Don't Go (42 page)

“Yes, we’re sorry.” Danielle nodded, her eyes filming. She tugged a balled-up Kleenex from her pocket.

“Thanks,” Mike said, uncomfortably. “How’s Emily?”

“Good, fine.” Danielle wet her lips. “We wanted to explain why we asked you to leave the house the other day. We’d like to clear the air.”

Mike stiffened, feeling every ache in his face and body. “You explained it in court.”

“Yes, I know, but we didn’t get to say that we know you love Emily, and I guess, well, we just got scared.” Danielle frowned. “You were talking about taking her to Connecticut, and we didn’t think you were in good enough shape to do that, so we felt like we had to act, quickly.”

Bob rested a hand on Danielle’s forearm. “My wife is covering for me, but I don’t need her to. It was all my idea. I know I was wrong and I can admit it. I tend to solve things legally. I overreacted, and I’m sorry.”

Mike felt something give way in his chest, a sort of a surrender, because he understood them. “I’m sorry, too. For scaring you, and for the way I acted.”

“Thank you.” Bob nodded curtly, pursing his lips.

“Yes, thanks.” Danielle blinked wetness from her eyes. “And there’s something we brought you.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a white envelope, and opened it up. “I’m sorry I went snooping in your room, that was wrong. I was looking for your pills, but I found these things, and they belong to you.” Danielle plucked from the envelope the heart milagro that Segundo had given him, the silver crucifix from Chloe, the gold coin from Lieutenant Colonel Davy, and the battered photo of Emily, then she set them out on the bed table, one-by-one. “When I saw this picture of Emily, I knew you had carried it with you, all through your time in Afghanistan.”

Mike’s throat caught at the sight of the trinkets. Each one meant so much to him, and he picked up the photo of Emily as a baby, her features still unformed. “She was young here.”

“I know.” Danielle nodded, with a sniffle. “She’s getting bigger every day.”

“She is.” Mike swallowed hard. “So, can I see her, on a visitation schedule? Unsupervised?”

“I don’t think so,” Danielle answered flatly, then turned to Bob. “Honey, what do you think?”

Bob cleared his throat, eyeing Mike. “We’re not giving you unsupervised visits.”

“What?” Mike asked, stricken. He held the photo between his fingers as if he’d never let it go.

“This is how we see it,” Bob answered, calmly. “It shouldn’t have taken a courtroom for us to hear each other, but it did. I think you heard Danielle and me when you did what you did in court, that is, letting us have custody.” He paused, his Adam’s apple going up and down. “But we heard you, too, and that’s why we want to ignore the court’s order. In fact, we’re going to apply to modify it. Emily is your daughter, and we’ve decided that no matter what the judge ruled, you should have complete legal and physical custody of her.”

Mike blinked, astounded. “Really?”

“Yes.” Bob smiled, in a regretful way. “We know who you are, inside. You lost your way coming back, but you’re on the right path now. So what we’d like to do is work with you to help Emily transition to living with you full-time, where she belongs. We can go as fast or as slow as you like. You call the shots.”

“Thank you so much.” Mike felt like cheering, but he would settle for not blubbering in front of everyone. He caught Stephanie’s eye, and she was beaming.

Danielle sniffled. “But I’m hoping that you’ll let me babysit when you go back to work. And that you’ll stay in Pennsylvania, at least for the foreseeable future.”

Mike felt so happy. “Of course I will. I listened in court, too. I wouldn’t take Emily from you guys, ever. I think the three of us should raise her together. We’re her family. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful!” Danielle’s eyes shone. “And from now on, I won’t be so bossy about the baby. I know I have been, and I’m sorry about that. And, oh yes, most important of all, we decided that she has to call me Aunt Danielle, not Mommy. Otherwise, it’s confusing. Chloe was her mother, her only mother, and I know she’d be so proud of what we’re doing today.”

Bob nodded, clearing his throat huskily. “I agree, and for my part, Emily has only one Daddy. That’s you, Mike. You’re her Daddy, not me. You.”

Mike realized that Emily had never called him that. He hoped she would someday, but he’d have to earn it, and now he’d have a chance. His heart filled with joy at the sound of the simple word.

Daddy.

Chapter Eighty

“Daddy!” Emily called out, running across the grassy lawn, holding something in her fist.

“Watch where you’re going, don’t fall!” Mike called back. Emily had grown like a wildflower, already too tall for a pink dress that fit at the beginning of summer, and her curls had gotten lighter.

“She’s not going to fall.” Bob shifted some boxes in the trunk of his car.

“I know, because I’m watching,” Mike told him, with a smile.

“You can’t trip on a lawn.”

“There could be a hole from a groundhog.”

“We don’t have groundhogs.”

“What about snakes or voles?”

“We don’t have those, either.”

“Dragons, then.”

Bob laughed. It was a running joke that Mike was the world’s most protective father. He wanted to keep Emily safe from falls, bee stings, bad boyfriends, and wars, but that wasn’t why he was watching her. He was still drinking in everything about her, getting to know her better, every day.

“Dragons. You got me there.” Bob shut the trunk with a solid
ca-thunk
.

“Daddy, look!” Emily came running up, and Mike knelt to get down on her level.

“What you got, baby?”

“Flowers.” Emily smiled at him, her eyes as blue as heaven itself, her fingers covered with earth. She opened her palm, showing a crumpled mash of thistle and onion grass.

“How pretty, that’s great! Thank you!” Mike held out his hand, and Emily shook the smelly pile into his palm. It was the first time she’d brought him flowers, instead of dirty Kleenexes, broken crayons, and empty juice boxes. Maybe someday he’d stop noticing the firsts, or counting his blessings, but he doubted that day would ever come.

“Save dat, Daddy.”

“I will.”

“Are we goin’ to da berfday party?”

“Not yet.”

“When is Fenny gonna come?”

Mike loved the way Emily said Stephanie. “Any minute now.”

“Where is da party?”

“In another state, called Connecticut.” Mike didn’t mind that Emily asked so many questions, when he had the answers, which wasn’t always. “The party is at my friend’s house. Dr. Chatham.”

“How old is he?”

“Older than I am. Very old, like forty years old.” Mike was looking forward to giving Chatty a hard time. “He has three big girls, remember? They can’t wait to meet you.”

“Is Uncle Bob and Aunt Danielle gonna come?”

“No, they have errands to run.” Mike realized that Emily might be worried. She’d spent nights at his apartment but he’d never taken her away for a day trip. “Don’t worry, we’ll have fun together.”

“I miss Smoochie Kitten.”

“I do, too. We’ll see her when we get home.” Mike had gotten a new kitten and told everybody it was for Emily, which was his prerogative as a father. He visited Jake every time he saw Don and the boys, and it made him happier than he let on. He was a cat man.

“Want more flowers? I know where.”

“Where?” Mike didn’t want her near the street, though there were only a few cars in sight on this quiet Saturday morning, too early even for leafblowers and lawnmowers. Sunlight dappled the driveway, and the air felt cool and fresh.

“Dere!” Emily pointed to the hedgerow, then waved off a gnat.

“Good. Don’t go past that. Gimme a kiss.”

“Okay.” Emily presented her cheek to be kissed, and Mike obliged, loving its sweaty softness, then she ran off, with Bob chuckling.

“Someday she’ll learn that means she’s supposed to kiss
us
.”

“I hope she doesn’t.” Mike smiled, rising, and he put the stinky plants into his breast pocket. “That’ll keep the vampires away.”

“Bob, wait, I found one more box!” Danielle emerged from the front door, carrying a cardboard box.

“I just closed the trunk!” Bob called to her.

“So open it!” Danielle called back.

“Need a hand?” Mike asked, no pun intended. Time and therapy had made him more accepting of his amputation, and he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt that exposed his stump. He felt better and lighter without his prosthetic, which he wore mainly at work. He was running his own practice, and Tony and Dave had come on board, doing the surgeries until he could, someday.

“Thanks.” Danielle smiled as she gave Mike the box, then fell into step beside him. Its top flaps were closed, and its contents clinked slightly, like glass against glass. “I’m not even sure where this came from. It might be from your old house.”

“What’s in it?” Mike checked on Emily, who was crouching on the lawn, yanking up crabgrass.

“Bottles and T-shirts. See if it’s anything you need.”

“I doubt it.” Mike had gotten rid of almost everything. Some of it had too many memories, and the rest he didn’t have room for in his apartment, which was another blessing, helping him move on.

“How it got upstairs, I don’t know.”

“Let me see.” Mike set the box on the edge of the trunk, opened a flap, and looked inside. It contained a bottle and old T-shirts, but they didn’t belong to him. “It’s not my stuff.”

Bob opened the other top flap. “Oh, I packed this from Mike’s and brought it home. I forgot all about it. The bottle is from Mike’s, but the shirts are mine. I used them to cushion the bottle, so it wouldn’t break.”

Danielle rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t you throw it away, honey?”

“It’s expensive, and Mike might want it. Mike, you want it? It’s really nice Scotch.”

“No, you keep it.” Mike turned to check on Emily, who was squatting on the lawn, warbling a tuneless song to herself and digging in the dirt. Sunlight caught her hair, making it shine. He found himself thinking of Chloe, his grief coming and going, though he’d fallen in love with Stephanie. He’d learned that the human heart could expand to fit as many as needed, whether that was sound cardiology practice or not.

“Throw it away, Bob,” Danielle was saying, behind him. “It probably went bad and it’s half-empty.”

“Danielle, it doesn’t go bad. Why waste it?”

“We have money. Why hoard it?”

“It’s The Macallan Estate Reserve, a collector’s bottle. This probably costs a couple hundred bucks.”

Mike turned at the name, which rang a bell. “What, Bob?”

“Tell her you don’t throw
this
away.” Bob was holding up a bottle of Scotch with a black-framed label that Mike recognized, shaken.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Emily jumped up, pointing to the street. “Daddy, Fenny’s here!”

“Don’t run in the street!” Mike called back reflexively, as Stephanie’s red Saab pulled up at the curb.

“Hi, Emily!” Stephanie called from her open window. She cut the engine, got out of the car, and reached down just in time to catch Emily in her arms, lift her up, and give her a hug. “Honey pie, I’m so happy to see you!”

Mike walked toward them, then gave each a quick kiss on the cheek. “Stephanie, mind if I borrow your car? I’ll be right back.”

“No, why?” Stephanie smiled, bewildered, and handed him the keys. “Aren’t we supposed to be leaving?”

“We will when I get back. Gimme an hour. I have to take care of some unfinished business.”

Chapter Eighty-one

Mike walked through the door at Lyon & Haggerty, and every head turned in the large waiting room, packed because Saturday mornings were the busiest. The seats were full of moms and kids, reading, listening to iPods, or texting away, their thumbs flying.

“May I help you, sir?” asked the receptionist, her ponytail swinging.

“No thanks, I’m here to see Jim.” Mike strode past her, opened the door to the hallway, and stalked past the team photos and mounted hockey sticks, calling out, “Jim? You here? It’s Mike.”

Two female staffers in peach scrubs turned to him. “May we help you?” asked one. “Sir?” said the other.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Mike barreled past them. “Jim! Jim!”

“What’s going on out here?” Jim asked in surprise, emerging from an examining room, and Mike whirled around to face him.

“We need to talk about Chloe.”

Jim’s eyes flew open. “Mike, whoa. What do you mean?”

“You tell me. I found a bottle of Macallan in the house. Sorry,
The
Macallan, the same overpriced bottle of booze you keep in your desk drawer. My gut tells me she didn’t drink it, you did.”

“I went over for the article, I told you that.”

“How many times did you go over?”

“Once.”

“You’re lying. You told me you sip it, but the bottle was half-empty. That means you were over there plenty of times. Why were you over there so much?” Mike kept walking toward him. “And why are you lying about it, if it was innocent?”

“Mike, calm down.” Jim edged backwards, gesturing to a staffer. “Melinda, call security. Do something.”

“I am calm, Jumbo. You’re the one who’s not calm.” Mike backed Jim down the hallway. “Why are you running away from your old friend and partner? I’m Dr. Mike the war hero, remember? I’m the guy in your brochure. And while I was in Afghanistan, you slept with my wife.
You
could’ve been the one who got her pregnant.”

“No, wait, I couldn’t have gotten her pregnant. I took a shot, I admit it, but she said no. Nothing happened, I swear.” Jim backed down his new hall. Patients from the waiting room crowded the doorway, astounded. Examining-room doors were opening on all sides, and appalled moms and kids stood in the thresholds watching, among them, a shocked Rick Lyon.

Mike kept advancing. “You hit on my
wife
? What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“Sorry, Mike, what can I tell you?” Jim backed himself against the wall of team photos. Mike saw the absolute truth in his eyes.

He felt a wave of sadness for Chloe. She had been so vulnerable, and ripe for someone like Jim to take advantage of her. But something in her had resisted Jim. Mike’s impulse was to deck him, but he knew that the moms, patients, staff, and Lyon had heard every word. Tongues would wag all day, and the gossip would be on Facebook by lunchtime. If Lyon believed business was about reputation, Jim was as good as fired.