Crossing Oceans (11 page)

“Five. And they all agree that I’m dying.”

“So what’s one more? This place might have some newer treatments, something experimental that might help.”

I exhaled my irritation. “Or it might make the last few months of my life even more miserable.”

“Who knows? They could extend your life by weeks or even months.”

“At what cost?”

“It might not be as bad as you think.”

I crossed my arms, feeling like a child again. “I’m not going.”

He stood, pointing at me as anger morphed his features. “Stop being so selfish, Genevieve. It’s not just about you. What about us? What about that little girl? She needs a mother.”

I pushed his finger out of my face. “No matter what I do, I’m going to die. I don’t want her last memories of me to be like mine of Mom’s—a bald skeleton crouched over the toilet.”

He turned his back, watching me now from the dresser mirror. “You don’t know it will be like that. You owe it to us to try.”

A fury rose from deep within me. I trembled as I stood. “I don’t know? Are you kidding? If anyone knows, it’s me. You act like I didn’t watch Mom die. You always talk like she died gracefully, but she didn’t. She didn’t want the treatments. I heard her tell you that more than once, but you didn’t care. It was you! You hounded her until she got them. She spent the last month of her life leaning over the side of her bed, puking into a wastebasket. She had no hair. She was nothing but skin and bones. Do you know how scary that was for me? Do you? My daughter isn’t going to suffer through that just so—”

The creak of floorboards cut off my words. We both turned to the doorway. Mama Peg couldn’t make it up the stairs, so it had to be Isabella. In the silence I could clearly hear the shuffle of her small feet. She emerged in the doorway, clutching Cocoa, her stuffed koala. She wore cotton footed pajamas and a crease on her cheek. “You guys are too loud.”

I forced a smile. “Sorry, sweetness.”

My dad wouldn’t look at me as he left the room but stopped to kiss the top of Isabella’s head. “Night, sweetheart.”

Chapter Thirteen

So often in life we do things not because they make us feel better, but because others think they ought to. I did a little of both as I read
Jane Eyre
while forcing down a swallow of liquid nutrition. A truer description of the promised creamy vanilla flavor would have been
chalky vitamin
. At least the book was good.

Mama Peg called to me. “Jenny, you have a visitor.”

I turned my novel over on the couch, set the can down on the end table, and made my way to the entryway.

I found Lindsey Preston standing by the front door, glancing around nervously, Coach bag draped over her narrow shoulder. My breath caught at the sight of her. By Mama Peg’s puzzled expression, I knew she wondered who exactly she had just let in, while I wondered what.

“Lindsey, what a surprise.” I pulled my hair over my shoulder and walked over to greet her. It had been two weeks since my father had confronted Dr. Preston, revealing Isabella’s existence. I had figured that if David hadn’t staked a claim by now, he wouldn’t. Maybe I was wrong.

Lindsey tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing an emerald stud shimmering from a dainty earlobe. I wondered if David had bought her the earrings and how many other jewels he might have given her over the years.

She glanced at me, then the floor. “What a lovely home.”

Mama Peg raised her bushy brows in my direction.

“Mama Peg, this is Lindsey Preston, David’s . . . Lindsey, this is Mama Peg.”

They exchanged a polite nod.

I addressed my grandmother, who seemed to be a shade grayer than she’d been a moment earlier. “We’ll be out back.”

I offered Lindsey a drink, which she declined, and led her through the house to the back porch. Along the way, she made little comments about the beauty of this piece of furniture or the fragrance of that floral arrangement. Her sweetness soured me all the more.

We stepped outside into a tepid breeze. Four identical white rockers sat in a row on the porch, facing Lucas Lake. The treetops stretched toward the crystalline sky.

The wood porch groaned as we sat. She stared at the lake, clutching the purse resting in her lap. “Wow, what a view. Do you know how lucky you are to look out on this every day?”

Crossing my legs, I followed her line of vision to the mountain ridges. “Lucky, that’s me.” I nodded to the purse she hugged. “I won’t steal it. Promise.”

Her skin flushed. “Oh, I’m not worried about that. I’m just really nervous.” She set the bag by her feet.

“Despite the wallop I gave your husband, I’m really pretty gentle.”

“I hit a guy once.”

My gaze glided over her Olive Oyl physique in disbelief.

“The guy I dated before David. He tried to take what I didn’t want to give.”

Sympathy finally thawed me. “I can’t imagine how horrible that must have been.”

Her eyes grew large. “Oh, gosh, no, nothing like that. He wanted me to give him a twenty. I’d had quite enough of his mooching. I told him to get a job. He grabbed my wallet and started rummaging through it. So I hit him.” She looked away shyly. “The next day his eye was blacker than coal. He lied and told everyone he’d gotten jumped. He lost me, but I let him keep the lie as a consolation prize.”

“What a jerk,” I said, feeling frigid once again. All I could think of as I looked at her was that she spent her nights lying on the love of my life’s chest. Maybe for a better woman that wouldn’t have been an insurmountable obstacle to friendship. It was for me.

Sweet Pea jumped onto the porch and sat at Lindsey’s feet, meowing at her.

She reached out to pet him. “Hey, sweet kitty.”

I wish I could say it didn’t cross my mind not to warn her, but it did. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said dutifully.

“Why not?” She stroked his fur anyway as he purred and leaned into her touch. After she gave his ear a scratch, she tried to pull her hand back. Sweet Pea clawed her.

She winced and drew back. “Hey!” Her hand had several fresh lines of red streaking across it. She looked at it and scowled at him.

I almost felt bad. “That’s why not,” I said. “Are you okay?”

She rubbed her hand and nodded. “Serves me right, I guess, for not believing you.”

We sat silent for a moment as Lindsey crossed her legs, then uncrossed them. She stared at the lake, opened her mouth to speak, and closed it again.

It was time to put her out of her misery. Unlike her, I had no problem addressing the issue at hand. “I’m guessing that you know about Isabella.”

She drew in a deep breath, her small chest rising and falling as if she needed all the courage the air could provide. “Can I tell you something personal?”

Though there was nothing I wanted less, I nodded, praying she wouldn’t share a Hallmark rendition of how she and David had met and fallen in love.

“I’ve lost two babies in the last five years.”

Surprise struck me. David had told me he never wanted children. I guess he just meant with me. I opened my mouth to say something appropriate, but no words came. The anguish brewing in her eyes told me an “I’m sorry” wouldn’t begin to cover it.

She struggled to maintain eye contact, then gave up and stared at her wedding band instead, twisting it back and forth on her bony finger. “One of my babies made it all the way to the third trimester. His name was Gabriel. Gabriel Matthew Preston. I held him as he took his last breath.”

She closed her eyes and cradled the air. I felt like an intruder, a voyeur of the worst kind, as I watched her grieve her phantom child. David’s son.

“Jenny, he was so tiny. So complete.” When she looked up, her pain seemed to melt into resolve. “The other died in the second trimester. His name was Joseph. Joseph is the patron saint of unborn children. Did you know that?”

I shook my head.

“I gave him that name before I knew that. He was my first.” Tears moved down her face, clearing a path through her blush. She wiped them away, looking embarrassed at her own weakness.

There we were, me not knowing what to say, and her sitting inches, miles, away. After a few moments, the silence became too heavy and I decided to unload it. “You know, Lindsey, this doesn’t seem to be any of my business.”

She looked back at the house. “Can I see her?”

My blood ran cold. “My daughter?”

“When I learned you claimed to have a child by my husband—”

Claimed?
“I don’t
claim
that David is her father. David’s her father.”

“I think I’ll be able to tell for sure by looking at her.”

My face caught fire as I bolted up. “I think you should go. I may be a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

“I’m not saying that you are.” She reached out to touch me.

I jerked away. “Do you want a DNA test?”

She stood, slipping her purse over her shoulder, looking maddeningly calm. Her chair continued to rock as though she still occupied it. “That wouldn’t be a bad idea, Jenny. For her sake.”

I ripped open the door, willing her to walk through it. “Only my friends are allowed to call me Jenny.”

She eyed the open door but made no move toward it. “I think you’re making a mistake. Even if she’s not his, she needs a father. It’s—”

I felt my fingernails dig into my palms as every muscle of my body tensed. “Get out of my house. Isabella
is
David’s daughter. She’s a beautiful, loving, charming child. And over my dead body will you or David ever get your hands on her.”

A slamming car door sounded from the driveway.

Lindsey turned toward the sound. “That’s David. I asked him to give me a few minutes alone with you before he came back.”

Unsure of what I should do or how I should feel, I put my hand over my mouth and closed my eyes. Maybe when I opened them, this would all be over. They’d be gone.

“Honey,” I heard Lindsey say, “it’s not going well.”

I opened my eyes.

David had rounded the house and was marching toward me like a soldier on his way to battle. His hair hung uncharacteristically tousled, and anger flashed from his eyes. A rush of pain overwhelmed me.

“Thanks for telling me I’m a father.”

Contrition sealed my mouth.

“We want to see her.” It wasn’t a request, but a demand.

“It’s not that easy, David. I’ll need to prepare her for—”

“She’s my daughter, right? That’s what you and your father are saying. I have a right to see her if she’s mine.”

He said a lot of things after that, but I heard nothing after
if
. It was one thing for Lindsey to question it, but David knew the kind of girl I was. He knew I’d been untouched until him. How dare he!

I expected to lose control of my emotions just then. Instead calmness settled over me. “Lindsey, David, thank you for coming. It was good to see you both again. I apologize, but I really need to be excused.”

With that, I walked inside, or tried to. Isabella stood, eyes wide, blocking my entrance. Two gasps rose behind me and I knew David’s paternity would never be questioned again. She was, of course, her father’s spitting image. Even a man as blind as David couldn’t deny it.

Without a word, I took her small hand in mine and led her inside, hoping she hadn’t been standing there long. But when she looked up at me with wonder and joy shining from her sleep-crusted eyes, I knew that she had.

Chapter Fourteen

We sat facing the television—Mama Peg in the chair, Craig on the floor at her feet, Dad alone on the love seat, and I on the couch with Isabella nestled on my lap. While everyone else stared at the screen, I studied the flickering shadows dancing on the walls. I had no desire to watch beautiful people with their whole lives ahead of them competing in a stupid talent competition.

When the phone rang for the second time in five minutes, everyone looked at me expectantly. I glanced at the caller ID, unsurprised to see David’s name once again.

Mama Peg and Craig agreed that I would have to deal with him. The sooner the better. Of course that was easy for them to say. Though my father remained silent on the matter, the sneer he directed at the phone spoke clearly enough.

While Isabella had asked about David countless times since their encounter that afternoon, she didn’t seem to realize he was the person whose calls I was avoiding. Though it was hard to tell sometimes what did or didn’t register with her.

As the phone continued to ring, Isabella leaned into my chest, eyes fixated on a handsome young Latino singing Stevie Wonder’s “My Cherie Amour.” I rubbed a lock of her silky hair as I stared at the screen, pretending to be absorbed.

“Oh, for pity’s sake.” Mama Peg thrust the remote up, muting the show. She turned on the floor lamp beside her, bathing the room in light. “You can’t ignore him forever.”

I buried my face in Isabella’s curls and inhaled the comforting scent of her strawberry shampoo. “I can try.”

Preparing for his evening smoke, my father pressed tobacco into his pipe. “This is between them, Mom.”

She glared daggers at him. “David shouldn’t have to pay for what his father may or may not have done.”

He slapped his pouch of tobacco down on the end table, scattering flecks of brown over the tiled top. “This has nothing to do with that and you know it.”

She spoke between coughs. “I know . . . no such . . . thing.”

The shrill ring of the phone finally fell silent. Relief washed over me . . . until I looked down to see Isabella holding the receiver to her ear, face bright as New York City. My heart pounded as I grabbed it from her and hung up.

“That was my daddy!” she cried.

It rang again. I snatched it up and pressed it against my ear, wincing from more than just the sharp pain of my earring back digging into my neck.

“I want to see her,” David said.

Isabella stared at me with eyes that managed to accuse and plead at the same time. How could I make her understand that he would never be the man either of us needed him to be?

“I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.” Despite his words, his tone held not a hint of remorse.