Apprentice Father (8 page)

“Uncle Clay! Uncle Clay! Come see the red fish!”

It took Clay a moment to disengage from Cate's compelling
gaze. “I'll be right there, Josh.” When he looked back at Cate she smiled.

“It's nice to be wanted.”

“Yeah.” But as he rose and headed for the pond, he couldn't help wishing he was also wanted by Cate.

 

Cate remained on the bench, watching as Clay dropped down to the children's level and engaged in an animated discussion. She needed a few minutes to mull over his startling revelations.

Given his father's example, it was no wonder he was a reluctant churchgoer. Nor was his insecurity about his child-rearing skills surprising. And his aversion to commitments also made sense. The relationships in his life had been dysfunctional, and he'd been badly hurt. Why would he want to take that risk again?

Each day since Clay and the children had come into her life, she'd asked the Lord to give him strength and wisdom to deal with the responsibilities he'd taken on. But now she added another request—for healing. Clay needed that as much as the children did. Without it, he'd never be able to open his heart to love or to the Lord's empowering grace. He would continue to exist on the fringes of life, unwilling—and afraid—to make a commitment to anyone. And that wasn't an ideal way to live.

Cate knew that firsthand, and would change her circumstances in a heartbeat if she could. She'd like nothing better than to be involved in a committed, caring relationship with a man she loved, surrounded by a houseful of children.

But in a culture that revered external beauty, where the quest for physical perfection bordered on the obsessive, it was hard for people to see beyond her obvious imperfections. Especially when it came to romance. Even the man she'd loved—a good, decent, faith-filled person—hadn't been able to look past them in the end.

Yet impediments of a different kind held Clay back, she mused, watching him reach out a gentle hand to steady Emily as she bent over the pond. While they might be less visible, in a sense they were as much a disability as hers.

And until he found a way to deal with them, there was little hope he'd achieve the kind of connections that would give him the peace she sensed he craved.

C
lay pulled into the parking space near his apartment, bone-weary after dealing with several days' worth of pressing problems at the job site. What he wanted was a long, cold drink and a quiet relaxing evening.

But when he glanced up to the landing, he found Cate waiting for him. That, in itself, was unusual. But some nuance in her posture also put him on alert.

So much for his quiet evening.

Taking the steps two at a time, he strode toward her. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. I just wanted to talk to you, and there's not much privacy inside.”

“Okay.” He leaned back against the railing, his palms flat on the top, bracing for bad news.

“I thought we should revisit the bed-wetting situation.” She pulled the sweater she'd thrown over her shoulders more tightly around her. “When you hired me, you said once it was under control you planned to put the children into a more traditional day care setting. Since the problem seems to be history, I thought we
ought to discuss your plans. A friend of mine gave me a referral earlier this week for a child care position, and I need to consider it if you're planning to send the children to day care soon.”

As Clay regarded Cate, he tried to regroup. It was true they'd agreed to a temporary arrangement. But he hadn't given a single thought to making any changes. The children were thriving under her attentive care. She was perfect for them.

Perfect.

The word suited her, he reflected, drinking in the sight of her in the afternoon light of this late April day. Ironic, too, considering the first thing he'd noticed about her had been her limp. Now he realized it was inconsequential. As was her disabled hand. They had no bearing on how he or the children felt about her. If she left, Josh and Emily would panic.

Sort of the same reaction he was already having.

He curled his fingers around the railing and held his breath. “I don't see any reason to change our arrangement at any time in the near future, if you're willing to stay.”

Her soft lips curved into a smile that sent relief—and warmth—coursing through him. “I'm willing. I just wanted to be sure we were both on the same wavelength.” She turned toward the door. “I need to tell the kids good-night before I leave.”

For a few seconds, Clay remained outside. He was deeply grateful that Cate was willing to stay. Her presence in their lives was a natural fit, one he had come to accept—and expect.

Yet one of these days, she would go. Emily would start school next year, and Josh was right behind her. The kids wouldn't require a full-time nanny. Cate would have to move on to another family that needed her.

But it was getting harder and harder for Clay to envision a time when
this
family wouldn't need her.

Him included.

 

The sudden chime of the doorbell distracted Clay from the plans he was going over on the kitchen table. Odd. They never had visitors on Saturday. Unless Cate had stopped by for some reason. Now there was a pleasant thought, he mused, a smile tugging up the corners of his lips.

Stepping over the children, who were coloring on the floor in the living room, he reached down to tickle them. As they giggled and squirmed, he savored the feeling of contentment produced by their simple, uninhibited joy.

With a smile of welcome, Clay pulled open the door.

“Hello, boy. I've come for the children.”

His smile evaporated. He hadn't seen his father in close to ten years, nor talked to him except for their one brief phone conversation after Anne died, and he almost didn't recognize him. He remembered his old man standing ramrod straight; now he looked shrunken and shriveled. His face was sallow and gaunt, his thinning hair gun-metal gray. But his eyes were as harsh and humorless as ever. That hadn't changed.

As Clay's shock receded, the man's words began to register.

I've come for the children.

Clay felt like someone had kicked him in the gut.

All along, he'd known his father intended to take the children after he recovered. But he'd expected the man to call first to discuss the situation. And there was a lot to discuss. Because Clay didn't intend to send Josh and Emily to live with their grandfather. He hadn't yet figured out how he was going to permanently assimilate two little children into his life, but he'd assumed he'd have plenty of time to address that problem down the road.

He'd assumed wrong.

As he and his father faced off, Clay realized the room behind
him had gone still as death. Checking on the kids over his shoulder, he found Josh and Emily huddled together, Emily's arm around Josh's shoulder in the familiar, protective gesture she hadn't used for weeks. They'd moved behind Clay, letting his body shield them from the intruder.

Clay clamped his lips into a thin, uncompromising line. “Let's talk outside.”

The older man's eyes narrowed. “We don't have anything to talk about.”

Turning his back on his father, Clay knelt beside the children. They looked at him with wide, anxious eyes while darting fearful glances at the figure in the doorway.

“I'm going to go outside and talk to your grandfather for a minute. After we're finished, why don't the three of us go get hamburgers and French fries? Would you like that?” He took Emily's hand, ruffled Josh's hair, keeping his touch and his voice gentle and reassuring.

Josh sniffled and edged closer to Emily. She tightened her grip on her brother's shoulder. Neither responded.

“Hey, it will be okay.” He gathered them close and gave them a hug. “You guys go put on your shoes, and we'll head out in a few minutes. We might even stop for ice cream on the way home.”

“Come on, Josh.” Emily's sad, resigned tone tore at his heart as she tugged on her brother's hand.

Clay waited until they reached the hall before standing to face his father. Though he kept his volume low, the hostility came through loud and clear. “The kids are already upset. They don't need to hear this. Let's go outside.”

He assumed his father would object. Instead, the older man gave the apartment a quick, disapproving scan and retreated to the
landing. Clay followed, shutting the door behind them with a firm click. He stood in front of it and folded his arms across his chest.

“We're wasting time.” The older man flicked an impatient hand toward the apartment. “Just pack up their things and we'll go.”

“No.”

Disbelief robbed his father of speech for an instant. “What?”

“I said no. I'm not sending the children to live with you.”

“You can't be serious. You're not equipped to deal with two children.”

“And you are?”

“I raised two of my own.”

“And you did such a superb job.” Sarcasm dripped off Clay's words.

The older man bristled. “Who are you to judge me?”

“And who are you to judge me?” Clay countered, his voice taut.

His father snorted. “I know what kind of life you lead, boy. Always on the move, living in tiny apartments not fit for a family, probably a girl in every port. A Godless life. That's an inappropriate environment for children.”

“You don't know a thing about the life I lead.” Clay bit out the words, struggling to hold on to his temper.

“I know enough. You're nothing like Anne. She was a good girl who always did what she was supposed to do.”

“Yeah. And she ended up dead. Thanks to you.”

His father's complexion went a shade sallower. “That's a terrible thing to say!”

“It's the truth. If you hadn't pressured her to stay in that farce of a marriage, she'd be alive today.”

The last of the color drained from the older man's face. “You always did have a smart mouth. I'm surprised you didn't get into trouble in the Army.”

“I did fine in the Army. I respected the authority
there.
And I'm doing fine now. I don't need you. Nor do Josh and Emily. You did enough damage to your own children. I'm not letting you do the same to these two.”

“And how are you going to stop me?”

“I have them. You don't.”

“I'm their grandfather.”

“I'm their uncle.”

The older man glared at him, his fury daunting. But Clay didn't flinch. And he didn't move from the door.

At last Clay's father reached into his pocket and withdrew his car keys, ending the standoff. “I'm not finished with you yet, boy.”

Though a tremor of fear ran through him, Clay did his best to appear impassive as he regarded the man in silence.

Clearly frustrated, his father turned away. But as Clay watched him retreat toward his car, his shoulders stiff, he had a sinking feeling that while he might have won this battle, the war was just beginning.

 

“Thank you for doing this, Cate. I'm sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but I'm in over my head. Again. I knew you'd handle this better than I would.”

Pulling her condo door shut behind her, Cate cast a worried look at Clay's haggard face, noting the fine lines etched at the corners of his mouth, the faint shadows beneath his eyes. His compliment warmed her, but she wasn't sure it was deserved. Not yet, anyway. She was good with children, but a visit from a near stranger who was threatening their shaky sense of security could wreak havoc with Emily and Josh, undoing all the good she and Clay had accomplished over the past six weeks. “It's not a bother. How are the children?”

“Quiet. Too quiet.” He glanced toward the car, distress carving deeper grooves on either side of his mouth.

“We need to get them to talk about today. But first let's just work on getting them to talk.”

As they drove to the fast-food outlet, Cate did her best to engage the children in conversation. But despite her diligent efforts, the best she was able to get was monosyllable responses from Emily and silence from Josh. The two of them sat slumped in their car seats, holding hands. Emily stared out the window and Josh stuck his thumb in his mouth.

Not good, Cate concluded as Clay pulled into a parking spot. And the man beside her wasn't in much better shape. Anger shimmered off him, and the grim set of his lips was rigid as granite.

“Sit tight, guys. Uncle Clay and I will unbuckle you.” Cate motioned for Clay to get out of the truck. Easing to the ground, she moved forward to speak to him over the hood, keeping her voice low. “I know you're as upset as they are. But children pick up tension, and your anger is only going to make this worse. If you want to take five minutes alone and try to chill out a little, I can watch the kids.”

He sucked in a deep breath. “Okay. Can you get them out of the truck?”

“Yes. Don't worry. We'll be fine.”

Ten minutes later, when Clay slid into the booth where Cate and the children sat, he was loaded down with food and appeared far less tense, Cate noted with relief.

During the meal, he did his best to engage the children in small talk, following her lead. He managed a joke or two, teased Emily about her milk mustache, and tousled Josh's hair twice.

But nothing worked. Both of the children picked at their food. Even their fries were hardly touched.

After it was clear they'd eaten as much as they were going to, Cate and Clay gathered up the remains of the lunch. As Clay slipped back into the booth after disposing of the trash, arching an eyebrow in her direction, she laid her hands on the table, palms up. “Let's all hold hands for a minute, okay?” Signaling to Clay, she wiggled the fingers of one hand in his direction and extended her other hand toward Emily, who sat beside her.

Clay immediately enfolded her fingers in his. Despite the serious nature of this tête-à-tête, his strong, sure touch played havoc with her metabolism. But this wasn't about her. Or them, she reminded herself. This was about helping the children. She needed to focus.

And Emily's hand creeping into hers helped her do that.

Smiling down at the little girl, Cate gave her an encouraging squeeze. Josh had taken Clay's hand, too, and the children also reached across the table and linked fingers. The four pairs of hands formed a lopsided circle on the Formica top.

“That's better, isn't it? It always makes me happy to hold hands with people I love.” Cate said the last word without thinking, and her cheeks grew warm. Risking a quick peek in Clay's direction, she couldn't tell if the emotion in his eyes was residual anger—or something different but equally powerful.

Fixing her gaze on the children, Cate focused on them. “It's also easier to talk about things you're worried about if you hold hands. Uncle Clay told me your grandfather came to visit today. Are you worried about that?”

A sniffle preceded Emily's answer. “Do we have to go with him?” Her question came out in a tremulous whisper.