One Week In December

by Holly Chamberlin

  Becca hadn’t gone ten feet before movement off to the left caught her eye. It was her father and the neighbor, Alex. The two men were coming out of Steve’s studio in the old, renovated barn. In this wide, open, and very white space, there was no way to avoid them, no way to pretend she hadn’t seen them.

  Becca swore under her breath. She’d wanted, needed isolation and the protection that provided, but it seemed she wasn’t going to get it even in the relatively vast wilderness of her parents’ land. She stopped walking. In a few moments, the men were close enough to speak with. But Steve only nodded at his daughter, and walked rapidly toward the house. Alex stopped and watched him go.

  “Your father doesn’t seem himself this morning,” he said when the older man was out of earshot.

  “He didn’t sleep well.”

  “Ah, that will put anyone off his game.”

  Becca wondered if that been a sarcastic retort. She looked closely at Alex Mason, as if seeing him for the first time. He was a tall man, an inch or two over six feet, she thought, and powerfully built. His clothes were nondescript; his style, nonchalant—jeans, winter boots unlaced, a well-worn leather three-quarter coat over a turtleneck and brown flannel shirt. His hair was brown, clean but raggedy, as if he’d neglected or forgotten to have it cut since summer. His eyes, a very bright blue, could be described as intense; his gaze was penetrating. Becca didn’t like a penetrating gaze; it meant a person might be snooping for secrets.

  For a dreadful moment she wondered if her father had told Alex about the family meeting, and she was flooded with anger. It was nobody’s business, really, but hers, she thought. Her business, and Rain’s.

  “What were you doing in there?” she demanded. “With my father?”

  “Planning to take over the world.”

  Becca stared. Did Alex think he was being funny?

  “Uh, actually,” he said, “we were talking about one of his photographs. I’m giving him some help, though photography isn’t my strong suit. I’m a sculptor by trade. But you might know that already.”

  All right. If Alex knew what had gone on in the Rowan living room the night before, he wasn’t giving anything away.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” he was saying now, gesturing to what most people would consider a winter wonderland. “I love a cold, clear winter morning. Look at the way the snow rests on the branches of that pine. It’s more beautiful than anything we humans can create.”

  “I hate the cold,” Becca said bluntly. “I hate everything about winter.”

  Alex looked at her. He seemed a bit taken aback by her vehemence.

  “If you hate the cold weather so much,” he asked, “why haven’t you moved to a warmer climate? North Carolina is supposed to be nice. Maybe California. I hear that in Arizona it’s a dry heat.”

  It would be so easy simply to blurt out the truth: “I can’t leave New England because I can’t leave my daughter.” It would be too easy. Becca caught herself and muttered something about her career being centered in Boston.

  Alex shrugged. Maybe he’d bought her excuse, maybe not. It didn’t matter to Becca. This guy was a stranger, and as far as she was concerned, he could stay a stranger.

  “Then I suppose you have a very good reason for being out on this winter morning. Without gloves.”

  Becca shoved her hands into the pockets of her leather coat, a coat that was not meant to be worn in wet weather. It would cost a lot to get it properly cleaned once back in Boston. “I forgot them,” she said.

  “Mind if I walk a bit with you?”

  Becca shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Alex was not a man easily deterred. He kept pace with what he considered Becca’s angry or impatient stride.

  “You know,” he said when they had gone several yards, “I feel as if I’ve gotten to know you a bit since I became your parents’ neighbor. Your father speaks so highly of you.”

  Becca laughed and kept her eyes focused straight ahead. She was pissed she’d forgotten her sunglasses, too. Winter sunlight, even during a snowfall, seemed far more intense than summer sunlight. She felt as if her eyes were being stabbed. “Yeah, right,” she said. “Of me?”

  “Yes, of you. Why shouldn’t he? Is there some deep dark dirty secret you’re not telling me?”

  If he only knew! Becca walked on in silence. After a moment she said, “It’s just that my father and I haven’t been close for—for a long time.”

  “Oh. That’s too bad.”

  Becca stopped. Alex walked on a step and then looked back. He couldn’t quite read the expression on Becca’s face. It seemed to contain hostility, embarrassment, even . . . hope? He was puzzled.

  “Is it?” she said.

  “Is it what?”

  “Is it really too bad? That we’re not close?”

  Alex didn’t know how to answer. He’d said what he’d said unthinkingly. Finally, he shrugged. “Sure. I mean, how bad can a guy so devoted to his cat possibly be?”

  Becca didn’t know what she had wanted to hear from Alex, but it wasn’t that. She walked on and Alex fell back into step with her. She wished he’d go on home. She had nothing to say to this man. Maybe he’d read her mind—or, more likely, he’d read her obviously uncommunicative mood—because after a few yards he gestured off to the right.

  “My house—and my studio—is in that direction. Just over that rise. It’s the first house you come to, about half a mile off. An old farmhouse and barn. It’s a lot like your parents’ place but not in half as good shape, and it’s a lot smaller.”

  Why, Becca wondered, was he telling her this information? It wasn’t as if she had any intention of paying him a visit.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “I’d better get back to work. I suppose I’ll be seeing you later.”

  Becca shrugged. “Okay,” she said. “ ’Bye.”

  She kept on walking, aware now that she was alone, and glad of it. But she couldn’t help herself from squinting in the direction that Alex had gone. For a moment she watched his dark form tromping into the snowy distance. For a moment she had the strangest urge to follow him. But just for a moment.

  Becca walked on, no particular destination in mind—not that there was any place in particular to go here in Kently, Maine. That is, unless you had an interest in picking up the local paper in the tiny general store five miles off, and Becca did not. Besides, the encounter with Alex had left her feeling—unsettled, but she couldn’t say exactly why. She acknowledged, dimly, that he was attractive, in a sort of gruff, outdoorsy, arty way, but what did that matter? The truth was that she had pretty much ceased to consider herself a sexual, available woman some time ago. A long time ago. Her momentary attraction to this Alex person—if indeed it could even be called that—was insignificant.

  Insignificant because Becca had gotten in the habit of telling herself that it didn’t matter if she lived the rest of her life celibate. There were far more important things in life on which to focus than sex. And sex brought trouble. Look what trouble it had wrought in her own life. Trouble. Isolation. Pain.

  And as for romance and love . . . Well, Becca had pushed aside those possibilities, too, but for more murky reasons. If she were honest with herself, if she could be honest with herself, she would acknowledge that she felt undeserving of love and romantic happiness; she would acknowledge that she felt she should be doing penance always for her “mistake.” But what was that mistake? Getting pregnant or giving up her child?

  Becca shook her head as if that would help clear away troublesome thoughts. Of course, it did not help. Fingers near frozen and eyes near blinded, she turned around, defeated by the elements, and headed for home. Such as it was.

  16

  The Rowan family was gathered in the living room. David was standing, his hands on his hips, the self-appointed commander in chief. His parents sat next to each other on the couch. Hank sat on the floor at Julie’s feet, his face and attitude alert, as if he sensed that she might need support.
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  “Dad,” David said, with more than a touch of impatience, “it’s the results that count. Look at Rain. She’s happy and she’s healthy. What we all did was the right thing. You know that.”

  Steve sighed quietly. “I thought I did,” he said. “But what about Becca? She’s obviously very unhappy.”

  David snorted. Naomi had talked to him about that annoying habit, but David seemed incapable of giving it up. “Dad,” he said, “Becca needs to get over her misery and move on. It’s not like she never sees Rain. For God’s sake, Rain adores her. They talk on the phone, they e-mail all the time, and they see each other at least once a month. And let’s keep in mind that Becca is an adult.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “Becca is an adult, now. But when we made the decision to take her baby from her, she was just a child herself.”

  “That’s right, David,” his mother said. “I tried to talk to her about the adoption, once Becca was back at school. But she always shied away from a conversation. All she would ever say was that she was ‘fine.’ Maybe all that time, all those first few years, maybe she was really suffering inside. And we just didn’t know it. What if we failed our daughter, after all?”

  David gripped the sides of his head. Naomi had rarely seen him act so dramatically. “Look,” he said, “there’s no point in rehashing the past. What’s done is done, and from what I can see, the results of our actions are overwhelmingly positive. Rain is happy and healthy. She does well in school and has good friends. What more could we ask for?”

  Julie gave a long sigh. “Well, I suppose David is right.” Then she looked around at the others as if to command their attention. “And I suppose now’s as good a time as any to tell you all that I’ve been keeping tails on the boy who got Becca pregnant.”

  David looked at his wife. “Did she say ‘keeping tails’?”

  “Yes, David, I did. And don’t look so surprised, Steve,” Julie said in response to her husband’s look of wonder. “You’re not the only one with connections. And I was perfectly discreet. There’s not a way in the world any word of my surveillance—”

  “Oh, Lord,” Olivia mumbled.

  David rolled his eyes. “Suddenly she’s Jessica Fletcher.”

  “Of my surveillance,” Julie went on, giving emphasis to the offending term, “could have reached him. And my connections—my sources—are unimpeachable.”

  “Why, Mom?” Lily asked. “Why did you keep track of him?”

  “To be prepared for just such an emergency. If this turns out to be a real emergency . . . and I refuse to believe that it will.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple, Lily. If Becca were to learn just what a loser this boy—this man—now is, there’s no way she’d want her daughter to have anything to do with him.”

  “I’m not sure what Becca would want, but Naomi and I sure as hell wouldn’t want any contact,” David muttered.

  Nora nodded. “None of us would.”

  “And,” Julie went on, “I’m afraid that if Rain learns the truth before she’s mature enough to handle it without doing something rash, well, she might set out to find her father, and that would be disastrous.”

  “I feel as if I’m in some two-bit soap opera.” The words seemed to shoot from Olivia’s mouth. “This is getting disgusting. We should just send Becca packing. Ostracize her from the family. Cut off all of her access to Rain. Get a restraining order. Dad, you must know someone who can help with that.”

  James put a hand on his wife’s arm. As she’d done the night before at dinner, she shook it off.

  “Enough, Olivia.” Nora turned to her daughter-in-law. “Julie, where is this man living? Becca’s biological father.”

  David’s lips set in a grim line. He hated to be reminded of the fact that he was not entirely responsible for Rain’s existence.

  “My latest report indicates—I saw you roll your eyes, Olivia—my latest report indicates that he’s living in a trailer in a little town in Vermont. He’s generally unemployed, though there have been stints as a bouncer. He has two prior convictions, one involving possession of drugs. Jail time served. I believe the charge involved a meth lab in his garage. No other children that anyone’s cared to acknowledge. One domestic abuse complaint, but that didn’t stick. When the police showed up, it turned out the woman was the one with the baseball bat. Oh, yes, and his medical records—”

  “You got his medical records!” Steve looked aghast.

  “Well, no, dear,” Julie answered calmly, “not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?” he repeated.

  “What I mean is that I’m not in actual possession of them. I simply have access to them when I need them.”

  “Oh, my God.” David rubbed his forehead. “My mother the private investigator. Go on, Mom. We might as well hear the worst of it.”

  “Well, it seems he’s a heavy smoker well on his way to a full-blown case of emphysema. Oh, and he has genital herpes.”

  David sank into a chair. “Of course he does. So we’re looking at a downright pillar of society here, aren’t we?”

  “What a creep!” Lily cried. “There’s no way Rain or Becca—or any of us—should have anything to do with him. He makes Cliff sound perfect! He’s only gotten two tickets for moving violations and neither of them was really his fault.”

  Nora frowned at her youngest granddaughter. Cliff-the-dangerous-driver-and-gambling-fiend had no part in this family saga.

  “Genetics,” Olivia mumbled, shaking her head. “You can’t argue with genetics because that’s an argument you just can’t win. That’s why I would never adopt. Ever. You just don’t know what you’re getting. You’ve got to watch Rain closely, David. What we know about the father isn’t promising. Naomi, maybe you’d better have her screened for incipient mental illness.”

  “Jesus, Olivia, shut up, will you!” No one told David to shut up.

  “Nature isn’t the only factor in a person’s life, Liv.” Naomi knew she sounded almost desperately hopeful, as if trying to convince herself as well as her sister-in-law. “Nurture plays a part, too. A big part.”

  Olivia opened her mouth to reply but was silenced by the distinct sound of the front door opening, then closing. Becca was back from her walk. Without a word, the family dispersed.

  17

  Becca turned from the coatrack just in time to avoid being run over by Olivia, stomping her way toward the stairs and then, probably, to the attic.

  “You’re excused,” Becca mumbled as her sister charged on.

  “Becca.” David stood in the hall. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m going to my room.” She knew he would follow her there. She knew that once she had spoken her mind, she would be pursued until the battle was over. So be it.

  The encounter with Alex had upset and confused her. Her blood was up. She was primed for conflict. David, too, seemed itching for a fight. Barely had the door closed behind him than he blurted:

  “Look, Becca, what the hell is going on? Will you please just tell me so we can get past this whole ridiculous notion you have of disrupting everyone’s life?”

  “Ridiculous?” she cried. So she was escalating the anger, not trying to defuse it. She had the right to her anger. “Why is it so ridiculous that I should want my daughter to know her real mother?”

  “Ssssh! Keep your voice down! I don’t want Rain to hear us.”

  “You don’t want? It’s always about you, David, isn’t it? It’s always about what David wants. And it’s always been that way. Well, news flash, David. Rain is my daughter, not yours.”

  David took a step closer, finger jabbing the air for emphasis. Becca stood where she was, arms crossed.

  “I’m not the selfish one here, Becca. You are. You’re the one being totally selfish. You’re like . . . You’re like that woman in the Bible who comes to Solomon claiming a baby is hers, and just so she can get what she wants, she agrees the baby should be cut in half. She’s not thinking of
the welfare of the child. She’s thinking only about herself.”

  “Oh, please,” she laughed, “don’t start quoting the Bible at me!”

  “I wasn’t quoting. I was referring.”

  “You’re such an ass, David, you know that? A self-centered, pretentious ass.”

  David looked absolutely disgusted with her. Becca didn’t care.

  “We seem to be getting nowhere,” he said coldly.

  Becca didn’t reply. Where was there to go? She couldn’t deny that she was standing firm in her decision to tell Rain the truth of her birth before another year passed away.

  “We’ll resume this conversation later.” David stalked out of the den.

  Becca slammed the door behind him. So what if everyone felt the reverberations? She was tired of hiding in plain sight. She was ready to be seen, and to be heard.

  18

  David had been gone only minutes when there was a knock on the door. Before Becca could ask who wanted another piece of her, the door opened and her mother was inside.

  Becca sighed. “Mom, I’m busy. We’ll talk later, with everyone. Like we planned.”

  “Yes,” Julie said, “we’ll talk as a family. Later. But I need to talk to you about something important. Now.”

  Becca leaned against the desk and folded her arms across her chest. She was getting used to this half aggressive, half self-protective stance. “Fine.”

  “I want to talk to you about Rain’s father.”

  “What?” Becca almost laughed. “I don’t understand. What does he have to do with anything?”

  Julie didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she moved farther into the room and stood with her hands folded in front of her. It struck Becca as an odd pose for a woman who would never be described as demure.

  “Maybe quite a lot,” she said finally. “I think you need to know about him. I think you need to know about what he’s been doing all these years. Because if you tell Rain now about her birth, there’s every chance she’s going to be very upset and want to rush off and find her father, and let me tell you, Becca, that would be a very big mistake.”