Her mother's eyebrows swung up. "Michaela's that close to her?"
"They've become like sisters." Addie tried to sound as pleased as she felt, but Charmaine's sharp scrutiny deflated her delight. Why did she always let her mother make her feel as though she had made a mess of her life? Looking away, she sipped her coffee.
Charmaine remained silent as she studied Addie. "Well," she said at last, "for Michaela's sake, I'm glad. The poor tyke has been through so much these past years, what with you taking over your father's bees and then moving out of town to this... farm."
"Mom, as much as it grates on you, Mick loves it here. She's happier than she's ever been. And—" Addie couldn't check her joy "—since hooking up with Becky, she hardly stutters anymore."
"Mick?" Charmaine focused on Addie's slip.
"It's a nickname Becky gave her." Without realizing it, Addie had let the word flow out as natural as honey from her extractor.
"Sounds like a boy's name."
Suddenly annoyed. Addie gazed at Charmaine. "Don't make this about you. Mother. Be happy for the girls, okay? They need each other. Especially now that Becky knows the whole story. She's been through hell, and is going through another avenue of it right this minute. I'm glad she has Michaela on her side. If she wants to call her Mick, so be it."
Charmaine blinked. "You don't need to yell, Adelina. I didn't mean anything by it."
"I'm not yelling, and yes, you meant every word. You're upset I didn't tell you right away. Truth is, I've had to do a bit of emotional adjusting, as well. So has Michaela."
Her mother reached to take Addie's hand. "I'm sorry, honey. You're right. I've been nursing a hurt about the whole thing since before school started. I kept wondering what I'd done that would cause you not to trust me with such crucial news."
Addie held her mother's gaze for a moment, then she went to the heated oven. "I didn't know if you'd be happy," she admitted, slipping on a pair of thick mitts.
"Why on earth wouldn't I be happy?"
"Because you didn't stop dad from convincing me to sign those adoption papers. You didn't say one word." Abruptly, the anger rushed back. "Why, Mom? Why didn't you support me?"
Charmaine's mouth twisted. Her shoulders sagged. "Oh, Addie. Your daddy was raised to believe that having babies out of wedlock wasn't right. That it was..."
"Scandalous."
"Yes. Archaic as it sounds." She drew in a long breath. "His parents were from the old country. When they started the beekeeping business here, they were quite poor, barely able to clothe their kids. Your daddy couldn't finish school. Instead, he joined his daddy's bee business." Her shoulders rose on another sigh. "And then you came along, smart as a whip. He couldn't let you pass up your future."
Any more than Ross Dalton could let Skip pass up his NFL chance.
Addie wanted to claw at something. "So, instead, he passed up his grandchild"
Charmaine's eyes begged for understanding. "I tried to change his mind, truly I did, but he wouldn't listen. All he could think about was the opportunities you could have with your intelligence."
"He hated Skip," Addie said, remembering the outrage her father had toward Ross Dalton, Skip's father. An outrage she never understood.
"He hated that Skip came from money. That he was..."
"What?"
Charmaine shook her head. "Nothing. It no longer matters."
"Your face says it did matter. Mom. Spit it out."
"Oh, Addie, it's old news. Your father is dead. Let it go."
"Fine. But understand this. I will not give Becky up again. Not for anyone or anything. And I don't care who knows. I'm proud of my children, and who they've become." She lifted her chin. "If you have a problem with that you'd best leave now."
Charmaine rose from her chair and crossed the floor. "Oh, my dear girl." She enfolded Addie in a hug. "The only problem is waiting until I see my first grandchild. I wish with all my heart it could be this minute."
Addie breathed easier. "Okay. Maybe we can arrange for a meeting sometime next week. I'll ask Skip."
Her mother cupped her face. "I look forward to it." Then she set her forehead against Addie's and whispered, "I love you, baby. Can we please start over?"
Following the night he spent in Addie's bed ten days ago, Skip looked forward to their late-night calls like a lost man facing his first meal after a week in the wilderness. He craved the sound of her voice. He needed the electricity her whispered words sent through his blood. He ached for the touch of her hands, her mouth, her body.
In short, as a song once said, he hungered for her.
By unspoken agreement, they took turns calling; one night he'd pick up the phone, the next she'd dial his cell number. Cell phones that rang privately in their bedrooms without waking the house. Tonight was his turn.
Lying against his pillows, he checked to make sure it was ten-fifteen, their time, then pressed speed 2.
"Hey." Her voice held a smile when she answered.
"God, I miss you." They were almost finished the second week of school and had yet to retrieve a minute's worth of face time. "I need to hold you, Addie. Just to.. .hold you." Imagining, he closed his eyes.
"Soon," she said, and he heard a tide of longing in that single word. "How is she doing?"
Becky. He'd told Addie about dinner with his mother last Friday evening and, in turn, she described her Saturday session with Charmaine.
"Still hides in her room. Won't talk much past one-syllable words. But I see a glimmer of hope. I heard she's joined your three o'clock Tuesday-Thursday fast-math class."
"Yes. She's incredibly bright. Today was our first session and she's already into ninth-grade algebra."
"Last year the teacher had her slotted in advanced placement for both science and math. She's her mother's child clear through. Another Math-addical." He smiled, though she couldn't see him.
"Good heavens." Addie laughed quietly. "It's been years since I've heard that name. I'm amazed you remembered."
"When it comes to you, I remember everything."
"Well, that's one thing I want you to forget. I hated when people called me that. It was so...nerdish. Do you know how awful it is to be considered a nerd?"
"They envied you, Addie." Not only for her smarts, but because he—the school's star quarterback—showed interest in her, dated her. Loved her.
"Right, and look who had the last laugh. They did." She sighed. "Dammit, Skip. I'm sorry. That wasn't called for."
"It's all right. You can vent with me all you want. I'm not leaving. Ever." He heard her sheets rustle. Was she changing positions in bed? He wished he lay beside her.
She said. "I'm so antsy I can hardly think anymore. What if our little girl goes through the same sort of horridness?"
"Addie, you're trying to second-guess the future. Don't. Becky has something we didn't. Two parents who—barring she chooses some sort of illegal activity—will always support her decisions. We won't let her down. We'll make mistakes, undoubtedly. Parenting, I've discovered, is damned hard. But we'll be there for her."
"Do you think she'll agree to us marrying one day?"
The question had his body humming. "God, I hope so. I want nothing more than to lie down with you every night of my life, and wake up to your sweet smile every morning. Addie.. .I love you so much. It's all I can do to not climb out of this bed and sprint to your house and put my hands on you."
A long pause ensued. "Why don't you?" she whispered.
Every molecule of blood thrummed. "Now, you mean?"
Again he heard the sheets shift—and a soft grunt. "I'll meet you halfway. Skip, I need to kiss you so badly."
He threw back the covers. "Babe, I'm there."
Naked, he strode to his dresser, grabbed out a pair of flannel gym pants and a long-sleeved Broncos sweatshirt.
At the far end of the hallway, he checked at Becky's door to make sure she slept. A soft snore drifted from her bed. Down the stairs he went, his heart booming in his
chest. At the back door, he shoved his bare feet into his shabbiest sneakers and crept out of the house.
Ten trillion stars poked through the velvet backdrop of night, illuminating property and road. Off to the left, above the silhouetted trees, sailed a moon-boat.
Once he cleared the corner of the house, Skip ran as if the ghost of Reggie White chased him down the game field.
Approaching Addie's house, he slowed to a jog and attempted to regain his breath. Was she outside? Around back, on the stoop? He searched the night and, for an instant, felt defenseless against its obscurity.
"Over here," she called softly, and he spotted her in front of her new track parked near the honey shed. Though the stars cast her in an array of shadows, the small pale shape of her face guided him to where she waited.
She stood in bare feet, dressed in dark yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and the instant he touched her, the second his arms hauled her against his chest and his mouth found hers, he knew she wore nothing beneath those two items. "Addie," he muttered, feasting on her taste. "God...Addie."
His hands dove under cloth and fabric, seeking warm skin and supple curves. She hooked a bare heel around his calf, pulling his hips closer. He turned her. a choreographer of dance, to press her against the hood of the vehicle. His fingers were in her hair, his teeth nipping the flesh in the V of her shirt.
And then her hand dove into the waist of his pants and found his nakedness, and he let out a deep groan. "Addie—wait."
"No." Her breath seared his neck. "Here. Now."
"I don't have protection."
This time she groaned, and he pulled her against him, holding her face, kissing her mouth, kissing her hard. Before he could count to five, he settled them against the track, urgency singing in his veins.
Addie, he thought, and could think no more.
By degrees the rush eased. Under her shirt where his hands traveled, and on her neck where his lips tarried, her skin burned with a fever that equaled his own. He remained surrounded by her, unwilling to break the union of arms and hands and mouths.
She whispered. "It's like we're teenagers again."
His hold tightened. "For you, my heart will always be young. I love you, Addie. I can't say it enough."
"Just say it every night before we go to sleep." She smiled against his jaw. "I want you in my dreams."
"I want you in my bed. Every night."
"Before you know it." She slipped from his embrace and the cool night air sent a shiver across his skin. Already he missed her.
One last kiss, then she stole through the shadows toward the rear of her house.
"Let's set a date," he called quietly. He hated sneaking around: hated life without both kids under one roof.
She hesitated, a foot on the lower step. Starlight shimmered in her hair. "Ask Becky, and I'll ask Michaela. We'll go from there." Then the door snicked shut and she was gone.
Riding a seesaw of emotion, he walked back to his house. If they had to steal around for a few more months until the girls felt comfortable with them both, he would do it without question.
"Dad?"
Skip's head snapped toward his front porch. "Becky?" She sat in her pajamas, huddled on the top step. "What're you doing out here?"
"I woke up and you weren't in the house." Fear traced her voice.
He walked over and climbed the steps to sit beside her, his arm brushing her shoulder. "I heard a noise," he said, knowing it was a lie. but also knowing he could not in this lifetime expose the truth. "So I went to check it out."
"What was it?"
He shrugged. "Probably raccoons, or a herd of deer." Then because he'd missed her presence this past week, he gave her an affectionate one-armed hug and kissed her hair. "Come on, Becky. Tomorrow's another school day."
They went through the front door, into the warmth of the house. Upstairs, Skip tucked his daughter into bed. "Good night, Bean."
"'Night."
He was about to pull the door partially closed when she whispered, "Do you love her?"
He didn't need to ask whom. Returning slowly to the bed, he lowered himself to its edge. "I do, Becks. Very much."
"Are you going to marry her?"
"Would that be so terrible?"
She rolled away, presenting her back, curling into a fetal position. "I don't care what you do."
"But I care what you think," he replied, wishing he could see her face. His heart banged his chest. If they couldn't get past this, how would he and Addie have a life together? "And I'm hoping..." He had no idea how to say what he hoped. "That it'll work out for us all," he finished.
She stayed motionless and mute for so long he thought she'd fallen asleep, but then she said, "I might not go to school tomorrow."
"Oh?" Tension ran through his body. "Why's that?"
"I don't want to talk about it," she mumbled.
"Bean, if you're trying to get back at me for loving Addie, not going to school isn't going to work."
"Not everything is about her, y'know."
"Then what?" He leaned over to switch on the night lamp.
"Don't," she said, and he drew his hand back.
"What is it?" Worry spiked his pulse rate. "Are you feeling sick?"
"Sort of."
He waited for an explanation. Then it hit him. She's a girl, dummy. Breathing a little easier, he suggested, "How about we see what the morning brings?"
When she didn't respond, he said good-night again, rose and walked quietly out her door. Would he ever know all there was to raising a daughter? Addie would. Or at least she'd have a better inkling of these things than him.
In his bedroom, he lay staring through the dark and rehearsed a thousand ways to tell Becky he needed to include her mother to make his life and hers complete.
When dawn outlined the treetops with pink. Becky woke and got out of bed. She loved the sunrises here. In the trailer park, there hadn't been many sunrises because she'd been too tired most mornings after listening half the night to Jesse and her mom argue in the next room. She hadn't understood the words, but she had known they weren't good. Sometimes she heard her mom cry. She hated those nights most of all.
But here... Here there was peace and quiet in the mornings. And the sky and the trees were so pretty. She loved that she could open her window and hear the birds, so many different kinds of birds. And once, just after the sun went down, she'd seen deer step out of the forest to graze in the back yard. How cool was that?
This morning she sat at her desk, the one she and Skip— sometimes she still thought of him as Skip—had picked out before moving to Firewood Island. Today was her mom's birthday and she was writing her a letter.
Dearest Mom,
I miss you so much but I want you to know I'm okay.
Then she wrote about Skip, her dad. She knew her mom would be happy he was the one raising her, and not foster parents or another adopted family. She wanted Hedy to know all the wonderful things about her new home. The trees and birds and deer. The town and its library. Her new school and her dad's coaching abilities.
Becky wrote about Michaela—Oh, Mom, I have a little sister!—and her Aunt Kat and Grandma Dalton, although it was sort of hard to think of Mrs. Dalton as Grandma, 'cause they'd only met once.
When she had written about everyone and everything, she reread her words and knew she still had the hardest part to write, the part about Addie.
No matter how guilty she felt, Becky knew she had to tell her mom. She had to get it all out. Because this would be her final letter to Hedy. After today, she had to put the past in the past.
With a deep breath, she began the last paragraph.
Mommy, you know I've met my real mom, Addie. Even though I'm still mixed up about her I honestly can't say she isn't nice. Because she is. She's really great with my little sister & she's the best teacher & I think Dad has loved her forever & she's loved him. Thing is, I'm starting to like her a lot, too. But I don't want you to think I'll love her more than you. In
my heart you'll always be my mom. But I think she would like to be my mom, too & maybe one day that will be ok. I just want you to know that if it happens, it doesn't mean I've forgotten you. It just means that I'll have 2 moms who I love. One here and one in heaven. You know a few months ago I thought I'd never have a mom again. Now I have 2. That's kinda kewel, don't ya think? So, Mommy, I have to say goodbye. I have to let you go. I'll always think of you & love you but me & Mick want to be sisters & that means being a family with my dad & Addie. In my heart I know you'll be happy for us b/c that's the kind of mom you are. It's the kind of mom Addie is, too.
She read the words, and satisfied, signed the letter Love forever, Becky, before sealing the page into an envelope and putting it into her knapsack with the ferry tickets.
Chapter Fifteen
At ten-forty, Principal Holby and the vice principal came to Addie's door while she was teaching second block.
Holby motioned her into the hallway where he said, "The elementary school just phoned. Michaela didn't come in from recess. Was she supposed to leave the premises? Her teacher says there wasn't a note this morning stating otherwise."
Addie thought the floor would cave beneath her feet. "What do you mean, she didn't come in? She's there. I dropped her off almost two hours ago." Her voice rose as she fought hysteria.
Holby took her elbow, nodded to the vice principal. "Bill's going to take your eleventh graders. Let's go to the office and sort this out."
"Forget the office, I'm going to Mick's school." She broke into a run, calling over her shoulder, "Phone the police." Michaela. Omigod. Michaela, where are you?
She flung out of the main doors, her ankle twisting painfully with her high heels. Why had she worn a dress today? Michaela...
Hopping on one foot, then the other, she took off her shoes and raced in stocking feet down the sidewalk. The elementary school was a block away. As she ran, she checked her watch. Twelve minutes since the recess bell had brought the students back to class. Twelve minutes equaled how far?
Not far.
Very far in a car.
But not on an island, she reasoned, ignoring the pain the cement initiated on her bare heels. Except...there were twenty square miles of island. With two-thirds woods and rough hills and a semimountain.
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