THE LAST TIME I’D driven down this driveway, I was eighteen years old and thought I had life by the balls. I remembered that day with crystal-clear high-def precision: we’d graduated earlier in the day, and I was meeting Ali at the farm so we could talk to Sam, let him know that we were leaving town. Together. Thanks to our newspaper advisor, Mr. Wilder, I’d secured an internship with a photographer in New York, and we’d planned that Ali would go to college up there. We’d both work part-time, and that combined with the money I’d been saving would see us through until I starting making money by taking pictures.
I was walking on air that day as I’d pulled my old Chevy Chevette around to the back of the house, like I always did. I took the steps to the kitchen door in one leap and gave a cursory knock before I threw open the screen and went into the kitchen. When I spotted Ali sitting at the table, the grin on my face got even bigger and brighter . . . until I got a good look at her face.
My world started to crumble to pieces at that moment.
Today, though . . . today was different. Today I drove my Audi A7—okay, yeah, it was a rental, but I could’ve had one of my own, if I ever stayed in one place long enough to need a car. And today I wasn’t nervous about the idea of talking to Sam Reynolds. I wasn’t that boy anymore, the one who was stupid in love with a pretty girl. Now I was a man who knew love like that didn’t last.
The old farmhouse was right in front of me as I rounded the last bend in the driveway. Ali was sitting there on the porch, curled up in a chair I was pretty sure had been there when we were in high school. It was a weird kind of been-there, done that; I couldn’t count how many times my girl had been waiting for me, right in that chair, when I’d come by on a weeknight for a study date. She’d wave and blow me a kiss as I drove up, and then meet me at my car, throwing her arms around me as soon as I climbed out of the driver’s seat. I could almost feel the sweetness of her body pressed against me, soft and promising, and her scent filling my senses.
With no little effort, I pushed that image from my head, reminding myself that the same girl who’d greeted me with such love had broken my heart and denied me my own child. That was what I had to keep front and center. I couldn’t let her get under my skin again. Not ever.
I pulled up to the side of the house and turned off the car. I got out and slammed the door, hesitating just a minute to make sure I was ready. I needed to keep it all together and remember I was here for Bridget. For my daughter.
Fuck. I had a daughter. It’d been hitting me today, over and over. Like someone had taken the life I thought I had all figured out and turned it upside down. Funny how just one small piece of information could do that. Yesterday, I’d been Flynn Evans, photo-journalist. Well-known in certain circles, with my name mentioned among the up-and-comers in my field. Opportunities coming out my ears. As footloose and fancy-free as a guy could be in the early twenty-first century.
Today, I was a father. The word still felt foreign. I didn’t know how to deal with kids. Shit, half the time I could barely stand to be around my nephew Graham. And a girl? How the hell was I going to talk to her? What did I have to say to an eight-year old female?
“Flynn?” Ali had come down off the porch and stood leaning about the brick balustrade alongside the steps. “You okay?”
I straightened up. “Yeah. Just making sure the car’s locked.” I angled my body slightly and pulled the clicker out of my pocket.
Ali raised one eyebrow. “I think it’s safe out here. No one’s going to bother your car.”
“Just habit, I guess.” I managed a tight-lipped smile. “I’m used to living in the city, where you lock anything you want to see again.”
“Oh, sure.” She nodded, but I was fairly certain she wasn’t buying my excuse. Whatever. I didn’t have to justify my actions to Ali Reynolds. “Well, you don’t have to be nervous, you know. Bridget’s really excited to meet you.”
“I’m not nervous.” I frowned. “Why would I be?”
Ali crossed her arms, throwing her boobs into prominence. Damn. Some part of me wondered if she’d done it on purpose. I’d always been a sucker for this girl’s rack. I dragged my eyes back up to her face as she spoke.
“I don’t know, Flynn. I thought maybe today’s been a tad traumatic for you. It wouldn’t be unusual for any guy to be a little on edge.” She pushed off the wall and pivoted to climb up the porch steps. “But clearly you’ve got it all under control. Come on in. Bridge is upstairs.”
I followed her, pointedly not looking at her perfect little ass swaying inside her tight faded jeans. “Uh, Ali.” I coughed, trying to clear out the crack in my voice. “How did it go when you told her about me? Was she okay?”
Ali stopped just before opening the screen door. She looked back at me, studying my face as though trying to decide how much to tell me. “She was fine. Actually, she was . . . really great. Just a warning, though she’s thrilled with the idea of having a grandmother. And a cousin. So I hope you’re planning to tell the rest of your family about the new addition, because it’d crush her to find out she can’t meet them.”
I nodded. “No worries on that front. I told Mom before I came over here. And Reenie told Iona.”
Panic flittered across her face. “Do they hate me, too?” She spoke low, worry in her voice.
I sighed and rubbed my chin. “No. Mom was . . . surprised. And I think a little sad that she didn’t know until now. But she’s happy about it. She said a new grandchild is always reason for celebrating, and I’m pretty sure by the time I left, she was getting excited about buying Bridget clothes.”
Ali smiled a little. “Good luck with that. This kid lives in jeans and sneakers. But maybe a grandma would be able to change her mind.” She reached for the door handle but paused again before opening it. “What about Iona?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “She told Maureen that she’d suspected it for a while, but she figured that there was no way you wouldn’t tell me. Or Reenie, at least. I think she’s happy Graham’ll finally have another kid in the family, so close to his own age.”
“Yeah, they’re only a few months apart.” This time, she opened the door and went inside, holding it for me as I came behind.
The living room hadn’t changed, not one bit. The sofa was the same faded rose pink, the area rug the same worn green. I almost expected to run into my old self, perched on the edge of the checked wing chair, waiting for Ali to be ready for a date.
Instead, she stood at the bottom of the steps, one hand on the newel post as she called upstairs. “Bridget! Come on down, honey.”
Loud scrambling footsteps echoed above us, and within a few seconds, a dark-haired tornado raced down. She came to a screeching halt at the bottom of the stairs, breathing hard and staring up me. And just like that, I was looking down into my daughter’s face.
Her eyes were the first things I saw. They were wide and brown, the exact same color and shape of Ali’s. Her nose was a cute little button, and I realized it reminded me of Maureen’s. Perfect rosebud lips were slightly parted, and then they curved into a grin, and my breath stopped.
My daughter had my dad’s smile, the mischievous curl of the mouth and the answering twinkle in her eye. I never thought I’d see it again, and yet . . . here it was.
Without thinking about it, I knelt down next to her. “Hi, Bridget. I’m . . . Flynn.” I’d planned to say Dad, but at the last minute, I chickened out. I didn’t want to force anything before she was ready. “You’re incredibly beautiful, you know that?”
She cocked her head at me, so reminiscent of her mother. “Yeah, I know.” Oh my God, this kid had attitude and confidence. I loved it.
“Do you want to come sit down and talk a little?” I motioned toward the sofa, unsure of what else to say.
“Why don’t you go out onto the porch?” Ali spoke, and I looked up at her. I’d nearly forgotten she was standing there. “It’s a beautiful afternoon.”
“Okay.” Bridget started toward the door, and then she stopped and stretched out her hand to me. “Come on.”
I let her lead me out the door and to the swing. Ali leaned out, holding onto the screen.
“Flynn, do you want anything to eat or drink? Bridge already had her afternoon snack, but there’re are few peanut butter cookies left.”
“I’m okay, thanks.” I couldn’t think about eating right now. Not with my stomach up around my throat.
Ali nodded and began to close the door. Panic gripped me.
“Hey, aren’t you . . . coming out with us?”
She stood there for a minute, her eyes steady on mine. “No. I think you’ve got this.” Her gaze flickered to our daughter. Our daughter. “Besides, I think you two have a lot of catching up to do.” She ducked back inside, shutting the door quietly.
Bridget climbed up onto the swing, and I sat down in the wicker chair with chipping paint, the same place Ali’d been sitting when I pulled up. It was still warm from her body. I ignored the feeling it gave me and attempted to strike up a conversation with my daughter.
“So.” Yeah, that was an auspicious start. “Bridget, your mom said she. . told you about me.”
She nodded. “Mommy said you were in town. Where’ve you been? Why weren’t you in town until now?”
Okay, so we’re going straight for the essay questions. “Well, uh, I travel all over the world. I take pictures for magazines, and I have to go to where the news is.”
Bridget blinked. “Most of my friends at school have dads who live in their house. Or somewhere around here. Except Bella, and her dad left last year.” She raised her foot up to the swing, bending her knee and wrapped her arms around it. “Were you here when I was a baby?”
I shook my head. “No, I wasn’t. Believe me, if I’d been here then, I never would’ve left.”
“Why weren’t you here? Why don’t you live with Mommy and me?” She scratched at the side of her leg.
“Um. I didn’t know you were my little girl, Bridget. I . . .” This was a pivotal moment. I wasn’t sure how to answer her, but I knew I had to tread carefully. “When your mom found out you were on the way, I’d already left Burton. And . . .” The image of Ali’s face as she’d described our last fight flashed across my memory with a stab of regret. “Your mom couldn’t get in touch with me, to tell me that you were coming. That was my fault. Because I’m the one who left her. But you have to know, Bridget, that if I’d known about you, I would’ve been back here. Nothing could’ve kept me from you.”
She bit her lip, a small frown between those deep eyes. “Are you going to live with Mommy and me now? And Uncle Sam and Aunt Meghan?”
I blew out a breath, rubbing my knee. “No, I’m not. I’m not married to your mom, and . . . yeah. Listen, Bridget, your mom and I’ve got a lot to talk about and figure out. For me, the most important thing was to meet you and let you meet me. Now that we’ve done that, we can see what happens next.”
“Are you going away again?” There was just a little tremor in that voice, and again, I was back with Ali, seeing her eyes filled with tears and her voice heavy with pain as she asked me a similar question. Are you going to leave me?
I’d been wrestling with this since Ali had left my mom’s house this morning. A big part of me wanted to jump that plane in Savannah and head for Los Angeles. I could go back to being the Flynn Evans who didn’t have a kid: I could forget all about Burton, Georgia and brown-eyed women who could still make me a little crazy. But on the other hand, I knew leaving wasn’t going to fix this problem. I had to figure out what my life was going to look like, now that I was a father.
And having seen her, I was sure leaving was out of the question. At least leaving tomorrow was.
“Not right away.” I finally answered her. “And if I do have to go someplace else, I’ll be back. I promise. I know you just met me, but I really want to be your dad.”
The wrinkles between her eyes smoothed out. “Can I call you Daddy?”
Another piece of my heart broke off and flew into this kid’s hands. “Nothing would make me happier.” I ventured out a hand to touch her curls. “I don’t have any practice in being a daddy, but if you have a little patience with me, I think we can make it work.”
There was that grin again. I couldn’t help smiling back when I saw it. “I’ve never had a daddy, but I always wanted one.” She fiddled with the lace of her sneaker. “Mom said I have a grandma now, too. And Graham is my cousin.” She twisted her face. “He’s a crazy boy. My teacher says he’s wild.”
I laughed. “Yeah, he is. I think it’s possible that kid’s a little spoiled. Maybe you can help straighten him out.”
She brightened. “Can I beat him up? Mom never lets me hit anyone.”
“Ahhh . . .” Okay, I see how this game is going to play. “Remember how I said I didn’t know much about being a dad? Well, I’m pretty sure your mom knows best about this kind of stuff, so let’s just say for the time being, if she gives you a rule, same goes for me. Got it?”
She sighed and nodded. “I was afraid of that. But it’s okay.” She pursed her lips, like she was thinking hard, and then glanced up at me. “Do I get to see my grandma?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s a given.” I tapped her nose. “Your grandma is just itching to see you. If it’s okay with your mom, maybe you can come visit sometime this weekend.”
“Really?” Her small face shone, and I thought I’d do just about anything to keep that joy alive in this kid. Forever. “What about a grandpa? Do I have one of those, too?”
I closed my eyes. Here was the bitter that came along with the sweet. “You do, honey, but . . .” Shit, what did she know about death? How was I supposed to explain it to her? The last thing I wanted to do was to screw up her little psyche. I decided honesty was best. “Your grandpa went to heaven. Just last week. And I got to tell you, it makes me really sad, because he would’ve loved you to pieces. He was the coolest grandpa ever.” I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “You would’ve loved him, too. You have his smile.”
“I do?” Her mouth curved, proving again what I’d just told her.
“Yeah, you do. It makes me really happy, because I thought I’d lost that smile forever. And now, I get to see it on you.” I remembered something Meghan had said earlier, at my mom’s house. “I hear you’re quite the artist. So was your grandpa.”
Bridget jumped up from the swing. “He was? Did he draw? I can draw and paint. Aunt Meghan is my art teacher, and sometimes we go out in the woods or over to Farmer Fred’s and I draw his horses.”
I couldn’t resist anymore. I reached across and drew her closer to me, boosting her onto my lap, sensitive to the slightest resistance so that I could let her go if I were jumping the fence. But she snuggled right onto me, taking one of my hands in both of hers. Oh, I was so wrapped around this kid already. Gone. Sunk.
“Grandpa Brice used to draw funny pictures for me when I was a little boy.” I hadn’t thought about that for years. “But most of his art was in bricks and stone. See, he was born in a country called Ireland—”
“I know where that is. It’s part of the British Isles, across the Atlantic. It’s very green, and leprechauns comes from there.”
Yeah, my kid was a total genius. “Wow, you’re smart. I’m not sure I knew where Ireland was when I was eight, and my family came from there. Anyway, when he lived in Ireland, Grandpa trained to be a mason. He built beautiful walls for people, or paths for their gardens, or he made them fireplaces. When he came to America, he kept doing that, but he also went to college. He learned how to be a teacher, and he taught history at the high school, right here in Burton.”
“Aunt Meghan’s a teacher. Or she’s gonna be one, after she graduates.” Bridget nodded. “But she’s teaches art.” She twisted to look up into my face. “Do you want to see my drawings? Uncle Sam got me a portfolio for Christmas, and all of them are in there. It’s up in my room.”
“Of course I do.” I let her pull me to my feet and back into the house. Ali was sitting on the sofa, on the other side of the window, her face wet with tears that she was trying to wipe away.
I came to a halt, staring at her. Emotion swirled inside of me, and for the first time today, I looked at this woman not as my old girlfriend, not as the person who’d betrayed me on some level, but as the mother of my child. The woman who’d raised this magical little girl who was already deep into my heart and soul.
I stopped Bridget and stooped down again. “Honey, why don’t you run up to your room and get your drawings? I’ll wait right here. I just want to talk to your mom for a minute.”
She nodded and was gone in a flash, tearing up the steps like a bright little comet. I turned to go into the living room, sitting down next to Ali, just close enough that I could smell her hair. God, it smelled the same as it did when we were in high school. Lilacs and jasmine. I had to steel myself not to reach out and wrap one silky strand around my finger.
“Hey.” As opening lines went, it wasn’t inspired. “So . . . I just wanted to say . . . she’s a great kid. I mean, I know I just met her, but she was easy to talk to, and she’s smart and funny.”
Ali lifted her eyes to mine. “She’s amazing. Every day, she does something or says something that makes me think . . . wow, how did someone like her come from me?” She smiled a little. “I mean, from us.”
I nodded. “Yeah. But I get that it’s you. You’re the one who’s been putting in the time with her. You made her who she is. So, thanks.”
She shrugged, but I saw her face pink a little. “I heard what you said to her. Sorry, I was totally eavesdropping. I’d apologize for that, but Bridget’s my daughter, and I needed to make sure she was okay. Getting a father all of a sudden—I wanted to know she was handling it.”
An hour ago, I might’ve been offended and pissed. But now that I knew my daughter, I completely understood. I would’ve done the same thing in her position. Protecting her was our number one priority. Ours.
“So I wanted to say . . . thank you. For what you said to her, when she asked you why you didn’t live with us, why she’d never met you until now. You could’ve told her the truth, and I wouldn’t blame you. But you didn’t. You let her believe it was all on your shoulders. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I was so afraid.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t realize how scared I was. I was terrified to tell you, but losing Bridget’s love and respect would’ve killed me.”
“I don’t want to take her away from you, Ali. I’m still not sure how I feel about what happened back then, about how you handled it, but I know we need to move forward. My mom said something to me this afternoon. She said if I get stuck resenting the past, I’ll risk ruining the present and losing the future. I don’t want to do that.”
Ali cast her eyes down, staring at her hands as they lay in her lap. “Your mother was always one of the best people I ever knew. I’ve missed her all these years.” She sniffled long, dabbing at her nose with a disintegrating tissue. “I missed them all. You know, after you left, Maureen was still okay with me. She was still my friend, at least until Craig started hanging around.”
That name brought back the resentment. I understood, to a certain extent, why Ali hadn’t told me she was pregnant. I still didn’t get why she’d turned to a guy who was supposed to have been my friend. That was going to take some time.
Before I could ask her about him, Bridget ran back down the steps and leaped onto the sofa between us. “I couldn’t decide which ones to bring down, and I only wanted to show you my best.”
“Hey, no fair.” I brushed the back of my fingers over her cheek. “I want to see them all.”
“I will, but I wanted you to see my best first.” She grinned, and then her smile faded as she saw her mother’s face. “Mommy, what’s wrong? Why’re you crying?”
“Oh, I’m fine, baby. These are happy tears. I’m so glad your daddy is here with us.”
“Me, too.” She reached out her small hand to touch my knee and the other to take her mother’s hand. “Even if my daddy can’t live here, I’m glad we’re a family.”
A family. I met Ali’s eyes, and I saw thinly-veiled panic there before it melted into something that might have been close to hope.