A Silence in the Heart (Holmes Crossing Book 4)
Page 23
Not to be reminded of the one thing I wanted more than anything else but couldn’t allow myself to.
Take care of Celia.
"I don't know," I said.
"The estate isn't settled yet, either," Duncan said. "I'm worried about what will be left for her."
I was too. The house we were in now was huge. I wasn't sure how my brother had afforded it on his income as an electrician. Phil, the lawyer for the estate, had hinted that there were a few insurance and estate issues to be dealt with, and not to make any hasty decisions.
"For now, until all the legalities are done, I feel I should stay here at the house with Celia," I said. "I want to make sure everything is settled in her life before…"
I stopped, realizing I was jumping ahead of the scattered plans I had made on the flight here.
"Before what?" Duncan asked, his voice curt.
I looked up at him, trying to hold his narrowed gaze, reminding myself that his anger wasn't directed at me. At least, I hoped it wasn't.
"Actually, to be honest I haven't thought beyond getting to bed tonight and trying to figure out what to do tomorrow morning."
My throat thickened at the thought of Celia living the rest of her life without her parents. However, years of suppressing my own emotions for the sake of peace, for the sake of the greater good, kicked in. Lessons learned the hard way through the dark and rocky paths my life had taken. I tried a different tack.
"Do you know why they each made separate wills? Why they named different guardians?" Or why Francine thought that I, with my itinerant lifestyle and too many scars from the past, would be a suitable guardian?
The slow shaking of his head was his only answer.
"I thought maybe, because you lived close to them, you might know their reasons…" my voice trailed away, and I pulled in a deep breath.
"They'd only been here a couple of months, and I hadn't spent a lot of time with them." He sighed again, tunneling his fingers through his thick and unruly hair. He looked over at me and for a moment his gaze softened, and I caught the faintest glimpse of the old attraction. But this wasn't the time or place and we both had other priorities.
"Jer had always said they'd agreed to make your parents Celia's guardians," I said. Though part of me had struggled with his reasoning, I knew I wasn't guardian material.
"My father's accident in the bush last year changed all that," Duncan said. "There's no way Mom and Dad can take care of a young girl right now." Duncan sat straighter, scratching his temple with a forefinger. "Now all we need to know is how long you're sticking around?"
"I won't leave until things are settled in Celia's life."
"So not right away?"
"No. Of course not. It's her birthday next week—" my voice tangled on the words, and I stopped, memories of the day of her birth ingrained in my memory.
"Of course. I can see that you want to keep her here till then,” he said.
The direction of the conversation puzzled me. His impersonal tone warned me to simply take his question at face value. I doubted he was looking to fan the old, barely glowing spark between us. I certainly wasn't, though I would be fooling myself to deny the attraction he still held.
"My parents will be glad to hear that," he continued, leaning forward, clasping his hands between his knees. "I'm sure they are also hoping you’ll until Christmas."
"I'm hoping the guardianship issue will be resolved before then. As well as the estate." Besides requiring taking a month off work, I wasn't sure I wanted to be around for Christmas. That family-centered time of the year had become more difficult each passing year. Each dark twist and turn of my life had removed more people from it. My own mother and her crazy life, my foster mother.
Now my foster brother.
Christmas was a season when all those losses created a darkness that no amount of candles or carols could brighten.
"What's to resolve?" he asked. "You're the guardian. At least, according to the lawyer."
I frowned, trying to piece together what he was saying. "I was under the impression that we would do this jointly."
"You won't need my help. I can't do much."
"What do you mean? You're as much the guardian as I am."
I had presumed the joint guardianship was the reason for his smoldering-by-the-fireplace act. I thought he resented my presence in Celia's life.
"I don't have the foggiest clue why Jerrod named me. After my father's accident, I thought they would name my sister, Esther, as guardian. Not me. I'm not capable."
"I'm sure you're more than capable. Plus, you have a lot of support." As I sat in the church, filled to capacity with friends and community members, a peculiar poignancy had filtered through my grief. I realized that Jer, through Fran, had found something here in Holmes Crossing that I hadn't in my peripatetic wanderings.
A place where they belonged. A place where Celia would have grandparents, an aunt and an uncle who lived normal lives, in a community of people who cared.
"That doesn't change anything." Duncan heaved out a sigh as he rubbed his forefinger over his temple. Then he looked over at me again. "You may as well know that I can't…can’t help you out with Celia. I've got too much going on in my life. I'm not in any position to care for her."
His words were a jolt.
"But how…? Why would you want to…? Jer wanted you as guardian…you can't just walk out on her."
He looked up at me, his eyes flat, as if all emotion had been drained out of them. "I'm not walking out on her. I just won't be involved in the day-to-day stuff. She's all yours. I won't fight you for her. I can't be her guardian. I just can't."
She's all yours.
His words plucked at a deeper, harder pain. And yet, for a moment a tendril of hope, of yearning, slipped upward.
She’s all yours. You don’t have to share.
Then a chilling thought occurred to me. "Is this because she's adopted?" I asked, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "Because she's not a blood relative? Is that why you won't take responsibility?"
"That has nothing to do with it," he snapped. "She's as much my niece as any natural child of Francine's would be." He shot one more glance over his shoulder at the pictures behind him, as if something there had triggered his outburst.
For the tiniest moment, I thought his resistance was due to those few days we'd been together all those years ago, then dismissed that thought as crazy. The key words were, all those years ago. I stopped replying to his texts after those few blissful days we spent together. After I returned to the States and my own messy life and realized I was only fooling myself. I assumed he'd given up on me. In fact, I knew he had given up, because he had gotten married six months after we parted ways.
"Seriously. I can't take care of that little girl," he said.
"I realize that you’re busy, but you’re saying you won't help me out at all?"
He shook his head again, rising from his seat. "Sorry. It won't work for me. I just… I can't. I’ve got the logging operation to deal with, and a farm to run. And there’s no way I can…" he paused then swung away from me.
He grabbed the heavy coat draped over the back of one of the chairs, slipped it on and glanced my way again. I don’t know if it was my fragile emotional state, or my own reaction to him, but it seemed to me I caught a glimpse of warmth in his eyes, a softening of his features. Then there was a shift, and it was gone.
“Goodbye. I’m sure we’ll be in touch,” was all he said, then strode out of the room. The closing of the door echoed harshly in the silence he left behind.
I sat a moment trying to absorb what had just happened. Did he seriously think I could do this by myself?
I thought of Celia upstairs, alone and my throat thickened.
This wasn't right, I thought, leaning back on the couch, confusion mingling with sorrow. Celia was supposed to have been settled in a stable, loving family. When I heard that Jerrod had died, though it cut me to the core, one sliver of my so
ul was thankful that Celia at least had an uncle, an aunt and grandparents. She would be taken care of, and surrounded by people who loved and supported her.
What was Francine thinking, naming me Celia’s guardian? She knew where I had come from, and what my life was like. I pressed my hand to my mouth, my emotions doing battle.
I didn't deserve Celia then, and much as my lonely, aching heart yearned to take her in, to take her home, I knew I wasn't what she needed. I couldn't be the mother she needed any more than my mother could be the mother I needed. Celia deserved a better legacy.
And even as my mind tried to process this latest complication, another thought sifted through the fog and settled with startling clarity.
Was Francine trying to undo what had happened almost five years ago, when they had they adopted my baby? My daughter?
Celia.
If you want to find out more about Miriam, Duncan and Celia, you can purchase the book, This Place here:
This Place