Child of Mine (14 page)

Sunday morning dawned brightly. Jack had just emerged from the shower when he heard the key rattling in the front door and a “Yoo-hoo!” from his sister. He wrapped himself in a robe and shook his damp hair, then stuck his head over the railing. “'Morning, San. Isn't it kind of early, even for you?”

“Hey, you offered to drive,” San retorted, kicking off her high heels and heading for the coffee machine. “Besides, church starts in less than two hours, and I've got important things to discuss with you.”

Only San would squeeze in
an intervention on the Lord's Day.
Jack chuckled.

Looking in the mirror, he saw how very long his hair had gotten and attempted to create some order to it. He was overdue for a visit to the barber, who was on vacation. Jack lathered up and scraped his face free of offending whiskers, then washed his face with warm water. That done, he slipped on his black dress slacks, twisted on his purple-checked tie with light black stripes—fashion police approved—and headed downstairs to face the firing squad.

She brought him a piping hot mug of java and settled on the
couch, wasting no time. “How about I tell
you
how it went with the school counselor last evening?”

Jack opened the curtains and stared out toward the side yard. Craig was on his front porch, leafing through the Sunday paper, his own steaming mug in hand.

“She's intense, right?” San began. “In fact, she's possibly the most like me of anyone you could have picked.” She gave a little cackle.

“You're enjoying this a little too much.”

Her chortle deepened. “You had to learn the hard way, Jack. Now, are you ready to get real? I mean
really
real?”

“I have a few new names,” Jack said, having had plenty of time last night to consider the possibilities.

“So we
still
haven't learned our lesson,” San muttered. “Go ahead. Let's get it over with—tell me who you're thinking of asking next.”

Jack eased himself into an upholstered chair and recited his own list of eligible and interesting females: Cynthia, red-haired and bubbly; Jennifer, somewhat shy but with a dizzying sense of humor; and Maggie, short hair, five foot two, and a big heart. All from San's church, which he and Nattie had visited quite a few times. He waited for San to be impressed.

“You done?” she asked, clearly hiding a smirk.

“And those are just for starters.”

“First off, Cynthia's engaged—”

“Fine. She's off the list,” he said.

“Jennifer has a boyfriend in Alabama, and besides she doesn't even want kids of her own, so why would she raise yours?”

“Good point. Check.”

“And Maggie?” San snorted. “Divorced twice. And she's not even twenty-five yet. How would you like to be number three?”

“Uh . . . check.”

“By the way, very few people know this about her, so keep it under your rapidly thinning hair.”

Jack touched his scalp.

“Gotcha.” San chortled again. “So let's think out of the box,” she said mysteriously, crossing her legs and fluffing her long red skirt. “I'm thinking of . . . ah yes. Angela Walberg.”

Jack took another sip. He hadn't even considered Angela. Long blond hair, very attractive, even model material. She, too, attended San's church. “Okay, you've got my attention.”

San laughed. “Uh-huh. That's what
I'm
talking about. Do I know, or do I know?”

Before he could manage a retort, he heard the bathroom drawer slam shut, and soon Nattie came bounding downstairs, hair brushed and held back by a white headband, sundress twirling around her with each step. She gave her auntie San a quick hug and presented Jack a piece of paper containing her memory verses for Sunday school. She took a quick breath, clutched her hands behind her back, and began reciting from memory. “Create in me a clean heart . . .” she began, remembering the Psalm perfectly. He and San clapped exuberantly. Proud of her accomplishment, Nattie grabbed the paper from Jack, all smiles, and bounded into the kitchen for breakfast.

Jack hunched in his chair glumly.

“I know what you're thinking,” San whispered.

“You remember?”

San cleared her throat. “I try not to. It was just a bad day, Jack.”

No, it wasn
't,
Jack thought.
It was a typical day.

His mind flashed back in time, twenty years. They were driving to church for the Christmas Eve service in their Oldsmobile, an oversized rust bucket, his father and mother in the front seat, his father wearing his favorite speckled maroon tie, the one that cleverly disguised food stains, and his mother wearing those gaudy white beads, layers upon layers of fake pearls, like a noose around her neck.

His mother turned in her seat and handed Danny a piece of paper containing a series of Scripture passages relating to the birth
of Christ and told him she'd forgotten, but he needed to recite them tonight, by
memory
, in front of the church congregation.

“You're my smartest child,” his mother told Danny. “You can do it.”

Jack and Sandra must have shuddered, but Danny did his best, whispering the verses over and over again, and by the time they got to church, a mere twenty minutes later, eager-to-please Danny thought he was ready.

Standing in front of the pastor's podium, Danny got through the Isaiah passage without so much as a pause. The Luke section was next, but after reciting
“When Cyrenius was governor of Syria,”
Danny drew a complete blank. He looked out at the audience, hoping for a whispered clue, but only an awkward silence filled the candle-lit sanctuary. Embarrassed and red-faced, he slid the paper out of his pocket and finished the recitation.

Sitting beside Jack, his mother's own cheeks splashed fire engine red, her expression hardening into a fake but socially accommodating smile, her eyes turning to ice.

Afterward, and all the way home, she berated Danny for humiliating her in front of the entire church, while Jack and Sandra sat in stunned silence.

“She wasn't well, you know,” San now added softly. “And she was drinking a lot to deal with her pain. She wasn't always like that.”

Jack bit his tongue. Maybe not, but that's the only mother he remembered, and he still marveled at how Danny could have emerged from the Livingston family relatively unscathed, eager to forgive, eager to place the best interpretation on others' failings, even their mother's.

Sitting across from San, Jack listened to Nattie rattling about in the kitchen—the clinking of silverware and bowls, and the springy click of the toaster. He sighed and shook off the melancholy. “Okay, back to this dating thing. Surely Angela's seeing someone.”

“Nope. She's single,” San corrected. “And ready to mingle!”

“Uh . . . sis? She's a bit out of my league, right?”

San grinned. “She's a woman, Jack. She was
born
out of your league. Thing is, she hasn't been on a date in ages because she intimidates mere mortals such as yourself.”

“Um, yikes.”

“So I'm thinking she might be just a little lonely about now. Maybe even enough to take your phone call, brother dear.”

“Lonely is good.” Jack sighed, dying to end the topic and get on the road to church. “Give me her number.”

Later that night, one whimper was all it took and he was wide awake. After years of only half sleeping at night, Jack was aware of the smallest sound emanating from his daughter's room.

Hearing the sad moan again, he sat up in bed. Then hearing it louder, he made his way to her door, turned on the hall light, and looked in. Her room smelled of lavender and musty spice. Burrowed into a tight ball, Nattie was murmuring in her sleep.

He moved to sit on the edge of her bed and softly touched her shoulder. Slowly she awakened, obviously confused by her surroundings, peering up at Jack in a daze.

“Bad dream, honey?”

She leaned up to hug him.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, started to say something, then let loose with a full-fledged sob. He soothed her gently, until whatever was troubling Nattie seemed to pass. He grabbed a tissue, and she blew her nose.

So many nightmares for one
so small,
he thought, asking her if she needed to use the restroom. Sighing, Nattie threw the covers back and stumbled out of the room. A small shadow of light flickered around the corner, followed by the hum of the fan. Minutes later, she was back, squirming beneath the covers. “Don't go yet,” she said as he pulled the quilt to her neckline.

“I won't,” he replied. “Do you still remember your dream, honey?”

“I can't tell you—it was
terrible.
”

Jack pointed to the chair in the corner of her room. “That's where I'll be until you fall asleep. I won't leave you, Nattie.”

“Promise?”

He patted her face, waiting for her to settle some before he turned off the light.

“Can I tell you a secret, Dad?” she whispered.

Jack made a zipping gesture, pulling his finger across his lips, just as Nattie often did. But she continued to stare at him, as if worried he wouldn't take her seriously.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“Sometimes I play make-believe,” she began softly. “And sometimes I pretend that Laura's my birth mom, and that when she saw me, she didn't want to give me up, after all. But the men in white clothes made her, because they had a deal, but she searched the whole country and found me anyway.” She stopped to catch her breath. “And then she decided to secretly work for my adoptive parents, so she could be with me forever.”

He nodded respectfully.

“Do you think it could be true?”

“No, honey, I don't.” Jack felt his eyes water. “I wish I could say it was.”

“I can still pretend, though, can't I?”

“Sure,” he said.
Sometimes
that's all we have.

He asked her if she wanted to pray, and she did. Afterward, he kissed her again and turned off the hall light. Then he cozied up in the rather uncomfortable chair in the corner of her itty-bitty living space. The bright stars lit her room, casting shadows across her bed coverings as his eyes became adjusted to the darkness.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you more,” he said.

Nattie giggled and her world tilted back to normal. Or so he hoped.

In his own make-believe world, if Jack were to admit it, Nattie was always a happy girl, and she never cried or dreamed upsetting dreams, because he was able to give her everything she needed.

Just about
everything.

A
t the airfield the following Tuesday afternoon, Jack put Angela's phone number on his desk next to his bottled water and took a deep breath. He was puzzled at his nerves, considering that he, as a seasoned pilot with over ten thousand hours under his belt, could take a spinning plane careening toward earth at blinding speed and swing it to safety without a second thought. Yet the thought of calling a woman like Angela Walberg for a date made his palms sweaty.

Throwing caution to the wind, Jack pressed onward and dialed her number, praying for a red flag if God had other plans for them. When she answered, her voice was tinged with an endearing lyrical inflection, as though expecting his call. Had San tipped her off?

“Hi,” he said, waxing nonpoetic. “I'm San Livingston's brother.”

Angela laughed heartily, reminding him of something San had declared. The way to a man's heart was
not
through the stomach, but by making him feel like he was the funniest man on planet Earth.

“I've known San for five years,” Angela informed him after he asked. Then she admitted, “I wouldn't have known you two were related, much less siblings.”

“Believe me, we've heard that before.”

“Are you
sure
you're brother and sister?”

“Careful, you might get San's hopes up.”

Angela seemed pleased with his self-deprecating humor, and at the appropriate lull he ventured in. “I'd like to get to know you better, Angela.”

“Well, thanks, Jack. I'd like that, too.”

So they agreed to meet for lunch at a restaurant a few blocks from Angela's job as a fashion advisor for an upscale boutique on Main Street.

Jack arrived fifteen minutes early for their date the next day. Unsure of the proper greeting, Jack was relieved when Angela, wearing a navy blue sleeveless dress, swang in for a quick hug, smelling of apples and flowers.

The hostess led them toward the back of the restaurant, surrounded by exotic paintings and dark wood paneling. The popular place was filled with patrons, assisted by an impressive waitstaff.

It surprised Jack how easily his conversation with Angela picked up where they'd left off on the phone. Talking about her family, work, and faith, Angela described her childhood years in Duluth, Minnesota, and her Norwegian heritage in particular. “I've inherited plenty of stubbornness,” she said.

For his part, Jack shared a few flight stories and several Nattie stories. The more they talked, the more it seemed they were uncovering something special.
Maybe even divinely ordained?
Jack thought, uncommonly relaxed.

Angela ordered something light and then leaned back, seemingly comfortable as she looked about the room. When it appeared that she'd spotted someone, she broke into a broad smile and leaned forward to whisper to Jack. “Without looking obvious, notice the couple three tables to our right.”

Jack adjusted his napkin and turned slightly, seeing the object
of Angela's fascination—a well-dressed brown-haired man, midthirties, sitting across from a younger woman in a pale yellow dress.

“Jeff and Mindy,” Angela said. “He's her boss. I've known Mindy for years. But tell me what
you
see.”

Angela had certainly piqued his curiosity, but their waitress was walking toward them, carrying their order on a large round tray. Their conversation took different turns, and over the course of a few minutes Jack casually observed the couple—Jeff and Mindy—but saw nothing of a mysterious nature. Angela, however, gave the impression of glee at his bewilderment.

Obviously eager for the revelation, Angela said simply, “It's all in the eyes, Jack.”

He took another subtle look but saw nothing.

Angela smiled knowingly. “Mindy's in
love
with her boss and has been for months. She told me so, but I can tell by how she looks at him.” She lowered her voice. “But Jeff's clueless, because . . .”

Just then the waitress interrupted things by coming to refill their water glasses. All the while, Angela's blue eyes twinkled with impatience.

When they were alone again, Angela nodded. “Jeff's totally unaware of Mindy's affection because
he's
enamored with our waitress, the one who just filled our glasses.”

“How do you know
that
?” Jack asked.

Angela shook her head in mock disappointment. “I told you. The
eyes
!” She clasped her hands in front of her on the table. “I'm a people-watcher, Jack. I should've been a jury consultant.”

Later, after finishing her meal of spinach salad and shrimp and noodle soup, Angela studied him for a moment. She mentioned her favorite steak place, adding, “The chef's wife is a friend of mine.”

“Is that right?”

“I'll have to introduce you,” she continued. “We should go sometime.”

An engraved invitation,
Jack thought, swooping in with, “How about this Friday night?”

Angela beamed at his dating acumen. So another date was set for the weekend.
“Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy
,” Nattie might have said. But he couldn't help imagining that Angela was watching
his
eyes for things he didn't even realize he was communicating.

I've got this dating
thing by the tail,
Jack thought while driving home. He remembered San's advice, fortunately not given within Nattie's hearing. “Angela's ready to settle down, so get out your wallet if you're serious, 'cause she's done window shopping.”

Laura had quickly agreed to stay late on Friday with Nattie. However, before Jack headed for the garage, Nattie quizzed him with undiluted anxiety. “Angela,
again
”

“This is what dating looks like, sweetie,” Jack replied, sounding even to himself like he'd become an expert. He gave her a long hug good-bye, but Nattie held on, letting go only after he patted the hand that had become super-glued to his neck. He kissed her cheek, but her pout remained—the evening with Karen Jones still fresh in her memory.

“Laura looks really pretty tonight,” Nattie said glumly, but Jack didn't bite.

She'll be happy,
he thought, backing out of the garage in his lumbering Ford,
once she meets
Angela Walberg.

According to their previous agreement, Jack and Angela met in the waiting area of the restaurant. She showed up in an eye-catching red-and-white print dress and white heels. Jack felt quite tailored in his pinstriped gray suit.

After a quick glance at a menu, which Angela had apparently memorized, she pointed to the prime rib and Jack took her suggestion. Their conversation progressed beyond previously established boundaries, during which Angela introduced a few tidbits about
her earlier relationships. Jack listened uneasily, scouring her words for clues.

Stretching his rather limited social repertoire, Jack told a few more Nattie stories, including more of their past history. Angela's eyes brightened suddenly. “So you missed out on the diapering years, eh?”

He shrugged. “I guess I did.”

“Boy, were you lucky. I was the oldest of four, and let me tell you, I'm not a fan of screaming babies. I don't even think really young kids should be allowed in restaurants.”

At this comment, Angela tilted her head toward a far table, indicating a young family of four, including a fussy young child. Jack hadn't even noticed them until now. Angela rolled her eyes, then broke into a soft laugh. “Who in their right mind would bring children to an upscale place like this to eat?”

At the end of their enjoyable dinner, they lingered in the corner of the plush lobby, making plans to meet again. Jack caught Angela's irresistible gaze and leaned near to kiss her.

Angela brushed her hand along his shoulder, met his eyes in an alluring manner, and said, “So when can I get to know this precocious child of yours whom you and San cannot stop talking about?”

“Nattie can't wait to meet you, either,” he told her, hoping he wouldn't be held accountable for the mild exaggeration.

Like most men and women on the brink of coupledom, they texted over the weekend, and when Jack called Sunday night to invite Angela for supper at his place, she said yes immediately. “San says your daughter's nanny is a wonder in the kitchen. I've always wanted to try something authentically Amish.”

Jack suggested the following Friday, nearly a week away, but Angela had plans to visit friends in Cleveland. And, as it turned out, their schedules simply didn't mesh during the next week
either. Except for tomorrow night. “A Monday night supper—will that work for you?”

“At least it's not Monday night football,” Angela laughed. “So, sure.”

“Perfect.” And it was, Jack told himself. This way he wouldn't be tempted to procrastinate about telling Nattie.
And less
time for her to fret or scheme.

While tucking Nattie in that evening, Jack revealed the plan. She took the news with relative ease. Perhaps it was Angela's special request for Nattie's attendance that made all the difference, not to mention the great interest in Laura's
Amish
cooking. Nattie loved to show Laura off.