Chapter 8 #2
He spoke so fast, Pixie could barely take it in. She didn’t want to take it in. Feeling childish, she covered her ears.
Brogan dropped the papers on the table and caught her wrists. “Shayna deserves more than me. She deserves a family—and her brother.”
Rearing back, Pixie breathed, “How dare you? You expect me to raise her for you?”
His eyes flared, then narrowed to silver flames. “No.” Coming to his feet, he reiterated, “Hell no. No one will take her from me.”
Oh. Well, that was better. His reaction went a long way toward soothing her dismay. “Then … what?”
At their angry voices, Andy had gone alert, and now he ran to Pixie in fear. “Mam!”
She scooped him up and squeezed him tight. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. Everything is okay.” Patting his back, she said, “We didn’t mean to startle you.”
Andy peeked up at Brogan.
Immediately, he crouched down before him, which also put him at eye level with Pixie. “I’m sorry, buddy. It’s all good.” He stroked a hand over Andy’s hair, smiling when those wayward tufts sprang back up. “Were you showing Shayna your lamb?”
“My baby.”
“Right.” He flicked a glance at Pixie. “I was hoping you’d feel that way, too. She could use more family. Besides me, I mean.”
“Brogan …”
“I sprang it on you. I get it.” He stood. “Connie had no one, not even her brother. I don’t want that to happen to Shayna.”
When the baby gave a sudden wail, Andy jumped. “Oh, oh!” He scrambled down and ran back to her. “Baby cryin’!”
Pixie called after him, saying, “Andy, slow down.” She half-stood. “You have to go easy!”
“I’ve got it.” Brogan took two big steps and scooped Andy up before he landed on Shayna. “She screams really loud, doesn’t she, bud?” He seated himself on the floor, situated Andy beside him, and scooped up Shayna to comfort her.
Shayna’s little bottom lip stuck out, and she gave another cry, followed by a shuddering breath, making Andy fret. He looked ready to cry, too, until Brogan reached out to him.
Pixie sat there on the couch trying to mesh the new info with the image of Brogan and the kids. In no time, he had them both settled down, entertaining them with the stuffed lamb.
Shayna is Andy’s half sister.
No, she immediately told herself. She would never differentiate like that. Siblings shouldn’t be divided by halves or steps. They should just be siblings. Did she have it in her to keep them together? How could she not?
If it was true, and she had no reason to doubt it, then Brogan’s hesitation in leveling with her made sense.
Of course, he’d want to get to know her first. All of his life he’d been shortchanged, even abused, by the “family” who should have loved him.
Being related didn’t guarantee that someone was a good person who would treat others fairly, with respect and affection.
Where did that leave them all, though?
He was only supposed to be here until the end of summer. Already, the thought of his leaving left her aching. And to take Shayna away when she should have the right to know Andy?
Brogan started a silly story, which included the lamb talking and dancing. Andy scrambled for his own spot on Brogan’s lap.
“Ah, I see you have this all figured out, huh?” Effortlessly, Brogan arranged Shayna into one arm, giving Andy room; then he scooted around so he could rest his back against the wall. Holding the lamb in one hand, he said, “Now we’re all comfortable, right?”
“My baby.”
“You’re like a broken record, bud.” He glanced at Pixie, and despite the guarded smile on his mouth, she detected a wealth of sadness in his eyes.
Pixie knew what he was doing: He was giving her time to get pissed off, and get over it, or at least come to grips with his stunning revelation.
All this time, he’d known the truth. Shayna wasn’t related to her, but as Andy’s half sister, it was almost the same.
Except … Ruthie hadn’t felt that way at all. She’d deliberately ostracized Brogan, not only from his father, but his sister, too. It was easy to understand why the children’s connection mattered to Brogan. After knowing so many awful people, he wanted Shayna’s life to include more.
More family.
More support.
More love.
To reassure Brogan, she said, “While you three play, I’ll look over these papers. But, Brogan?”
His gaze met hers again.
“Let me know if you need any help.”
After watching her a moment or two longer, he released a tight breath. “No worries. We’re fine.” He got back to his silly story, even including a funny voice for the lamb. Andy loved it. Shayna kept busy blowing spit bubbles.
Pixie arranged the papers over the table, then picked up a few to skim them.
Much of it was Connie explaining that she understood why Brogan had stayed away.
Her parents had told her some of the things they’d said to him, heartbreaking things that no son should ever hear.
Things that ripped at Pixie’s heart as she read them:
You’re not a part of this family, so don’t try to be.
All you’ll do is complicate things.
You’re your mother’s problem, not ours.
They were awful, awful people.
When she imagined Brogan as a youth, and how hurtful those words would have been, tears welled in her eyes … and Pixie didn’t care. She was a crier. So what? If Brogan planned to hang around, or to know her and Andy long-term, he’d have to get used to it.
Curiosity had her skimming the papers until she saw Connie’s address. Just as Marlow had, Connie had lived near Chicago. She found a few notes explaining how Connie had randomly met Dylan.
She didn’t read anything in detail, not until she saw her own name.
Settling back against the couch, she took in Connie’s account of how Dylan had cried over Pixie’s “betrayal,” the way she’d kicked him out of her life, even though she knew he couldn’t divorce Marlow.
He claimed to have genuinely cared for Pixie, but understood that his parents would never accept her.
Connie, he’d claimed, was someone his parents would love. Ha! More of Dylan’s lies. His parents, Andy’s grandparents, didn’t fully approve of anyone. Lately, however, they had tried to be more accepting of Pixie because in their own way, they loved their grandson.
As she read more and more, the kicker for Pixie was that her first inclination was to call Marlow. She always dumped her problems at Marlow’s feet, because Marlow helped her to think things through, to work them out rationally.
But this? How would Marlow feel?
It was almost unbelievable that Marlow had accepted Pixie into her life, that she loved her as a friend and a sister.
Yet another woman? Marlow wouldn’t resent Shayna; she didn’t have it in her to feel animosity, or even indifference, toward a child. But this second betrayal would surely anger her.
Pixie hadn’t been married to the man, and she was irate—at least a little. Dylan hadn’t missed her, hadn’t even gone that long grieving the loss of their relationship before he’d turned to Connie. Or maybe he’d been with Connie long before Pixie had ended things.
Possibly, during the entire time he’d been with Pixie.
In personality and behavior, he was the bastard, not Brogan.
Since Connie had been so thorough in her notes, it was no surprise that Brogan had so much info on Pixie. Dylan must have given her most of the details, but Connie had gone a few steps further and found Pixie’s location.
She even stated why:
You and I were alone, Brogan. Shayna doesn’t have to be.
If Ms. Nolan is at all as Dylan described her, she might allow her son to know Shayna.
She might help provide the family you and I needed—or at least that I needed.
You, little brother, were always stronger than me.
So strong. Yes, I admired you a lot. You were my hero and my inspiration.
Pixie dashed away more tears. How painful it must have been for Brogan to read that, to know how much his sister had needed him. No wonder he seemed to hate Ruthie.
I used to pray that eventually we could reconcile, that you’d accept me, but please, please know that I never blamed you. I knew who kept us apart, and I understood. I loved you then, and I loved you every single day.
Never, ever have I doubted that you would accept Shayna if something happened to me.
Brogan, if you’re reading this, then she needs you, even more than we needed each other. Without you, Mom and Dad will have her. I know you won’t let that happen, so thank you. Love her like she should be loved. That’s all she really needs.
However, if you want my input (I know, I’m that pushy older sister!), then here’s what I’d like to see happen. Only if it’s possible. Again, the most important thing is that you love her—and I know you will.
Pixie’s chest ached, her heart held in a vise. Oh, God, she could feel Connie’s pain, knew that the poor woman had been imagining her daughter growing up without her, and she’d been doing the absolute best she could to make sure—even after her death—that Shayna would be cared for.
“Hey.” Suddenly, Brogan was there, sitting down beside her. He took the papers from her hands and put them back on the table. “You okay?”
“Yes.” Pixie nodded jerkily, gave an audible swallow, and again wiped her eyes. When she tried to speak, her voice broke. “No mother should ever have to make these plans. Not for an infant.”
“I know.”
Pixie saw that Andy was now jabbering away with the lamb, emulating Brogan’s storytelling to entertain Shayna. It warmed her soul to see them together, especially with her new understanding of why it was so important—not just to Brogan, but to Connie, too.
On impulse, she turned to Brogan and hugged him fiercely.
Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder, saying again, “Hey.”
That made her laugh, but it was a shaky laugh. He was such an enormous, buff, competent man—his awkwardness amused her.