Life Happens

by Sandra Steffen

  Although he didn’t shake his head, she knew what his answer would be. He raised his voice in order to be heard over the scream of a power saw. “Just say whatever you came to say. As you can see, I have things to do.”

  A thin chill hung on the edge of his words, and yet she felt her ears heating. She wanted to tell him to forget it, among other things. She spun around to retrace her steps down the hill, only to stop in her tracks. This wasn’t about her. It wasn’t even about Dean.

  Facing him again, she said, “All right. I’ll say what I came to say, if you’re willing to listen, that is.”

  His nod barely qualified as a nod at all, his stance strong and rigid. In that moment she saw him with such clarity, and knew he was bracing for a storm.

  It took some of the storm out of her. “I was wondering if you would like to meet your daughter.”

  Braced or not, he staggered as if he’d taken a two-by-four to the backs of the knees.

  “She’s staying with me at my house for the time being. The next ferry to Portland leaves in an hour. If you care to hear more, I’ll be at the dock until then.” There was nothing she could do about the quaver in her voice as she added, “She needs us, Dean. You know I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  Dean stood there blank and obviously shaken, and watched her walk away.

  “What the hell do you mean she needs us?”

  Mya hadn’t taken fifteen steps. She knew, because she’d counted.

  Inhaling a fortifying breath, she looked around for a place to sit. She hadn’t brought her car over from the mainland, and had asked someone at the ferry dock where she might find Dean. The man had pointed her in this direction. Half an hour later she’d spotted Dean’s blue-and-yellow Laker Construction sign from the harbor, and had walked up the hill.

  Jagged rocks and cliffs and countless bays and inlets made up the rugged coastline of Maine. The shoreline of Keepers Island was much the same. The summer people would be arriving in five or six weeks. Then, the slip would be full of sailboats with colorful sails and motorboats of all sizes. For now, the locals still had the island to themselves.

  They called this Coopers Hill, for it overlooked Coopers Harbor, and was the second-highest point on the island. Most of the houses here were large and expensive and belonged to the summer people. She understood the allure, for the view was breathtaking. Unfortunately, she saw no place to seek shelter from the strong ocean breeze.

  Still slightly winded from the uphill climb, she led the way to a park-style picnic table on a grassy knoll away from the screech of power tools and curious onlookers. When Dean was seated, she folded her hands on the table in front of her and tried not to fidget. As kids, she and Dean had come together with fierce and unbridled enthusiasm and not an ounce of shyness. Neither of them had grown shy over the years, therefore it wasn’t reticence that made them both feel awkward today.

  “I’m listening,” he prodded.

  Calling on the insight she’d garnered from all the self-help books she’d read, she tamped down her temper and said, “She knocked on my front door just after midnight on the eve of her birthday.”

  “Out of the blue?” he asked.

  Mya nodded.

  “What did she say?”

  “Something like, ‘Hey Mom, long time no see.’” Staring beyond Dean at the waves in the distance, Mya said, “Her name is Eleanor, but she prefers Elle.”

  “What is she—” His voice had been deep, and deepened even more when he began again, speaking their daughter’s name for the first time. “What is Elle like?”

  “She looks like me and acts like both of us.”

  He stared at her, absorbing the implications.

  And Mya said, “Our mothers would say we deserve that, wouldn’t they?”

  In another lifetime, they would have smiled.

  “She has more than one visible tattoo, a smart mouth, and before she ditched her semifinals last month, she was earning a four point at Penn State.”

  “She’s not attending college in Maine?” he asked.

  “The couple that adopted her moved to Pennsylvania when Elle was a baby.”

  Mya wondered if Dean was thinking what she was thinking—that all those times over the years, when she’d glimpsed a child the age their child would have been and had wondered if she might be theirs, had been for nothing, for Elle hadn’t been in Maine in eighteen years.

  “Her adoptive mother died when Elle was ten. I’ve spoken to her adoptive father. He seems like a decent man. Evidently there’s a stepmother in the picture, with all the cliché ramifications. Since she’s been a full-time student until recently, Elle still qualifies for her adoptive father’s health insurance.”

  “What does health insurance have to do with anything?”

  Mya was doing this badly. Trying again, she said, “A week ago I walked in on her while she was taking pills. It’s the reason she came to Maine, why she looked me up. The pills are chemotherapy.”

  He made it halfway to his feet, then sat heavily again.

  Feeling ill-equipped to explain, Mya simply said, “She has non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.”

  “She’s dying?”

  “No!” Waves broke far below, reminding her of an old saying about voices whispering in the desert and yelling near the ocean. Suddenly, Mya didn’t have it in her to yell anymore today. “If her cancer spreads from her lymph system, a bone marrow transplant will most likely be necessary. My bone marrow doesn’t match, but I’m not going to let her die.” She’d issued the words like a decree, daring him to make something of it.

  In the awkward silence that followed, they both stood. Hooking the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she said, “There’s one more thing you should know.”

  She supposed she couldn’t blame him for watching her the way a wary fisherman watched a tidal wave.

  “Elle didn’t come to Maine by herself. She brought her nine-and-a-half-month-old baby, Kaylie.” Mya removed a business card from her purse and handed it to him. His expression told her nothing of what he was thinking as he read the name on the front. Brynn’s. It was the name they’d planned to give their baby, if it was a girl. Instead, she’d been named by someone else.

  He flipped the card over with deft fingers, scanning the back where Mya had written her home address and phone number. “Elle wants to meet you, Dean. Are you busy tonight?”

  He shook his head.

  “Stop over about seven. She and Kaylie will be waiting.”

  Needing suddenly to escape his probing gaze, she started along the path toward the harbor below.

  “And what about you, Mya?”

  His voice stopped her in her tracks, and held her there.

  “Will you be there, too?” he asked.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she gave him a nod that might have meant everything or nothing, then walked away.

  “You almost made it an entire minute that time, Mya,” Elle said.

  “Very funny.”

  It was after seven on every clock in the house. The interminable day dragged on.

  Elle sat cross-legged on the floor opposite Kaylie, who banged a wooden spoon lustily on an upside-down spaghetti pot. While Mya had been paying Dean a visit on the island, Elle had spoken with her doctors in Pennsylvania, who had arranged for her to have her blood tested at Portland Memorial. It meant more waiting, more worrying and a lot more praying. Mya paced, wondering how people did this.

  “Bottom line,” Elle said, tying Kaylie’s shoe. “Do you think he’ll show?”

  Mya and her mother exchanged a meaningful look.

  And Mya said, “He’ll be here.”

  Millie seconded it with a firm nod. “The ferry’s always late when the ocean’s rough.”

  Needing something to do, Mya fed Casper. Jeffrey had taken the orange cats back to his place, along with the rest of his things. Upon learning that Elle and Kaylie had grown attached to the white one, he’d left it behind for them. Silently, Mya had listed all the reasons
it hadn’t worked out between them. He was too tall, too young, too sexy, too nice. Especially too nice. He was too calm, too understanding, too patient. He was a doctor, and she hated hospitals. And she’d known, watching him walk away, that none of it would have mattered if she’d loved him. She didn’t know why she couldn’t love him. Maybe Claire had been right. Maybe love wasn’t a decision.

  Mya only knew that if it was, that kind of love wasn’t enough for her.

  A knock sounded on the front door, freezing everyone in place, even Kaylie. Millicent recovered first. “I’ll get that,” she said, smoothing her shaking hands down her red slacks. “In about a minute, the awkward first round will be over and done with once and for all.”

  She went to answer the door.

  CHAPTER 7

  D ean stood on Mya’s front porch, more nervous than a thirty-six-year-old man in his right mind ought to be. When had he ever been in his right mind where Mya Donahue was concerned?

  True to his word, he’d apologized to his youngest carpenter, then surprised everybody by giving them the rest of the day off, with pay. After explaining to his brother the reason behind Mya’s visit, he’d left Grady to tell the rest of the family. Dean had had more pressing things to do. He’d arrived at the ferry docks half an hour early. As if that wait hadn’t been grueling enough, he’d been tempted to show Pete Jackson, the ferry captain where the gas was.

  At least he didn’t have to wait long for his knock on Mya’s door to be answered. But it was Millicent, not Mya, who threw the door open.

  “Dean Laker, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself. Hi, Millie.” But his gaze went to the slip of a girl standing a few paces behind her.

  If he hadn’t seen Mya earlier that very day, he would have believed time had stood still. A dozen emotions, none of them pleasant, had been scrambling for attention ever since Mya’s visit. The moment he laid eyes on Elle, that changed, and there was only awe.

  He entered without waiting for an invitation. Transferring the gifts from his arms to Millicent’s, he smiled at the girl. She was slender. Too slender? She was pale, but not overly so. Please God, he thought. She wore no makeup that he could see, no jewelry except a toe ring and a simple sterling band on her middle finger.

  Bypassing a formal introduction, he took both her hands in his. “You’re beautiful.”

  Light blond hair brushed her forehead, framing her eyes, which darkened expressively. “At least that’s original. Everyone else says I’m the picture of Mya at my age.”

  She tugged at her hands, and too soon he had to release them.

  “Although I have to admit,” she continued, glancing away, “this morning when I stubbed my toe and was hopping around cussing, she said I reminded her of you.”

  His next grin came a little easier, but only until he followed the movement he caught out of the corner of his eye. Mya entered the room, holding the baby on her hip. The sight of it cut off his air.

  “There’s Kaylie now,” Millicent said a little too loudly. “I’m assuming these gifts are for her?”

  “Some are for Elle, too,” he said.

  Elle did the honors, unwrapping a soft, silky stuffed doll and a picture book for Kaylie, and a simple charm on a silver chain for herself. Next came two baseball caps, one in a size medium, one small enough to fit the baby.

  Dean said, “Lakers are Red Sox fans from way back.”

  He wasn’t at all sure what she would say, or if she would accept her status as a Laker. She looked at him as if studying him, feature by feature, then handed the doll to him, indicating that he should present it to Kaylie.

  At five feet eleven, he towered over all these females, but as he took that doll with him across the room, he knew it wasn’t his height that made him feel like a gangly teenager. It certainly wasn’t the baby.

  He spoke quietly to her, holding the doll toward her. She looked at it, then at Dean, then hid her face in Mya’s neck. God, she was adorable. Her brief flirtation with shyness didn’t last long. Unable to contain her curiosity, she studied him solemnly, much the way Elle had. Her eyes were blue, her cheeks pudgy, her wispy blond hair adorably flyaway. He must have passed the test, because she grinned at him, then held out both hands.

  Surprised, he took her, lifting her easily into his arms. He didn’t know whether it was her toothy grin that did it, or the slight weight of her as he settled her comfortably on one arm. But he was a goner.

  Elle said, “You know your way around babies.”

  In the awkward silence that followed, he met Mya’s gaze. It required effort to move it elsewhere. “I practiced on my brothers’ kids.”

  “Mya said I have cousins.”

  “Five in all,” he said.

  “No shit?”

  Elle ducked her head, and Dean realized he’d just witnessed another brief flirtation with shyness. But her outburst broke the ice.

  “Believe me,” he said, “My mother and two sisters-in-law share your dismay.”

  Before anyone knew how it had happened, they were all seated in Mya’s living room. Kaylie sat utterly still on Dean’s lap, the doll on the floor. She peered up at Dean, transfixed as he talked about his family on Keepers Island.

  “Grady and Gretchen have two boys, Michael and Greg. Reed and Sylvia have three, Cole, Brad, and their youngest, Dougie. Their mothers are always telling them to wash their hands and put down the toilet seat, not that they ever listen. Sylvia claims they have selective hearing, like their fathers. The dogs like it, though.”

  “Dogs?” Elle asked.

  “As many dogs as kids. All males, too. Their houses are zoos, but thanks to the boys, the dogs never go thirsty.”

  Millie made a face as his meaning sank in, but Elle laughed out loud.

  Mya watched the exchange quietly.

  Dean Laker looked good on her couch. That shouldn’t have surprised her, for he’d always looked good anywhere. But he’d grown up. No longer an adolescent boy, his voice was deeper, his hands steadier, his chin stronger, his gaze more direct. Not that he directed it at her. His attention was trained on Elle. Mya not only understood his fascination and preoccupation with the girl, she shared it. It was difficult not to think about what might have been.

  The phone rang. When Millie went to answer it, Dean said, “The family wants to meet you, Elle.”

  “Then you already told them about me?” Elle asked.

  He nodded. “They’ve all waited a long time.”

  Mya tensed as Dean’s gaze met hers. Maybe he’d meant it as a personal affront. Maybe not. But that was how it felt to her.

  Millie returned almost instantly, handing Elle the phone. “It’s for you.”

  Rising slowly, Elle said, “Is it my dad?”

  Mya couldn’t have been the only one that heard the wistful hope in her voice. Sparing a glance at Dean, Millicent said, “She said she’s your little sister.”

  Kaylie started to fuss, and Elle paused in indecision. Huffing slightly, Millie reached for the baby. “Would you like your diaper changed, young lady? And then a bottle?”

  Suddenly Mya and Dean were alone.

  Poor Dean. Clearly, his nose was out of joint, and Mya couldn’t even blame him.

  “Dean, I—”

  “Let’s keep this about Elle, shall we?” He jerked to his feet. “I think I’ll get some air.”

  Donning a jacket, she followed him onto her front porch. Dean stood near the top step, facing the street. The evening was quiet at dusk, crocuses and daffodils blooming along either side of the sidewalk, their colors muted in the fading twilight.

  Mya hugged her arms close and said, “It’s been an emotional day for Elle. It’s only natural that she wants, maybe even needs, to speak with her, er, other father.”

  Seeing his shoulders stiffen, she chastised herself, wondering how else she might rub salt in the wound. “I think keeping this about Elle is a good idea.” She reached out, instinctively finding his hand.
“The important thing is she’s here. I know she’s glad you came tonight.”

  He looked at her, an emotion she couldn’t name hiding in the backs of his eyes. He almost smiled, until he remembered why he didn’t. He drew his hand away, and she knew that in her haste to reassure him, she’d gone too far. The animosity was back between them, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  So what else was new?

  “Trevor wet the bed again. And Bubbles died.”

  Elle dropped tiredly onto the bed in the room she shared with Kaylie. “The new Bubbles?” she asked her little sister.

  “Mama says he was just sleeping.” Lauren made a scoffing sound into the phone.

  The girl didn’t sound nine.

  “Goldfish don’t have long life spans, Lauren.”

  “’Specially not mine.” She sounded genuinely sad. “Elle? When are you coming home?”

  Home. The word resonated inside Elle. That house in Harrisburg hadn’t felt like home since the day Brunhilde moved in. Elle loved her dad, and Lauren and Trevor, too. She didn’t know where she fit in, though. She thought about Millie and Dean and Mya. She didn’t hear any voices coming from Mya’s living room, and wondered if her dad, she grimaced, her birth father—grimacing again, she finally decided to think of him as Dean—had left. Earlier, she’d told Mya she’d talked to her doctor back in Pennsylvania. But she hadn’t told her he’d given her the results of her last blood test. Elle was scared. She wanted her mom, her real mom, the mom that had raised her until she was a little older than Lauren was now.

  Lauren wanted to know when she was coming home. Feeling hollow inside, Elle had an important decision to make. She really needed to talk to her dad.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Elle said.

  And Lauren sighed on the other end of the line. There were almost ten years between them, and yet the sisters had always gotten along well. Much to Brunhilde’s chagrin. She was always saying Lauren was exactly like her. Fortunately for Lauren, it wasn’t true. Elle had always thought the girl was a lot like their father. Elle wondered who she was like, not outwardly, but deep inside where she kept everything private. Who did she take after there?