Building a Family

by M. K. Stelmack

  Instead, he said, “You? A dad?”

  “I seriously doubt it.”

  “Still.”

  “Could be worse. Could be four kids.”

  “Four of mine equals one of yours.”

  Given the trouble Ariel was in, Seth was probably right. “Listen, I don’t want you thinking badly of Connie,” Ben said. “She’s changed. Or maybe it’s that she’s gone back to the way she was when she was a kid. You know, friendly to everyone, wanting to fix all the damaged souls. I mean, remember the Polar Dip. Out there, half naked to earn money—”

  “Yeah,” Seth said. “I was there. That’s when I knew for sure she had changed. Man, I was so relieved. I thought I’d done permanent damage.”

  “What?”

  “After Dad died, I rode Connie hard about everything. No wonder she never felt good enough. Especially when it came to you. I made it pretty clear she was to keep her hands off you. It used to get to me that, with you, she could do no wrong. But I was worse. With me, she could do no right.”

  Seth winced. “I shouldn’t have got in the way. I acted like you two couldn’t figure out how to be together for yourselves.”

  They hadn’t figured it out, but stating that would only invite Seth to become involved. Still, there was one area of Connie’s life Seth needed to know about.

  “Remember Trevor?”

  Seth stiffened. “What’s he done to her?”

  Seth was pacing tight circles between the sawhorse and door by the time Ben got him up to speed.

  “I was worried about Connie and Ariel staying in the house alone last night,” Ben said. “I drove by their place at three in the morning.”

  “It’s all the other hours I’m thinking about.”

  “You and me both.”

  “I should be there. Just the idea of Connie in danger means I won’t rest.”

  But wasn’t that the point she’d tried to make to Ben at Seth’s wedding? There never had been anyone else. There had only ever been him. She was as alone as him. He’d only heard part of her message about not wanting him. He’d missed the part about not wanting to need him.

  He’d deal with Derek. Let him sleep it off on his couch. Or his bed, since he’d no plans to use it tonight.

  Ben tossed the pizza box into his garbage. “You go home to your family, Seth. I’ve got Connie covered.”

  * * *

  THE WEDDING PHOTO was gone from Lindsay’s desk in her office at the town hall. Instead, it was covered with paper, sticky notes and a take-out burger wrapper, a paper coffee cup...and deodorant? Lindsay swept that last item into the open maw of her purse as Connie sat.

  Lindsay’s wedding ring was also gone from her hand.

  The half hour meeting about the year-end event stretched into a full hour with both her and Lindsay riffling through piles of paper to locate the correct form, only to riffle in a different direction for another one. Forms Connie had completed and emailed back to Lindsay months ago. Now today, when everything should’ve been in place, Lindsay couldn’t find any record of them on her computer and was hoping to find them in the paper mess.

  “I’m so sorry,” Lindsay said for about the millionth time. “I’m usually not so disorganized.”

  “No worries,” Connie said, “we all have days like this.” She shook loose a sheet from the pile. “Is this it?”

  “Yes,” Lindsay said. “How did you do that?”

  “Practice. You should see my bed. At any one time, you can find thermal socks and my bikini.”

  Tears welled in Lindsay’s eyes. “My bed is empty.”

  Lindsay blinked fast and furious, and Connie dived for the door, closing it so Lindsay could fall apart in private.

  “Hey,” Connie said softly, coming around the desk. “Want to talk?”

  Lindsay breathed in and out, in and out, pointlessly smoothing the edge of the desk with her fingertips. “It’s over. We’ve agreed to that.”

  “Oh.” Derek was a jerk, but he’d been Lindsay’s jerk. “Oh. I am sorry.”

  “He told me that he had loved her for a long, long time. Since before she and Luke got married. He said he liked me, thought he loved me, at least enough to make a family, and so he did. But a year ago she gave him an opportunity and he took it.

  “It’s ironic, really. I can almost sympathize with him. I know what it is to love somebody who doesn’t love you back to the same degree.”

  “Ouch.”

  “He laughed when I said that and left.”

  And ended up at Ben’s place. He had told her about Derek’s visit when she’d come home from work to find him stretched out on her couch. Derek was sleeping it off on Ben’s couch, and Ben had decided he’d be camping out in her living room every night until the issue of Trevor was settled. Ariel was sleeping downstairs and fine with the arrangement.

  Ben had also confessed that he’d told Seth about Trevor, and that if Ben wasn’t on the couch, then Seth would be, and no one wanted that, right? Then he’d wished her good-night and flicked off the lamp. Connie hadn’t argued—couldn’t, really—and she’d slept better than she had in ages. Slept straight through Ariel leaving for school and Ben leaving for...somewhere. She’d no business knowing.

  Connie covered one of Lindsay’s restless hands with her own. “You will find someone who will love you, and you alone.”

  “You mean like how Ben loves you?”

  Connie withdrew her hand and sucked in her breath, every bit as deeply as Lindsay had. “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you love him? I don’t get it.”

  “I do love him.”

  “Do you love someone else more?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then?”

  “I need to deal with things from my past before I can move on. Otherwise I’ll screw it up again.”

  “So? Who said you have to be perfect at love? Who said you even have to be good at it? You just have to keep showing up.” She lifted her eyes to Connie’s. “Practice.”

  Practice makes perfect.

  She’d struck Ben’s name from her list. Was she ready to practice with him again? Not while Trevor was on the loose. She promised herself and everyone on the list she’d stick to it, and she would. Not giving up was her new way to love. Lindsay pushed back her chair and stood. “I’m quitting.”

  Connie blinked. Had she missed something? “What?”

  “You can take my job. You’re better at it than me, anyway.”

  “No. Lindsay. Listen—”

  “You’re right. I need to deal with things, too. I’ve practiced all the wrong things. I’ve just been thinking that if I kept at it, if I kept being friends with Shari, she’d be friends back. If I worked hard, I’d be a good mom. If I looked nice, Derek would love me. None of it worked. Even my kids—” Lindsay took in a breath deep enough to suck all the oxygen out of the room “—even my kids blame me for their dad leaving.”

  Lindsay bent and picked up her purse. “You’re right, Connie. Love’s too important to just hope it’ll work out. Look at me, look at you.” Lindsay’s voice had risen to a squeak. She dropped her fat purse on the desk and began to toss in random stuff.

  “Linds, I get that things are bad right now—”

  “Things are no worse now than they were on Valentine’s Day when I thought Derek loved me.” Into her purse went a chunky earring and a paisley mug. “Except now I know the truth.” She stuffed in a pen topped with a giant daisy and the mouse pad printed with Live, Love, Laugh. “I’m not faking it anymore.” Then the framed photo of the kids. “I’m not.”

  Lindsay swiped away her tears and gripped her Mary Poppins of a bag. “I’m leaving.”

  Which she did, with a terrific slam of the door.

  The force lifted a sheet off the desk and it drifted to Connie’s feet. A request for security�
�the one form they still needed.

  Wow. How perfect was that?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WHEN THE EMAIL with the paternity results popped into his phone, Ben’s courage failed him. No way could he fire off a text to Connie and Ariel and leave it at that. The outcome, either one, mattered too much. He drove over to the house and walked inside.

  Connie was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, her laptop open in front of her. She wore pink flannel pajamas, her hair scrunched in a high ponytail with the big pink tie-thing he well remembered.

  All that pink was not good.

  She took one look at him and reached for her phone. “I’ll tell Ariel to come home as soon as she can.”

  “She’ll skip school if you do that.”

  Connie’s fingers didn’t stop moving over the keypad. “Nearly home time, anyway.” Message sent, she pointed to the fridge. “Pick your poison.”

  Ben cracked open a can of Coke and wondered if it was the last time he’d drink as a man with no family obligations. Parenthood was like getting conscripted into a job for which he had no qualifications, but failure resulted in human tragedy.

  “Why are you in pink?”

  “I’m getting my résumé ready.” She’d returned to the laptop and was squinting at the screen, pressing on the keys.

  “What? What!” She exploded at the screen. “Line up, will you?”

  She stripped the pink hair tie from her hair, rustled the blond mass into a wild stack Ben’s fingers twitched to smooth out and then she bunched it all back together into its original shape. The whole operation took about thirteen seconds, and he remembered it well from every time she’d been frustrated since she was ten.

  Ben rounded the island and glanced at her screen. “Looks good to me.”

  She pointed her pink-tipped finger at the page. “No. See. This diamond should have the same spacing as the one above it. I got the other one to work but this one is an ab-so-lute pig.”

  “Try hitting the tab key.”

  “I have! It makes it worse.”

  Fresh out of ideas, he changed the subject. “What are you applying for?”

  “The position of event coordinator for the town opened up.”

  Something in her voice, with its studied flatness, put him on alert. “Isn’t that Lindsay’s job?”

  “It was. She left it.”

  “Left it. When?”

  “Today. Two hours ago. During my meeting with her. I was helping her look for a form and she told me that she and Derek were done and she was quitting. Then she suggested I’d be better at her job than she was, and then...and then...”

  Connie did the thirteen-second hair trick again.

  “Derek says she yells. Did she yell?”

  Connie’s phone pinged. “Ariel. She’s on her way.”

  “Did Lindsay yell at you?”

  “She got louder, yeah.” Connie thumbed out a text, presumably to Ariel. “That’s fine. I understand.”

  But it probably accounted for the color of her outfit.

  “Connie,” he said, trying to sound as if it were a point of interest only, “did you wear pink when we broke up?”

  “What? No.” She scowled at her screen, then with a growl pushed it away and lowered her face into her hands. “I ate pink, okay? I ate buckets of strawberry ice cream and berry popsicles. Strawberry milkshakes. Cupcakes with pink icing. And ham. Straight from the package. It was gross. To this day, I can’t stand ham.”

  “You regretted it?”

  “No. I didn’t eat anything else, so I didn’t gain a pound.”

  Ben bit back a smile. “I meant, did you regret breaking up with me?”

  She spread her fingers and peeked out at him. “I did and I didn’t.”

  “Because you felt free.”

  “Because I finally wasn’t taking advantage of your love. I finally did something nice for you.”

  “It didn’t feel that way.”

  She shut her fingers up tight. “I know.”

  “I forgot to eat,” he said. “I drove south and fueled up the truck, but skipped meals. Days would go by.” He paused. “I didn’t gain a pound, either.”

  Her fingers dug into her forehead so hard they’d leave marks. “I’m sorry, Ben. I know I already said that but I have nothing else to say.”

  “Don’t forget about how I wouldn’t let you go, either.” He tugged her hands away. “Let’s just say we both made mistakes and leave it at that.” He didn’t want to leave it at that. He wanted to pull her close and breathe in her mussed hair and ask—beg—her to forgive him for Miranda, to take him back. But he didn’t want to put her in that position.

  The front door flew open. “I’m home!”

  Home. He and Connie exchanged smiles.

  They triangulated themselves around the kitchen table, Ben’s phone in the middle.

  “All right,” Connie said, her eyes on Ariel. “How about we all agree that no matter what the results are, we all have to stay seated at the table for a full five minutes afterward?”

  Ben took in Ariel’s cornered look and the blush that now suffused Connie’s cheeks. “Sure, but as for the sixth minute,” he said, “I plan to flip the table and flop to the floor.”

  Connie narrowed her eyes. “Open the email.”

  He stretched his arm out full length and tapped on the attached document. They all leaned in, heads inches apart. Ben began reading as soon as the words sprang up, until he came to the only one that mattered: negative.

  He should’ve felt total relief but instead there was a sliver of...disappointment.

  Ariel’s face was stone. “Well, I guess that’s that.” Her chair scraped like nails as she pushed away from the table.

  Connie pointed at her. “You promised.”

  Just like that Ariel dropped onto the hardwood chair. She looked at Ben. “I guess you were right.”

  He held her gaze. “If I were wrong, I wouldn’t have minded.”

  “Yeah, well, me, neither.” She began to trace the wood grain on the table with her finger.

  Connie held up her hands, palms out. “All right, guys. Enough with this big dramatic display of emotion. Let’s just coolly, calmly discuss our options.”

  Ariel rolled her eyes, and for the second time during his visit, he worked hard not to smile. This was the Connie he knew and would always love.

  “Nothing changes,” Connie said. “I’ll still keep working to get custody of you. I got a terrific job opportunity today, so we’ll be all right. It has health benefits, so you won’t have to worry about your teeth.”

  “I’m not worried about my teeth,” Ariel muttered.

  “You’re not, but I am,” Connie said.

  Ariel circled a knot in the wood grain. “Thanks, Auntie Connie.”

  Connie didn’t miss a beat. “You’re welcome. Now, could you please help me with my stupid résumé?”

  Shoulder to shoulder at Connie’s laptop, the two main females in Ben’s life began gently bickering their way through the problem at hand. They were set for life, those two.

  Providing Trevor didn’t screw it up for them.

  He waited until Ariel explained about tabs and headers and then had gone down to her room with a muffin before starting in.

  “I spoke to Paul at the police station about Trevor. He’s on their radar, but they’re not saying where he is, if they know. McCready’s our best shot. Right now, he’s our only shot.”

  “What about the Calgary gang? What did Paul say about them?”

  “He wasn’t aware of them, and I didn’t have much info to give him. He said to call it in if any of us noticed anything or saw anybody suspicious.”

  Connie stripped out the hair tie and started in on her hair again. Thirteen seconds was all it took for him to come to her and tug he
r from her bar stool into his arms. Man, she felt good in her soft pajamas and—

  “You smell pink,” he said.

  She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, and she flattened herself to him. Even her cheek was pressed against his shirtfront. He allowed the rightness, the goodness, of the moment to soak into him. This. Forever. No matter what.

  “Let me love you, Connie.”

  Her arms tightened hard enough to leave an imprint. “What if Trevor hurts you?”

  “Take me to the hospital.”

  “If you die? And don’t tell me that can’t happen. It can.”

  “Then you get everything.”

  “What?” She lifted her head and searched his face.

  “Who else?”

  Her eyes widened, took on a hunted look. He cupped her face. “I’m not asking you to marry me. Not that I’d refuse if you asked me. All I’m saying is that when you ‘take advantage of me,’ as you put it, I feel good. I don’t feel used. I feel useful.”

  Her pink lips parted. “That’s a very dangerous idea, Ben. Especially in this house, which needs a ton of fixing.”

  “So...you’re letting me in?”

  “Trevor’s on my list. Not yours.”

  “How many are left on it?”

  “Trevor and Miranda, but if I deal with Trevor, that means Ariel’s old life is behind her and I’ll feel square with Miranda.”

  Then am I in? The question he desperately wanted to ask, the question that made him weak to ask.

  She stepped back and he let her. She looped her thumbs in his side belt loops, an old, casual act that had always been hers. “I get that you like feeling useful, Ben. Except with me, a guy should only have to take so much of that. I don’t want to be a chore, an obligation. Someone you’re constantly having to fix. I want to be a joy. The kind of person that I am with everyone else. But with you and Seth and everyone else on my list, I was ugly, a broken piece of—”

  “I never thought of you that way.”

  “But I did. I figured that if I could cross those names off my list, then I would be good to move on. I could say that I’d changed. I really want that—I said it before and I still mean it. But now, with Trevor, I don’t know what it’ll take to clear him off the list. So where does that leave you?”