Bad Traveler (7 page)

“One is the same recipe I used to make for you; the other is a new variant. I thought you might need a little cheering up after that road game.”

“It was a doozy. On the plus side, Coach Meyer said he wouldn’t be surprised if someday I’m coaching on the opposing sideline, crushing him as badly as his former assistant did to us.”

“That’s good news?”

“He thinks I have what it takes to be a head coach.” His face beamed with pride.

“That’s terrific. So let’s celebrate with sugar.” God, she loved his grin and how it brought forth the crinkles around his eyes and dusting of freckles across his nose.

He poured two cups of coffee and brought plates and napkins to table. She put brownie A on the plate. Lifting the chocolaty goodness to his mouth, he closed his eyes as he bit into it. She tried not to wonder if he had the same contented look after sex. “This is the new one.”

“How? You haven’t even tasted the other yet. Try them both first.” She brought two chocolate styles, knowing he would identify the mint ones as new.

He drank some coffee and tried the second. “After all the time I dreamed about your brownies, I didn’t think it would be possible to improve upon them, but you did. The first was so much richer, more complex, and simply delicious.”

His hand reached across the table, covering hers. She gasped, and their gazes locked.

“They might even be addictive.” His voice rumbled.

Maybe it was the chocolate effect, but she knew what she saw reflected in his eyes. Lust. Her eyes likely told him the same thing. Her vision shifted, blurring around the edges. Time slowed, becoming irrelevant. It could have been seconds or hours. At least one breathy sigh escaped her throat.

He coughed, releasing her hand, and looked away. “I’ll get us some refills.”

Whatever she thought had passed between them dissipated by the time he returned with steaming mugs. Maybe she had been too forward, sighing like a French whore from his innocuous touch. Nothing had changed for him in that moment, but everything had shifted for her. Which had to be why she was so empty inside after he closed the door, and she drove home with overheated hormones and a couple of wrapped presents.

Gwen wanted Chloe’s first Christmas to be special; limited space and finances dictated sticking to necessities. Chloe didn’t even meet the mall Santa, but as her parents reminded, babies didn’t anticipate the holidays. Next year, she would be able to tear open the paper herself and be less susceptible to picking up a cold at a crowded mall full of germy children.

Finding room for Chloe’s gifts proved challenging enough with her family’s overwhelming generosity. Her sister, Keira, gave Chloe a much-needed snowsuit. Her parents bought toys and a wood toy box. She protested the size of the toy box, but her mom said they wanted one that fit in front of the fireplace, making the parlor a better play space. Kyle offered the biggest surprise. The box he handed her the other night contained a pink Ravens onesie and sweatpants for Chloe and a feminine-cut Ravens Basketball T-shirt for her.

The holiday was bittersweet, in spite of the joy of family. Chloe meant so little to her birth father that he hadn’t acknowledged her first Christmas, but part of her was relieved. He didn’t care enough to track down his daughter, so he wouldn’t want her back.

She moved without leaving a forwarding address other than a Yahoo e-mail account. In spite of encouragement, she refused to set up a Facebook account. Since becoming a mother, she worked hard to avoid the news, social media, and anything that fed her anxiety. Cody’s mother had her e-mail address and her dad’s office address. It wasn’t fair to deny her access to her granddaughter, even if her son was useless, so she e-mailed Gammy regular updates and photos. In her replies, Babs thanked her for everything and expressed the hope she might reunite with her son, who was “getting better.”
No way
.

The problem came a few days later. A handful of customers trickled in to her shop, several ordering cookie trays for New Year’s Eve. The orders were a positive sign, but doing the math, she wouldn’t be able to afford to pay all the outstanding bills and herself for the month of December. Being financially dependent on her parents took an emotional toll.

The spring semester couldn’t start soon enough. She hoped students would remember the cookie deliveries and look to her shop as a place to congregate in the morning before school and in the evenings since Keira had offered to help two evenings a week. Her sister deserved wages, of course, but…. Failure wasn’t an option. She needed to make the shop a success for Chloe and herself.

Her foul mood deepened when she arrived home to find the living room overflowing with large and small boxes.

“The UPS man stopped by our house today. Apparently, someone was a busy Internet shopper.” The accusing tone in her mother’s voice made her cringe.

Surprised, she read the labels Chloe Mitchell care of Gwendolyn Jones. Her throat tightened. This wasn’t right. Her daughter was Chloe Jones. “Mom, did you see any return addresses on these?”

“Every box I looked at said Amazon or Toys R Us or Fisher Price.”

“I can think of one person who would use Chloe Mitchell rather than Chloe Jones. Her father.”

“Oh.” Mom abstained from another lecture, but her crinkled nose revealed her distaste louder than words.

They sat in silence with their thoughts. The more she looked at the boxes, the more her stomach churned. Antacids couldn’t help this sick feeling. Why had the boxes arrived here and not at Dad’s office? Cody must have put forth some effort to find them. After all this time, his motives seemed suspect. She doubted he’d had a sudden change of heart because he never had a heart to begin with. Maybe his bipolar disorder had shifted into a manic phase again.

“Do you think we should send them back?” Mom asked.

“No. I don’t know what that would accomplish except making him angry, and then he might come out here. I suppose we should open them. If nothing else, he is showing interest in Chloe.”

The first box contained an oversize jointed teddy bear in a pink dress.
Cute, but too delicate to give to a baby
. The packaging suggested it for ages eight and up. “I’ll find somewhere to store this after we take a photo of Chloe next to it to send to her Gammy. She must have sent this.”

The next box held pair of sparkly red shoes with a computer-generated card claiming these shoes would work just like Dorothy’s in the
Wizard of Oz
. One click and Chloe would be home. Her stomach seized as it did weeks ago on the flight here. She extracted several outfits of questionable taste, all with notes about how cute she would look in them. The most outrageous gift was a hot-pink motorized car designed for children ages three and older.

Baffled by the strange array of stuff, she muttered, “Who gives a baby stuff like this?” and “Where on earth am I going to put this?”

Questions jumbled in her mind, leaving her confused and angry. She didn’t know where he got the money. He made decent tips tending bar at his family’s pub, but most ended up back in the till. When she’d demanded his financial help, he claimed his inconsistent income offered no guarantees he could pay his share of the rent, much less child care.

The notes in his gifts to Chloe expressed a desire to spend time with her—a doubtful proposition, in her opinion. In their last big fight, he’d said he didn’t want to be a father. He’d accused her of tricking him into an unwanted commitment. By leaving with Chloe, she’d made life easier for both of them. He wouldn’t have to be involved, and she wouldn’t have to risk running into an emotionally unavailable, cheating louse. Moving home to pursue her dreams with the support of her family had seemed like a win-win situation.

Two boxes remained, both addressed to her. They might explain his intentions, but whether they made sense was another matter. Not wanting to start another conversation about her past decisions, she excused herself and retreated to the bathroom—the one place she could go without interruptions.

The first cardboard box had a small silver package inside. Gwen opened it to find a gold, heart-shaped necklace. The card stated “Thank you for giving us Chloe. I am sorry I wasn’t there for you in the hospital.” His apology skirted his infidelity. Perhaps his mother had threatened to disinherit him if he didn’t make nice by the end of the year.

She opened the second package, the one with the handwritten label and return address. From the layers of crumpled-up newspaper and tissue paper, she extracted a see-through red baby doll with a crotchless red G-string and a pair of matching red high-heeled feathered sandals. The garments burned holes in her retinas. As she dropped them, she noticed the card. Her hands trembled. “I can’t wait to see you in this! Miss you, babe. Love, Cody.” The bathroom grew claustrophobic. Her stomach lurched. She needed air.

***

After bundling Chloe for a walk, Gwen sought clarity in the cool night air. Anxiety, not the chill, caused her muscles to tremble. The lightly falling snow elicited giggles from Chloe. Although she knew no more beautiful, joyous sound in the world, it couldn’t stop the negativity. There was no way out. Cody had found them, and worse, he wanted them.

She stomped her feet hard on the front porch before going inside. Unbundling Chloe, she noticed Keira’s wild gesturing too late. Her father stomped through the hall, red-faced and cardboard box in hand.

“It’s bad enough my unmarried daughter moved back home with her baby and no father in sight, but to you have leave your risqué underwear in the bathroom where anyone could find it?” His thunderous voice frightened Chloe. “No wonder you messed up. If this is how you act, you’ll have to find somewhere else to live!”

Her legs collapsed. Braced against the wall for support, she sank to the floor, Chloe cradled in her arms as she murmured soft words of reassurance. She wasn’t sure if they were for herself or Chloe.

The front door swung open, assaulting her with cool air.

She feared looking up to see her father with a cold look and pointing into the street, but through the sound of her soft sobbing came “Ahem” in Mom’s soothing voice. “James, why don’t you put the groceries away for me, and I’ll help with Chloe.”

Mom spoke to Dad in private. Soon, she returned triumphant. “Well, that’s settled. Your father knows that the lingerie wasn’t your idea. He sometimes has a hard time accepting that you girls are all grown up. He offered to stay home with Chloe, so the three of us girls can get out of the house.”

“I thought you all were going to the basketball game tonight.”

“Now it will be just the girls.” Mom stood taller than usual, her posture a reflection of her pride.

She forced a smile to her lips even though hiding under the covers in her warm bed sounded preferable. Basketball was not her idea of fun. Dad’s rabid fandom embarrassed her; even worse, Kyle might see her after a crying bender.
Not that he’d care, or offer the right comfort
.

***

Keira insisted she dress up and look cute, threatening her with a mascara wand, when she protested. Dad wouldn’t be able to get Chloe to sleep for him because only she knew how. Mom refused to take two cars, assuring that, in a true emergency, they, “Would all leave together. Besides if anything horrible does happen, James will need a vehicle, too.”

Mom and Keira offered solutions for every disaster scenario she presented until there was nothing left but to go to the game.

Instead of the rowdy student crowd, plenty of empty seats greeted them. She welcomed the more sedate atmosphere. Last time she went to a game, they sat in the nosebleed section, but her parents had upgraded at some point. Juggling sodas and oversize pretzels snowy with kosher salt, they walked down the arena steps until they were five rows behind the home bench. As the teams were introduced, she caught sight of Kyle. Her anger over Keira’s insistence on makeup dissipated.

She remembered he made the ROTC uniform a highly anticipated event in her undergrad life, but the sight of him in a suit sent her belly quivering. The clean lines of the dark blue suit accentuated his broad shoulders. He exuded cool confidence as he walked across the court, focusing on the players from both teams getting ready to play. He reached the bench, set down his clipboard, and turned to the crowd. Their eyes met, and the corner of his mouth lifted. For the first time all day, her scowl faded. She had an ally. A player tapped him on the arm, and he turned his attention back to the game.

The first half seemed to go well. The Ravens were winning, which was a good sign. Her mom attempted to explain the rules, but the action distracted her. She tried to cheer when she saw her sister and mother clapping, but mostly, she watched Kyle. As the teams headed toward their locker rooms at halftime, he winked her direction.

She and her sister took advantage of the break to stop by the bathroom. Keira cornered her as she applied a fresh coat of lip balm.

“You look great, sis, but you really should go talk to him. If we hurry, you might catch him before the second half starts.”

“Who?”

“That dishy coach, duh. Remember two weeks ago when I ran the shop so you could take Chloe in for her checkup?”

She nodded.

“Well, he seemed disappointed not to see you. He worried Chloe was sick when I said you were at the doctor. He likes you. You should totally go for it. I could babysit. Heck, you could even borrow my apartment if you need to.”

She didn’t need a mirror check to know how red her cheeks were. “I can’t believe you said that! First Dad. Now you. Just because I had a baby out of wedlock doesn’t mean I’m easy. Besides, Kyle is too…too honorable to do something like that.”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just…. Look, as a grown-up in this town who dates, there aren’t a lot of places to go that aren’t also student hangouts. I saw how people approached him in your shop. He’s like a celebrity. I meant you could go there if you wanted to fix him dinner or watch a movie or escape Mom and Dad a bit. Oh, is it true he’s got robotic legs? Can he even, you know? Because if he ca—”