A Hickory Ridge Christmas (3 page)

Rebecca reappeared in the bathroom, this time wearing a reindeer sweatshirt with her tights. “Somebody's knocking on the door.”

“I heard. I'll get the door. Why don't you go put your jeans on? Then go set up your dolls in the living room, and I'll be there in a minute to play.”

Again, Rebecca scurried off, but this time, Hannah followed, turning down the hall to the front door. She stopped as her hand touched the wood. Without a peephole to check for sure, she could only hold her breath and hope she was wrong.

Lord, please don't let it be Todd. It's too soon. Please give me strength when the time comes. Amen.

Her hand was on the doorknob when his voice came through the door.

“Hannah, it's me. Todd. I know you're in there. I can see the lights.”

Panic came in a rush that clenched inside her and dampened her palms. No. She couldn't tell him now. She wasn't ready. Not yet.

“Go away, Todd.”

Though she recognized the voice as her own, the words surprised even her. She was taking the easy way out again rather than facing this mess she'd created, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

For a few seconds, there was no sound on the other side of the door. She almost expected to hear the crunch of snow as he trudged down the steps and
away from her apartment, but instead there was a more insistent knock.

“You might as well open the door because I'm not leaving.”

Hannah stared at the door. Todd sounded different. The laid-back boy she remembered had been replaced by this determined and forceful guy she didn't recognize at all, and yet she still found herself cracking the door open to him.
Whatever happened to your fear of strangers?
But irony encased that thought, for even this new Todd was in no way a stranger to her.

He stood on the porch, the collar of his wool jacket flipped up to shield his ears and his hands shoved in the front pockets of his slacks. Several years on an island off the southern end of the Malay Peninsula hadn't prepared him for a Milford December. She was surprised by the impulse to warm his hands with her own, but she remained behind the cracked door.

“How did you find out where I live?”

“Andrew gave me your address.” He withdrew his hand from his pocket and held out a crumpled piece of paper.

“Why did Andrew—” she started to ask but stopped herself when the answer dawned.

Have you told Todd?
Andrew's words from that long ago night flashed through her mind. The youth minister and his future wife, Serena, had counseled her when she'd first discovered she was pregnant. She'd denied Andrew's assertion that Todd was the father, and neither of them had pressured her to reveal her secret.

The secret that had come back to haunt her today.

Hannah sighed, suddenly exhausted by the energy it had required to keep the truth hidden. “Todd, what are you doing here?”

Todd's teeth chattered as he zipped his jacket higher. “I told you I want to talk to you.”

She cocked her head to the side and studied him. Now that the shock of seeing him was beginning to wear off, old, mixed emotions began to resurface. Anger she realized she had no right to feel and long-buried hurt collided, leaving her insides feeling exposed. “After five years? Why would we have anything to talk about?”

“We do. I know
I
do.”

Hannah stared at him. He'd surprised her again with his certainty when she felt so unsure. “Maybe in a few days but not yet. I'm not ready—”

As she spoke those last three words, she started closing the door. Todd pressed his foot into the space before it could close completely.

“Isn't five years long enough?” he said.

Staring at his dress shoe, Hannah waited, but he didn't say more, so she finally lifted her gaze to his. In his eyes was a look of anguish so stark that Hannah could only remember seeing an expression like it once before. She'd found it in the mirror the day that Todd's family left for the airport.

He glanced away and back, and the look was gone. “I've waited five years to apologize to you. I'm not leaving until you let me do it.”

Hannah blinked, her mind racing. A million times
she'd imagined Todd's reaction when she told him the truth. Now she only wanted to run and hide with her secret again, to protect her daughter from the fallout and herself from the blame she deserved.

But she couldn't run anymore. Todd was right. It was time.

“Then I guess I'd better invite you in.”

A
s Hannah pulled open the door, Todd released the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. His foot ached, more likely from standing out in the cold than from where she'd squeezed it in the door, but he didn't care. He was here, she was here, and that was all that mattered.

“Nice place,” he said before he even stepped on the mat and took a look around.

And it was nice. Though one of the four smallish apartments in a renovated older house, Hannah had made it look warm and homey with overstuffed furniture and soft pillows. It was decorated in earth tones and dotted with artistic, framed black-and-white photographs of children.

The Christmas tree he'd first glimpsed through the front window radiated warmth, as well, with its homemade ornaments, popcorn strands and spatter
of silvery icicles. No hand-blown glass balls and fussy velvet bows for Hannah's apartment.

The woman herself looked as warm and casual as her house, dressed in well-worn jeans and a black long-sleeved top. She had fuzzy slippers on her feet. But her expression showed she was anything but comfortable with him in her space, and she looked as if she'd been crying.

“Yes, we like it.”

We?
The smile that had formed on his face slipped away as he turned to her. What had he missed? Hannah took a few steps into the living room and motioned for Todd to follow.

There in the corner that he couldn't see from the front door was a tiny blond girl, surrounded by baby dolls, blankets and play bottles. For several seconds, Todd stared at the child who was looking back at him with huge, haunting eyes. She looked familiar somehow.

“Come here, honey,” Hannah called to the child. When the little girl stood under her protective arm, Hannah turned back to face him.

“Todd, this is Rebecca. She's my daughter.”

Daughter? Hannah had a daughter? He looked back and forth between them, his thoughts spinning. Though their features were slightly different, they both had lovely peachy skin and light, light hair. They were clearly relatives.

When he glanced away to collect his thoughts, his gaze landed again on the amazing photos dotting the walls on either side of the Christmas tree. The
subjects of those photos, taken in a variety of natural backdrops, weren't children, but rather one child—the same sweet-looking little girl standing right in front of him.

Clearing his throat, he turned back to them. “Nice pictures.”

“Thanks.”

“The photographer did a great job.”

She nodded but didn't look at the portraits. Instead, she turned to her daughter. “Rebecca, this is Mr. McBride.”

“Hi,” she said quickly before taking refuge behind her mother's jeans-clad leg.

“Hello, Rebecca.”

Todd shook his head, trying to reconcile the new information. Parts of this puzzle weren't fitting together easily. Was Hannah married now? Was that what Andrew had been trying to tell him when he'd suggested that healing the relationship might not be easy? If that was it, how could the minister have been so cruel as to let him go on believing…hoping?

His gaze fell to Hannah's left hand, the one she was using to lead the child back to her toys and out of earshot of their conversation.

Hannah wore no ring.

Suddenly all of Todd's other questions fell away as one pressed to the forefront of his mind: a question too personal for him to ask. Still, when she returned to him, he took hold of her arm and led her around the corner to the entry so he could ask it.

“Who's her father, Hannah?”

She shot a glance back at her daughter, as if she worried Rebecca had overheard. He couldn't blame her if she shouted, “How dare you” for the private question and more. He deserved it.

But instead of yelling, she began in a soft tone. “You have to understand—”

“Who is it?” He couldn't help it. He didn't want an explanation; he wanted a name. Jealousy he had no right to feel swelled inside him, burning and destroying. The thought of another man touching her left his heart raw. If only he and Hannah had waited, their story might have turned out differently. Hannah might have been his wife. Her child, theirs.

Hannah stared back at him incredulously, as if she was shocked that he'd had the gall to ask. It wasn't about wanting; he
had
to know.

“Is it that blond guy from church?”

“Grant?” Her eyes widened and then she shook her head. “He's just a friend.”

“Do I know him then?”

“Of course you do.” She spat the words.

Strange, she sounded exasperated. She seemed to think he was an idiot for not knowing the answer. He stepped around the corner and studied the child again. She was so fair and beautiful, just like her mother. Rebecca must have sensed his attention on her because she looked up from her dolls and smiled at him.

And he knew.

His gut clenched, and he felt helpless to do anything but stare. Why it wasn't immediately
apparent to him he couldn't imagine now. Her green eyes had looked familiar because he saw eyes like those in the mirror every morning.

Though he was no expert on children's ages and this particular child was probably small for her age, as her mother had been, he could see from her features that she wasn't a toddler. Rebecca looked about four years old, just old enough to have been conceived five years before.

“She's mine, isn't she?”

Hannah didn't answer, but her eyes filled and a few tears escaped to trail down her cheeks. She brushed them away with the backs of her hands.

“Tell me I'm right, Hannah. Am I Rebecca's father?”

Instead of nodding the way he was certain she would, Hannah shook her head. Her jaw flexed as if she was gritting her teeth.

“How could you have thought—” She stopped whatever she'd been about to say. Closing her eyes, she pressed her hands over her closed lids and took a few deep breaths before continuing. “If you're asking if you supplied half of her DNA, then you're right. But for her whole life, I've been both parents to Rebecca. She's mine. Just mine.”

“Not just yours. She's mine, too.”

Todd wasn't sure whether he'd spoken those words aloud or just in the privacy of his heart until Hannah stalked from the room and crouched down by her daughter.
No, their daughter.

Maybe he hadn't said the right thing, but what did
she expect when she'd just dropped a bomb like that? He didn't know what to
think,
let alone what to say.

How naive he'd been with his big plans to return here and to earn Hannah's forgiveness and her heart. He'd thought he and Hannah were the only two involved, that their old conflicts were only between the two of them, when a third person had been growing inside Hannah before he'd ever left.

Father. He couldn't wrap his thoughts around the title yet, let alone apply it to himself. Everything he knew about himself changed with that single admission.

“Why did you have to come back?” Hannah whispered when she returned to him, appearing more agitated than before. “We were doing fine. Just fine. Now you've messed all of that up. We'll never be the same.”

“Come on, Hannah. We have a lot to talk about.”

“I don't think so. You've got your answer now, so go.”

“I can't leave now that you've told me this.”

“Please go.” Her eyes filled again.

Her plea tore at his heart. Clearly, they had more to say to each other, but maybe now wasn't the best time. He was still too shocked, too confused to make any decisions that would affect their lives. Three lives.

“I won't stay gone, you know. I'm living in Milford now, and I'm sticking around this time.”

Either she didn't hear him or she refused to answer, but Hannah hurried him toward the door and
closed it behind him. As the cold enfolded him, this time seeping to his very core rather than only touching his extremities, Todd realized that Hannah was right about one thing: None of them would ever be the same.

 

It wasn't until Todd was back at his Commerce Road town house and eating chicken noodle soup that refused to warm his chilled insides that he realized he'd never apologized to Hannah. After traveling from the other side of the world in miles and in years of effort, he hadn't even managed to do the most important thing he'd come to town to accomplish.

“You were too busy trying not to swallow your tongue to remember anything else,” he said to the stacked boxes around him.

Sitting at the new glass dinette in the kitchen, he stared down into the soup bowl and stirred the noodles into a whirlpool. His thoughts traveled in a similar circular pattern, but unlike the liquid, they wouldn't stop spinning.

A child. His child. Of course, he should have considered the possibility that Hannah could have become pregnant. He knew the textbook mechanics of reproduction and the potential consequences of unprotected sex, but he'd never once considered that they might have made a child together. He and Hannah had only made love that one time. Apparently, it only took once.

The returned letters and unanswered calls made sense now. Not only had he left her alone with her
guilt over what had happened between them, but he'd also left her alone with his child.

Alone. He felt that way now as he sat with only the bare walls and the truth to keep him company. He suddenly felt a stronger need to connect with his parents than he had at any time since he'd hugged them goodbye in Kranji a week earlier. But what would he say to them if he called? He could just imagine how that conversation would go: “Hello, Mom and Dad. Or should I say Grandma and Grandpa? I have just the best news.”

He shook his head. No, that conversation would have to wait for another day when he was prepared to hear disappointment of that magnitude over international phone lines. He wasn't ready for that when he hadn't digested it himself yet.

But there was one call he could make now. He pulled out the phone book, looked up the name and dialed. He didn't even identify himself when the man answered on the second ring.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Todd said simply.

Andrew Westin sighed loudly into the line. “Todd. I had an idea I would be hearing from you.”

“You could have saved yourself the call by telling me before.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

His jaw was so tightly clenched in frustration that it took Todd a few seconds to be able to answer at all and a few seconds more to answer civilly. “It was easy. The first time I called the church, you could
have said, ‘Hey, Todd, it's good to hear from you. Just thought you should know, you're a dad.'”

“Sure, I could have done that.”

“Then why didn't you?”

“It wasn't my place. Then or now.”

Todd stalked over to the tan striped couch, dropped onto it and sank into the backrest. “Then or now? What do you mean by that?”

“Hannah never told anyone who the father of her baby was. Until now.”

“Until now?” Todd straightened in his seat. There could be no slouching after a comment like that, one that crushed as much as it confused. Hannah had been more ashamed of him than she'd been of being an unwed mother. He didn't know what to do with that information.

“Wait. Then how did
you
know?”

“I told you Serena and I had guessed you two were more than friends when we saw you together.”

Todd swallowed. “Oh.”

“So, when Hannah became pregnant, we suspected. Then when little Rebecca arrived, we…well knew.”

The image of those pretty green eyes filled his mind again. If Andrew and Serena had already been suspecting, he could easily see how they'd connected the dots to solve the puzzle. They'd probably put it together faster than he had.

“What about Reverend Bob?”

“If he knows, he's never mentioned it to me.” Andrew paused. “Bob was always more concerned
with supporting his daughter than tracking down his grandchild's father.”

“Another reason I never found out the truth.”

“Todd, I always thought she would open up eventually, that
she
would tell you. But she didn't. So when you called looking for answers, I figured God was suggesting that I help the truth along.”

“I don't know whether to say thanks or not.” Todd shoved his free hand through his hair.

“But you know now, right?”

Todd blew out a breath. “Yes, I know.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Don't use all that psychobabble on me, okay Reverend?”

“Fine. But she's a cute one, your daughter.”

Emotion filled Todd's throat with a speed that surprised him. Rebecca was his daughter, and she didn't even know him.

“Yeah…she's beautiful,” he choked out finally.

Andrew chuckled into the line. “Spoken like a true father. I do have one more question for you.”

“What's that?”

“What are you going to do about it now that you know?”

What are you going to do?
Todd didn't have an answer for the minister's question or for his own as they said their goodbyes. He clicked off the phone and laid it on the end table. It was a given that he would take some responsibility for the care of his child. His parents would expect that, and he expected that of himself. He didn't even want to remember all
the other things he'd expected to happen when he returned to Milford.

Disquiet had him pushing off the sofa and crossing to the light wood bookshelf he'd just purchased and already had crammed with books. His fingers closed over a heavy cloth-covered album his mother had insisted he take with him on the plane at Changi International Airport. He took it back to the table and plunked it next to the bowl of soup that had already congealed.

He sat and opened it to the first page. It was as he predicted: a tribute to the lives and loves of the McBride clan. He would expect nothing less from Sharon McBride than a maudlin display, sure to cause more homesickness than to cure it.