The Good Provider (9 page)

Daria leaned sideways to look down. She tried to spot some familiar landmark or terrain, but the clouds whizzing by were too opaque. “Where are we?”

“Northeastern Colorado. We should be passing over the panhandle of Nebraska any minute. These clouds are leftover from yesterday’s storm. Doesn’t make for the most scenic trip. Sorry. I’m hoping to be on the ground in about an hour.”

Her jaw dropped. “Seriously? I slept that long?”

“It’s a pretty quick trip, without the weather interference.”

He moved suddenly to make some sort of adjustment. A bell sounded and he muttered something incomprehensible into the slim mike on his headset. She suddenly understood the value of having a copilot.

When he gave her his attention again, she asked, “What would happen if something happened to you? Would I be able to land the plane or would we all be dead?”

He cleared his throat. “On that happy note…let me give you a—forgive the pun—crash course in landing a plane. First, put your hands on the stick. Like this.” He reached out and adjusted her hands the way he wanted them on the second set of controls. His touch was different, but it felt good. As if they’d held hands for years.

“You’ve done this before. Reassured nervous non-pilots, I mean.”

“Not really. Shane and Cooper have both had flying lessons. If you were going to be doing this a lot—flying back and forth to the Black Hills—I’d advise you to take a course. I’m no teacher.”

She shook her head. “I disagree. I watched you with the girls last night. When you were helping Miranda with that jet fighter game, you were very patient. With Hailey, too, picking out her much-too-expensive prizes. And when we first arrived yesterday afternoon, Lucas told me you let him handle things that other instructors might not have thought he was ready for.”

He looked surprised. “That’s because he’s a natural-born flier. I’m not, but I make up for that lack of instinctual knowledge with training and practice.”

“Why do you do it? Isn’t flying a terribly expensive hobby? Bruce took a few lessons but said he didn’t want to spend the arm and leg it would have cost to own a plane and fly it.”

“I’m sure there’s a way to quantify the cost-benefit ratio of private versus commercial, but for me, I look at this—” he made a sweeping gesture, encompassing the brilliant blue sky “—as money I’m not paying a therapist.” His tone was wry, but Daria sensed a deeper truth behind the statement.

“Have you always wanted to fly? Or was this something you realized as an adult?”

“Actually, I can tell you the exact moment I knew this was something I wanted to do. I was about Miranda’s age, and my uncle was escorting me to Kenya. Mum was working with the World Health Organization or some such entity and it was her turn to shoulder some parenting time.” Although he tried to sound cavalier, a gritty edge of bitterness poked through like rust on a glossy painted surface.

“Africa? My goodness, you’re well-traveled.”

He didn’t dispute the claim or elaborate further. “Because of my uncle’s connections—or his job, I’ve never been certain which—we often traveled on military transport planes. Not the most glamorous way to fly, but for a young, impressionable boy, these giant flying fortresses were pure adventure.”

“So it was the excitement that attracted you. I was thinking maybe, subconsciously, you associated flying with a maternal connection.”

“Doubtful. Once we hit the ground, there were usually long, dusty overland connections that involved large, diesel trucks loaded with medical supplies. I can’t say for sure which of the two things—me or the penicillin—Mum was happier to see.”

Interesting.

“Do you think all that back-and-forth traveling was a good thing or bad?” she asked, thinking that although his parents hadn’t divorced, William had ended up volleying between them, much the way her daughters would once Daria and Bruce finalized a custody agreement.

He reached out and squeezed her hand supportively. “You can’t compare my situation to yours. The two are as different as song and snoring.”

She let go of the breath she’d been holding. She looked at their hands, wondering how William’s touch could feel so reassuring when she barely knew him. Supportive, yes, but there was another element that spoke to the woman in her. Something timeless and basic that had no place in her consciousness at the moment. She was a mom first, a woman a very distant second.

He dropped his hand, as if sensing her decision. “I meant to tell you earlier,” he said, businesslike in tone again. “I’m picking up a van at the airport. I’d be happy to give you a lift to Sentinel Pass, unless Cal is meeting you.”

“Since I didn’t know when we’d be arriving, I’d planned to rent a car, but Grandpa was scandalized by the idea. He told me this morning to call him once we arrived, but he isn’t exactly the speediest driver on the road.” And she truly wasn’t looking forward to entertaining the girls in a small, regional airport for an extra hour or so. “So thanks. That would be great. You’re sure it’s no bother?”

“None at all. I’m staying at Libby’s house tonight then picking up some outdoor heaters that were used at a wedding recently. Cal’s house is practically on the way.” He stretched his neck as he had earlier in the taxi. “I’m hoping Libby has better pillows than the motel.”

She smiled, recalling the hard time Miranda had given him. Bruce would still be pouting, not joking about it.

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?”
Would it be wrong to offer to fix him breakfast to thank him for all he’d done?

“I don’t know yet. I have a conference call in the morning—some tricky negotiations on behalf of a brilliant-but-chemically-challenged client of mine.”

She made a face. “Oh. Well, um…if you have time, I’d be happy to offer you some homemade chocolate-chip scones.”

He looked interested, but a fleeting frown crossed his face.

“You don’t like scones? They’re English, aren’t they?”

His smile returned. “Very. I love scones. I know a little shop in London that makes the lightest, most melt-in-your-mouth pastries. You’d swear their clotted cream comes from a cow tied behind the building. And their raspberry preserves are pure manna from the…” He laughed self-consciously and smacked his lips. “I’d forgotten about that place. I’ll have to swing by when I’m back next.”

“Oh, right. Your father. Have you heard any news?”

Daria touched his arm supportively. She felt his muscles tense beneath her fingers and let go right away. “Not really.”

“I feel awful about distracting you from what’s going on with your dad. Is there anything I can do? Maybe I could arrange to have those heaters shipped so you could head straight to the East coast. Would you fly this plane or park it and take a commercial flight?”

He looked a little taken aback by her questions. “Neither. I’m not planning a transatlantic trip right this minute. My mother is with him. There’s nothing I can do.”

His blunt words and impassive attitude shocked her. She knew him to be a kind and caring person—look at how magnanimously he’d treated her and her daughters. She leaned between the two seats to check on the girls. Hailey was awake now and the two were passing their stuffed animals back and forth in some sort of made-up game. “I wonder if Hailey and Miranda will feel the same way about me and Bruce someday?” she wondered out loud.

William brushed his microphone away from his lips impatiently and looked at her. “No, Daria. I promise you, there is no parallel between my childhood and the wonderful, beautiful connection you have with your daughters. None. You’re a great mom.”

“By comparison to yours?” she asked, a bit more facetiously than she’d intended.

“Actually, when I was a young lad and first realized my home life was drastically different from my chums, I started to pay attention to details I thought were important—and missing—from my life. I’m not sure why. Maybe I thought I might run across a Family Fairy some day and be allowed to trade my parents in for a new pair. I wanted to make certain I chose good ones.”

“A Family Fairy, huh? You had quite an imagination.”

“Yes, but the little bugger never showed up. Anyway, by the time I gave up on the idea, I had compiled quite a list of motherly and fatherly attributes. And believe me, you embody most, if not all of them.”

The twinge in her side suddenly kicked in, making her shift in her seat. “That’s nice of you to say, but according to my ex, I’m a kidnapper whose actions are going to leave deep, permanent scars on my daughters’ psyches.”

She couldn’t bear to see the look of sympathy she knew would be in William’s eyes. She was so damn tired of being pitied and pitiful. She got up, struggling awkwardly to escape the confines of the cockpit, and returned to her seat.

“Hi, Mommy,” Hailey said cheerfully. Her giggle made Daria want to pull the little girl into her arms and never let go. She loved being a mother and couldn’t imagine not seeing her children for weeks, let alone months at a time. How had William’s mother stood it?

She didn’t know, but she did know that Bruce would never give up his children completely. At one time, he’d even threatened to manufacture evidence to prove Daria was an unfit mother so he could gain full custody. Despite Bruce’s bad behavior, Daria had promised herself to do whatever it took to keep the girls from becoming caught in their parents’ tug-of-war.

She wondered if that’s what had happened with William. Had he been the prize his parents had fought over so intently that William, the boy, had become lost in the rhetoric? She couldn’t be sure, but the entire conversation had left her with a pain in her side and the beginnings of a headache.

She dug an aspirin out of her purse and took it with the last of her water. A Family Fairy, she thought, shaking her head. What child didn’t at some point in his or her life wish to trade in their parents? But what William didn’t seem to take into account was the fact that regardless of his parents’ failings, he’d turned out pretty damn special. He was kind, compassionate and successful. His parents couldn’t have been all bad, right?

She pushed the question aside. William’s issues—whatever they were—belonged to him. She had enough to worry about, and she didn’t need any extra reminders that parents were fallible human beings whose actions left lasting impressions on their children.

The remainder of the trip sped by with such clickety-clack speed that Daria halfway wondered if fate was finally on her side. Within an hour of landing, William’s rented van was pulling into her grandfather’s driveway.

“Look, girls, isn’t Great-Grandpa’s garden pretty in winter?” she asked, sitting forward eagerly.

“It looks straight out of a storybook,” Miranda said. “No wonder Great-Grandpa didn’t want to come to California for Christmas.”

Daria was pleased to hear such an upbeat observation from her daughter. Her improved attitude was probably helped in part due to Daria’s promise that Miranda could go online and check her social networking page once they were settled at Cal’s.

“Can we build a snowman, Mommy? And a snow dog, too?”

Daria and William both laughed. She liked the way he laughed—as if mildly surprised and a wee bit embarrassed about expressing his feelings so blatantly. She had a feeling he regretted his candid disclosures about his childhood, too. She didn’t plan to discuss his father’s health in front of the girls, but she did want him to know that she wasn’t judging him—whatever he decided about visiting his family was William’s decision alone.

“Seeing the smoke coming from Cal’s chimney is like having a load of bricks lifted from my shoulders. I truly can’t thank you enough, William. For everything.”

The words sounded trite and superficial, but she meant them. How did you thank a person for saving your life—or at least, for helping you to save yourself?

He shifted into park and undid his seat belt. “Last one in the snowbank is a hard-boiled egg.”

Miranda and Hailey looked at each other and burst out laughing. “You’re so silly, William,” Hailey said.

“What?” he deadpanned, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“It’s
rotten
egg,” Miranda said. “And you are
so
it,” she added with a little shriek as she opened the door and dashed away.

Hailey had a bit more trouble with her seat belt, but a moment later she was on the run as well. William followed, pelting them with loose, hastily packed snowballs.

Daria watched through the windshield, frozen by regret and missed opportunities. This was the sort of spontaneous fun she’d always wished for her children. How had she managed to find the exact opposite? Had she been blinded by promises of a story that, in hindsight, was too perfect to be real?

A rapping sound startled her out of her reverie. “Grandpa,” she cried, opening her door to the gnomelike man in the heavy down parka and Cossack hat waiting to hug her.

“Hello, dear heart,” Cal said, squeezing her with more strength than she’d expected. “I’m so happy you’re here. Come in, come in.”

Daria pulled back to look at him. Her stomach flip-flopped. She couldn’t point to one single sign, but Grandpa Cal had aged since she’d last seen him.

Which made sense. He’d lost the dear woman he’d loved with all his heart.
And I wasn’t here for the funeral. I wasn’t here for him.

For a moment, hatred twisted like a flaming dagger in her belly as she remembered the fight she’d had with Bruce. “Daria, she’s not your
real
grandmother, and I need you here,” he’d argued. “I’ve had this trip to Alaska planned forever, and I promised Devon you’d handle the phones in my place. Come on, Daria. We agreed to this, remember?”