Father to Be

by Marilyn Pappano

  “Where’s the bus station?” Noah asked, swinging his feet so that the rubber soles of his shoes bounced off the rock.

  “Right here.”

  “But where’s the ticket seller? And the suitcase man?”

  “You buy your ticket from the bus driver, and he stows your luggage.”

  “I wish he’d come by plane. Then we could’ve gone to the airport to pick him up. We’ve never been to an airport before. Or I wish he’d come by train. We’ve never been to a train station before. Or—”

  “Or maybe he could’ve come by spaceship,” Caleb said sarcastically, “and then put you on it before it went back out in space.”

  Noah leaned around J.D. to give his brother a long, wary look, then resumed talking again. “This is your dad, right? I didn’t know grown-up people had dads. Our daddy didn’t. And our mama didn’t neither. And Miss Agatha don’t, and Miss C’rinna don’t, and Mrs. Bee—”

  Caleb sighed loudly. “Do you have to talk all the time? You’re getting like Josie.”

  Noah’s sigh was softer, sweeter. “I like Josie. She’s funny, and she can beat up Gracie and Jacob and Lannie and prob’ly even Caleb and definitely me. And she’s real smart. She knows where babies come from.”

  Before Caleb could respond to that, the bus came into sight at the end of Main Street. Noah scrambled up to stand on the wall, looking as excited as if it were his father arriving. He rested one small hand on J.D.’s shoulder. “What if he don’t like us?”

  “My dad likes everyone.”

  “But what if he don’t like us? Then we can’t be his … his …”

  Caleb came a few steps closer. “We aren’t his anything, Noah. We ain’t nothin’ to him. He’s his family,” he said with a jerk of his head at J.D. “Not ours.”

  The bus pulled to the curb, brakes squealing, and the door opened with a rush of air. Before turning his attention that way, J.D. scowled in the opposite direction. “Caleb, do me a favor. Shut up.”

  Bud was the only passenger getting off. He studied the kids, three lined up like little soldiers, one dragging the toe of his shoe across the sidewalk with his head ducked down, then said in greeting, “What a fine-looking bunch you are. You must be Gracie.”

  She smiled prettily and tossed her head.

  “And Jacob.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Noah?”

  Noah tilted his head back and squinted to see into the sun. “Do you like us?”

  “I like everybody.”

  “That’s what he said. But do you like us?”

  “I like you just fine, Noah.” Bud mussed his hair, then turned to the outsider. “You must be Caleb.”

  “I must be,” he drawled sarcastically.

  “Be a good boy and get my bag from the driver.” He didn’t wait to see if Caleb obeyed but assumed he would—and he did. “J.D. You look well, son.”

  J.D. stepped up for his hug, holding him tight, for a fleeting moment feeling safe, the way he always had as a child. As long as his father had been there to hold him, nothing really bad could ever happen.

  Too bad his father hadn’t been with him in Chicago. The world would be a different place. He would be a different man.

  Though sometimes he rather liked the man he’d become.

  “It’s good to see you, Dad. It’s been a long time.”

  “You know, the same bus that brought me here from Pennsylvania could take you there to see me. Though I suppose you’d rather take the train or a plane or drive your fancy car. Where is it?”

  The bus pulled away, and J.D. pointed to the truck across the street. The mud-spattered, battered off-road vehicle brought a broad grin to Bud’s face. “Nice,” he said, reaching for Noah’s hand as they prepared to cross the street. “Very nice.”

  The kids doubled up in the backseat for the ride home. The apartment made Bud grin too. J.D. stayed in the kitchen to start dinner while the kids showed him around. The tour took an extraordinarily long time considering how small the apartment was. No doubt the younger ones were showing him each and every thing they could claim as their own. By the time they made it back to the kitchen, Noah and Gracie were acting as if they’d found their long-lost grandfather.

  “Why don’t you kids go watch a little television while I help J.D. with dinner?” Bud suggested, and they both ran off. He washed his hands, then located a knife and pitched in with peeling the potatoes. J.D. worked silently, waiting for the impressions that were sure to come.

  “Interesting place.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Interesting life you’ve built for yourself here.”

  “Doesn’t have much in common with Chicago, does it?”

  “Nope. But neither do you. You look good.”

  You look good. As compliments went, it was on the bland side. People said it to co-workers, neighbors, folks they hardly knew. It was about as insignificant as Have a nice day. But it meant the world to J.D. because Bud had seen him at the lowest a man could go—weak, defeated, damn near destroyed. You look good was at the other end of the spectrum. “I feel good. Most of the time.”

  From down the hall came a burst of giggles that made his father smile. “Noah asked if he should call me Mr. Grayson, Mr. Bud, or maybe Grandpa Bud. I told him he could call me whatever he wanted.”

  “I’m impressed. It took them about a week to stop calling me ‘the man.’ As far as Caleb’s concerned, I still have no name. I’m ‘he’ or ‘him,’ said in that particular tone of voice that kids do so well, of course.” J.D. hesitated. “Would it bother you for them to call you Grandpa?”

  For a moment the knife went still in Bud’s hand. J.D. didn’t risk a look at his face. He knew too well the sadness he would see there. Then, abruptly, the knife started again, shaving potato peels onto the counter. “No, not at all. They’re young kids. I’m an old man. It seems pretty natural.” Without a break in tempo he changed the subject. “I see you’ve got seven places set. Who’s joining us tonight?”

  “Kelsey Malone.”

  “With a name like that, she’d better have red hair, porcelain skin, and freckles.”

  “Brown curls, peaches-and-cream skin, and legs that could give a man sweet dreams.”

  “Ah.”

  J.D. rummaged through the cabinets until he found the pot he wanted, then began filling it with water. “Ah?” he echoed. “No, Dad, no ah. She’s the kids’ social worker, and she’s coming to see you.”

  “Uh-huh. This might come as a surprise to you, son, but someday you’re going to meet a woman, fall in love just like it was the first time, and get married and raise me a houseful of grandkids.” Bud wagged his knife at him. “You know, man is not made to live alone.”

  It would come as a surprise to his father that J.D. was well aware of that fact. Maybe not love just like the first time, but definitely for the last time. He’d known it in his head for a long time. He was starting to feel it in his heart.

  But there was no way he was telling Bud that. Even a son deserved a few secrets from time to time. “You’re a fine one to talk. You’ve been alone a long time.”

  “That’s different. I was with your mother for forty years. I’m too old to think about getting used to someone new.”

  “You’re never too old, Dad,” he disagreed as the doorbell rang. “Not as long as there’s breath in your body.”

  After opening the door, he leaned one shoulder against the jamb and slowly smiled. Kelsey stood on the porch, wearing a summery dress with no sleeves, a rounded neck that dipped low over her breasts, and a hem that skimmed her thighs inches above her knees. Her hair was secured at her nape, but a few tendrils had managed to escape, curling gently around her face.

  By doing nothing more than standing there, she’d proven his last point. There was breath in his body—and it was hot.

  “Hi,” she said, her smile tentative, a bit shy.

  “Hi.”

  “Am I early?”

  He didn’t bother checking hi
s watch. “No. You’re right on time.”

  Her own smile faltered, then returned. “Then can I come in?”

  He tore his gaze away from her as he moved back. “Where’s your car?”

  “It was such a pretty evening that I walked here.”

  He looked her over again, from head to flirty little yellow dress to toe, then murmured, “That’s a sight I would’ve paid money to see.”

  She eased past him, careful not to touch, but leaving behind a hint of the fragrance he was certain he would recognize in his sleep. He breathed deeply, once of her, then once again. Ah, indeed.

  Bud was waiting expectantly in the kitchen. “Well, well, well.” He gave her the same sort of appreciative survey J.D. had just indulged in, then grinned. “You’re everything my son said and more.”

  “Kelsey Malone, this is my father, Bud Grayson. He’s a bit of a flirt and a charmer, so watch out for him.”

  “Don’t believe a word he says,” Bud admonished as he claimed her hand. “He just wants you for himself. Can’t say as I blame him either. I raised a smart boy. Go see to the children, son. Kelsey will keep me company while I cook. We’ll talk.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.” J.D. stood to one side of the doorway and watched as Kelsey moved into the room. Brown curls, peaches-and-cream skin, and legs that could give a man sweet dreams. Oh, yeah, she was all that and more. She was the sort of woman who could keep a man warm at night, who could keep the shadows at bay and make him feel protected. Needed. Trusted. She was the sort of woman who would draw strength from her partner and give it back two, three times over. She was the sort of woman he wanted, needed.

  And she was one hell of a kisser.

  He started down the hall, then lingered for a moment, out of sight of the kitchen, to eavesdrop.

  “What can I help you with, Mr. Grayson?”

  “Well, for starters, you can call me Bud. And you could chop those tomatoes there for the salad.”

  Her next words came over the sound of running water. “You and your son share a preference for nicknames, Bud. You know, he won’t even tell me what J.D. stands for. I don’t suppose …”

  Grinning, J.D. went down the hall, losing the rest of the conversation. In the living room he paused to check the kids, then he continued down the hall to their room. The door was half open. As he knocked, he pushed it all the way open.

  Caleb sat cross-legged on his bunk, holding a picture frame in both hands. His eyes widened and his thin face flushed, as if he’d gotten caught redhanded doing something he’d been warned about.

  J.D. recognized the frame in an instant, though he hadn’t seen it in nearly eighteen months. It had been a cold, snowy January night when he’d unpacked the office and set that frame on his desk. Dissatisfied with it there, he’d hung it on the wall, then moved it to a lower shelf, then a middle one, and finally to the top. Unable to bear it there either, he’d turned it facedown and pushed it back so far that he could almost pretend it wasn’t there. For a long time he’d known it was, but at some point he’d started forgetting, probably hoping that at some point in his life he would start forgetting.

  It hadn’t happened yet.

  He forced his fingers to uncurl from the doorknob, made his feet move from the spot where they’d begun to sink into the floor. He crossed the room, pulled the frame from Caleb’s hands, and casually said, “I’d forgotten that was up there. Thanks.” Holding the picture side of the frame against his leg, he started toward the door.

  “I wasn’t snooping or nothing,” Caleb said belligerently. “It was just lying there on the shelf.”

  “It’s okay. No problem. Listen, supper will be ready soon. Why don’t you get the kids washed up?” Without looking at Caleb he left the room, went into his own room, and closed the door, then went to the closet. Though his hands trembled, he managed to take down the box in the darkest, remotest corner. He rested it on the edge of the dresser and unfolded the flaps, intending to deposit the frame inside, then put the box back in hiding. But when the last flap was opened, he didn’t reach for the frame secured under his arm. For several raw moments he simply stared inside.

  There were stacks of envelopes, each addressed in his own hand, each stamped and sent off to its destination, each bearing the same scrawled message for its trip back—Return to Sender. There were apologies given and rejected, gifts offered and refused, pleas put to paper but never mailed at all. This well-used, dusty box held the ragged remnants of his relationship with Trey, reminders too painful to keep accessible, too important to throw out.

  His hand trembling, he picked up the top few letters. He could recognize the occasions from the postmarks—end of school, Easter, Christmas, with a big box under the bed to match. Thanksgiving, Halloween, birthdays. Every holiday, every special day, every nothing-special day—for months he’d remembered them all, until finally one day it had become too painful. The hope couldn’t make up for the inevitable disappointment, and so he’d stopped.

  But it still hurt.

  He dropped the letters back into the box, laid the frame on top, and clumsily refolded the flaps before returning the box to its dark corner. Then he sagged against the wall, closed his eyes, and gasped for breath, for just one breath that didn’t feel as if it might kill him. After a few noisy efforts that some might even call sobs, he found one, and soon he found another, and another.

  He wasn’t going to die, not without significant effort on his part. He’d learned that two years, three months, three weeks, and six days ago. He’d also learned that he lacked the courage to make that effort.

  No, he wasn’t going to die.

  He just felt like it.

  Dinner with the Graysons and the Browns was the most pleasant time Kelsey had spent in their company. Part of the credit went to Bud, who was as entertaining as he was charming, but a good deal of it went to J.D. and Caleb. J.D. was more relaxed. Caleb was less hostile. Maybe Monday’s events had been the corner they’d needed to turn to get their relationship on track. Too bad they couldn’t have accomplished it without split lips and wounded feelings. But any way they accomplished it was good in her book.

  She swallowed the last of her ice cream, dropped her spoon into the bowl with a clang, then sighed. “I’d better head home.”

  A few steps above her, J.D. was leaning against the wall. Scattered down the steps below were the kids and Bud, eating their own ice cream. Bud looked up as he licked his spoon. “I’ll get the kids ready for bed, son. You go with Kelsey.”

  “I don’t need an escort,” she said politely. “But thank you for offering.”

  Ignoring her, J.D. stacked his bowl with hers, then stood up and offered his hand. She let him pull her to her feet and, because her hand felt good in his, even let him lead her on a zigzag path down the steps. At the bottom, though, she tugged free and turned back. “Bud, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

  “The pleasure was all mine. Come back again.”

  “I will.”

  “How ’bout tomorrow?” Gracie asked. “Grandpa Bud is gonna make s’ketti, and not out of a can like Dr. J.D. does.”

  Ignoring the question, Kelsey brushed a hand over Gracie’s hair. “Good night, kids, Caleb.”

  “You want to drive or walk?” J.D. asked, falling in step alongside her.

  “I’m perfectly safe walking home by myself. Bethlehem doesn’t have much of a mugging problem.”

  “We don’t have any mugging problem. So … drive or walk?”

  “You’re suggesting that we drive only so I’d have to climb into your truck.”

  His gaze dropped to her too-short dress, and a devilish grin lit his face. “It’s not my fault you dress to entice me.”

  “I don’t—” With an amused sigh she broke off the protest. “It’s a beautiful evening. Let’s walk.”

  Dusk had settled and the streetlamps were on, casting pools of bright light that made the shadows seem shadowier. There were lights on in most of the houses they passed, an
d Kelsey easily imagined the families inside, eating a late dinner or sharing kitchen cleanup, as she, the Graysons, and the Browns just had.

  But the Graysons and the Browns weren’t a family, and even if they were, she wouldn’t be a part of it.

  The thought saddened her.

  When she would have crossed Main Street, J.D. caught her hand and turned her to the right. Even after she’d obeyed his silent directions, he didn’t let go. She didn’t ask him to.

  The downtown area was quiet, dim lights shining in shops closed for the night. Few cars passed, and there was no one on the streets but them. It was pleasant. Peaceful. Enticing.

  “What are you thinking?”

  She grabbed the first thought that came to mind. “Your dad’s a nice man.”

  “He is.”

  “But he wouldn’t tell me what J.D. stands for.”

  His laughter was soft, pleasant. “I warned you not to try to charm it out of him.”

  “I guess I wasn’t charming enough.”

  “Oh, you’re plenty charming. Trust me.”

  “Trust you? Your father told me not to believe a word you say.”

  “He was wrong.”

  “He also told me you were the best son a man could ask for.”

  “Well, not entirely wrong.”

  “So …” She fell back on the guessing game. “Is it Jonathan Drake?”

  “Nope.”

  “Joe Don? Jethro Delbert?”

  “Do I look like a Jethro? Or a Delbert?”

  “No,” she murmured without looking at him. She didn’t need to notice how handsome he was or how the dim light changed the blue of his eyes, or the way his amusement softened his face. Tonight, when she felt vulnerable, she didn’t need any reminders that he was exactly what she needed to feel whole.

  “How about Justin Dwayne?” she asked as they strolled. “I could see you as a Justin. Or Julian Duncan.”

  “Nope, no Justin, no Julian. And no Juno or Jupiter or Jehoshaphat.”

  As they turned onto the street that led to her apartment, she finally risked looking at him. She opened her mouth, and words she would have sworn she hadn’t even thought popped out. “Did she know?”