by Megan Kelly
The boy scrunched his nose. “Both of ’em.”
Dylan pursed his lips as though considering. “Have you read those stories, Lily?”
She nodded.
He glanced at Tara, lines of frustration bracketing his mouth.
“Which story do you like better, Lily?” Tara tried to phrase the question so she couldn’t answer with a nod or a shake of the head but aware Lily might shrug in indecision.
The girl’s bottom lip jutted out. “I don’t like neither.”
“Why not?” Dylan asked.
Tara recalled the stories and almost groaned. Of all the books she’d read to them, why had she brought up those two? She closed her eyes for a moment, dreading Lily’s answer.
“’Cause they’re about mamas.”
Tara couldn’t meet Dylan’s astonished expression. She felt awful. “I know you like the mouse story, honey. Which other ones do you like me to read to you? Cinderella, right?”
“I like the princesses,” she admitted in a grudging whisper. “And Froggy.”
Jimmy and Tara laughed. “I forgot about Froggy,” she said.
“He’s goofy,” Jimmy said with admiration in his tone.
“Is this the Froggy who gets dressed, and goes to school, and learns to swim?” Dylan asked.
“Yeah. He’s funny.” Lily’s smile grew. “I like when he gets kissed.”
“Eew,” Jimmy shrieked before slapping a hand over his mouth, wide eyes turned to Lily. “Sorry.”
She ducked her head.
“Why do loud noises bother you, Lil?” Dylan asked.
“I’m not s’posed be loud.”
“Why not?”
“It hurt Mama’s head.”
“Ah.” Dylan glanced at Tara and whispered, “Brain tumor.”
“Oh,” she mouthed without sound. She turned to Lily. “That must have been hard, not making loud noises.” Lily nodded.
“But you know why it hurt your mama, don’t you?” Tara ignored the sharp nudge from Dylan’s elbow.
Lily glanced toward them but made no reply.
Tara took that to mean she didn’t. “Your mama was sick. Her head hurt because something was growing inside that didn’t belong there. Her head probably hurt all the time, even when it was quiet in the house. Even when she was alone and no one was making noise.”
She waited to see if Lily wanted to add anything about her mom. With an inward prayer that she was doing the right thing, Tara continued, “Your mama’s headaches didn’t have anything to do with you. You didn’t cause them. And you couldn’t have stopped all her hurting just by being quiet either, honey.”
Lily stared at her popcorn bowl.
When the girl remained silent, Tara went on, “But your dad and Jimmy and I aren’t sick, so it’s okay to talk in a norm—in your inside voice. It won’t hurt our heads. Okay?”
Lily nodded, stirring through the kernels.
Jimmy scooted closer and extended his popcorn bowl out to her. “You can have some of mine.”
Near to bursting with love for these children, Tara shared a smile with Dylan. Their gazes locked and her face heated. His eyes darkened and he leaned toward her.
“I keep saying this to you, but thank you again.” His breath brushed her cheek, his lips near enough to brush hers if he wanted.
Against her better judgment, Tara wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to make love to her again. She wanted to give real marriage a shot. They got along well enough and had the children’s best interests in common. Based on such common ground, surely their growing friendship could cement their marriage.
And the sex was spectacular.
She moved forward just a centimeter to meet his lips with hers, letting the kiss go on for a moment longer than a mere “thank you” warranted.
He smiled at her. “I have work to finish up.”
Chapter Ten
A knock at the door Saturday pulled Dylan from his game of Chutes and Ladders with Lily and Jimmy. Tara had gone to the Wee Care to work on some files she didn’t want to bring home for fear of losing them.
A man and woman waited outside the door, their stern disapproval deepening when they saw him. Dylan judged them to be in their sixties or seventies. The woman was wire-thin and pale, the lines around her mouth speaking to a longtime smoking habit. Her gaze bounced from him to the man Dylan presumed was her husband. The man had permanent scowl lines etched in his thick skin and small navy blue eyes as hard as marbles.
“We’d like to speak to Tara Montgomery,” the man said.
“She isn’t here right now. Perhaps I can help you. I’m her husband.” Dylan shook off the bizarre images that phrase generated. Ward Cleaver. Ricky Ricardo. Homer Simpson.
“We know who you are.”
A smile flirted around Dylan’s mouth. Perhaps the man wasn’t speaking for his companion. Maybe this was the royal “we.”
Then it struck him. Similar beady blue eyes belonged to Jay Summerfield. Were these his parents?
Tara wouldn’t like their presence here, but Dylan wondered if he couldn’t find a way to bridge the gap between the two sides. His partner, Joe, was more the negotiator at the firm, but he could mediate if necessary.
“Won’t you come in?” he said to the couple.
The man stepped over his threshold with his wife the requisite four steps behind. Their gazes shot to Jimmy, who watched from the floor, he and Lily avid observers.
“That’s our grandson,” the man said. “I’m J. Albert Summerfield. This is my wife, Marnie.”
Dylan extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“What does she call the boy?” Summerfield asked. “James?”
Dylan dropped his hand back to his side. He shifted closer to Jimmy, not liking the avaricious gleam in Marnie Summerfield’s eyes, as though she’d like to swallow the poor kid. “We call him Jimmy.”
“Well, Jimmy,” Summerfield said in his deep loud voice, “come on over here and say hello to your grandparents.”
Jimmy sat rooted, eyes wide and fingers curled into the carpet. His gaze shot to Dylan, who nodded slightly. He tried to recall his mom meeting Lily the first time in her office. If he could make this easier on everyone he would. Too bad his mother wasn’t here now. She’d take control, sort everything out, and have everyone getting along like old friends.
Jimmy rose and positioned himself at Dylan’s leg.
Dylan placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Jimmy, you remember when your father came here the other day? These are your father’s parents. Your grandparents.”
Jimmy didn’t move, his gaze glued to his grandfather’s face.
Marnie stepped forward. “I’m your Grandmother Summerfield. I suppose you should call me Marnie. Everyone does.”
Jimmy nodded.
“Doesn’t he talk?” Summerfield asked.
Dylan gritted his teeth as the man echoed Jay’s whining query. “Yes, he talks. When he has something to say.”
“Well, he could start with hello.”
Jimmy’s little shaking hand lifted toward his grandfather. “Hello.”
Summerfield stared, then a huge smile transformed his face. His pudgy body wobbled with a silent laugh. He shook Jimmy’s hand solemnly, watching as the boy exchanged the same greeting with his grandmother.
“Well, how about that, Marnie. He’s a little businessman already.”
Jimmy wiped his palm on his shorts.
“He sure is,” she agreed.
Dylan had the impression she’d agree to any opinion her husband expressed. She was clearly of the subservient-wife generation. He gave an inward chuckle. Tara had learned none of that trait from her exposure to their world, and for that he could only be grateful.
Summerfield stuck out his hand toward Dylan, who shook it with good grace, considering he’d been snubbed only moments before.
“Most people call me Albert. At least to my face.”
Dylan smiled, surprised to find he liked the man’s
sense of self-awareness. “I’m glad you came by, Albert. Marnie. I’m just sorry Tara isn’t here. I’m sure she’d like to talk to you.”
“She might,” Albert agreed.
“Since we made the special trip here,” Marnie chirped, “driving all this way, perhaps we could spend some time with our grandson? Maybe take him to lunch?”
Dylan hesitated. He turned Jimmy around and nudged him toward Lily. The boy scurried off to sit on the floor with his back to the sofa, eyes on the adults, and Lily cuddled up to his side.
Dylan shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Albert’s gaze returned from inspecting the small living room. “Why not? Do you doubt we’re who we claim to be? I can prove we’re the boy’s grandparents.”
“I don’t doubt that, sir. But Tara isn’t here to consent to the idea.” Not that she would. If she’d been here, she’d have locked her son in her bedroom by now and thrown herself across the door.
“I’d have to respect that,” Albert said. “I imagine she’s pretty upset with us.”
“You imagine correctly.” Dylan eyed him, taking his measure. “And not without cause, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I guess that’s one opinion.” Albert shrugged. “And many would agree with you, I suppose. But we just learned about our grandson. It’s hard not to feel some resentment.”
Dylan frowned. “What do you mean? Tara said she told your son when she realized she was pregnant.”
“That may be.”
“We saw her name and picture in the newspaper a few months ago,” Marnie said. “The little boy behind her looked so much like our son when he was that age. And we just knew. The timing was right.”
“It seemed impossible no one told us, the child’s grandparents,” Summerfield added. “I called her parents, our former friends. It suddenly made sense why they’d barely talked to us in four years. We thought it was because the kids broke up.”
“But Janine and Barry were in Napa the week the picture appeared, so we couldn’t get an answer from them.”
Silence pulsed between them. Dylan’s mind reeled. Tara had kept her pregnancy a secret and hidden Jimmy from his grandparents all these years? He didn’t have to imagine their pain and confusion when they’d discovered the truth. He’d lived it.
What would he have done if he’d found out about Lily before Rose died? What if she had blocked him from seeing his child, denied him his rights? He’d have taken her to court and fought for his child, at least for visitation rights, if not shared custody. The Summerfields had just as much right to share in Jimmy’s growing up as he had to raise Lily.
“So you hired a private investigator.” Dylan still couldn’t equate the Tara he knew with a woman mean-spirited enough to not tell her child’s grandparents. She denied Jimmy the chance to get to know his family.
“Jamison obviously didn’t tell us,” Marnie said. “I’m so disappointed in him.”
“What do you expect?” her husband countered. “He’s been a disappointment his entire life.”
“Don’t say that, Albert. He’s still our son.”
Albert scowled and turned his back to his wife. “You can understand our feeling upset when we learned the truth.”
Dylan nodded. “Upset” barely scratched the surface of the emotions he’d experienced. He recalled his mom’s eagerness to meet Lily, despite having eight other grandchildren she loved. How much more intense would the Summerfields’ reactions have been, to learn of the existence of their only grandchild? “Are you saying you overreacted with the lawsuit?”
“We certainly weren’t rational at the time.”
He could appreciate that. Had they reconsidered, now that they’d cooled down? “So you’re dropping the case?”
Marnie stared at her husband’s bald spot, while Albert’s expression turned cagey. “We didn’t exactly say that. If we could spend some time with him, take him to lunch today like Marnie wants, maybe we could feel more at ease about the future. About being able to see him every once in a while.”
“That’s fair, don’t you think?” Marnie insisted.
Dylan conceded their point. “Tara wouldn’t like it. You need to arrange this when she’s here.”
Marnie squeaked with disappointment. “But I’m his grandmother. I should have a place in his life.”
“We have rights,” Albert said. “Whether the court has assigned them yet or not. And they will.” He stared hard at Dylan. “We have the best lawyer money can buy. We have a sympathetic judge assigned to our case. I just happen to golf with him twice a month.”
Dylan didn’t know whether to believe that, and if it were true, Tara’s lawyer could probably ask for a different judge. He didn’t know the procedure in cases of bias in family court. Maybe the judge was considered infallible while on the bench. But how could any human not take their friends’ wishes into account?
“It would be a shame to see things go that far,” Albert said.
Dylan looked the couple up and down. Would lunch with Jimmy really change their outlook on the necessity of the custody hearing? Would Jimmy be all right with them? They’d been determined enough to hire a P.I. How could Dylan anticipate the lengths they might go to?
“He’s our only grandson,” Marnie pleaded. “You’re too young to appreciate that, but family means everything to the Summerfields. That’s why we were so angry with Jamison.”
Well, crap. They had to play the grandparent card.
“You can imagine the hot water I’d be in if I let you take Jimmy,” he said. “He doesn’t know you. That would be frightening for him.”
Albert nodded, his lips pursed. “I can respect that. But he can’t very well get to know us without spending some time with us, can he?”
“I understand your point, sir, but you have to appreciate my dilemma.”
“Come to lunch with us then.”
“What?”
“It’s not what I’d prefer,” Albert admitted. “But this first time, we can see our way clear to including you. We’re going to the country club. Do you and the boy have something appropriate?”
“I didn’t mean you should take me along,” Dylan protested, ignoring his remark about their clothing. “His mother needs to sign off on this.”
“His mother isn’t here. And the court date draws nearer.”
Dylan wouldn’t be intimidated by veiled threats. He would be influenced by logic, however. Tara couldn’t complain if he accompanied Jimmy. “It will take me a few minutes to get the children dressed.” He indicated Lily seated by Jimmy. Thus far, she’d been invisible to the Summerfields.
“That would be fine,” Albert said.
“Thank you,” Marnie all but gushed.
Dylan found a simple green school dress for Lily and sent her into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. He found a pair of twill khaki pants in the back of Jimmy’s closet, probably leftover from the previous winter. Since Dylan didn’t know if the country club would allow shorts, he helped Jimmy into the slacks, ignoring that they hung too short, while Jimmy pulled on a short-sleeved button-down shirt in royal blue.
Jimmy scrunched up his nose. “I don’t want to wear this.”
“It’s all I can find that will look right where we’re going.”
“Can’t I stay home? Kim can come watch me if you gotta take Lily.”
Dylan smiled. “Those people are your grandma and grandpa. Just like Miss Betty is Lily’s grandma. You want to get to know them, right?”
“Do I gotta?”
“For now, the answer is yes.”
Jimmy sighed, a theatrical expulsion he’d no doubt learned from one of the Ross kids.
Dylan helped Jimmy through the hygiene portion then left him while he found “appropriate” clothes himself. Chinos and a polo shirt? Or was that too casual? With a sigh of his own, though less theatrical, Dylan donned his light blue button-down and his gray tie. He’d probably worn this tie more in the past mo
nth than in the rest of the time he’d owned it.
Lily needed a few tiny buttons fastened on the back of her dress, but she’d already brushed her hair and managed a ponytail on her own. Granted, the ponytail hung more to the left than center, but overall it wasn’t a bad job.
They presented themselves in the front room within ten minutes. Albert gave one nod and rose, leading them out to his Cadillac.
The ride to the club was mostly silent. Intent on keeping the children occupied so they didn’t misbehave, Dylan scarcely noted them crossing the state line into Kansas.
Tara would have a seizure. Right after she killed him.
Thank heavens he hadn’t let the Summerfields take Jimmy alone.
A valet appeared for the vehicle as Albert slowed in front of a gray stone building. Adam would have admired the 1920s art deco structure and architectural integrity of the building, but Dylan could only contemplate what he’d gotten himself into. Tara was going to go ballistic.
He’d left a note: Gone to lunch.
Yeah, she’d love that when the truth was revealed.
The fivesome was shown to a table in the back corner. He’d expected the Summerfields to be shown more deference, especially as the restaurant was only half-filled.
“I asked for this table,” Albert explained. “The kids can play right along the balcony there where you can see them. I know children hate to sit for long.”
This insight surprised Dylan. Not that he hadn’t observed it himself and known it to be true. He just hadn’t realized Albert or Marnie knew anything about children. “Tara told me her nanny cared for her when her parents took her out.”
“She did. As did Jamison and most of their generation. But nowadays children run wild here.”
“It was so much quieter when there was an age limit,” Marnie added.
“But not as family friendly?” Dylan suggested.
“No,” Albert agreed. “You two kids want to play on the patio until the food arrives?”
Lily and Jimmy looked to Dylan for permission. He scanned the flagstone patio and sturdy carved-stone railing enclosing the area right outside the window where he sat. A purple awning provided shade. “I guess that will be all right.”