Apprentice Father (12 page)

Taking a deep breath, Clay relaxed his posture and sat on the top step, putting himself on the same level as the children. From that vantage point, he had a clear view into their wide eyes, which reflected fear and insecurity—and that haunted look he'd first noticed in Nebraska.

Clay knew he had some bridges to mend. And a simple, “I'm sorry,” wasn't going to cut it. Nevertheless, it was the place to start.

“Let's sit out here for a minute and talk, okay?” He gentled his tone and gestured to the concrete wall beside the steps that led to the porch, scooting over to give them room to pass.

The children complied, cutting a wide, wary berth around him. Once seated, Josh stuck his thumb in his mouth and Emily regarded her uncle in silence.

“First of all, I'm sorry I yelled. That was a wrong thing to do. But I was scared when I saw Josh run close to that car. I was afraid he'd get hurt. That's why we have the backyard rule. It's safer if you play there. And I want you to promise me you'll always stay inside the fence unless you're with me or Cate. Okay?”

“Okay.” Emily dipped her head and scuffed the toe of her shoe against the concrete step. “Are you going to…to send us away?”

A shock wave reverberated through Clay at her whispered question. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Sometimes, when Daddy got mad, he'd say he was going to send us to an orphan's home.” Emily's voice quavered.

Clay gritted his teeth. Was there no end to the damage that monster had inflicted on his children? “That was a bad thing to say. When people make mistakes, you don't send them away. Or stop loving them.”

“Do you love us?” Josh ventured.

Josh's wistful question startled Clay. He'd assumed the children were aware of his feelings. Why else would he be fighting to keep them? But he'd never put it into words. The admission implied too much. Love meant taking responsibility. Protecting. Sharing at the deepest levels. Opening yourself to risk.

Love was a loaded word.

Yet people needed to hear it, Clay acknowledged. Especially young children who had known far too little love in their lives, who had been taught by a bully of a father that love was contin
gent on behaving according to his standards. It was the same lesson Clay had learned from his own tyrannical father. The old man had never once told Clay he loved him, and he'd been clear that his love—and God's—was conditional, based on his son's ability to follow a set of rules so strict even Mother Teresa would have had trouble adhering to them.

It was time to break that pattern.

Moving slowly, he laid a hand on each of the children's shoulders. “I love you both very much.” The words came out scratchy and rough, like the hinges on a door that hasn't been opened for a very long while. He cleared this throat and tried again. “You are the best thing that has ever come into my life.”

Skepticism warred with hope in their eyes.

“Honest?” Josh said.

“Cross my heart,” Clay told him.

“We've never been anybody's best thing.” Wonder filled Emily's face. “Except Mommy's.”

“We love you, too,” Josh told him.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Clay smiled. “How about we go in and have some lunch?”

“Okay.” Josh held out his arms, and Clay gave him a hug.

Emily leaned over and kissed his cheek. “We love you a whole bunch, too, Uncle Clay,” she whispered.

The gentle, innocent love of the children touched him in a place that had long lain dormant, stirring up feelings that washed over him like a balmy tropical breeze.

And even though their spaghetti might be cold, his heart was warm.

“T
he social worker came by again this morning.”

As Clay made the quiet comment, Cate stopped removing picnic items from the wicker hamper she'd packed for their fishing outing. The kids were down by the lake, getting a lesson on baiting hooks from Pop, giving them a minute alone. “How did it go?”

“Much better than the first visit. The kids were neat and clean, and chattering about today. The house was in good shape. I was cutting up vegetables in the kitchen to go with the dip.”

She grinned. “Sounds even better than when she came last week while I was there.”

Cate had given him a full report on the woman's second visit. She and the children had just finished baking cookies and Cate was telling them a story when the social worker had shown up. He'd assumed the woman had left with a good impression. Today's visit had gone equally well. That meant they had two good reports to counter the bad first visit two weeks ago.

“What happens next?” Cate asked.

“Mark says she may have enough material to write her report. After that, we wait for the hearing.”

“I hate that things are unsettled.” Frowning, she looked toward the children, who were talking in animated voices with Pop. Their giggles carried across the distance in the balmy, mid-June air. “I can't imagine putting them in an environment where there's no warmth or love or laughter. It would wipe out all the good we've been able to accomplish.”

Clay agreed, though her use of the term
we
was generous, he acknowledged. While some of the credit for the children's great strides went to him, he knew the lion's share went to Cate. Without her, they'd be in an impersonal day care setting. Without her, his house would be a house—not a home filled with the smell of fresh-baked cookies and flowers from her garden and children's artwork adorning the refrigerator. Without her, he would long ago have crumbled under the awesome responsibility that had been thrust on him.

With each day that passed, it was becoming more and more difficult to imagine his life without her. Her gentle manner, kind heart, intuitive intelligence, courage, strength, sense of humor…they'd all enriched his life.

But what if he took the plunge—and failed? What if he chafed under the constraints that came with commitment? What if he couldn't give her the unfettered love she offered with such generosity to others—and which she deserved in return?

Yet when Cate turned toward him, her face awash with compassion and tenderness, his doubts dissolved. She always had that effect on him. In her presence, he felt like a ship that had been battered by storm-tossed seas but had at last found safe harbor. He felt as if he'd come home at last.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a little voice reminded him of the hands-off promise he'd made to her a few weeks ago. He'd abided by it faithfully, tamping down the frequent impulse
to seek opportunities to touch her. But today the urge was too strong to resist.

As their gazes locked, awareness zinging between them, he saw longing war with prudence in Cate's eyes. It was obvious she felt as strongly as he did—and just as obvious she was fighting it. Yet he could sense her restraint giving way, stretching like an overextended rubber band about to snap.

He took a step closer, never breaking eye contact. As he lifted his hand, a pulse began to beat an erratic rhythm in the delicate hollow of her throat. She swayed toward him, and he reached out to her…

“Uncle Clay! Uncle Clay! Look at this!”

Cate's eyes flew open, and as warmth tinted her cheeks a delicate pink, she moved away on the pretense of sorting through the picnic basket.

A powerful wave of disappointment swept over Clay as Josh skidded to a stop beside him clutching a small bird's nest. His fingers had been less than a heartbeat away from connecting with Cate's soft, satiny skin.

But perhaps he should be grateful for the interruption, Clay told himself. If he'd touched Cate, he would have broken his promise—and moved their relationship to a different level. And that wouldn't have been fair to her. He knew her reluctance to get involved stemmed, at least in part, from a concern that he wasn't ready for a house-with-a-white-picket-fence scenario. And for a woman from such a loving, stable family, that would be the only kind of relationship worth considering.

He understood her trepidation. And it was valid. While he might be willing to take responsibility for the children, putting a ring on a woman's finger…that required trust and sharing and communication and compromise. None of which he felt
equipped to offer. Under Cate's tutelage, his fathering skills were improving. But that didn't mean he was husband material. Being a spouse required a whole different set of skills, and he didn't have a clue how to develop those.

It was better to keep following the plan they'd agreed upon weeks ago—let things rest for now.

Yet Clay couldn't help wishing Josh had waited just a little longer to claim his attention.

 

An hour later, after everyone had consumed their fill of Cate's fried chicken and potato salad, Clay took a sip of soda and exhaled a contented sigh.

Pop chuckled. “I'd take that as a compliment, if I were you,” he told Cate, who'd risen to stow the remaining food in the cooler.

“Half the fun of a fishing trip is the picnic. Right, guys?” She winked at the two children as she set a bag of chocolate chip cookies on the table.

Josh helped himself to one. “I like picnics.”

Grabbing a cookie, Emily swung her legs over the bench of the wooden picnic table. “Can we go down to the lake again?”

“Sure. But not by yourself.” She looked at the two men.

“I'm too full to move,” Pop declared.

“Me, too,” Clay seconded. “We'll go back down a little later, Emily.”

At their disappointed expressions, Cate caved. “Okay. I'll go with you guys. You two finish cleaning up.” She tossed a roll of plastic wrap in Clay's direction.

He caught it with a grin. “Looks like I'm on KP.”

“You had the opportunity for more pleasant duties,” Cate replied pertly, taking the children's hands.

“Yeah. Missed opportunities seem to be my lot today.” He held her gaze as he took a sip of soda.

Blushing, she turned away. “We'll be back in a little while.”

Clay watched them, his grin softening into a tender smile. The three of them looked good together, he reflected. And right.

“Cate's sure got a way with kids,” Pop commented.

“Yeah.” Clay stretched his legs out in front of him. “I wish I had her knack.”

“Don't sell yourself short. You're doing a fine job.”

With a rueful shake of his head, Clay took another swig of soda. “Thanks, but I've made a lot of mistakes.”

“That's what being a father is all about. Or a husband. You make mistakes, learn and try to do better the next time.”

“Maybe. But I never expected to have to deal with family stuff.”

“Not the marrying kind?”

“I never thought I was.”

“It just takes the right woman to change a person's mind.”

Clay sent an involuntary glance toward Cate. When he turned back, he wasn't sure he liked the gleam in Pop's eye. Doing his best to ignore it, he focused on selecting one of the cookies Cate had brought.

“At thirty, I'd sort of reconciled myself to being single, too, until my Mary Beth came along,” Pop offered in the lengthening silence.

“What was it about her that changed your mind?” Clay finally chose a cookie.

“She was beautiful, for one thing. I always did have an eye for a pretty woman.” He gave the younger man a wink. “But that wasn't why I fell in love with her. That happened more slowly, as I got to know her. She had a great capacity for love, plus tremendous courage and strength. I've always liked strong women. And I'd never met anyone stronger or braver than Mary Beth.”

“How so?” Now Clay's interest was piqued.

Pop selected a cookie of his own. “It's a long story. Let me see if I can give you the short version.” He took a bite and chewed for several seconds. “Mary Beth came from a single-parent household with five children, where love was doled out in meager portions. As the oldest, she was also expected to take on a lot of responsibility for the younger ones. She couldn't wait to get out, and six months before her high school graduation, she married a truck driver. Only it didn't have quite the happy ending she hoped for.”

Chasing away a bee, Pop picked up his soda. “Things were okay until Mary Beth decided to get her GED. Her husband, who'd never finished high school, didn't much like that idea, but she did it anyway. After that, she started to talk about getting a degree. Took a second job to pay the tuition at the community college, and enrolled despite his disapproval. But he sabotaged her every step of the way. Even burned her books and a term paper, once.”

“Are you serious?” Clay stared at him, appalled.

“Yes. And it got worse after she became pregnant with my stepson, Roger. I guess her husband figured that would slow her down, but instead she worked harder to give them a better life. That's when the physical abuse started. I'll spare you all the details, but it went on for several years. The neighbors called the police twice, and Mary Beth ended up in the emergency room more than once.”

“Why didn't she leave him?” It was the same question Clay had asked himself over and over about Anne.

“In the end, she did.”

“But why did she wait so long? The guy was a bum. She was better off without him.”

“Just like your sister would have been?”

Pop's quiet question caught Clay off guard. “You know about Anne?”

“Only the basics. Cate's pretty close-mouthed about confidential client matters.”

Clay wiped a hand down his face and set his uneaten cookie on the table. “I wanted her to leave years ago. But my father laid a guilt trip on her. Told her she'd fall from God's favor if she didn't honor her marriage vows.” He didn't attempt to mask his bitterness.

“Guilt can be a powerful motivator,” Pop conceded. “But there are all kinds of insidious ways to intimidate—or terrify—a woman into staying in an abusive relationship. Name-calling, put-downs, threats, forced isolation, withholding money. The list goes on and on.”

Could some of those tactics have been factors in Anne's reluctance to leave Martin? Clay wondered. Was it possible the pressure his father had exerted from a religious perspective wasn't the only reason—or even the main reason—she'd stayed? It was a new and disturbing insight. One that merited more consideration, Clay decided.

“Anne had decided to leave her husband, too. The day before she died.”

Pop laid a hand on his shoulder. “I'm sorry for your loss, son.”

“At the funeral, the minister talked about how courageous she was.” Clay swallowed hard. “I guess I never understood how true that was.”

“Hold on to that thought, Clay.” Pop squeezed his shoulder. “If she'd decided to leave, she had the same courage as my Mary Beth had. I'm just sorry her story didn't have the same happy ending.”

 

Cate shaded her eyes and looked toward the picnic table. The two men were engrossed in what appeared to be a serious conversation. Good. After her almost-kiss with Clay, she needed a chance to regain her balance. And answering the children's eager questions about the lake and the fish, and how come stones skipped instead of sinking if you threw them at the correct angle, helped her do that.

“Is Pop really a grandfather?”

“Yes. He's my grandfather. And Rob's and Mark's.” Cate lowered herself to the rock beside Emily. “Why?”

“He's not anything like our grandfather.”

Cate had learned enough from Clay to know Emily's assessment was accurate. “Not all grandfathers are alike. And not all fathers are alike, either.”

Emily pondered that. “Your daddy is nice.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Uncle Clay isn't a daddy, is he?”

“Well, he never had any children of his own. But sometimes a person can be a daddy without having their own children.”

“How?”

“I had a friend once, whose mommy and daddy couldn't take care of her. When she was a little baby, they found a lady and a man who were married and who wanted a baby to love. So they gave that lady and man their baby to take care of forever. That's called adoption. And the lady and man became her new mommy and daddy.”

“Was she happy?”

“Yes. Very happy.”

“So…since my mommy is in heaven and my daddy is gone, could Uncle Clay adopt me and Josh?”

“He's figuring that out now with a judge. I know he wants you to stay with him, whether he adopts you or not.”

“But if he adopted us, wouldn't that mean we'd never have to go live with our grandfather?” Emily persisted.