Apprentice Father (17 page)

“What happened?”

Cate propped her elbow on the table. “He showed up at the door. Said he came to see the children, and that he didn't believe
the social worker's report. At first I wasn't going to let him in. But then I figured, what could it hurt? I hoped if he saw the children for a few minutes he might realize the report was accurate and that they're happy and healthy. So I invited him to lunch.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and took a deep breath. “I'm sorry you were blindsided.”

He grasped her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “If it helped our case, it was well worth the shock. But I can't believe he would just show up like that. I think I'll call Mark and get his take on this.”

As Cate cleaned up the lunch dishes, Clay placed his call. She got the gist of the exchange from his side of the conversation, but Clay filled her in after he hung up.

“Mark's going to call my father's attorney, see if he knew about this. But he doubts it. With the court date this close, he's sure the guy would never have gone along with this impromptu visit. Mark's instincts tell him my old man decided on his own to come. And that wouldn't surprise me. My father always was bullheaded once he made up his mind about something.”

“He said he was staying a couple more days. Do you think he'll try to see the children again?”

“I don't know.” Clay's mouth thinned. “But I'll be with them all weekend. I won't let him upset them if he does show up.”

“His very presence upsets them.”

“I know. It upsets me, too.”

Although Cate was the one who'd enforced the hands-off rule in the past, this time she broke it, laying her hand on his arm in a gesture meant to comfort. “Prayer might be a good idea about now, Clay.”

He covered her hand with his, touched by her gesture. “Believe it or not, I've been bending the Lord's ear quite a bit in
the past few weeks. He may be sorry I'm finding my way back to Him.”

“That's the nice thing about Him, Clay.” A smiled whispered at her lips. “He never gets tired of listening. And He's always with us. We'll just have to keep praying and put our trust in Him.”

As he gazed into the lovely, trusting eyes of the woman he'd come to love, Clay accepted the truth of her statement. Prayer was the only avenue open to him at this point. On a lot of issues.

Yet all at once he knew it was enough.

And with that knowledge, with that letting go, came a quiet, gentle peace unlike any he'd ever known.

C
layton Adams peered around the woman in the pew in front of him to check on his son and grandchildren, who were seated about halfway back from the sanctuary, on the aisle. Then his gaze shifted to Cate. She was sitting on the other side with a larger group of people. They hadn't noticed him as he'd slipped into church and taken a seat in the back, just as the service began. That was good. He wanted to observe them for a while before they became aware of his presence.

That was only one of his reasons for coming to the service, however. He'd also wanted to spend some time with the Lord. Especially after the past disturbing couple of days.

Yet his unease went farther back than that, he reflected. Back to the phone conversation with Clay months ago, when his son had accused him of causing Anne's death. Clayton had dismissed the charge as preposterous, a remark prompted by anger, designed to hurt, with no basis in fact.

As the weeks passed, however, he'd been unable to put it out of his mind. The accusation had gnawed at his gut day and night, refusing to be pushed aside. In truth, he
had
pressed Anne to stay
in a marriage he'd known years ago should never have taken place. Now she was dead.

And maybe he could have prevented the tragedy.

It hurt to acknowledge that. He'd always seen things as black or white, good or bad, right or wrong. There had been no room in his life for nuances.

But Clay's accusation had shaken him. Caused him to question things. And if he'd been wrong about Anne, could he have been wrong about other things, too?

Like his son's character?

He'd told Cate he'd come to see his grandchildren. And that had been the truth. Just not the whole truth. He'd also come to see what kind of man his son had become. And everything he'd discovered had been a hundred and eighty degrees from the image he'd had in his mind all these years. Far from being the promiscuous, irresponsible vagabond Clayton had always assumed he was, Clay appeared to have become honorable, dependable and trustworthy.

Or perhaps he always had been.

That had been a shocking insight for Clayton. One that had left him feeling uncertain and off balance.

But so had something else. As he'd watched Clay interact with the children at lunch, as he watched him now, here in this church, tenderly brush Joshua's hair back from his face and rest his hand on Emily's shoulder, he realized Clay had become a father.

Perhaps a better one than he had ever been.

That acknowledgment also came hard for him. He'd never liked to admit he was wrong. That he'd failed. He'd always considered it a sign of weakness. And God disliked weakness. Or so he'd been raised to believe.

But according to the pastor at this church, that wasn't true. In
his sermon, the minister had said God recognizes our humanity and loves us in spite of our mistakes, and that He always forgives us if we come to Him with true repentance.

That was a far different message than the one he heard in his own church, where the pastor talked only about punishment. In fact, this whole church experience had been unlike anything he was accustomed to. It was quieter here. Less judgmental. More loving. He could feel a sense of fellowship he'd never known in his church.

And it made him realize he had a lot of thinking to do. About a lot of things.

The congregation stood for the final hymn, and as the last verse was being sung Clayton slipped out. In a few minutes, he'd start the long drive back to Iowa. Those solitary hours in the car would give him plenty of time to think things through.

But he had one more thing to do before he headed home.

 

At the touch of Cate's arm on his sleeve outside church, Clay excused himself from his conversation with Pastor Bob and turned to her.

Her troubled expression, however, wiped the smile from his face. As did her slight pallor. Gripping her arms in alarm, he searched her face. “What's wrong? Are you sick?”

“No. Your father's here. On the far side of the lawn.” She kept her voice low.

A muscle in Clay's jaw clenched. He'd hoped the man was long gone. Instead, according to Cate, he was steps away.

Thinking fast, Clay decided to ignore him. The children hadn't yet noticed their grandfather's presence, and he could spirit them away to see the ducks in the pond behind church. After his father's visit on Friday, it had taken hours for the kids to settle down. He didn't want them disturbed again.

As if reading his mind, Cate spoke again. “I think he's waiting to speak with you, Clay.” She kept an eye on the older man. “And he's holding presents.”

Presents? That was certainly out of character, Clay reflected. “I don't want to upset the children again. They feel threatened around him.”

“He doesn't look threatening today. I sense there's been a change.”

Cate's intuition with the kids had always been sound, and Clay had no reason to think it wouldn't translate to a situation like this. And if things
had
changed—for the better—he'd welcome the news.

Steeling himself, he turned toward his father.

The older man stood at the edge of the church lawn, holding two gaily wrapped packages. He straightened when Clay looked at him and gave a stiff nod.

“I'll see what he has to say. Can you distract the kids?” They were playing with a small group of youngsters a few yards away, still oblivious to the presence of the older man.

“Yes.”

Leaving the children in Cate's care, Clay approached his father, stopping about six feet away. “Checking up on the social worker's report, I see.” He made no attempt to hide his hostility.

Hot color suffused Clayton's face. “That was part of the reason I came. But I also wanted to attend services, like I do every Sunday. And Ms. Shepard invited me.” He elevated the packages slightly. “I brought these for the children.”

“Why?”

“I'm their grandfather. It's in the job description.”

Thrown by his father's awkward attempt at humor, Clay stared at him.

“Look, I'm getting ready to head home.” Clayton shifted the packages in his arms. “I'd like to say goodbye to the children. Please.”

The last word came out raspy, as if it had gotten stuck in the older man's throat. Clay wasn't surprised. He couldn't remember one time in his entire life when Clayton Adams had said please.

As for presents, the ones he'd received as a child had been confined to special occasions, and they'd always been practical things. Socks. Shirts. Gloves. Clay had a niggling suspicion these gifts didn't fall into that category.

Clay debated. If the man was bearing gifts, making an effort to be nice, perhaps he should let the children talk to him. It might dispel some of the fear they harbored about their grandfather. And anything he could do to erase fear from their life was worth a try.

Turning toward Cate, he signaled for her to bring Josh and Emily over.

Thirty silent seconds passed before she joined them, a child holding each hand.

Clayton held out the packages to the children. “These are for you.”

“But it's not our birthday.” Emily inspected them with a puzzled expression.”

“Or Christmas,” Josh added.

“That's okay. It doesn't always have to be a special day to give presents.”

Emily and Josh looked up at Clay, their faces uncertain but hopeful. Dredging up a smile, he nodded. “It's okay. You can take them.”

They shyly reached for the packages with a murmured “thank-you.”

“When you play with those, I hope you'll think about me.”
Emulating his son's behavior the prior day, Clayton bent down to their level. “That's a pretty dress, Emily.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “Cate helped me pick it out.”

“The two of you did a fine job. It's perfect for church.” He directed his next comment to Josh. “I noticed you during the service. I think you were the best-behaved boy there.”

Josh's smile was less reserved than Emily's. “Uncle Clay says we have to be good when we visit God. I try real hard.”

“Well, you did a good job.”

“We're going to get pancakes,” Josh told him. “Do you want to come?”

The older man blinked. Cleared his throat. Sniffed. “I'm afraid I can't today. I'm going home now, and it's a long drive back to Iowa. But thank you very much for asking.”

He stood, and once more his eyes were almost level with Clay's. “I'll be in touch.”

With that, he turned and walked toward his car.

“Can we open these, Uncle Clay?”

At Emily's eager question, Clay cast a distracted glance in her direction. “Sure.”

The two children tore into the packages, shrieking with glee at the doll and toy keyboard that emerged from the wrapping paper.

As they examined their gifts, Clay drew Cate aside. “What do you make of this?”

“I'm not sure. It was like he was trying to make amends.”

He shook his head. “I don't trust him.”

“Trust is a very hard thing to reestablish once it's broken.”

Her wistful tone, which suggested her remark encompassed more than his relationship with his father, redirected Clay's thoughts to the woman beside him. Pop had told him weeks ago
Cate had been hurt by Dan Maxwell. If her former beau had betrayed her trust, it was no wonder she shied away from relationships. While dealing with that issue was high on his agenda once the custody situtation was resolved, he intended to try and continue to lay some groundwork in the meantime, as he had on Fourth of July.

“Will you join us for breakfast today, Cate?” He'd asked before, but she'd always turned him down. So today he added a caveat. “It would make the kids happy.” He held out his hand, his gaze locked on hers. “Me, too.”

She hesitated for an instant, then slipped her fingers in his. “Yes.”

In Cate's soft assent, Clay heard more than a mere agreement to accompany them to the local diner. He sensed it had been a “yes” to much more. And as they gathered up the children and headed for his truck, he relished the feel of their linked hands—and gave thanks for that blessing.

As for the situation with his father…he knew Cate had been praying for a positive outcome. As had he. But what he'd had in mind was a ruling in his favor from the judge. He hadn't expected his father's hard-line attitude to change. Yet everything the old man had done today had been out of character. He had been like a different person.

Weeks ago, when the children had added prayers for their grandfather to their bedtime talk with God, Clay recalled thinking it would take a miracle to soften the heart of his father.

But maybe—just maybe—God had, indeed, worked that miracle.

 

Two days later, Clay's cell phone began to vibrate as he examined a crack in the foundation of the new plant. Distracted, he unclipped it from his belt and pressed it to his ear. “Hello.”

“Clay, it's Becky. Mark Shepard called. He says it's urgent. Do you want his number?”

The crack in the concrete fell to the bottom of his priority list. “Yeah, thanks.”

Becky recited the number, and Clay punched it in as he strode away from the noisy construction site. Mark's secretary put Clay through at once after he identified himself.

“Clay? I finally connected with your father's attorney. He's been in court for two days. As I suspected, he didn't know about the impromptu trip. But I have good news. Your father has agreed to withdraw his petition for custody in exchange for visiting privileges.”

With all the background noise, Clay wasn't sure he'd heard Mark's message correctly. “Did you say my father is going to let me keep the children?”

“That's right. According to his attorney, he had a change of heart after his visit last weekend. He'd like you to call him to work out some arrangements.”

The unexpected turn of events left Clay stunned—and speechless.

“Clay? Are you there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. I don't get this. Why would he withdraw his petition?”

“Beats me. And his attorney couldn't offer much of an explanation. All he said was your father changed his mind.”

Elation surged through Clay, but he did his best to rein it in. Until the matter was resolved once and for all, he wouldn't take anything for granted. “What happens now?”

“If you're willing to grant visiting privileges, it's over. It becomes a family issue, not a legal matter, and you and your father can work out the details.”

“In other words, I have to agree to let him see the children.”

“That's the stipulation. And it's not an unreasonable request, Clay. My advice is to talk to him about it, see if you can come to some agreement. If you don't, I doubt the court will be as favorable toward your case.”