Chapter Ten
Adam laid out the dozen cinnamon rolls Charlene had brought over, then set the plate in the center of the kitchen island.
He moved them slightly to the left. Next he put out place mats, some fruit and napkins.
He was about to check the front window to see if Billie and Jane were coming over yet when he remembered that he had to start the coffee.
He hadn’t been this nervous since he—He shook his head.
He’d never been this nervous. It wasn’t every day a man was introduced to his child.
Usually it happened in the hospital while the kid was an infant and too little to make judgments about liking and not liking.
Billie was eight and very opinionated. What if she decided she didn’t want him for her father?
He couldn’t force himself onto her. It hadn’t taken a hell of a lot of soul-searching to realize how very much he wanted to be part of her life.
He gave the kitchen a quick once-over, realized he’d forgotten plates, then set them on the place mats. As he straightened the napkins, he heard a knock on the back door.
Billie didn’t bother to wait for him to answer. She barreled into the room and grinned. “I told her we didn’t have to knock. We have breakfast together almost every day. I said you were ‘specting me.”
“Expecting,” he answered, before bending over and giving her a hug.
“Whatever,” Billie said as she hugged him back, then wiggled out of his embrace and climbed up onto a stool at the center island. “All right! Cinnamon rolls. My favorite.” She picked one up and began licking the icing.
“Good morning, Adam,” Jane said as she hovered in the doorway. The shadows under her eyes told him she, too, had had a sleepless night.
The nervousness, anticipation and concern swirling in his stomach didn’t leave any room for other emotions like anger or resentment.
He and Jane were in this together. The first order of business was to tell Billie the truth.
Once that was taken care of, he and Jane would have plenty of time to work through everything else.
He knew he’d have to come to terms with what Jane had done.
He couldn’t continue to hate the mother of his child; not without hurting Billie. And she was his main priority.
“Morning.” He waved toward the chairs. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you.”
She sounded as awkward as he felt. As she walked by him, the hem of her floral-print skirt brushed his bare leg.
The cotton tickled. He’d thought about dressing up for their talk with Billie, but had decided shorts and a polo shirt would look less as though he was interviewing for the job of father.
“I made coffee. It’s almost ready,” he said. “Would you like some juice?”
“That would be nice.” She seated herself next to Billie, leaving the chair at right angles to the girl for him.
He poured one glass. “Billie?” he asked, holding up the pitcher.
“Sure.” She grinned. “And milk, please.”
Icing coated her face from her nose to her chin. Crumbs collected at the corner of her mouth. The ever-present baseball cap had been abandoned on the counter and her bangs stuck up along her forehead. She looked adorable.
Her hair—He stared at it for a second, then glanced at Jane.
They didn’t have the same color. Jane’s was darker, a true brown with no hint of blond or red.
Billie’s hair was lighter. He finished pouring the juice and gave them each a glass.
She had his hair color. He peered closer.
And his eyes. His heart clenched in his chest, as if a giant fist squeezed it tight.
It was real. He couldn’t believe he’d never noticed.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Billie asked.
Adam shrugged an apology, but couldn’t take his eyes from the girl. The freckles on her nose looked just like Dani’s. Her mouth—he glanced at Jane, then back at Billie—belonged to her mother.
Billie leaned across the counter until their faces were inches apart. “You’re still staring at me.”
He kissed her forehead. “I’m done.”
“Good.” She grabbed a piece of watermelon and bit into it. Juice ran down her chin. She caught it with the back of her hand.
“Billie, we have to talk,” Jane said.
Instantly Billie set the fruit down. Her smile faded and she looked at Adam.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.” He took the seat on the other side of her.
He sat on the end of the island, at a right angle to her.
He could see Jane over her head. Their eyes met for a brief moment.
He saw Jane’s uncertainty. He wanted to promise her that it was going to be okay, but he didn’t know how the situation would end up.
Jane angled herself toward her daughter and rested one arm on the counter. “Adam and I—”
“I slid down the banister,” Billie said, staring at her plate.
“What?” he asked.
“Last week, when you got that phone call from the bank, I sneaked out of the kitchen and slid down the banister.”
Adam frowned. “I told you not to do that. It’s very high and you could get hurt.”
She thrust out her lower lip. “I didn’t fall.”
“That’s not the point. The point is—”
“Adam.” Jane shook her head. “Billie, you know better, but that’s not what we want to talk about.”
She nodded and pushed her half-eaten piece of watermelon across her plate.
“I know. I didn’t mean to. It just happened.
I was going to say something.” She looked up at Jane.
“Honest.” She turned back to Adam. “You weren’t home, so I couldn’t tell you.
Then when I came to breakfast, I didn’t want you to get mad at me. I’m sorry.”
He stared horrified as a fat tear trickled down her cheek. “What the hell are you talking about?” he said loudly.
Billie jumped.
“Adam, don’t swear,” Jane said.
“Mom, he said a bad word.” Billie sniffed. “Adam, you shouldn’t say hell.”
He’d lost control, he thought as he struggled to stay sane.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever had it, but it was gone now.
He slid off the stool and grabbed the coffeepot.
After filling two mugs, he handed one to Jane, then resumed his seat.
“Okay, let’s try this again. Billie, you’re right. I shouldn’t say—”
Jane raised her eyebrows.
“I shouldn’t swear. I apologize. What were you talking about before? The thing you didn’t want to tell me.”
Another tear rolled down her cheek. “I broke a window in the shed.”
“You what?”
“There’s no need to raise your voice,” Jane said, putting an arm around her daughter. His daughter.
“I’m not raising my voice.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m calmly asking Billie to tell me what happened with the shed.”
She sighed and sat up straight. Jane kept her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “I was playing ball in the back. It was kinda windy, you know?”
“Go on.” He sipped his coffee.
“Well, I was working on my curve ball and—”
“This isn’t important,” Jane said, staring intently at him. “This isn’t what we wanted to talk about.”
“But I want to know about the window.”
“Fine. If you think that’s more important, be my guest.”
Billie looked from one to the other, her eyes getting wider and wider. “Are you guys fighting?”
“No,” he said grimly.
“Yes,” Jane answered, picking up her napkin and snapping it open. “Adam is easily distracted. Do you want to talk about the window or should we discuss something more relevant?”
“You’re right,” he said, wondering how he’d been moved off the subject at hand. “Billie, we’ll deal with the shed another time.” He took her hand. The short blunt nails needed cleaning. She had a cut at the base of her thumb. A child’s hand, small and full of promise. His child’s hand. “Billie—”
“Yes?” She looked up. “Do you have tickets to the Triple A game?”
He smiled. “No, honey, I don’t.”
“Can I have another roll?”
He pushed the plate toward her. She pulled her hand free and grabbed for the sweet.
“I can’t,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t know what to say, or how to handle this situation.” He looked at Jane. “Any suggestions?”
“I’ll try,” she said. “I’ve had longer to think about this than you.”
“Think about what?” Billie asked, her mouth full.
“Honey, I’ve got a secret.”
Billie looked up at her mother. “A good one?”
“Yes.” Jane smiled weakly and brushed her daughter’s bangs out of her eyes. “You’ve always asked me about a father. Where yours was. Why he couldn’t be with us.”
Adam swallowed. Here it comes. What would Billie say?
Billie set her roll on the plate and licked her fingers. “You know where my dad is?”
“Adam is your father, Billie. Your real father. I—” Jane cleared her throat. “He didn’t know until yesterday. We wanted to tell you together.”
Billie glanced at him, her eyes as big as the softball she carried in her shorts pocket. When he offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, she dropped her chin to her chest and stared at her lap. “Did you know?”
Jane nodded. “Yes,” she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I knew Adam was your father.”
Billie looked up at him. He tried to read her expression, but couldn’t. “Do you want to be my father?”
“More than anything.”
She pushed her plate away. “It’s okay, I guess.”
“Good.” He started to lean forward to hug her, but she slipped off the seat and picked up her baseball cap.
“I’m going to go play ball.” She stopped by the back door. “Okay, Mom?”
“Fine.”
“What about church?”
“We’ll try to go tonight.”
She ran out without looking back.
He breathed a sigh of relief. The conversation had been anticlimactic at best, but had gone better that he’d hoped.
“She handled that very well,” he said.
“I don’t think so.” Jane stared after her daughter. Her makeup couldn’t hide her sudden lack of color or the stricken expression in her eyes.
What had he missed? Panic threatened. “Why do you say that?”
“Billie is bright and inquisitive. At the very least I thought she’d ask how I knew you were her father. Which would lead to…well, you know. But she hardly said a word.”
“Would you have preferred her to get upset?”