A Dad for Billie (19 page)

“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?”

Jane moved her cup along the edge of the tiles. “I think so. She doesn’t understand what we told her. Not really. That will come later. I hope—” she sighed “—I hope she can forgive me.”

“For what?”

“You were right last night. I lied to her, for her whole life. I wouldn’t talk about her father. It would have been one thing if I hadn’t known where he was, but I knew you were here. She’s going to figure that out.”

He felt vaguely uncomfortable. He didn’t want to hear Jane’s side of the story; he only wanted to be angry at her. Besides, if the truth were told, he didn’t mind if Billie was irritated with her
mother for a couple of days. “Maybe you should have thought about that when you chose to stay away all those years. You only have yourself to blame.”

*

The long morning got longer. Jane glanced out the kitchen window and saw Billie sitting under their chestnut tree. The girl had been there for almost an hour. The only time Billie stayed still voluntarily was when she was sick. Even asleep she tossed and turned like a puppy having a dream.

Jane pushed opened the back door and walked down the steps. When she reached the shade, she knelt on the grass and laced her fingers together on her lap.

“How you doing?” she asked.

“Okay.” Billie turned her softball over and over in her hand. The bill of her cap hid most of her face.

“You want to play catch?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll just sit here.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“Uh-uh.”

Now what? Jane wondered. “We gave you a lot to think about.”

Billie nodded. “Is Adam really my dad?”

“Yes.”

“Are you divorced from him?”

Jane grimaced. She hadn’t seen that one coming. “No, honey. Adam and I didn’t get married.”

Billie looked up. Her mouth twisted as she wrinkled her nose. It was her I-can’t-solve-this-problem expression. “Don’t you have to be married to have a baby?”

“Not always. Adam and I were going to get married. But then we decided we shouldn’t.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, she told herself. Besides, the truth was difficult for
her
to understand, let alone an eight-year-old.

Billie rolled her ball along the ground. It stopped in front of Jane and she rolled it back. “You didn’t marry Adam, but you had me, anyway?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wanted you.”

Billie picked up the ball. “And Adam didn’t?”

“Adam didn’t know about you, honey.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know when I left.”

“But you knew later?”

“Yes.”

Billie stood up and stuffed her ball into her pocket. “Every Sunday when we went to church, I always asked God for a dad. He gave me one. I guess I’m happy.”

“I know it’s a lot to get used to.”

Billie nodded. “I’m going for a walk, Mom.”

“Lunch is in an hour.”

Billie shuffled off deeper into the backyard. Jane watched her go. This quiet sedate child wasn’t hers. Had telling Billie been a mistake? Was the damage permanent? She wanted to run after her and hug her and love her until all the questions and fears disappeared. It didn’t work that way. Billie had to figure this thing out on her own. Nothing would be the same again.

Jane made her way back to the house. Should she invite Adam over for lunch? How were they going to handle that now? Coming home and reuniting father and daughter had seemed like such a good idea in San Francisco. But she’d never thought through all the logistical problems. Where did they go from here?

*

It was almost two o’clock when Jane burst into Adam’s study. “She’s not here, is she?”

He looked up from his work and frowned. “Billie? I haven’t seen her since this morning. I was going to call you later and see if you thought we could all have dinner.”

She turned toward Charlene who was standing behind her. “She’s not here. That’s it, then. She’s run away.”

“Who’s run away?”

“Your daughter.” Jane rubbed her temples. “I last saw her about three hours ago in the backyard. We had a talk about, well, you know. I told her lunch was in an hour. When I went out to get her, I couldn’t find her.”

Billie? Gone? He glanced at his watch. “And you’re just now coming to find me?”

“I wanted to check the yard and then the house. Charlene looked around here while I went to the park.”

“And?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“No one’s seen her.”

He’d been a parent less than twenty-four hours and it had been one crisis after another. His first inclination was to tear out of the room and begin a search of his own. “Let’s keep calm,” he said, as much to himself as to them.

“Calm?” Jane shrieked. “Calm? My daughter is out there. Alone. And you want to stay calm?”

“Jane, please, dear. This isn’t helping.” Charlene took her arm and ushered her into the room. “Have a seat and we’ll all think this through. She can’t have gone that far.”

“You don’t know Billie. She’s very resourceful.”

“She’s also a little girl. And that is what she’s going to act like. Now, think. Where would Billie go?”

Jane crumpled into the chair in front of his desk. She shook her head. “I don’t know. I
can’t
think. Oh, God, she’s lost and it’s all my fault.”

Charlene looked at him. “Adam?”

He came around the desk and crouched in front of Jane. Taking her hands in his, he squeezed them reassuringly. Her skin felt icy to the touch. “This isn’t helping Billie. Please, Jane. You must get a grip on yourself. Where would Billie go?”

“I don’t know.” Her hazel eyes, wide and unfocused, swept the room frantically, as if her child might be concealed in some corner. A shiver racked her body. “She’s never done this before.”

“She probably wants time to think. Where does she go when that happens?”

Jane jerked her hands free and tried to stand up. “Get out of my way. We need to call the police.”

“Not yet.” A memory walked along the edge of his consciousness. It stayed tantalizingly out of reach, but there was something familiar. A sense of having been through this before. Dani had
disappeared after his parents’ funeral. He’d searched for hours until— “Did you try the old tree house?” he asked.

“What?” Jane stared at him. “Is it still there?”

“Pieces. I think Billie mentioned something about it the day you arrived. You’d told her stories. Maybe she’s there.”

Hope brightened her pale face. “You think so?”

“There’s one way to find out. Come on.”

He grabbed her hand and led her out of the study. Charlene followed on their heels. Most of the two-acre backyard had been landscaped, but a patch of woods still existed in the southwest corner. Adam went first along the overgrown trail. Billie had spent part of her days exploring his yard; it wasn’t unreasonable to assume she’d found the tree house.

He kept repeating the thought over and over as if thinking it enough would make it true. The real truth was that he was as anxious as Jane. But after years of dealing with crises at home and at the bank, he was better at hiding his feelings. Be all right, Billie, he repeated like a prayer.

As they neared the tree house, he motioned for them to move more quietly. He wanted to get close enough to see her before she spotted them. He didn’t want to give her the chance to run. Jane held on to his hand as if it were her lifeline. He returned her pressure and glanced over his shoulder to give her a reassuring smile.

They rounded a curve in the path. The old cottonwood stood like a battle-scarred warrior among the newer saplings and willows. A ladder hugged the trunk of the eighty-foot tree. Stout branches fanned out. The thickest, about fifteen feet off the ground, supported the remains of a tree house.

At first he didn’t see anything. Then the sun caught a flash of red among the leaves. He closed his eyes and pictured her at breakfast that morning. Red T-shirt, denim shorts.

“She’s there.”

Jane sagged against him.

“Do you want to go talk to her?” he asked.

“We should go together.” Jane glanced back at Charlene, as if to confirm her opinion.

“I agree. I’ll wait here.”

Adam stepped along the path. When they were almost at the tall tree, he stepped on a fallen branch. It snapped. Billie stuck her head over the side of the tree house.

She wasn’t crying, but she didn’t smile at them, either. “I’m in trouble, huh?”

“You bet,” he said, finally realizing the extent of his worry as relief flooded his body. “You’re not allowed to go off without telling someone.”

She frowned. “How’d you know that?”

“It makes sense.”

She nodded and looked past him to her mother. “Am I going to get a whippin’?”

Jane tried to laugh. It came out sounding a little shaky. “I’ve never hit you.”

“I was just checking.” Billie adjusted her baseball cap. “You probably want me to come down.”

Adam released Jane’s hand. “I’ll come up.”

“Be careful,” Jane said, touching his arm.

“I will. I’ve been climbing this tree since I was younger than Billie.”

“When was the last time?”

He hoisted himself onto the first step and looked back. “About nine years ago. Are you saying I’m too old?”

“I’m saying be careful.”

He climbed the rungs leading up to the tree house. As he pivoted and lowered himself onto the floor of the open platform, he gave Billie a smile. “Nice view.”

“Yeah.” She took her ball out of her pocket and studied it.

“With the walls gone, it’s not safe up here for you. If you’d like, I’ll put the walls back.”

She shook her head. “I won’t be allowed up here. My mom won’t like it.”

“How do you know?”

She shrugged. “She just won’t.”

“Maybe I can talk to her about it.”

“Really?” She eyed him suspiciously. “Is that a dad thing?”

Was it? Now he shrugged. “I used to play up here when I was your age. I had a lot of fun. I’d like the same for you.”

She offered her first smile since she’d heard the news. “Sometimes famous pitchers need a place to play.”

“I bet. I’ll talk with your mother in a couple of days. Right now, though, I’d like you to come down with me. Can I give you a piggyback ride to the bottom?”