From Here to Paternity

by Christine Rimmer

  “You need to start considering how you’re going to protect Mia.”

  She hugged herself tighter. “Protect her? I am protecting her.”

  “You are getting angry.”

  “I’m not. I’m really not.” She said it too fast—and too loud. And she knew she did. “I…what, Brand? What exactly are you hinting at? I think you’d better just say it.”

  “All right. First of all, you need to change your locks—Sissy does have a key, right?”

  Charlene gulped—and hedged, “Well. Yes, I suppose so.”

  That infinitely patient expression of his was looking a little strained. “You told me she had a key, remember? That first morning, when you found Mia on the sofa.”

  “Yes, okay. She has a key. What are you getting at?”

  “She has a key, Charlene. You don’t have an alarm system. She could let herself in here anytime and you couldn’t stop her.”

  “I wouldn’t want to stop her. She’s my sister. My house is her house.”

  “I understand why you say that. And I think it’s…admirable, that you’ve stuck by her all these years, no matter what she’s done, that you’ve always kept your door open for her. But I think you need to admit to yourself that things are different now.”

  Her chest felt tight—as if a band of steel encased it. She wanted to demand that he stop right there, leave it alone, drop the subject, let it go…

  He did no such thing. “Charlene…” He took a step toward her.

  She put out a hand. “Don’t.”

  He backed off. But he didn’t give up. “Face it. She could let herself in and walk out with Mia every bit as easily as she walked in with her two months ago. You need to change your locks and then you’ve got to start thinking about taking steps to either adopt Mia or to be declared her guardian. The way it stands now, Sissy could show up at any time and tell you she wants her baby back. You’d have to hand Mia over. And then your sister could simply…disappear again, same as she did last year, same as she did two months ago. Think about it. Come on. You and I both know you owe it to that baby not to let her do that.”

  Her heart galloped painfully and her mouth had gone cotton-ball dry. “I can’t. I could never—”

  “You have to think of Mia, Charlene. You have to face that there’s no way your sister can give that baby a decent childhood, given the kind of life she’s living, no way she can provide a good start for a baby, no way she—”

  “No.” Charlene just wanted him to stop. She wanted him to quit telling her this awful truth that she still wasn’t ready to accept. She held her arms tight around herself and she shook her head, whispered again, “No. Uh-uh. No…”

  He stepped closer.

  She hung her head. “I can’t, Brand. No way. Not yet. Maybe not ever…”

  He dared to clasp her shoulders. “Charlene. Listen.”

  She made herself look at him. “Oh, don’t you see? Don’t you see what you’re asking? I get to be…Aunt Irma now? It’s ten years ago all over again, only this time instead of Aunt Irma taking my sister away from the only home she’s ever known, it’s me. Taking her baby from her. How could I do that?”

  “It’s not the same,” he argued. “If you really think about it, if you put all that guilt you insist on carrying around with you aside, you’ll know that it’s not. You were a responsible person when you were eighteen. It would have been a hell of a job to take on, to bring up Sissy yourself. But if anyone was capable of that, you were. Sissy’s not you. Sissy abandon—”

  “Stop.” She shook off his grip. “Just…don’t say that word, okay? Any word but that. Please.”

  He put up both hands, palms out, and backed away a few steps. “Fine. All right. Sissy is a troubled young woman. She behaves irresponsibly, she—”

  “Oh, come on. There are a lot of mothers who aren’t the best they could be, a lot of young, confused mothers who just need a break from all the responsibilities that come with having a child. That doesn’t mean someone should take their kids away from them.”

  “Charlene. It’s a cycle, you have to know that. Bad mothers make troubled kids and troubled kids grow up to be bad parents. It goes around and around. At some point someone has to step forward and break the damn cycle.”

  “Like Aunt Irma did?”

  He swore low. “How many times do I have to say it? This situation and what happened back then just aren’t the same—or wait. Maybe they are the same. You’ve just got the parts mixed up.”

  “What do you mean, the parts?”

  “Let Sissy take that baby off and try to raise her. Then it’ll be ten years ago all over again. Poor Mia will get some serious bad parenting—just like Sissy did when Irma stole her away with the help of a misguided judge.”

  “No. Oh, no…” Charlene shook her head some more, as if continued denial could block out what he was telling her, could make it less true—and yes. She did know it was true. He had it right, as much as it hurt to hear it.

  But how could she do that to Sissy? How could she even consider trying to take her sister’s child?

  “I know.” She confessed it at last with a hard sigh. “I know you’re right. I know that, unless Sissy makes some major changes in the way she lives her life, Mia won’t have a chance if Sissy takes her away. But I can’t…push my sister aside and take her place with Mia. I mean it, Brand. Don’t ask me to. I can’t.”

  “I’m not asking you.” He said it so gently. And his eyes were so sad. “I’m saying what has to be said, that’s all. It’s not about me. Or you. Or even Sissy anymore. Now it’s about Mia.” He gestured toward the living room where Mia lay in her playpen, waving her arms and legs, making happy little cooing sounds. “It’s about doing the best you can for that baby in there. It’s about giving her a chance to grow up into a productive, responsible, reasonably happy adult.”

  “Oh, God. Why? Why does it all have to be so…impossible? Either way, whatever I choose, I lose. Screw my sister over—or mess up Mia’s life. It’s no kind of a choice.”

  “Just tell me you’ll think about it.”

  “Oh, Brand…”

  “Give it some serious thought. That’s all I’m pushing for.”

  It was a perfectly reasonable request. She pressed her lips together and nodded.

  “Well, okay,” he said. “That’s something. That’s a start.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brand arrived at Charlene’s after work the next day to find a locksmith’s van in the driveway.

  A half an hour later the locksmith left and Charlene handed him a shiny new key. “Since you practically live here, anyway.”

  He took her in his arms—his favorite place for her to be—and kissed her long and slow and deep. The baby cooed in her playpen, and as far as he could see there was no big rush to get working on dinner.

  They could kiss their way into the bedroom. He could take off the snug red shirt she was wearing, peel off those curve-hugging jeans. Already he was rock hard and aching.

  Her kisses tended to do that to him.

  He eased his fingers up under the hem of that tight shirt and caressed the baby-smooth skin of her lower back. She sighed.

  But then she pulled back. “I’ve been thinking…”

  “Kiss now, think later.” He lowered his mouth to capture her lips again, but she evaded it.

  “You know I like nothing better than kissing you.”

  “Prove it.”

  “But…”

  He groaned and gave it up. “All right. You’ve been thinking. About what?”

  She skimmed a palm down the side of his arm and captured his hand. “Come on. Want a beer or something?”

  “Hell. Why not? If I can’t take all your clothes off and do bad things to your body…”

  “You can. Later.”

  “Promise?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She led him to the antique couch under the big window and pushed him down. In a moment she was back with his beer.

  He took
it. “Okay. What’s going on?”

  She dropped down beside him. “I was awake half the night.”

  He made a show of rolling his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

  “I didn’t mean to keep you awake.”

  “I kept waiting for you to speak up and say what you were thinking about.”

  She gave a small, nervous laugh. “And I kept trying not to toss and turn so I wouldn’t wake you.”

  He bent to set his beer on the coffee table and dropped his new house key beside it. “And you were awake because…?”

  She shifted on the sofa cushions. “I was thinking. About what you said last night.”

  He’d figured as much. And he was glad. She needed to start actively dealing with the giant-size problem that confronted her. He hadn’t really expected her to get right on it like this, he’d figured he’d have to give her a nudge now and then for a week or two before she’d go anywhere with what he’d suggested.

  Apparently, he’d underestimated her. Which was good. Great, even. They could finally get moving on making sure Mia was safe and provided for.

  She smoothed both hands along her thighs, as if easing wrinkles from those tight jeans. “I made some decisions.”

  “Good.”

  “I decided you were right about the locks.”

  “And you took care of them,” he added, with real approval.

  “No way could I allow Sissy to sneak in here and run off with Mia. But as for the rest of it, the whole idea of trying to adopt Mia, or set up some kind of guardianship, well, no. I can’t do that. Not until Sissy comes back, anyway. Not until she and I have a chance to talk about it, not until we get a few things settled between us.”

  He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “Listen to yourself.”

  She stiffened. “I’m not necessarily expecting you to agree with me.”

  “Good. Because I don’t. And what’s this about getting a few things ‘settled’ with Sissy? As if she’s the kind of person you sit down and have a long heart-to-heart with. I’m sorry, Charlene, but you’re lying to yourself. And I seem to remember more than once you’ve told me you’re afraid Sissy will never come back.”

  “Well, that’s a fear. Yes. And a real one. And if she doesn’t return in the next few years—”

  “Few years? You can’t—”

  “Do you mind if I finish what I was trying to say?” She waited, blue eyes daring him to cut her off again.

  “Go for it,” he muttered darkly.

  She brought up her hands and rubbed at her temples, as if dealing with him was giving her a headache. “Okay,” she said finally. “I understand that eventually I might have to make some other plans. I might even have to take another chance with Social Services, put Mia’s welfare on the line and try to get formal custody of her.”

  “Is that it?” He’d said he wouldn’t interrupt, but this was a point that really needed making. “Is that the problem? You’re afraid if you try for custody, someone will take Mia away from you, that it’ll be like before, when your parents died? Because I meant it when I told you I can keep that from happening. You can count on me this time, Charlene. I promise you, no one will take that baby away from you.”

  “There’s no absolute guarantee you’ll be able to keep that promise.”

  “I’ll be able to keep it. I swear to you.”

  “And where would that leave Sissy?”

  “What do you mean, where would it leave Sissy?”

  “I mean, we’d have to use that word I hate, wouldn’t we? We’d have say she abandoned Mia. That’s against the law, isn’t it? Abandoning a baby?”

  “Let’s not—”

  “Stop. Don’t give me any lawyer double-talk. We’d have to say she abandoned Mia. And that would mean she’d not only lose her baby without having any say in the matter, she’d also be in trouble with the law.”

  “No. You’re wrong.”

  “Oh, come on. She would. We both know that she would.”

  “That’s just not so. Mia wasn’t harmed or endangered by Sissy’s actions. She left the baby with you, in your house. Safe. Your sister won’t be charged with anything.”

  “Well, beyond being an unfit parent, you mean.”

  She is an unfit parent, he longed to say. But he took a more diplomatic tack, repeating what he’d told her a number of times, in hopes that maybe this would be the time she’d finally hear him. “All we’re going to do is make sure that Mia gets the best care possible.”

  There was a silence. She regarded him—a long, slow look. “I have been wondering, at least a little…”

  “What? Tell me. Ask.”

  “A minute ago you said I could count on you this time.”

  “That’s right. And you can.”

  “Are you sure all this—how good you’ve been to us, to Mia and me, how helpful. How kind. Are you sure it’s not all just your way of making up for what happened when we were kids?”

  He had to hesitate before tackling that one. He knew it had to be some kind of trap. A woman-type trap. Whatever he answered, he’d get it wrong. Because damn it, he was trying to make up for what had happened in the past. And he wasn’t ashamed of that.

  Was there some reason he should be ashamed?

  She cleared her throat—just to remind him she was still waiting for a reply.

  So he gave in and went with the truth—carefully. “Yeah. Making up for ten years ago is a factor.”

  She frowned, as if he’d just said some word she didn’t understand. “A factor?”

  “I’ve told you. I regret not sticking by you then—looking back, I’d say walking away from you is the worst thing I ever did in my life. I’ve never gotten past it, never forgiven myself for turning my back on you. But I just…wasn’t ready then, to be what you needed me to be. I know—as much as I regret the choice I made then—that if I’d made the other choice, if we’d gotten married, I’d have screwed it up royally.”

  She just looked at him.

  With a hard sigh, he took it farther. “You know how it was for me. I had to kind of…grow up on my own. My dad, who rarely came around for more than a few weeks a year, disappeared completely when I was barely two years old. I’ve got no memory of the man. Zip. I know him only from the ugly stories people tell about him, from the newspaper articles that called him a kidnapper, a psychopath and a murderer.

  “And Ma’s a great woman, she did the best she could for us. But she was damned preoccupied, trying to raise four boys and run a business on her own. She was in some faraway place in her mind most of the time when I was a kid, dreaming of the day my crazy dad would come back to her, even though she never had a real marriage with him. I had no example of how that might work—a man, a woman, partnering up to make a better life for themselves and their children. I just had no clue how to be a husband. And I certainly had no idea how to be a substitute father to a nine-year-old kid.”

  “Oh, Brand…”

  What do you know? If her dewy-eyed expression was any indication, communicationwise, he’d just hit a home run. “Uh. Yeah?”

  She smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles in her jeans again. “We’ve talked about my forgiving you…”

  Hope rose in him, fizzy and light. Something told him this was the moment he’d been waiting for. He gulped. “Yeah?”

  And she said it. “I do forgive you, Brand. I couldn’t do otherwise. You’ve been so good these past weeks. To me. And to Mia. To Aunt Irma. You’ve made what started out as a terrible thing into something…so precious and special.”

  That was good, right?

  Really good.

  So why was the hope within him kind of fizzling? She forgave him. She’d said it right out loud.

  But it was like a testimonial. Too much like the kind of thing a woman tells a guy just before she says it’s over between them. He was way far from ready for it to be over—and wait a minute.

  What was he worried about?

  The key she’d just given him was right
there on the table in front of him, next to his beer. A woman didn’t hand a guy a key one minute and tell him goodbye the next.

  “So…” He sought the right question. “Where are we goin’ here?”

  “I’m just trying to tell you, if you felt you had to make up, somehow, for the past—you’ve done it. I’m through dwelling on that. What happened then, happened. Like you said last night, we’ve got to focus on what we’re going to do now.”

  “And that is…?”

  “Nothing.” She looked so pleased with herself. “I changed the locks. Sissy won’t be sneaking in here. Now all we have to do is wait. Eventually she’ll show up. The rest of it we can deal with when she gets here.”

  Brand let it go at that.

  What the hell else could he do?

  He could make suggestions, try to nudge her toward the right choices. But he couldn’t tie her down and force her to do what he thought was best.

  It wasn’t like they were married or anything. It wasn’t like he had any real say in the choices she made in her life.

  And why did that suddenly bug him so much?

  She’d just told him he’d earned what he’d been wanting for years: her forgiveness. He slept in her bed every night, made love to her every chance they got. He was…happy, damn it.

  Happy in a way he hadn’t been since the first couple of years they were together back in high school.

  What more was he looking for?

  What else was there, anyway?

  They made dinner. Ate. She cleaned up the kitchen while he fed and changed the baby. Once Mia was in her crib, they watched a couple of news shows and then headed for bed themselves.

  There was only one sink in her bathroom. He brushed his teeth first. Within a couple of minutes he was undressed and sliding between her cool, white sheets.

  He lay there, hands laced behind his head, waiting for her to finish doing all those things that women think they have to do at bedtime—mysterious and sweet-smelling procedures involving an impressive array of creams and lotions. On the dresser, the baby monitor made a nearly unnoticeable static sound, a constant, low sighing, like the sea in a shell. It was pleasant, that sound.