Family Interrupted (27 page)

“Please. Give me some credit.”

“Point taken. Sorry.” She sighed and glanced at the home we’d built together. “You know, the house wasn’t so big when the kids and their friends were around. But lately, man, has it grown!”

We both laughed; we needed the comic relief, dark though it was, and whatever tension remained between us dissipated into the soft night air. “Not to worry, Claire-de-Lune. It’s a sturdy house. Just needs a bit of remodeling.” I looked into her eyes. “A bit of work.”

“Yes. It’s something to think about.”

I wanted to kiss her. Hell, I wanted to make all-out love to her. I wanted to remove every piece of clothing she wore, one by one by one, until silky skin was all I saw and touched. But love making was a trap. It would be too easy to fall back into old, comfortable habits.

Comfortable? I swallowed a laugh. With a single sultry look, Claire could make my heart pound, pulse race, and manhood stand at attention, as it was threatening to do right now. But the future was too important to ruin with an impetuous evening’s delight.

“Go inside and lock up. I’ll be back at five.”

I watched until the kitchen light went out and wondered if I was just a damn fool.

CLAIRE

Wednesday morning

Ian lived in a second floor unit of an eight-plex of apartments. My first glance took in window shutters hanging askew, missing sills, and neglected landscaping. The clapboard siding, surely pristine white in earlier years, was now faded to gray. All in all, a sad greeting to visitors.

“There should be a large protest sign on the roof saying, ‘Paint Me,’” said Jack.

“You read my mind.”

He drove around back to the assigned parking areas for each cluster of buildings as if he’d done it a dozen times. I, on the other hand, would have needed a GPS system to find the place.

“I’m impressed.”

He cocked a brow and grinned. “You should be. I’ve been here only once.”

“I hope Ian’s apartment looks better on the inside than the buildings do on the outside. Maybe I should have brought rubber gloves and detergent.” I took a sip of my to-go coffee and started opening the door.

“Claire?”

“Yes?”

“Take a hard look around. Can you guess which apartment is Ian’s?”

I felt my forehead contract. The entire complex was a mess. How would I pick out Ian’s unit? Jack continued to stare at me, a gleam in his eye, and I began examining the exterior of the building.

It took less than the minute Jack gave me to figure it out. I pointed above and to the right. “Second floor at the end. Of course that’s his,” I whispered. Two pairs of windows sported gleaming white shutters, hung straight and square, with sills to match. Jack’s smile stretched across his face.

“The Barnes genes are still thriving, so you can forget about rubber gloves and detergent. But he needs us, Claire. He doesn’t even know how much. We’re here to help, not criticize him.”

“I don’t need a lecture from you.”

He put up his hands. “Okay, okay. Everyone is so damn sensitive, I feel like I’m walking on hot coals.”

I waited until he exited the truck, then stood before him, tilting my head back to see him eye-to-eye. “I’m willing to walk on hot coals for the sake of our son and granddaughter. Thinking about that little peanut makes me happier. Whatever we do and say today affects how Ian sees us and his future.”

“So we tread carefully. The boy has pride. He’s been through a lot, not only with the baby but with a girl he must have loved.”

“I know, I know.” Sighing, I touched his wrist. “This isn’t the way I thought we’d become grandparents. Having grandbabies wasn’t even a blip on my radar with our kids being so young. First, I thought we’d have watched them fall in love....”

Jack’s fingers threaded through mine as we started walking toward the entrance. “We would have planned a wedding or two.”

“But that’s not going to happen now,” I said quietly.

He stopped cold. “Congratulations. That’s the first comment you’ve made since Kayla died that’s grounded in reality. You’re finally seeing straight.”

“Damn it, Jack, stop judging me! Didn’t you hear what they said at the group last night? What I’ve tried to tell you a thousand times, but you never believed me? Married or not, we’re different individuals. So we grieve at different speeds and in different ways. Our own ways. There’s no right and wrong.”

We pushed the entrance door open and searched for Ian’s mailbox and bell.

“Seems to me, we weren’t so different after Kayla died. We both cried so hard we couldn’t breathe without pain. Off-the-chart kind of pain,” Jack said. “We were in unison then, weren’t we, Claire?”

He had a point, but I was trying to let go of the past and look ahead. “As the saying goes, that was then, and this is now.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. I don’t believe a word of that. Especially coming out of your mouth. Sure, it’s time to forget the old dreams we had for our kids—the graduations, the falling-in-love, the marriages, and all the frippery. But after we push those disappointments away, we’ve still got two children in the apartment upstairs who need us. And our son needs to dream again. He...he deserves to dream again.”

The heart of the matter. I smiled up at him and stroked his cheek. “This is finally something we can agree on.” After pressing Ian’s bell in the downstairs lobby, I waited for his voice over the intercom and the electric buzz to let us in.

They didn’t come. “This is ridiculous. The system’s probably broken. I’ll need a set of keys if I’m to be a regular sitter.”

Jack reached for his mobile. “We’ll need two sets.”

My good mood faded. I guess he liked motel living more than he let on.

#

JACK

Ian showed up in thirty seconds cradling the baby in one arm like a football.

“Dad! I didn’t expect you. What about work? Come on up.”

His surprise at seeing me was comical. Claire and I followed him up the stairs and into the apartment. “The office can wait till tomorrow while I visit with my son and granddaughter for a bit.”

“A bit is all you’ll get of me.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got exactly ten minutes.”

“Still loving it, huh?”

“It’s a great job, Dad. Pays well enough to handle most expenses. Colleen never chipped in for rent anyway.” His tone went from upbeat to hurting in a single breath.

The girl had had a good deal—and a good eye. My son was fighting through his disappointment. A man in the making.

“So, who wants Tina first?”

He offered up the baby like a prize, and Claire reached for her with the speed of light.

Next he grabbed for his keys and wallet.

“Whoa, Ian,” I said. “We’ll need a few items such as house keys, car seat, formula, some directions for her. Where are the diapers and salves?”

My son stared at me as if I’d landed from Mars, and I chuckled. “Don’t you think I know how to diaper a baby? Your mother didn’t change every single one of yours.”

“Well, I guess it runs in the family then. Tina’s stuff is in the bedroom, and I’m outta here.” He waved and closed the door behind him, then popped back in, kissed Tina, and left again.

I looked at Claire. She looked at me.

“Three times,” she said.

“Huh?”

“You changed his diaper exactly three times.”

“Well,” I said, grinning, “those were three less times you had to do it.”

Forty-seven and still so cute. Especially when she rolled her eyes. And when she cast them on Martina Faith Barnes, my wife was absolutely beautiful.

“Born to be a mother,” I said.

Instantly, tears emerged. “Don’t go there, Jack. Not today.” She lifted her chin. “I’m a woman of many talents...as you well know.”

Oh, I knew all right. And I always appreciated a couple of those talents very much. She, on the other hand, was probably thinking about different skills—painting, decorating, mothering. Now she was a grandma...and it was time to put my mind on other things.

“How shall we spend the day with our gorgeous grandbaby?” I watched Claire nuzzle the infant, face buried in the tiny neck, inhaling the aroma of innocence and new beginnings. The sight jogged my memory. I saw Claire holding Kayla again, and my chest hurt. I’d wanted to be the Hulk, strong enough to protect the people I loved from any and all danger. I knew better now. My sweet Kayla. I hadn’t been able to save her. No one had saved her.

My fingers trembled, and I stared down at hands usually so strong and capable, just like dads were supposed to be. Like I was supposed to be. Perhaps in my former life...not so much now.

“What are we doing, Claire?” My voice rasped, and Claire spun toward me.

“What do you mean?”

“Another child.”

“Another chance to love.”

“Or face more heartbreak somewhere down the line.”

She didn’t reply immediately, and I remained silent too. Then she said, “We’re marching toward fifty, Jack. How many people get that far without heartache?”

A pulse throbbed in my forehead, and I automatically pressed hard on the bridge of my nose. Of course, she was right, but after two years of traumatic grief, Claire seemed easily reconciled now. Too glib with her philosophy.

“That baby you’re holding is
not
Kayla,” I said, my tone hard.

Her body jerked, and her dark eyes flashed. “I know exactly who this baby is.”

“Really?”

“Of course. And she needs grandparents.”

“She’s
Ian’s
daughter, not yours and mine. She needs
him
, and he needs us. So how are you going to handle that?”

If I’d thought I could trip her up or make her pause long enough to think about the big picture, I was wrong. She had an answer to any question I could throw at her.

“I’ll handle it by being practical and taking each day as it comes. I’m helping out with Tina for the next few days and maybe the entire two weeks until that daycare can take her. I’ll be waking up before the birds to get here on time. But it’s an opportunity. We’ll have to tell our folks, especially my mom. Maybe I can take the baby to work.”

“Better if you can get Ian and the baby to come home to us. That should be your goal.”

She leaned toward me. “Home?” she challenged. “What are we offering him? More trauma and confusion? Or are you planning to return to Bluebonnet Drive as well?”

She had me there. I guess I’d been picturing myself at the house already, an assumption that had no basis in fact, and did, indeed, make an ass out of me. So I said the only thing that could possibly bring me redemption.

“I’m sure our granddaughter could use a few things. Let’s go shopping.”

#

CLAIRE

I accepted the olive branch before we actually investigated the state of Tina’s supplies. We found lots of formula, disposable diapers, and toiletries stored in closets and in the bedroom. I’d never seen such a large collection of skin care products, thermometers, infant fever reducers, cotton balls. Half the items were still sealed in their packages. I noticed a few soft baby books. Had Ian been reading to his tiny daughter? A lovely thought.

“The toiletries far outnumber the clothing,” I murmured, opening and closing drawers. Jack held the baby as I riffled through the short pile of onesies and receiving blankets. Then I searched the closet, remembering how I’d used miniature hangers for the bounty of gifts we’d received when the kids were born. Now Ian’s man-sized shirts and pants greeted my eyes with the exception of one tiny pink sweater, tag still attached.

“Our winters might be milder than elsewhere in the country, but this is ridiculous,” I said.

“Is that all the baby has?” asked Jack, peering in.

“Unless there’s a laundry hiding somewhere.”

There wasn’t.

“It looks like Ian spent most of his money on formula and bath supplies. Tina doesn’t have enough clothes.”

“Then we’ll have to buy more, especially since she keeps soaking through everything she wears.”

What grandma needed a practical reason to shop? But if it made Jack happy...great. We used Jack’s laptop to go online and find a nearby mall. By mid-afternoon, Tina Faith Barnes owned an array of size nine and twelve-month adorable outfits, several blanket-sleepers, tights, booties, and a knit hat with a pom-pom. Grandma and Grandpa owned a roomy travel bag.

It was Jack’s idea to stop at the supermarket for dinner ingredients. “Something simple and tasty, like a meatloaf and baked potatoes—if you’re not too tired.”

“I’m not too tired to feed my son a home-cooked meal every night I’m here.”

We shopped until the cart was full. I’d be able to prepare a variety of dinners in the days ahead. Maybe Ian and I would share meals and talk. Back at the apartment, we put Tina down for a nap while we stocked the fridge and small pantry closet.

“This is great,” Jack said. “If your cooking doesn’t get him to come home, nothing will.”

“Don’t count on it. He called me to babysit only because he was desperate.”

Jack fell silent for a moment. The truth didn’t warrant contradiction. “He’s angry. And let’s face it, he’s angry with you more than me. The other night at the house, he said you were still living in the past. His expression said a lot more.”

I had to agree. “He relived the accident in front of us. His memories are horrible, and I know he blames me. He can’t forget—how could he?—and I can’t undo it.” But how I wished I could. I wished I hadn’t stayed late with Colombo. I wished I hadn’t enjoyed his compliments so much, I wished I hadn’t wanted more of them. Shame seared my body. My cheeks felt hot with embarrassment and guilt. And I deserved a lifetime dose of all three.

“Talk to him, Claire. Communicate.”

“Like you and I have communicated?”

Silence followed, a deep, dark absence of sound. I wondered exactly how long two people could stare at each other in such an atmosphere. My answer came when our glances fell quickly, each of us refusing to admit our failings. Or our desires.

Nothing, however, interfered with preparing the meal. When Ian walked through the door that evening, he halted on the threshold, inhaling deeply, glancing toward me then Jack, before finally scooping up his daughter from my arms.