Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
“He’s darling,” Mom commented while we watched Dad play with Chloe and Henry in the backyard after Sunday lunch.
They were teaching Henry the fine art of American football.
He had already mastered tackling. He giggled every time he got Chloe to fall.
She was faking it all for him. Dad had even let the kids pile up on him.
He was in heaven. My parents were still holding out hope for more grandchildren.
I curled up tighter in the afghan I had brought out to sit on the porch swing. We were in the throes of Autumn. You could smell the crisp earthiness in the air. “He is sweet.”
Mom patted my leg. “You seem a million miles away today. What’s wrong?”
I sighed. “Leland is moving back.” I kept my voice low.
Mom’s penciled-in brows shot up to her graying hairline.
“I take it Chloe doesn’t know.” She would have said something to my parents already had she known.
She told them everything. Like anytime I swore in front of her, or once, when I accidentally set a hot pad on fire.
She even tattled on me when I let her eat ice cream for breakfast. All my finest moments over the years.
“I don’t know how to tell her. He’s not exactly a man of his word.”
Mom’s face pinched enough to highlight all her creases. “Calling him a man is a disservice to his gender,” Mom snarled.
“Agreed, but he’s demanding to see Chloe.”
“Then you demand that he pay you all the child support he owes you.”
“Believe me, I’ll be consulting a lawyer.” Now that I could afford one. “But as far as I can tell from all my online research, I can’t legally prevent him from seeing her.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“What do I do?” I leaned my head on her bony shoulder.
She smoothed my hair. “Tell her the truth. That’s all you can do.”
“What are my other options?” I teased, sort of.
She kissed my head. “That’s a road you don’t want to go down, my love.”
“I know.”
“So, tell me how this new job of yours is going. You’re obviously taken with Henry, and the feeling seems to be mutual.”
I thought back to how Henry sat on my lap during lunch and slathered me with kisses. I watched him and Chloe for a moment. Chloe was gently tossing the ball to him. He kept dropping it, but it didn’t stop him from trying. “He’s pretty much stolen my heart. Chloe’s too.”
“I see that.” I heard the smile in Mom’s voice.
“What about his uncle? Are you getting along?”
I thought about what to say. “When I see him, yes.”
“Don’t you live together?”
“No, Mom. I wouldn’t move Chloe into a strange man’s house.”
“Only right next door.”
“You met some of my neighbors in the apartment building. Miles is a dream compared to them.”
“He’s a dream now, is he?”
I sat up and ran a hand through my hair. “You’re twisting my words.”
“You’re touchy today. I think there is a story there. Speaking of stories, I’ve been reading Silent Stones.”
I told her to start with that one. It was my favorite, after all. “What do you think?”
“It’s very well written.”
Cindy Parker was a tough critic, so that was a major compliment.
“But I do find it interesting that his heroine, Isabella, reminds me an awful lot of someone. It’s almost uncanny how much.”
I stared out into the distance, not really focusing on anything other than avoiding Mom’s gaze. I knew who she was talking about.
Mom took my hand. “You have to see it too? It’s like he took every part of you and created her, right down to your golden-brown hair, quiet intelligence, and closed-off nature.”
I whipped my head toward her. “I’m not closed-off.”
Mom squeezed my hand. “You didn’t use to be, and for a chosen few I suppose you’re not, but I think even for us who are closest to you, you hold part of yourself back. Like Isabella, you know you would have to feel again if you opened yourself up. It’s why you avoid men.”
I scowled at her, not liking the direction of this conversation at all. “I avoid men because they’re idiots.”
“See, you’re doing it again. Deep down, you know that’s not true. Granted, you married the biggest idiot of all, but he’s not why you close yourself off. It’s you. You can’t forgive yourself for it.”
Tears stung my eyes. Truth hurt.
Mom wiped a few escaped tears off my cheeks. “Honey, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just worry that if you keep going down this road you might end up like Isabella, way over your head, alone, and scared.”
“Since Dad isn’t a serial killer, I think I’m safe,” I said dryly.
Mom laughed. “He does know a lot about decomposition and where to bury a body.”
“Mom.”
“I’m kidding. Besides, I don’t think Isabella’s father is the real serial killer.”
“I don’t either.”
“I think her father gets redeemed,” Mom said wisely.
“Huh. That’s interesting.”
Mom tilted her head. “What?”
“It’s just, Miles has some father issues.”
“Care to share?” Mom put out her arm and, like a child, I snuggled into her side and told her everything Miles had shared with me, right down to my own concerns about his ability to be the father Henry needed.
Mom listened intently, never interrupting and even when I finished, she took a moment to comment.
She rubbed my arm. “Sounds to me like he doesn’t know how to be a father, never having one. And . . .”
“And, what?”
“You know how I feel about single men over thirty-five.”
Yes, I did. She actually wrote a paper—not to get published, just to hand out to the family—highlighting what a threat single men over thirty-five were to society.
I think the phrase she used was, “With a growing number of men never maturing beyond adolescence, we will begin to see a decline in stable family environments and more male youth and men incarcerated.”
“But there is an antidote to their foolish, selfish behavior,” she added.
“What’s that?”
“A good woman.”
My head popped up. “You think I need to find Miles a woman?”
“No, silly.” She tapped my nose. “He already has one living with him.”
“I just told you, we won’t be having that type of relationship.”
“I didn’t say you needed to be his lover.” She grinned.
“Don’t use words like lover. Please,” I begged.
“Fine,” she placated me, “call it whatever you want. My point is, you are one of the best mothers I know.”
“I am?” I always worried that my parents were so disappointed in my life choices that they secretly considered me a failure in every aspect of my life.
Mom placed her hands on my cheek. “Oh, honey, you are the best of the best. There is no one better to teach Miles how to be a good parent.”
She had no idea what her compliment meant to me, but . . . “I’m not sure it’s my place. He’s my boss.”
“Hmm.” Mom thought, dropping her hands. “That may be true, but after reading his book, I can’t shake the feeling the two of you meeting was anything but a coincidence.”
I swallowed hard. “He practically said the same thing.”
“It must be like Isabella come to life for him.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“That’s the scared, closed-off you talking. It must be very uncomfortable for you being so close to someone who knows you so well.”
I rubbed my heart. I was having more and more chest pains. I was also squirming inside. Mom was spot-on and I didn’t like it one bit. “She’s a character in a book.”
“Like I said, it’s uncanny how similar you two are. Miles must recognize that. Given that, and the way he so tenderly writes her, I have a feeling he will listen to you. But,” she cautioned, “this will require that you open yourself up to him.”
“Why?” I asked in a panic.
“Honey, you don’t change people by telling them what to do. You have to show them and give them reason to.” She took me in her arms and held me tight. “It might be time to take a chance,” she whispered in my ear. “There’s a little boy counting on you.”
For the rest of the day, I thought about what my mom had said.
Especially the part about Henry counting on me.
Who else did he have? It didn’t sound like Miles had any sort of real relationship with his father or living siblings, so I wasn’t sure how much of an influence they could or wanted to have in Henry’s life.
And Kevin, Henry’s father, had been an only child, and his parents had passed away several years ago.
With all that in mind, I was determined to at least broach the subject with Miles.
So after dinner and doing soccer drills with Chloe in the backyard, which really turned into us trying to teach Henry how to dribble the ball because he didn’t like to be ignored and he had us wrapped around his cute pudgy fingers, I took the little tyke back to the main house for a bath and bed.
Henry was so worn out from playing hard all day he quickly drifted asleep halfway through the first bedtime story.
It was then I made my nightly trek to Miles’s office.
This time, though, I walked a lot slower.
Before I knocked on Miles’s door, I tried to think of some ways to casually bring up how he could do better as Henry’s guardian.
Not sure how casual that could be. I inhaled and exhaled, then knocked.
The turning of the whiteboard could be heard, then his footsteps.
His life was like one big ritual and he was sucking me into it.
He opened the door and like always, he hit me with his warm smile. “Aspen, it’s good to see you.”
I handed him the monitor. “Can I speak to you?” I held my hands behind my back wringing them.
“Would you like to come in?” he asked, hopeful.
“Yes.”
His face brightened. “Splendid. Please take a seat.”
I found myself in front of his desk with him right next to me. This time, though, I think he was even closer than the last time.
“How was your day?” he started off.
“It was nice. We spent most of it with my parents.”
“I hope Henry wasn’t too much trouble.”
“Not at all. My parents were taken with him. He’s a real charmer.”
“He gets that from me.” Miles winked.
I may have believed that if he actually spent real time with Henry.
Miles laughed when I didn’t reply. “You find me arrogant.”
I bit my lip. “Maybe.”
Miles leaned back in his chair. “There is probably some truth there.”
“Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery,” I teased.
Miles placed his hands behind his head. “I do like you, Aspen.”
I scanned his immaculately clean office, nervous, not knowing how to respond. I think I could like him. Maybe I already did. But there were some things I didn’t like, and those needed to be addressed first.
Miles interrupted my train of thought. “I saw you playing football out back. You and your daughter are good.”
My gaze locked with his. I had no idea he was watching us. “Were we being too loud?”
“Not at all. I was taking a break and noticed.”
“You could have joined us. I think Henry would have liked that.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to show you up,” he said uncomfortably. “Besides, you Americans don’t even call it by its proper name.”
“That’s not true.”
Miles’s brow cocked. “I think you are mistaken.”
“I don’t think so.” I flashed him my best smirk. “The word soccer originated in Britain around two hundred years ago, but when it became too ‘Americanized,’ your people stopped using it.”
“My people?” he barked out a laugh. “I’m going to have to fact-check you on this.”
“Check away.”
“You are cheeky.”
“You have no idea.”
“I think I do.” The mood suddenly shifted in the room from playful to serious. “You are also brilliant. My publisher is raving about you. Your social media posts have sales up and me trending, so thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I folded my hands in my lap and began to wring them.
With him happy about my job performance, I thought maybe this was a good time to bring up my concerns.
I took a breath, and after one more good wring of my hands, I rested them on my legs and leaned forward.
“Would you mind if we talked about Henry?”
“Not at all.” His brow pinched. “Is he misbehaving?”
“No. He’s a sweet boy. Rambunctious as all little boys are, but honestly, he’s a doll. I love taking care of him.”
“And you’re marvelous at it.”
“Thank you. But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Miles tilted his head.
“You see, as much as I love taking care of him, I shouldn’t be the only person. He needs you.”
Miles’s ears pinked and his body became rigid.
“Henry is still hurting, as I know you are too, but you are his parent now, for all intents and purposes, and it’s important for him and you to be together for the little moments, like bedtime, dinnertime, and playtime.
Surely you don’t need to work all day, every day. ” I ended with an apprehensive smile.
He didn’t return it. In fact, his glare had me losing my smile in a hurry.
He cleared his throat before sitting up as straight as possible.
“Here’s the thing, love.” The edge in his tone said he did not mean that as a term of endearment.
“You don’t know the kind of pressure I’m under, and you bloody well don’t know what I’ve been through the last several weeks.
I love my nephew and I hired you to be his nanny, not mine. ”
His curt response knocked the air right out of me.
I sat stunned for several seconds, having an awful staring contest with him as he waited for my reply.
When I could finally catch my breath, I stood on shaky legs, willing my lip not to quiver.
“Thank you for clearing that up, Mr. Wickham. Good night.” I marched out the door.
“Aspen, wait,” he called after I was already down the hall.
He could keep on calling. I wouldn’t be answering. But maybe one day I would thank him for reminding me exactly why I kept myself closed-off and for burying the key to my heart just a bit deeper.