by Leger, Lori
Lawrence Dawson did a slow shuffle from his second nightly trip to the bathroom on his way to the kitchen. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night without having to get up to drain the old lizard. Damn prostate. Good for nothing but making an old man feel even older. Figured as long as he was up he’d steal one of those muffins.
He stopped in front of the swinging kitchen door, the one his wife had insisted on him installing when they bought the house in 1960. He pushed gently letting it swing to and fro. He stood there for a while, letting the memories flood his mind. He stared at the door, painted a soft yellow, and tried to remember the last time it had been closed. Once the cancer had started sapping his wife of strength, he’d kept it propped open. It was easier to get the wheel chair in and out without banging up her knees. After she passed, he’d seen no reason to remove the door stop. Once he got sick, he’d seen even less reason.
But today, for some reason, Melinda had seen fit to let the damn thing swing loose, closing herself inside the kitchen for hours. Something had set her off. Or someone—Greg Hart, no doubt. Bad business, that.
He cleared his throat, pushed open the door and stepped inside the kitchen. He pivoted in a circle and released a long, slow breath. Every surface area in the kitchen was covered with baked goods and confections of some kind. Tarts, muffins, cookies, and her recent additions—and even more disturbing—pralines and fudge.
“Holy shit, are we in for it now.”
For as long as he’d known his wife, when she’d been feeling down, her drug of choice had been sugar. If combined with chocolate, an even more effective combination.
Clearly, Melinda had inherited her mother’s little idiosyncrasy.
But what had happened to send her into the sugar tailspin? Surely it wasn’t just Greg’s appearance today? Shaking his head, he opened the cabinet door to grab a glass for some water. The calendar hung just inside the door on a tiny nail, exactly where Brenda had always kept it. He looked closer, squinting at something written in the square. He flipped on the light over the sink to get a better look at it. She’d drawn a pink heart to encompass the square of yesterday’s date. Inside she’d printed a neat #31.
He did the math, immediately realizing what had thrown his daughter for a loop. Not only was it her daughter’s birthday, but its father had shown up on their doorstep as a reminder. The man she believed hadn’t cared enough about her and the child she carried for eight and a half months.
Only he knew better. He, and three other people, all gone now.
The four of them had made serious errors in judgment that had haunted all of them since. Here it was, three decades later, and he was the only person alive who could set things right. The plot had involved two sets of parents, all working together, determined to keep their children’s reputations from being tarnished, their futures bright—open to possibilities of college and careers.
He shook his head, wiped at the tears in his eyes. Instead, they’d all lost. He and Brenda, their only daughter to a life in Texas. The Harts had lost their son to the Marines. They’d all lost a grandchild. As it turned out, the only one either couple would have.
Was that God’s punishment for lying to their children all these years? The price they had to pay for their choices? His parish priest said God didn’t punish that way, but Lawrence wasn’t so sure. As a matter of fact, if he was a betting man, he’d say that’s exactly what happened. Looking back on it, he knew they got exactly what they deserved. That, and more.
But Melinda and Gregory had lost more than any of them. They’d lost not only the chance to love and know their baby girl, but they’d also lost each other in the bargain.
He pulled the calendar from the nail and sat heavily at kitchen table. The table where he and his wife had shared too many meals alone, without their daughter—their baby girl. He dropped his head in his hands, forcing himself to revisit every painful detail of that awful day, as well as the months that followed.
Poor Melinda had suffered through the worst possible experience she could have gone through. And she’d suffered through it without either of her parents around.
They’d planned to be with her for the birth, had planned to make the drive to Dallas a week before the due date. Instead, Melinda had gone into labor two weeks early. They’d left immediately, drove non-stop other than bathroom breaks and the occasional meal. By the time they arrived, some thirty five hours later, Melinda’s baby had already been born and taken away from the home. That’s when they discovered there had been complications—severe enough that their daughter had come out of the surgery unable to have children.
They’d stayed by her side for two days straight as she slipped in and out of consciousness. The first words out of her mouth had been for her daughter. She’d wanted to hold her. Begged them to bring the baby to her.
In light of everything that happened, he and his wife had discussed the possibility of reclaiming the child. But how could they do that? How would they explain arriving back at McCray with their daughter and a new baby? How would they explain that they’d kept her hidden away for seven months? How would they explain away the lies, the cover story they’d already told their friends, and everyone in their town?
No, they had to see it through—for the sake of their daughter. Especially now that Gregory Hart had up and joined the Marines to get over his own heartbreak.
Knowing she wouldn’t be recovered enough to travel for two more weeks, he’d purchased his daughter’s airline ticket and left it with her. Four days later, they’d started their long drive home, expecting to have Melinda use the ticket to fly home a week and a half later.
He’d never forget that morning she was supposed to board the plane to Seattle. Brenda had gone to Sunday morning mass when the phone rang. He’d accepted the collect call from Dallas, suspecting her flight had been delayed. The conversation was burned into his memory.
“Dad?”
“Melinda. Did your flight get delayed?”
“Something like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not flying home, dad. I cashed in my ticket.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“I bought a bus ticket instead.”
“The bus? Are you sure you’re well enough to ride a bus all the way home? It could take days.” He’d never forget the pause she’d taken before sending their world into turmoil. Her answer had been like the proverbial kick in the gut.
“I’m not going home.”
“Melinda, what are you saying?”
“I can’t go home without my baby.” She paused again, seemed to think better of it. “I won’t go home without my baby.”
“You listen here, young lady—”
Her tone was hard, determined. “No. No, I’m not listening to anyone else anymore. Thanks to you and mom, my baby girl is gone. You did nothing to stop it, even after you discovered this was my last chance to have a child of my own. I can never forgive you for that.”
“We did it for you, for your future.”
“You did it to avoid the embarrassment of having a daughter who got knocked up, a grandchild born out of wedlock.”
“Your reputation would have been ruin—”
“This wasn’t about my reputation. It was always about yours and mom’s. God forbid the Catholic Daughters and Knights of Columbus find out you don’t have a perfect daughter.”
“Melinda, that’s not fair.”
“You want me to be fair? After you let those people take my child away from me? And all because the two of you were afraid of a little gossip.” She laughed then. “It’s ironic how you both have always said you wanted grandchildren. And because of your unwillingness to be seen as anything other than perfect, you’ve lost the only grandchild you’ll ever have. I hope you’re happy, because now you’ve lost your daughter too.”
“Melin—”
“I only called to tell you I’m not going home. I’ve got a bus to catch.”
Fools. The four of them had been such fools, thinking something like that could ever work out. How could they have not seen the disaster waiting for them? How could they have believed their daughter would ever find a way to forgive them?
They didn’t hear from her again for another six months. Even then it was only to tell them she was working in a café, and still didn’t have her daughter. She was quick to add a bitter “Thanks to you two,” before slamming the phone down in the middle of their explanations. He’d never forget the look on his wife’s face, standing there with the kitchen phone extension in her hands, staring blankly at him. He’d hung up the living room extension and rose from his chair to meet her. Before he got to his wife, she’d turned from him, ran to lock herself away in their room for the rest of the afternoon.
As bad as that call had been, it was nothing compared to the heartbroken bout of tears and accusations the third phone call had produced. She’d been working for the LeBlanc’s for six months and had her own attorney. The one thing she knew was that her child had already been adopted. But the orphanage had burned down, along with any and all records of the children who’d been there.
“Why didn’t you get her back, dad? Once you and mom knew …why didn’t you go to the orphanage and get your only grandchild back? I’ll never understand it.” She’d stammered broken sentences through her heartbroken sobs. “I know Greg doesn’t care, but I never expected my own parents not to care. I thought at least her grandparents would find it in their hearts to love her.”
“Oh Melinda, we do love her, and we love you. We only want the best for both of you.”
“I’ll never understand your kind of love,” she’d sobbed.
Brenda had grabbed the phone from his hands, uttered a desperate plea to their daughter. “Come home, baby. Please, come home to us so we can work through this. Take some time off, think about which college you want to att—”
He’d already rushed to the second extension by then. He got to hear Melinda laugh, cutting off his wife’s comment, as well as her reply to that suggestion.
“Home? You think I’d feel at ‘home’ over there with the two people who’ve betrayed me the way you have?”
“Melin—”
“No mom. This is how it has to be. I’m not going home to you and dad. I’m not sure I ever can. There’s a baby girl right here who needs me. She’s not my own flesh and blood, but her mother’s a cold hearted bitch and I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure she grows up feeling loved.”
He’d spoken from the extension. “Your mother only meant—”
“I don’t want to hear it, dad. Be thankful that I have enough fond memories of my own childhood, that I felt loved enough to give baby Tiffany that same experience. I know I’m thankful for that.” She paused briefly before twisting the knife. “I’m just sorry you couldn’t find that same love in your hearts for my child.”
Brenda’s gaze had locked onto his through the two doorways separating them. She’d covered her mouth with one hand—stood there, silent, and wearing an absolute look of horror. She had to have been feeling the same kind of soul crushing heaviness as he did at that moment.
“Maybe—maybe I won’t always feel this way, but right now, I do. I’ve got to go now. Tiffany needs to be fed and put down for her nap.” She’d ended the call then. Neither of them realized it at the time, but it would take another year for Melinda’s pain to dull enough to call them back.
It had nearly destroyed his wife—nearly destroyed their marriage. But through couple’s counseling with their parish priest, they’d survived it, finding a way to channel their guilt into helping other needy children. They worked with existing charities, established new ones to help raise money for the orphanage in Seattle, for various homes for children across the state.
It was their therapy. Just as raising another couple’s children, first tiny little Tiffany LeBlanc, and later, her brother, Drake, had been Melinda’s therapy.
Lawrence stared at the calendar, rubbed his thumb over the pink heart. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “Poor Melin. No wonder you locked yourself in here all afternoon.”
He stood slowly, feeling his seventy-eight years as he’d never felt them before. Hanging the calendar where he’d found it, he left the kitchen, heavy hearted, but more determined than ever to find a way to make it up to his daughter.
Even if it was the last thing he did on this earth.
Greg knocked again, louder this time. The door swung open, revealing a rumpled looking Lawrence Dawson. “Hey, I just wanted to swing by and see how you’re liking that new flat screen.”
“You’re kidding, right? What’s not to like? Picture’s twice the size of what I had before, the color’s fantastic, and it hardly takes up any space.”
Greg beamed at him. “Just what I like to hear—another satisfied customer.” He lifted a box. “I also brought the wall mount kit I told you about. I’ve got time to hang it for you today, if you’d like.”
The old man cocked his head to the side before throwing the door open. “Sure, you can. I still can’t believe they make such a thing. If someone had told me fifty years ago I’d be watching a skinny television set that was hanging on my wall I’d have said they’d cracked their noggin.”
“Technology can be a beautiful thing, Mr. D.” He walked over to the set with the box. “You want it on this wall?”
“Yup.”
“Greg opened the box and removed the metal brackets. He glanced toward the closed kitchen door. “Is Melin in there baking again?”
“No. She took off about an hour ago. Said she had some errands to run and wanted to go to the library to do a little research on one of their computers.”
“You mean she doesn’t have her own? Hell, I couldn’t function without a computer at work. Tell her she needs to get herself a nice little tablet style computer, or at least a laptop. It’s probably all she needs.”
Mr. Lawrence gave him an incredulous look. “So she can stay even more cooped up than she already does? Hell no. She needs to get out and see some people.”
“I see your point, Mr. D.”
The old man stood. “You want something to eat, Hart? I’m getting myself a little something while she’s not here to fuss at me.”
“She got any of those strawberry tart things left? If so, I won’t turn one of those down. I worked through lunch.”
“Coming right up.”
Greg had the bracket attached to the wall already by the time Mr. D returned, carrying a plastic container under one arm and two glasses of milk.
“Here you go, Hart. I fixed this up for you to take with you. She’s adding candy to her collection.”
Greg tightened the last screw onto the bracket on the back of the flat screen. “Her collection?” He lifted the set and attached it to the wall bracket before turning back to him. “What do you mean?”
Mr. D. lifted the lid on the container and pushed it toward him.
Greg examined the contents with a low whistle. “I see what you mean. She must need some hellacious calming down. Either that, or she’s going into business for herself.” He bit off a bit of a praline and rolled his eyes. “Oh man. She could too, with all this stuff. There isn’t a thing in here I wouldn’t be willing to pay for. The bakery building is still empty. You ought to talk to her about reopening the place. I know it’s up to the new building codes.”
The old man nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that, Hart. I’ll do that. Or you could tell her yourself—If you happen to run into her at the library when you leave here.”
Greg nodded slowly at Mr. D., wondering what the old fart was up to. “I guess I could, at that. Although I don’t know why I’d want to subject myself to the tongue lashing she always seems to have waiting, especially for me.”
The serious look Mr. D. sent him had Greg wondering about the cause of it.
“Oh, I’ve
learned over the years that some things are worth subjecting yourself to a little discomfort. Take it from me, Hart. You don’t want to waste too many years before you figure that out for yourself.”
Greg rounded the last corner of the DIY section of the library and saw her seated before one of several computers set up for the patrons to use. He stood right in front of the monitor and still she remained focused on whatever she saw on the screen.
“What’s got you so interested you don’t even see me, Melinda?”
With two clicks of the mouse, she shut down the site she’d been on and closed the notepad in front of her. “Why are you here?”
“You know, I offer a couple of laptops and pads you might be interested in. What are you researching?”
“I-I was looking up some recipes.”
“Seems like you’d have plenty of those already.”
She stood, slipped the notepad in the side pocket of her purse before looping it over her shoulder. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was looking for heart healthy recipes for dad.”
“Good luck getting him to stick to a healthy diet.”
“He’ll stick to it if it’s all I cook for us. Anything more complicated than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, or toast is above his kitchen abilities.”
“You might have to cut back on your baking. He sneaks it every chance he gets, you know.” Her face didn’t reveal a thing. “And speaking of your baking, I was just telling your dad that the only bakery in town shut down a few months back and it’s still empty. I know for a fact the building’s up to code. Have you thought about turning those skills of yours into a business?”
She stopped, as though weighing the situation, then shook her head. “I can’t think about that right now. Not with dad.”
He stepped around the desk to meet her. “Well, it’s something to think about, anyway. Maybe in your future?” He looked around, making sure they didn’t have an audience. “Would you like to go to dinner with me sometime? Or even a cup of coffee maybe?” He reached out to brush a lock of hair from her forehead, frowned when she flinched and pulled away from him. “What, Melinda?” He shook his head. “What the hell did I ever do to make you hate me?”