again and said, “Yeah?” Beth looked up fast, her blue eyes watchful. Reading him, like always.

  Focus. Calm. He picked up another spoonful of cereal, guided it into Gracie’s mouth, and waited.

  “I want to see her.”

  The spoon was in the air. He realized that when Gracie batted at it. He set it back in the Peter Rabbit bowl, wiped her mouth with the washcloth, and said, “No.”

  “I get to see her,” April said. “I asked. I can’t decide what to do about this if I don’t see her.”

  “What do you have to decide?”

  “Whether I should come back.”

  The red was rising right up his body, clouding his vision. That thing he’d named for Beth. The red mist. “That’s not a choice you get. You’re not coming back.”

  Beth was making motions at him. Calm-down motions. Stop-talking motions. He didn’t want to calm down, and he didn’t want to stop talking. He wanted to shout, and he wanted to swear. He wanted it bad enough that he shut up instead.

  “I know you don’t . . . want me back,” April said, a wobble in her voice like usual. Weepy again, her weakness reaching out to him, a black hole trying to suck him in. “I know that. But she’s my baby.”

  A voice in the background. Male. Angry. Her dad? Evan asked, “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m confused. I need to figure out what to do.”

  “You don’t have to do a damn thing. Give me your address, I’ll get you these papers, and you can come tell a judge how confused you are. And then he’ll tell you what you can do. Which is to go away again and stay confused. You don’t get a do-over on this. You had your chance to be a mom. You blew it. You’re done.”

  He hadn’t done that well at shutting up, and Beth’s motions were nearly frantic now. She was hissing at him, too. April was still crying, the voice in the background was still there, indistinct and sharp, and Beth was saying, “Evan. Meet her. In public. Tell her you’ll meet her. The judge won’t like it if you’ve kept her from Gracie.”

  He wanted to say “Hell, no” with everything in him. Instead, he broke through April’s stream of consciousness. “You want to see her? Fine. I’ll meet you. Today. Taco Time. Tell me when.” He could give her the papers, save that month. He closed his mind to everything else.

  “Today? Oh. Wait.” Indistinct sounds, like she had her hand over the phone, and he thought, What were you thinking? That you’d see her in two weeks? That’s some urgency you’ve got there. This is about you not feeling bad, and that’s all it is. It’s all about you. He tried to calm his breath, to slow his heart. Gracie was fussing, and Beth came around the table, picked up the spoon, and started to feed her cereal again.

  Oh. Good. He wasn’t tracking too well here.

  “O-OK,” April said. She still sounded sniffly, like she was suffering, and he thought, What the hell do you have to suffer about? What the hell right do you have to suffer? “I’ll meet you at noon.”

  “Noon,” he said. “Taco Time.” He hung up. He didn’t want to hear her anymore. He didn’t want to see her face. He didn’t want any of this.

  He had no choice.

  “Good,” Beth said. She was still feeding Gracie, her movements methodical and neat, the way Beth did most things.

  “At least I can give her the papers,” he said.

  “No. We’ll get the process server to do it. Proof of service from an uninvolved party. But you’re right. That works.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have done this,” he said. “I poked the nest, and out she came. I knew it.”

  Beth turned to study him even as she dipped the spoon into the cereal again. “Evan. No. If you hadn’t done this, it would be hanging over you whether you realized it or not. She’d still be out there, and she could still come back any time. This is the only way you fix that. You need to put some limits around it, and this is how. What did she say, exactly?”

  He didn’t want to remember April’s voice, or her tears. He’d had enough of her tears. They meant just exactly nothing. “That she needed to figure out what to do. She says she needs to see Gracie to figure it out, but I can’t think why. Seems to me she figured it out a long time ago.”

  “That could be a good thing, though.” The cereal was gone, and Beth smiled at Gracie. “You did such a good job, didn’t you? You ate it all up, because the medicine’s making you all better.” She was wiping off Gracie’s mouth, her hands, taking off her bib and unfastening her from the high chair, lifting her out as if she knew how.

  Evan should have taken Gracie, but he was standing still so he wouldn’t pace, taking those deep breaths. He needed a minute.

  Beth looked at him some more as her hand cupped the back of Gracie’s head. “I don’t know for sure,” she told him, “because I’m not a mother. But I do know the kinds of things people say. The things clients say. They need to . . . to cast themselves in the best possible light. To convince themselves that they aren’t wrong, that they aren’t bad, even if what they’re doing looks terrible to anybody else. You could say their self-esteem demands it. I heard an interview once where somebody said, ‘Bad people don’t know they’re bad,’ and that struck me. In real life, the bad guy’s not looking in the mirror and twirling his mustache, thinking, ‘It feels so good to be so bad.’ He’s thinking, ‘I had to do it. She gave me no choice.’ Or in the cases I see, they
’re thinking, ‘Mom would have wanted it this way. She always meant for me to have that.’ Or maybe, ‘My kids don’t deserve it.’ Who knows whether that’s true? I never do. I just know that self-justification is a powerful thing.”

  It was what he’d been thinking, more or less. He said, “So tell me why she’s coming today.”

  “I think,” Beth said slowly, her gaze not on him, but abstracted, looking out the window as if she were looking into April’s messy mind, “that she needs to see that Gracie’s fine. That she needs to be able to tell herself, ‘She doesn’t need me. She’s better off, and so am I, and that’s OK.’ Something like that. Especially if she’s not a strong person.”

  “She’s not a strong person.”

  “She probably knows that on some level. But she knows how everybody would judge her, so she needs to reframe the narrative. She wants a story she can tell herself when she thinks about it. She said she has to see Gracie in order to decide? Let’s hope that’s why, because that would be the best news you could hope for. Let’s hope she decides right.”

  “So . . . what?” He wanted her to be right. He wanted it way too much.

  “So when you meet her, you don’t get mad at her. You don’t tell her she was wrong, that she was a bad mother.” She must have seen that that wasn’t going over big, because she went on hastily, “Of course she was. But don’t tell her so. Tell her Gracie’s fine, that you’re fine. Be your . . . your solid self, your calm self, the one she always relied on to take care of everything. I know you were that for her. Be that guy.”

  “How do you know?”

  She smiled. “Evan. Of course I know. I know you. Let her know she can walk away and know for sure that Gracie’s fine. Don’t give her anything to . . . to push against, anything to resist. And just in case that’s enough? I’m going to talk to Joan about what your options are. Whether April can voluntarily give up her parental rights. I’m not sure what’s involved, but I’m pretty sure it’s a big deal, not just signing a paper. But just in case, I’m going to find out. And if there is something she can sign to get things started, I’m going to have that ready.”