For the Girls' Sake (16 page)

"I know I am," Lynn said on a sigh. "I was so sure at first that he’d try to take Shelly from me. But he really does adore Rose. He calls her his Rosebud, did I tell you that?" Of course she had. She’d talked of little
but
her newly discovered daughter this past week. Her mother must be getting sick of hearing her go on and on! But she couldn’t seem to help herself. "I think he really, truly does want the same thing as I do for the girls."

"Whatever that is," Mrs. Miller said softly.

Trust her mother to figure out how muddled Lynn’s dreams still were. But what could she and Adam do other than experiment until one day the routine was right?

"Do you think Shelly is ready to find out Adam is her father?" Lynn asked, as much for reassurance as in the belief her mother really had the answers.

Mrs. Miller made a face. "Is anyone ever ready to find out something like that?"

"I wouldn’t have been," Lynn admitted. "In fact..."

"In fact?"

She was sorry she’d begun. Or was she? Now that she had a child of her own, she wondered more than ever about her own father.

"Do you know, I used to imagine all kinds of things about who my father was."

Her mother stood and went to the tree, moving an ornament from one branch to another as if she’d suddenly noticed a lack of balance. Her back to Lynn, she said almost casually, "Oh? Who was he? A movie star?"

"That crossed my mind, along with a cowboy or a spy or Roberta’s dad. Do you remember him? He was...oh, a TV repairman, I think."

Mrs. Miller didn’t laugh at the very idea as Lynn had expected. In fact, she said nothing.

Twining her fingers on her lap, Lynn continued steadily, "But what I finally decided was that you’d gone to a sperm bank."

That one did get a reaction. Her mother spun around. "What?"

"Women do it." Lynn watched her carefully. "I thought maybe you were single and decided to have a baby. And that, well, you chose what qualities you wanted and didn’t know anything else about the donor. Which is why you never talked about him. My father."

Her mother’s laugh was semihysterical. "Oh, dear! Oh, I should have guessed that you might think of something like that." She seemed to sag, still standing there in the middle of Lynn’s tiny living room. "Do you want to know the truth?"

"Yes," Lynn said quietly. "I always have, you know."

But never so much as lately, she realized. Ties of blood weren’t necessary to love, she had discovered, but they did exert a pull she had never understood.

"He was a married man." Shame crept over Irene Miller’s cheeks, although she met Lynn’s gaze. "Not your friend Roberta’s father, although he might as well have been. It was...it was something that should never have happened. I suppose I was lonely...but that’s no excuse."

"Oh, Mom," Lynn whispered. "Things like that happen.
He
was the one who was married!"

Her mother’s chin lifted with conscious dignity. "I can only be responsible for my own decisions, and I knew better. I despised myself, but I was lonely and he was such a kind man! I thought his marriage must be in trouble." Her smile was faint and tinged with remembered bitterness. "But after a couple of weeks, when he’d said nothing about leaving his wife or our future, I realized that he had no such thing in mind. I was the one with foolish dreams. I quit my job—he was my boss. He probably started a...a fling with the next secretary. Very likely he made a habit of them."

"And you found out you were pregnant."

A single woman with no great job skills and distant parents who were unlikely to help, she must have been terrified.

This smile was more genuine, but her mother’s eyes were misty. "I never regretted what happened, not the way I should have, because out of it I had you. Please believe that."

"Oh, Mom!" Lynn catapulted off the sofa and wrapped her arms around her mother, who hugged her back although such embraces weren’t commonplace for them. "I do believe you, because I feel the same about Shelly. It scares me sometimes. I think that I should have realized I didn’t love Brian enough. I shouldn’t have married him. But if I hadn’t..." She shivered and pulled back a little. "Then I wouldn’t have Shelly."

An odd thought sifted into her mind. No,
she
wouldn’t have Shelly, but Adam would. The mix-up would never have happened that night at the hospital.
Rose
was the child who wouldn’t have been born. Quiet, sweet-faced Rose.

The very idea was equally unendurable.

A thunder of feet on the stairs gave warning before the door burst open and Shelly called, "Me and Grampa are home! Did Grandma...oooh," she breathed, when she saw the bright packages spilling out from under the tree. Puzzlement replaced the dazed joy in her eyes when she saw her
mother’s face. "Why is Mommy crying?"

"Oh." Lynn dashed at her cheeks. "Happiness. I’m just being silly, punkin." And feeling dizzily as if she had been remade in a new form. She had a father. She would never meet him, but now she knew, which seemed to matter.

Her daughter frowned. "But Grandma’s crying, too."

Hal Miller laid hands on his small step-granddaughter’s shoulders. "I think she’s crying from happiness, too."

"But I cry when I’m hurt. Or scared. Not when I’m happy," Shelly objected.

"Grown-ups do sometimes," Irene said. She gave Lynn another quick, spontaneous hug. "When they realize how lucky they are."

"Right." Lynn blinked back more tears that threatened despite her smile. "You know what, sweetheart? I think this might be a good time for you to open that present."

Shelly squealed and flung herself to her knees in front of the tree. "I want the
best
present!"

Hal, gentle, balding man that he was, ignored the undercurrents of emotion and settled onto the sofa with a smile. Lynn’s mother went down on her knees and joined her granddaughter in a colloquy about which present would be the most satisfying, considering she got only one tonight.

Lynn stood back and watched, fighting a strange desire to cry. She had a successful business, a home, her parents, and Shelly. It wasn’t as if her real daughter was abandoned in an orphanage or lived in a home without warmth and love. There would be a beautiful tree in Rose’s living room with ten times the presents under it that Shelly had. Her grandparents—perhaps both sets of grandparents—would be there tonight, and, best of all, her daddy would do everything in his power to insure that her Christmas was joyous.

Once upon a time, Lynn had only wanted to be certain her child was happy and loved. Why, oh why, was that knowledge no longer enough?

Why did grief swathe her in gray that took the glory out of the bright sparkling lights on the tree and the wondering "ooh" in her daughter’s voice as the wrappings gave way to her still-clumsy fingers? Why did she mourn, only because Rose was not here?

CHAPTER NINE

R
OSE’S SMALL HAND CREPT
into Adam’s. "Do you think Shelly got good presents, too?"

"I bet she did," Adam said heartily, although he felt sick looking at the torrent of ripped paper and bows and ribbon covering the floor. Toys and new clothes and books formed islands in the midst of the chaos. No, he knew very well Shelly didn’t get as much.

But then, Rose didn’t need any of it. He’d bought less this Christmas and had made a point of taking Rose shopping to choose gifts for children whose parents couldn’t. Somewhat to his surprise, given her egocentric age, she had helped him, earnestly debating which Barbie would be the most fun if you could only have one, which remote control car was the coolest. She’d learned that word lately from bigger kids at the preschool, piping up in her little girl voice, "Cool."

Adam’s relative restraint in the gift department was meaningless, however. Her two sets of grandparents had come bearing carloads of goodies. On the one hand, he was glad: even Jennifer’s parents weren’t turning their backs on Rose. Although Angela had given him a couple of wrapped gifts to set aside for Shelly, she hadn’t stinted where Rose was concerned.

On the other hand, he wished they had more time for Rose instead of so much money. Rose would have loved to go to their house one day a week instead of to preschool. But no, they were too busy. Visits instead were special occasions that usually cost a lot and took the place of something deeper.

He’d begun to realize that the McCloskeys must have raised their only child in much the same way. If Jenny had had a flaw, it was her liking for luxuries and for her own way. She’d pouted with such charm, somehow he’d never minded, but just lately he had begun to wonder whether that might not have changed. He felt disloyal that the thought had even edged into his mind but couldn’t dislodge it.

Would Jenny have had the patience to be a good mother? Or had she looked forward to having a baby like a child wanting a doll? Of course she was going to do it all herself; she’d read a million books and planned every glorious moment. What she hadn’t foreseen was that having a sobbing baby waking you every couple of hours all night long, night after exhausting night, was not glorious. Those parenting books hadn’t showcased a photo of a three-year-old’s stinky diaper. The whining of a tired child was mentioned, certainly, but the boy in the picture was so cute the reader couldn’t imagine how explosively tired and angry and tense a parent could get.

Sometimes his imagination balked at the idea of his Jenny coping. If she’d lived, by now they might have a nanny who would present a sweet-mannered, clean child for a good-night kiss.

He tried to convince himself he was doing Jenny an injustice.

Once again, he shoved the disloyal thoughts under a pile of mental garbage that he hoped would keep them from surfacing again.

"We’ll see Shelly next week," he reminded Rose. "You can show each other your new stuff. And exchange presents."

Rosebud’s fingers tightened and her eyes pleaded. "I wish we could see her today."

So did he.

He wanted to spend Christmas with both daughters. And with Lynn, who was inescapably part of their peculiar mixed family. The day stretched bleakly before Adam and Rose. Both sets of parents had come last night. He’d cooked a huge ham and all the trimmings then. The two mismatched couples had made polite conversation and avoided inflammatory subjects like politics. His parents had left as soon as possible with their usual excuses. He imagined that today his father had gone to the hospital and his mother was working at her wheel and keeping an eye on the red-hot kiln.

Angela and Rob had wanted him to bring Rose to their house today, but he’d demurred. The past week, they’d dropped talk of lawyers and court—the Christmas spirit must have gotten to them—but the threat wasn’t removed, only in abeyance. It tainted his affection for them. Just lately he’d noticed, too, that Rose was nice to them, but not comfortable. She didn’t run into their arms for a hug, or go to Grandma when she bumped herself on the coffee table, or confide in her shy voice to Grandpa.

Not the way she did with Lynn.

"Don’t you want to play with your new toys?" he asked Rose now, as they stood looking at the aftermath of last night’s and this morning’s whirlwind of gift opening.

"Will you play with me?" she pleaded.

Not dolls. Please, not dolls. "Did you get any games?" he asked hopefully.

"Uh-huh." Her mood lifted. "Chutes ’n Ladders. I’ve played that one at school. And Grandma ’Closkey gave me a clown game. Only, I don’t know where it is."

Oh. He supposed he should clean up. Where was
his
Christmas spirit?

In Otter Beach. The answer came swiftly, certainly.

"Lily," he said, "let me make a quick phone call."

"Okay." She didn’t correct her name, a barometer of how spirited
she
was feeling. "Then can you help me find my new games?"

He crushed her into a hug. "You betcha, Violet."

A giggle rewarded him. "Daddy! I’m
Rose.
”

In the kitchen, Adam dialed and drummed his fingers while the phone rang once, twice, four times. When someone picked it up, "Jingle Bells" was playing in the background. "Hello?" said an unfamiliar woman.

Rose’s grandmother. "Uh...merry Christmas to you. May I speak to Lynn?"

“Of course." The voice was warm and friendly. "And the same to you."

Lynn came on a moment later, sounding breathless. "Adam!" she exclaimed, when he’d identified himself. "Did Santa visit?"

Thinking about his living room, he said ruefully, "Big time. Did he touch down there, too?"

"Oh, yeah. Did you want to talk to Shelly?"

"Actually..." Unconsciously he squared his shoulders. "I was wondering. Do you have anything special planned for today?"

Stupid question. It was
Christmas
. But he didn’t retract it.

"No," Lynn said quietly. "Except, my parents are here."

"Um, what I was thinking is..." Good thing he didn’t stumble and fumble like this all the time. He finished more strongly, "That maybe Rose and I could drive over today. She wants to play with Shelly, and your parents could meet her."

"Today." Lynn sounded dazed.

"If it’s not convenient—"

"No," she said quickly. "No, I’d love to have you. I just thought...aren’t you getting together with your parents? Or Jennifer’s?"

"We did that last night."

"Oh." He could hear a dawning smile in her voice. "Please. Come. We’d love to have you. Can you stay the night?"

"Your parents..."

"Have a room at an inn." She laughed.

“Rose and I’ll pack up and be on our way as soon as we can."

"I’m so glad you called."

He was, too. Suddenly Christmas Day had become joyous.

* * *

L
YNN
C
HANAK’S HOME
at Christmas was everything he’d imagined it would be. Everything, despite the poverty of her possessions, that his wasn’t.

Her mother and stepfather were warm, uncritical and present not just in a corporeal way, like his own parents. The Millers seemed delighted to meet him and they swept Rose into an affectionate circle of games and stories that soon had her chattering as naturally as she did with him.