She'd made mistakes in her first marriage. A lot of mistakes.
That didn't mean she had to keep repeating them. Life was a learning
experience, and marriage was a challenge, a compromise, a duel between two
strong egos that didn't always agree. She'd given Danny everything he asked
for, but she'd forgotten that she had needs as well. Their marriage had suffered
greatly from a lack of communication. Not so this marriage, because she didn't
intend to repeat her mistakes. She wasn't that sweet, naïve young girl any longer.
She was a grown woman, with two children to protect. Emma was dependent on her
parents for her very survival; and Paige might be sixteen, and not Casey's
biological child, but love had nothing to do with biology, and the girl still
needed a mother's firm but gentle hand. This kind of tension wasn't good for
her, for the baby, for Paige. Whatever was wrong with Rob, they would get
through it together. Just like they always had.
He couldn't avoid talking about it forever. She wouldn't let that
happen. As soon as she could get him alone, she was going to hammer at him until
he gave her an answer that made sense.
Rob
His parents were spending the night. While his mother cleared the dinner
table, Casey had made up the guest bed with fresh linens. Now, the two women
were in the kitchen, talking in hushed voices, their words punctuated by the
clinking of plates and the rattle of flatware. Casey had left him in charge of
Emma, and he sat in the Boston rocker, his little miracle in his arms, and
rocked her while his dad watched an old rerun of
Gunsmoke
.
Upstairs, Paige was playing M.C. Hammer at an almost acceptable
volume. He'd tried his damnedest to broaden her musical horizons since she'd
come to live with them nine months ago. He'd had moderate success, especially after
she started singing with Luke's band, although she still rolled her eyes every
time he mentioned bowing at the altar of Smokey Robinson. Ungrateful little
twit. Her mother had obviously allowed her to wander down the wrong path. He
would start Emma off right. Raise her, right from birth, to appreciate the
good stuff. There'd be no rap music for his little Emmy Lou Who. She would
learn her daddy's musical tastes, or he'd die trying.
The baby was asleep in his arms, her ridiculously long eyelashes
casting shadows on alabaster skin. A tiny vein throbbed in her temple. He
pressed his mouth to her head, pale downy hair soft against his lips. Picked up
her hand, examined her fingers with their minuscule fingernails. In her sleep,
she curled a tiny fist around his forefinger, and his heart melted into a
quivering pile of goo.
Across the room, his dad said, "Pretty amazing, isn't
it?"
Too choked up to answer, he just nodded his head.
Patrick picked up the television remote, clicked the off button,
and the screen went blank. "It never stops being amazing," he said.
"We had nine babies, and every one of you was a miracle. That first time
they wrap their fingers around yours. That first smile. The first time they
call you Daddy. Life doesn't get any better than that."
He blinked to clear his vision. "I know. I know how blessed
I am."
"You want to talk about it?"
"It's just…a little overwhelming. Did you ever feel that
way?"
"Every damn time. They're so small and defenseless.
Completely dependent on you. Every time your mother gave birth, I held the
baby in my arms, gave your mom a kiss, and walked directly to the nearest pub
to drink myself into oblivion."
"Dad, it was incredible. Being there. Watching it happen.
It changes you. It makes you want to be a better person."
"Nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with the person you
already are."
Casey came to the archway that separated kitchen from living
room. She stood there, dish towel in hand, studying him and their new
daughter. He gave her a weak grin. After a moment, she returned it and went
back to the kitchen.
"You’ve got yourself a good woman there," his dad
observed.
"They don’t make 'em any better. Although Mom comes
close."
"Let me give you a little advice. She's vulnerable right now.
She just gave birth. She's got all these emotions rolling around, all stirred up
with out-of-control hormones. She needs your support."
"I know."
"Good. Then don’t go screwing it up."
And Patrick clicked the television back on.
* * *
While Casey got his parents settled for the night, he looked in on
Paige, made sure her homework was done and her clothes for tomorrow were set out
and ready. His daughter wasn't a morning person, and although he might be a
geezer, he hadn't yet forgotten the sheer hell that was high school. She
wouldn't need much of an excuse to stay home tomorrow, especially in light of
the fact that she'd not only moved over the weekend, but also had a new baby
sister. It was a lot for a teenager to take in, especially one who'd lost her
mother and then been sent here to this tiny town at the end of nowhere to spend
the rest of her growing-up years with strangers.
She was strumming her guitar when he knocked on the door.
"Enter," she said.
He opened the door and poked his head into the room.
"Homework done?"
His daughter scowled, looking so much like him that it was
terrifying. "Fricking algebra. It's done, but there's blood smeared all
over the papers."
"It’s supposed to strengthen your mind. Or something like
that."
"Yeah, well, I think it blew all my circuits."
"Two more years. You can survive two more years."
"Hah. It feels more like a life sentence."
He understood. He'd hated school, too, until he got to college.
He'd spent two years at Boston's Berklee School of Music, soaking up knowledge
like a sponge. Theory, composition, transcription. A little piano. A lot of
guitar. The whole performance deal. It had been heaven on earth, and he'd
tolerated the academic courses that were a necessary evil because the rest of
it made up for them. After two years, he'd left Berklee, when he met Danny
Fiore and the real world beckoned. They'd started a band together, and neither
of them had ever looked back. But those years at Berklee had been the
foundation upon which he built his entire musical career. And his daughter, if
she managed to survive algebra and her last two years of high school, would
probably follow in his footsteps.
He said goodnight to Paige and followed the sound of his wife's
voice to the bedroom. By the light of a single lamp, she was sitting in the
comfortable rocking chair he'd bought for just this purpose, nursing the baby
and cooing softly to her. Transfixed, he found himself wishing he'd been born
an artist instead of a musician, just so he could paint the two of them
together.
"Shut the door," she said.
He closed it behind him, watched as she expertly propped the baby
on her shoulder and elicited a huge belch. "Sit down," she told him.
"We need to talk."
Oh, boy.
You can run, MacKenzie, but you can't
hide.
He'd
been a little crazy ever since Emma was born, and now it was coming back to bite
him on the ass. Casey wasn't the kind of woman to let anything ride, and her
finely-tuned radar never missed a thing. He'd be lucky to escape with his hide
intact.
He made his way to the window seat, perched casually on the
cushion, watched as she put the baby to bed in the cradle that would remain in
their room for the first few months of their daughter's life. And then she sat
down next to him and said, "Have your feelings for me changed?"
It was the last thing he'd expected to hear. "What the hell
are you talking about?"
She folded her hands in her lap, neatly, the way she did everything.
Drew in a deep breath. "You haven't been yourself since Emma was born.
Since the night you came to me in the hospital. All I need is a yes or no. Even
if it hurts me, the truth can't be any worse than my wild imaginings. Have you
fallen out of love with me?"
They were the most ridiculous words she'd ever spoken, so far beyond
ridiculous that he couldn't comprehend them. Had childbirth stolen her brain?
Was this the result of that crazy mix of hormones his dad had mentioned?
Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you laughing at me,
MacKenzie?"
"I’m not laughing."
"Then wipe that smirk off your face and answer the damn
question."
He tried to accommodate, tried to choke it back. But after the
tension of the past few days, it simply bubbled out of him, a full-bellied,
full-bodied peal of laughter.
"This is funny?" she said.
"Oh, shit." His stomach hurt, and he wrapped his arms
around it. "You can't seriously believe that I don't love you,
Fiore."
"I didn't ask if you loved me. I asked if you were still in
love with me. Big difference, MacKenzie."
She was serious. Dead, flat-out serious. He swiped at a tear and
did his best to compose himself. "Ah, baby," he said, "I'm
sorry. I don't mean to laugh at you. But I've never heard anything more
stupid come from your mouth. For the record, I plan to be in love with you
until the day I die."
"You’re digging that hole deeper with every word."
What was wrong with the woman? She should have been relieved,
shouldn't she? "It's not you," he said.
"If it's not me, then it must be Emma." Her lips drew
together in a thin line, and her shoulders sagged. "Are you sorry we had
her? Is that it? Because if it is, you might've expressed those second
thoughts about nine months sooner. It's a little late for them now."
"No! No, no, no. I am over the moon about the baby. Are
you kidding? If you ever tried to take her away from me, I'd fight you, all
the way to the Supreme Court if I had to. How could you even think such a
thing?"
"What the hell was I supposed to think, Rob? Nothing's felt
right since she was born, and it's all on your plate. I've imagined all kinds of
terrible things, because you're not talking to me."
"I talk to you."
"Not about anything that matters! Damn it, MacKenzie, this isn't
how our marriage operates. We don't hide things from each other. We talk. We
communicate. I spent thirteen years married to a man who kept everything
inside, and I won't tolerate it from you. We're different. Our relationship
is special! You made me fall so deeply in love with you that there's no hope of
ever climbing out. We made a baby together, for the love of God. And then you
had to go and act like a goddamn man, and spoil it all!"
"I am a goddamn man!"
"
Talk
to me!"
"Fine! It's not you, it's not the baby, it's me. ME! Your
pathetic, inadequate, scared shitless excuse for a husband!"
Her mouth opened. Stayed that way for a moment. Then clamped
shut. Quietly, she said, "What are you talking about?"
Suddenly, it was all too much for him. He braced his elbows on
his knees, ran his palms up and down his face. In resignation, he said,
"I'm going to get it all wrong and screw her up completely."
"And that's what's wrong? That's what this is all
about?"
Fingers buried in his hair, he said, "I'm scared, babe. I'm
a loser, a flake, an unstructured, rambling mess. That's not what a father's
supposed to be. A father's supposed to be strong, and sure, and untouchable.
Like my dad. And yours. Not some freaky-deaky aging hippie with too many
guitars and too few responsibilities. I'm not good enough for her. I can't give
her what she needs. And I've spent half my time these past couple of days wanting
to pack a bag and run away."
He waited for the explosion. Waited for her to tell him he was
right, that there was no way he could ever be a satisfactory father to that
precious little girl they'd created, that he should just go ahead and pack that
bag and hit the road, Jack.
Softly, she said, "When were you planning to tell me
this?"
He glanced up, saw her face, softened by lamplight, love and
compassion shining in her eyes. "I'm telling you now."
"What took you so long?"
"I was ashamed. And I didn't want to hurt you. Didn't want
you think I had any regrets about Emma."
She sighed. Shook her head and said, "You're an idiot, but
you're my idiot, and I love you."
"I know I need to change. But I don't think I can do it. And
it scares the hell out of me. I went to see Danny yesterday. I thought he
could give me some advice."
She raised both eyebrows. "You went looking to Danny for
advice?"
"Yeah. Crazy, I know. But he was such a great dad. I
thought I could get a few pointers from him. And maybe I just needed to talk
to somebody who'd listen without talking back."
She took his hand in hers, kissed the hard, callused tips of his
fingers. Said, "My crazy-ass guitar man. Don't you realize that Emma and
I love you just the way you are?"
"I’m supposed to be the captain of this ship. But with me in
charge, it'll sink faster than the Titanic after it hit that berg. Hell.
I'm
the goddamn iceberg."
"Oh, Flash. Do you really think I'd let that happen?"
He let out a soft snort. "I shouldn't have to depend on
you."
"That's what I'm here for. We depend on each other. It's
called marriage."
"She's so tiny. So helpless. What if I screw up? What if
you're not here, and she's crying, and I'm too wrapped in my music to even hear
her? What if she falls off her bike and I'm not there to pick her up? What
happens the first time some boy breaks her heart, and I don't know the right
words to say to comfort her?"
"Come on, Rob. You've been wonderful with Paige."
"But Paige is sixteen years old. I wasn't there for those
crucial growing-up years. She came to me already fully-formed. It's different
with Emma. I'm the one molding the clay. What if I mold it wrong, and deform
her horribly?"
"Oh, babe. You can't let fear rule your life. You can't
spend all your time being afraid of things that will probably never happen. I
have absolute faith in you, MacKenzie. Not blind faith, like I had with Danny,
because that was foolish and naïve, and I'm not like that any more. I grew up,
and I stepped into your arms with my eyes wide open. It was the best decision
I ever made. Of course you have flaws. We all do. That’s what makes us
human. Of course you'll make mistakes. So will I. It's how we learn. But
there's nobody I’d rather raise children with. Inside that loosey-goosey, wonderfully
flaky guy is a rock-solid man who's always had the wisdom to solve any problem
I couldn't see my way out of. You just have to learn to believe in yourself.
Do it for me. Do it for Paige and Emma. Do it for yourself."