“Because I’m her father.”
“And she knows just what buttons to push to make you feel as if you’re failing in that regard,” Samara noted.
His head turned sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She heard it in his tone—that immediate defensiveness that always crept in whenever she made any comment at all about his daughter.
Maybe he was right—maybe not having children of her own meant that she couldn’t possibly understand the layers and complications of his relationship with Caitlin. Or maybe she was the only one who had a clear picture of that relationship.
She knew any discussion about his children was a potential minefield, but she couldn’t stay out of it when he was obviously dejected and confused.
“I’m just suggesting that Caitlin should stop blaming you for everything that’s ever gone wrong in her life, but if that’s ever going to happen, you have to stop letting her.”
“You don’t understand…” he said predictably.
“Why don’t I understand? Because I was never married? Because I never had a spouse who died? Because I never lost my mother?
“But I did lose my mother, Steven,” she reminded him. “She walked out on her family when I was four years old. And yeah, it sucked. What sucked even more was that I had a father who didn’t even try to fill the void she left in all of our lives.”
“Is that what you’re suggesting I do—abandon her to deal with this on her own?”
“Of course not,” she said.
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“Find someone who can help her deal with it instead of dwell upon it.”
“You mean a counselor?”
“I think that’s a good place to start.”
“We tried that for the first few months after Liz died.”
The very fact that he used the word tried told her that it had been unsuccessful. “Maybe you should try again.”
“The counselor said she needed time.”
“That was three years ago,” Samara pointed out. “How much time are you going to give her?”
His jaw set, and she knew that any further discussion was pointless. He wasn’t prepared to listen to anything she had to say, and she wasn’t prepared to keep beating her head against the walls he put up.
“Well—” she stood up “—I think I’ll get out of your way so you can deal with this.”
He didn’t even ask her to stay, which proved to Samara more clearly than anything he did say that she was still hovering on the periphery of his life. She’d let him in, she’d given him everything she had to give. But with each day that passed, and each new obstacle they faced—most of which were, in some shape or form, courtesy of his daughter—she realized that he was still holding back. He was willing to share his bed, but not the more intimate parts of his life, and she was tired of standing on the outside looking in.
She started to walk away, hesitated.
He would do whatever he was going to do, but she couldn’t resist making one last effort.
“Get a cake,” she suggested. “Buy some flowers for the table. Let Caitlin share her memories and celebrate the mother she remembers.”
Steven tracked Samara down in the studio the next morning.
“The cake was a good idea,” he said. “I think Caitlin really appreciated the opportunity just to talk about her mom.”
“That’s good,” Samara said, but didn’t look at him as she continued to sort through a stack of glossy prints.
“Then why are you mad at me now?”
This time she did look up, and looked surprised that he could think such a thing. “I’m not mad at you.”
But she was hurt, he could hear it in her voice, and he knew that was a thousand times worse. What he didn’t know was what he’d done to cause the hurt, or how to take the pain away.
“Then maybe we could sneak out of this place for a while, go grab a bite to eat.”
“I brought a sandwich,” she said.
“Save it for tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “I’m behind schedule on a few things that will put me behind on others if I don’t catch up.”
He knew it was probably true. And as her project manager, he shouldn’t, in good conscience, let that happen. But right now he was more concerned about what was happening between them than about the next issue of the magazine.
“Please, Samara. I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry.”
She tilted her head to one side as she looked up at him. “What, exactly, are you apologizing for?”
“For whatever I did to dim the sparkle in your eyes.”
She sighed. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?”
“And for being clueless,” he said, hoping she would crack a smile.
She didn’t.
“You shut me out,” she said softly.
“What are you talking about?”
“Couples—real couples—share things. The good, the bad and everything in between.”
“I did share,” he said. “I told you exactly what the problem was.”
“You told me what the problem was,” she agreed. “Then you dismissed me.”
“You were the one who wanted to leave.”
“I didn’t want to go,” she told him. “But I knew there was no point in staying.”
He shook his head. “I guess I really am clueless because you’ve completely lost me now.” But what worried him now—and was becoming a deep gnawing concern in the pit of his belly—was the possibility that he could lose her.
“You have your life neatly compartmentalized,” she said. “And you’ve found places for me to fit in—at work, the occasional social event, and in your bed. But if I try to venture into any other areas, I find myself confronted by barriers.”
“What other areas?” he demanded.
Her eyes—those usually beautiful sparkling eyes—were filled with sadness and resignation when they met his. “Your home. Your family. Your heart.”
The gnawing concern was now full-fledged panic.
“That’s not true,” he denied vehemently, desperately.
She didn’t even respond. It was as if she was so firm in her conviction, there was no point in even discussing it further.
And, he accepted with a sinking heart, maybe she was right.
“Okay, maybe I did shut you out,” he said now. “But it wasn’t intentional. You know this whole relationship thing is new to me—I just need a chance to figure some things out.” He caught her hand, held it tight. “I need you to help me figure them out.”
She looked away, but not before he caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes.
“Please, Samara.”
She shook her head. “No. You need to figure it out on your own.”
Chapter Fifteen
He’d blown it. There was no point in denying it. He’d finally met someone who had made him want to look to the future instead of the past, and he’d let her slip away. Except that wasn’t quite true. He hadn’t really let her slip, he’d pretty much pushed her. Now he was alone.
He twisted the cap off a bottle of beer and moved into the living room. He didn’t bother with the lights as he made his way to the couch. He might have said that the darkness suited his mood, but that was just pathetic melodramatic drivel and he had no tolerance for melodrama.
Of course, Samara would claim otherwise and cite his daughter’s frequent tantrums as proof of her point. And maybe she’d be right. He was starting to realize that maybe she was right about a lot of things.
He’d made a lot of mistakes, not the least of which was trying to establish boundaries for their relationship and guard his heart. He’d been afraid to give too much, to love too deeply, to lose everything again.
Yet somehow that was exactly what had happened. Worse, he’d hurt Samara, which wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to do. He wanted to believe he could make things right, but in that regard, he really was clueless.
“Da
ddy?”
The distant, plaintive call yanked him out of his reverie. Setting his half-empty bottle aside, he headed for the stairs.
“Daddy?” There was a note of panic in Tyler’s voice now.
“I’m coming, Ty.” He took the steps two at a time and pushed open the door of his son’s room. “What’s the matter, big guy?”
Tyler sniffled and scrubbed his hands over his face.
He was crying. The sight of those wet tracks on his son’s cheeks stopped Steven cold. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Tyler cry, and he didn’t want to imagine what had made him do so now.
“I had a bad dream.”
Steven sat on the edge of the mattress. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Tyler shook his head.
He was reluctant to force the issue, but knew it was the only way for his son to overcome his fears. Though this was his first bad dream in a while, he’d suffered frequent nightmares after Liz’s death and the counselor had recommended talking through the dreams as a necessary step to eliminating them.
Somehow thinking about those long-ago session made him remember his more recent discussion with Samara and her suggestion regarding Caitlin. He’d thought about it for several days before broaching the subject with his daughter, and he’d been both surprised and relieved when she hadn’t balked at the idea, and hopeful that maybe she was finally ready and wanting to move past her grief.
But it was his son who needed help now, and Steven asked gently, “Was the dream about your mom?”
Tyler shook his head again.
“Then what was it about?”
His son’s only response was to wipe his nose with the sleeve of his pajama top.
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, Ty.”
“Why—” The child drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Why hasn’t Samara been coming over?”
Well, that had certainly come from out in left field and caught Steven completely unprepared. He took a moment to formulate his response, but still the best he could come up with was pretty lame. “She’s been really busy at work lately.”
“What if something bad happened to her?”
“Nothing bad has happened to Samara,” he promised.
Well, nothing except that he’d been an idiot and she’d walked out of his life and maybe, for her, that wasn’t a bad thing. But for Tyler, it would be. His son already loved Samara and Tyler would be devastated to learn that his father had screwed things up and made her leave. Which was why Steven did not want to be having this conversation at two a.m.
“I dreamed…I dreamed…”
Steven could guess what he’d dreamed—that Samara had gone shopping and never come home again. It was exactly what happened with Tyler’s mother. One minute she’d been pushing her grocery cart down the produce aisle, the next minute a brain aneurysm had ended her life.
“It was just a dream,” he said gently.
“How do you know?” Tyler demanded.
“Because I saw Samara at work today.”
“Maybe something happened after work.”
“Ty—”
“Something must have happened,” his son insisted. “Because she hasn’t been here in days and days and—”
And now he got to trample all over his son’s tender heart with his clumsy size-thirteen feet. “The only thing that happened,” he interrupted, “is that Samara’s a little upset with me right now.”
Tyler sniffled. “What did you do?”
“Does it matter?”
“If you know what you did, maybe you can fix it.”
“Oh, Ty.” He slid his arm around his son’s narrow shoulders and pulled him close. “I only wish it was that easy.”
“She’s not mad at me, is she?”
“No.” He kissed the top of his head. “I can promise you that.”
“Then maybe I should talk to her.”
It was hard to get the words out when his throat was dry and tight, but his son deserved an explanation—pitiful as it was. “The thing is, Ty, sometimes when people are hurt, it takes a long time for them to get over being hurt.”
Tyler was quiet for a long time, then he finally asked, “Will she ever come back?”
Steven sighed. “I don’t know.”
Caitlin slipped away from her brother’s door before she got caught eavesdropping. As she tiptoed across the hall in the dark, she realized that she’d finally got what she wanted.
Her dad had just admitted that he wasn’t seeing Samara anymore. Their lives could go back to normal again. It was what she’d been hoping for since the beginning.
She should be happy.
But as she climbed back into her own bed, she just felt empty inside.
If there were rules regarding visitors in the maternity ward, Samara was certain they’d been broken several times before ten o’clock that morning. But news had spread quickly that Jason Richard Warren had made his squalling entrance into the world and everyone was anxious to see the new baby.
She’d sneaked in around seven—before visiting hours had even begun—with the excuse that she was the official baby photographer and she had her camera bag in hand to prove it.
Dana and Harold Anderson were the first to arrive after Samara. They’d flown in from Munich and came straight to the hospital. They were on their way out when Nancy Warren arrived, then a few minutes later, Helen and Mori Taka stopped by for a quick visit before a morning meeting, and Samara wondered if there were still problems with the Tokyo hotel project that caused them to rush off again.
Through all of this, the baby was passed from one set of eager arms to the next and admired by all. He was a pretty good sport through the whole thing, but when he’d finally had enough, he let them know it by giving an impressive demonstration of his lung capacity.
But after Jenny nursed him and settled him down, Samara was alone again with the proud parents and their newborn son.
“He is beautiful,” she said softly, finally putting her camera aside and giving in to the urge to touch a tentative hand to the baby’s soft downy head.
“Well, I think so,” Jenny agreed, passing the blanketed bundle to her friend. “But I’m not exactly an impartial observer.”
Samara cradled his tiny body in her arms, and in that first moment, her heart was lost.
“After seventeen hours of labor, I wouldn’t expect you to be,” she told her friend.
“But she was a trouper through the whole seventeen hours,” Richard said, pressing his lips to his wife’s forehead. “Even if she did call me several much less flattering names in the process.”
“Which is probably why fathers used to prefer to wait out the labor process in the waiting room,” Samara suggested.
“I didn’t mind,” Richard said, his fingers linking with Jenny’s. “And I wouldn’t have missed the birth of my son for anything in the world.”
“Not even for the problems in Tokyo to go away?” Jenny asked wryly, confirming that there were still problems.
“Not for anything,” he said again.
Samara smiled at the obvious love and devotion between them as she shifted the baby in her arms. The subtle movement had him opening his eyes, then staring at Samara through his stunning baby blues.
Eyes just like his father’s.
And just like his uncle Steven’s.
No—she wasn’t going to think about Steven. Not today. He’d dominated her thoughts every day for the past week and she knew he would probably do so again tomorrow. But today was all about Jason.
And she managed to focus exclusively on the precious newborn for all of five minutes—until she looked up and found Steven standing in the door.
Steven hadn’t considered that Samara might be there when he decided to take an early lunch and stop by the hospital to check out his new nephew. He’d assumed that she’d be at work and had, in fact, planned the timing of his visit for that reason.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her,
but that it hurt too much to look at her and remember everything he’d had for an all-too-brief time. Not that he’d given up on her yet, he just hadn’t quite figured out how he was going to get her back.
She turned when he stepped into the room, and he saw that she had the baby in her arms.
She seemed just as surprised to see him as he’d been to find her there. “Jenny wanted to stretch her legs so Richard took her for a walk down the hall,” she told him. “They’ll be back in just a minute.”
“I mostly came to see the little guy,” he said, moving closer to her.
“He sure is little,” she agreed.
“Almost eight pounds, Richard said.”
Samara nodded.
“Both Caitlin and Tyler were smaller than that,” he said. “Though you’d never believe it now.”
“No,” she agreed, and fell silent again.
It wasn’t a comfortable silence like so many they’d shared over the past few weeks, and he regretted that things had changed so much between them. He regretted even more that he didn’t know how to change them back—or even if Samara would let him.
After another long, tense moment passed, she finally looked up at him again. “Did you want to hold him?” she asked, referring to the baby she held.
“Later,” he said, unwilling to take his nephew from her when she looked so good—so right—with the baby in her arms. And he realized he’d been a little too hasty in dismissing the possibility of expanding his family, because the thought of Samara having his child was one that suddenly filled him with a sense of wonder rather than panic.
He wanted to tell her that now, and to tell her how much he’d missed her. How much he loved her.
Then Jenny and Richard returned to the room, and the opportunity was lost.
Chapter Sixteen
Samara was the official host of Jenny’s baby shower, but she opted to hold it at her friend’s house rather than her own apartment because she knew that if even half of the invited guests showed up, they would be elbow to elbow in her tiny living room. So, the day before the scheduled event, she went over to get the parlor set up. She’d practically bought out the party store and when she approached her friend’s door, she was weighted down with packages.
Family in Progress Page 15