Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) (5 page)

“I want you to meet me after tomorrow’s game.”

She eased onto her bed and pushed her hair back with a shaky hand. “I’m not meeting you, Mike. You’re not taking Terrell—”

“Will you listen?” He lowered his voice. “I think we can work this out.”

Men talked and laughed in the background. Tonight’s storm must have rained out his game if he was calling from the stadium.

A door closed, muffling background sounds of conversation. “Tomorrow, Meg, let’s go out for dinner and talk everything over, just you and me.”

How could he make a call like this from the clubhouse? And did he really think she’d discuss their son in public? “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“If you say no, then I hang up and call my lawyer. And I won’t go easy on you.”

As if he ever had.

She squeezed her eyes shut.
Lord, help. What do I do?

“Come on, Meg. This isn’t that hard.”

“Just a minute. I’m thinking.”

“I don’t have time—”

“Come here then, after your game. I’ll make dinner.”

Where had that come from?

“Your house?” He paused. “Only if Terrell’s there. I want to see him.”

“Then no lawyers, nothing. Just you and me, like you said.”

“Done.”

“You promise? I can trust you?”

“Meg…” Mike’s voice sounded a mix of concern and confusion. Someone called him, and he muffled the phone, responded quickly. “I have a one-oh-five start tomorrow. I’ll be there when the game’s over.”

“Fine.” She ended the call without a goodbye.

Sat motionless on her bed.

The phone’s screen blended into the room’s darkness.

The nightmare she’d dreaded for six years had begun. Mike would take Terrell away.

Her shoulders slumped.

No.
No!

She would not be weak. She would
not
.

Instead, she’d be ready for everything he threw at her, for every promise he’d just made to be broken.

When he came, she’d be ready.

How was she going to tell Terrell about his dad?

The red numbers on her clock marked the night’s slow progress. Meg forced her eyes closed, but Mike’s deadline kept sleep away. How would she tell Terrell? And when?

When she finally slept, she dreamed that she and Terrell pulled up in front of her old Texas townhouse. The door was shut and the curtains ominously closed, but, like a fool, Meg led him up the sidewalk and knocked.

The door creaked open, revealing a woman’s silhouette.

Brooke.

In the room behind her, Mike sprawled across a couch and watched a baseball game on television. He lifted a hand in greeting before returning to the game.

Before Meg could react, Terrell fell through the doorway, and the heavy door slammed in her face.

She was alone.

Throughout the Sunday morning service, Meg argued with God. Why had he allowed Mike to find her? Why hadn’t he kept Terrell from speaking? What horrible wrongs had she done? Mike was the one who’d forgotten his wedding vows, not her.

Over lunch Meg tried to bring up Mike’s name, but it stuck in her throat.

Afterward Terrell planted himself in front of the Wind game. Meg hid in her bedroom’s walk-in closet, immersing herself in the box of high school yearbooks, hers and Mike’s, that held all the good she needed to remember about him before she introduced her son to whatever kind of man Mike had become. She flipped through the scrapbook she’d made of newspaper articles covering his minor league games and that first month in the majors. Old memories taunted her, marking the end of anything positive between herself and Mike.

How many negatives would tonight bring?

In the kitchen, she began dinner, dishes she hoped were still Mike’s favorites. While she washing fingerling potatoes, she focused on Terrell who colored at the kitchen table. The clock’s constant ticking meant that at any moment Mike would start his drive to her house.

And Terrell still didn’t know.

“Look, Mommy.” Terrell lifted his coloring book, his cocky grin reminiscent of his dad’s. “My giraffe is green and orange. And has a sword. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Absolutely crazy.” As was she for meeting Mike before she’d talked to a lawyer. She washed and dried her hands. The secrets she was about to reveal—sitting at her table with a warrior giraffe as witness was not how she’d envisioned it.

She walked to Terrell and planted a kiss in his hair. “Terrell, I need to talk to you.”

He eyed her, crayon in hand. “Is something wrong?”

Everything. How she wanted to take him and run, but that wouldn’t work anymore. She eased into the chair beside him and held his hand. Her fingers shook, and she swung their joined hands so he wouldn’t notice. “Nothing’s wrong. But I need to talk to you about your dad.”

Surprise passed over his face. “My dad?”

“Do you remember that your dad and I got a divorce?”

“Yes.”

“That happened before you were born. A long time ago.”

He nodded.

“I moved far away from him, up here, and then you were born. But now—” She stumbled over the word. “Now your dad has moved near us.”

“Can he come see me?” Terrell interrupted.

“Yes, he will. Soon.” Too soon. She ignored his growing grin. “Terrell, I want you to know… It’s my fault you’ve never met him.”

He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

How do I tell him, Lord?
She closed her eyes for a moment, taking in much-needed air. Maybe he wouldn’t understand what she’d done. “Your dad didn’t know I was going to have a baby—that I was going to have you. And after you were born… I never told him.”

The severity of her words seemed to strike him. His gaze fell to the floor, and he studied his feet for a moment before looking up, forehead furrowed as if trying to grasp the concept. “You never told him about me?”

He
did
understand. She sucked in a quivering breath, her lower lip catching on her teeth. “I did what I thought was best—for you and me.” A tear streaked down her cheek. She swiped at it.

Terrell stared.

“I’m sorry you’ve never known your dad.” Her chest shook, but she choked out her apology. “Will you forgive me?”

“Oh, Mommy.” He wrapped his arms around her neck. His fingers patted her shoulder as if he was the adult.

Meg squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t fall apart on him.

“It’s okay,” he breathed in her ear. “But you can tell him now, right?”

“I already have.” She sent him a brave smile as they pulled apart. “He’s coming to dinner tonight so you can get to know each other.”

“Really?” Terrell’s eyes popped. “Will I like him?”

“I think so. You’ve met him twice already.”

“I have?”

She forged ahead before she had time to think this through. “Do you remember Mike Connor, the baseball player?”

Terrell nodded, then understanding dawned. “Mike Connor is my dad?” He tossed a handful of crayons into the air. “Yippee!”

“Terrell!” Meg grabbed his hands to keep him from flinging more crayons.
Yippee
?

“Now I have someone to play baseball with. I hope he brings his glove.”

“Terrell, he’s not coming here to live.”

Silence reigned. “He’s not?”

Her poor boy. She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“Because we’re not married anymore. That’s what a divorce does.”

“It un-marries you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He folded the corner of his coloring book. “Can’t you get re-married?”

“Terrell, it’s not that simple.” She ran her fingers over his soft hair, praying he’d understand and that the temper he’d honed wouldn’t make an appearance. “I know this is hard to understand, but there are lots of reasons why we can’t get married again.”

He scowled at the bent cover. “Tell me one.”

“Your dad isn’t a Christian. He doesn’t love Jesus. So I can’t marry him.”

“We’ll have to tell him about Jesus.”

“Sure. We’ll do that.” As if Mike would listen.

“If he’s not going to live here, when will I see him?”

“Well, your dad and I will talk about that.”

He nodded, silent for several seconds until his bottom lip began to quiver. “Mommy, will I have to live with him? Will I move away from you?”

“No!” She pulled him close. His fingers dug into her shirt, and she squeezed him as tightly as he could handle. “No, Terrell. This is your home. No one’s taking you away.”

What if she were wrong?

“Mommy, do you think—” He pulled back, fear in his eyes. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“He will, Terrell.” She blinked back her tears. How much pain she’d caused him. “He will. Daddies always love their little boys.”

For the next hour, Terrell shadowed her.

Meg put him to work. She gave him plates and silverware to set around the table and had him folding napkins like an exclusive restaurant would while she peeked out the foyer window.

A black Range Rover sat in her driveway.

She waited for the driver’s door to open, but nothing happened.

What was he doing? Was his lawyer coming after all? Or the police?

He’s nervous.

The thought surprised her, and she stepped back, colliding with Terrell who had raced into the foyer. He bounced off her and dashed up the stairs. “Sorry, Mommy. I have to go potty.”

I guess we’re all nervous.

The doorbell sounded.

Meg’s stomach rolled. This was it. No matter how things went tonight—and she’d imagined a dozen endings—life would never be the same.

Mike was back.

Meg flicked on the foyer light before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Outside, Mike stood alone, dressed in a blue-and-white checked, button-down shirt tucked into jeans.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” She moved aside.

Mike entered the foyer, sending her a tight smile. He looked around. “Is Terrell here?”

“Bathroom.”

“Oh.”

They waited silently until the toilet flushed and the bathroom door banged open. Running footsteps headed their way.

Meg leaned up the staircase. “Wash your hands.”

The footsteps retreated, followed by a splash of water.

Meg looked at Mike.

He was smiling.

Her stomach’s churning slowed.

As Terrell’s footsteps approached, Mike’s smile faded. “Did you tell him why I haven’t come before? I don’t want him thinking I don’t care.”

That was good. “He knows,” she said and looked up as Terrell appeared on the stairs.

He took his time walking down, and on the bottom step he stopped and smiled shyly at her, then Mike.

How did she introduce a father and son? Meg opened her mouth to say something yet unthought of, but Terrell jumped in. “Mommy says you’re my dad. Are you?”

Mike let out a laugh, his eyes taking in Terrell like a man uncovering treasure. “Yeah, I am,” he said.

Terrell nodded.

“Here.” Mike held out his hand, a baseball in his palm. “I brought you something.”

Terrell took the ball and rolled it over.

“It’s got the autographs of everyone on the Wind. Look.” Mike pointed to a name. “That’s Brett Burkholder. He’s a pitcher—”

“Your closer. I know.” Terrell searched the ball. “Where’s your name?”

“Right here. See? Mike Connor.”

“Wow.” Terrell beamed at Mike.

Mike grinned back. “You like baseball?”

Terrell nodded, eyes glued to the ball. “I watch every game Mom lets me.” He held the ball close. “Thanks, Mr.—”

They looked at her, then each other.

“What do I call you?” Terrell asked.

Mike sent her a stunned look.

She shrugged. Let him figure it out.

“Whatever you want, I guess. Except Mr. Connor.” He made a face. “I’m not mature enough for that.”

“Me, either.” Terrell studied his ball again, missing the melting look in Mike’s eyes.

Meg squeezed her own shut. Mike had every right to hate her.

And yet he’d come alone. With no lawyer. No police. No threats.

Why was he being nice?

She spoke, but no sound came. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” She hurried past them.

“Mommy, can I show him our house?” Terrell called.

She nodded without looking back.

While she regained control of her emotions, she listened to the conversation drifting from upstairs—Terrell showing Mike his bathroom and Mike’s comments on Terrell’s baseball-themed room.

By the time dinner was ready, Mike had seen everything. Meg seated him at the head of the kitchen table with Terrell to his right and herself at Mike’s left so she wouldn’t have to look at him. Too much. “Terrell, would you pray?” she asked. From the corner of her eye, she caught Mike’s head shift in her direction. Meg closed her eyes, and, while Terrell prayed a simple prayer, she pleaded for help.

How long since she’d eaten a meal with Mike?

When Terrell’s prayer ended, she waited for Mike to attack her for what she’d done, but he didn’t, instead talking to Terrell about baseball and kindergarten and his hobbies and favorite things which led them back to baseball. They talked until the food grew cold and the wall of windows behind Terrell changed from blue to periwinkle, hinting at the night to come. Meg began cleaning, peaking at them while she stacked the dishwasher. The well-lit room made the scene cozy, more like nine-to-five suburbia than a divorced couple about to
talk
. So far she hadn’t seen legal papers, but maybe Mike had left them in that Range Rover.