Still the One (8 page)

You should have thought of a lot of things.
Why was he here, tormenting her? She’d moved on. She was over him. She didn’t want him coming around, picking at scabs she’d
thought had healed. She didn’t want him to know he still had the ability to affect her in any way. Her grandmother’s soft
Southern drawl replayed in her mind:
A lady kills her foes with kindness.
Determined to follow the advice, she forced her voice into a modulated tone. “Maybe the staff has something.”

Dave nodded. “I’ll check at the nurse’s desk when I leave.”

Which couldn’t happen too soon, Annette thought darkly. Instead of heading for the door, though, Dave sat down in the faux-leather
recliner beside the bed. “You look good, Annette.”

Her hand flew to her hair before she could stop herself. Katie had washed and styled her hair yesterday, but Annette hadn’t
combed it since this morning, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. It annoyed her that Dave had caught her at less than her
best, then it annoyed her even more that she cared. She lowered her hand and smoothed the sheet. “I’m sure I’m a vision of
loveliness,” she said dryly.

“Actually, you are.”

“A little old for your tastes, apparently.” The words flew out before she could stop them. Damn it—she hated the bitterness
in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. Aging wasn’t an option she’d selected. It was something happening to her without her
permission. How could she compete with a woman twenty years younger? She couldn’t. It had hurt like hell that she’d been traded
in on a younger model, like a car that had too much mileage. She tried to take good care of herself, but gravity inevitably
took a toll.

It had taken a toll on Dave, too. He looked like he’d aged ten years in the four since they divorced. For some irritating
reason, though, it hadn’t detracted from his attractiveness. Why was that? Why did men seem to age with impunity? It wasn’t
fair.

“Annette…” Dave’s brown eyes held a disconcerting amount of pain. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for my behavior.
I was a fool.”

She picked at an invisible piece of lint on the sheet. What did he expect her to say? That it was all right? It wasn’t. It
never would be. Besides, this wasn’t the first time he’d apologized. He’d started begging for forgiveness before he’d even
gotten his pants zipped that awful afternoon. He’d apologized when he’d picked up the belongings she’d tossed on the lawn,
he’d apologized on her voice machine when she wouldn’t take his calls, he’d sent her flowers and candy and—unforgivably, she
thought—a teddy bear that had made her cry, because it reminded her of the one their son had dragged everywhere when he was
little. Dave had finally, thankfully, quit badgering her to take him back when the divorce papers were finalized.

He leaned forward, his head down. “I know it’s no excuse, Annette, but I had a drinking problem.”

“No joke.”

A nerve twitched in his jaw. “I know, I know. I should have listened to you. You’d been telling me that for years. But I didn’t
listen, and, well, I guess it takes what it takes. Anyway, I joined AA, and I’ve been continuously sober for a year and a
half now.”

“Congratulations.” She hadn’t meant for the word to carry a derisive tone, but it did anyway. Why the hell couldn’t he have
done that back when they were married, back when she’d begged him to, back when she’d started going to Al-Anon?

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m working my way through the steps. I’m at the ninth one now.” He paused and swallowed again.
“I want to make amends to you, Annette.”

Make amends? How the hell did he think he was going to make amends for ripping her world apart? “Just how do you intend to
do that?”

“I—I don’t know. By being here for you, I guess.”

Annette pulled herself higher on her pillow. Her leg throbbed. Her heart throbbed harder. Anger pulsed through her, hot and
sharp and acute. Who the heck did he think he was, that she would want or need him, after the way he’d treated her? He’d betrayed
her. Why should she do anything that would make him feel better? She fixed him with a hard glare. “Quite frankly, Dave, I
don’t want you here.”

“I can understand that, but…”

“No buts about it, Dave. The best thing you can do for me is stay away.”

He dropped his head and rested his forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped together. From her position above him on the
hospital bed, she saw the balding spot on his crown. An unwanted ache of tenderness squeezed her heart. He’d hated his thinning
hair, but she’d secretly loved the widening patch of skin on his head. It made him look somehow… vulnerable. It reminded her
of the head of their child when he’d first been born.

He blew out a long sigh. “Okay. I’ll go for now, but before I go, there’s some news I need to tell you.”

The somber note in his voice made her stomach tense.

“Have you seen Katie today?” he asked.

“She came by this morning.” Alarm shot through her. “Why? Has something happened to her?”

“No, no. She’s fine. But she came into the bookstore this afternoon, and…” She knew that expression, knew that pause of silence.
He was about to tell her something she wouldn’t like hearing. “Annette, she wasn’t alone.”

Oh, Lord. She’d known that someday Katie was likely to find someone new—after all, she was only thirty-five, young enough
to remarry and maybe even have a family—but the thought of another man replacing Paul in her life made her chest tighten.
Katie was her living tie to Paul, the daughter she’d always wanted. If Katie moved on, the memory of Paul would grow fainter
and more distant. She wasn’t ready for it. “Who was she with?”

Dave looked away, as if the topic made him uncomfortable, then looked back at her. “A couple of people.”

So maybe it wasn’t a man, after all. Still, Dave had that bad-news look about him. “Who were they?”

“Did you know Katie has a child?” he blurted.

Annette stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. They were so bizarre they held no meaning. She couldn’t have been
more confused if he’d spoken in Swahili. “A child?” she blankly echoed.

Dave’s head bobbed. “A daughter. A teenage daughter. Katie had her out of wedlock when she was seventeen. She gave her up
for adoption.”

“No,” Annette breathed.

“Yes. I met her. Then Katie sat me down and explained it all. The girl—her name is Gracie—looked up her birth parents after
her adoptive parents died. She found the father, and he brought her here so he and Katie can share custody of her.”

Annette’s head swam. “You’re kidding.” But she knew from the expression on Dave’s face that he wasn’t. Her fingers tightened
on the sheet. “Who—who’s the father?”

“A man named Zack Ferguson. He lives in Las Vegas. Apparently he made a name for himself as a professional poker player.”

“A poker player! How on earth did Katie know him?” A larger question formed in her mind. “Did—did Paul know?”

Dave nodded. “Katie says she told him about the baby when they were dating.”

“So Paul knew.”

“Apparently so. And it didn’t make a difference to him.”

Annette’s thoughts bobbed up and down like a fishing cork in high seas. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

Dave lifted his shoulders. “Probably because it was none of our business.”

“Not our business? Of course it was our business!”

“Think about it, Annette. Most young men don’t give their parents a rundown on the sexual history of the woman they decide
to marry.”

“A child is more than sexual history.”

Dave’s mouth pulled tight. “Yeah. But Katie gave her up for adoption.”

“Still, it’s a child.”

“Yes, but Katie had no contact with her.”

“Still…”

“I was kind of outraged at first, too,” Dave said. “It takes some time to get used to the idea. And then, after the shock
wore off, I looked at it this way: If she’d had an abortion, would that have been our business, too?”

Annette supposed not. Dave had a point. But still…

Dave fidgeted. “There’s more.”

Good Lord in heaven. “What more could there be?”

“The daughter—Gracie—well, she’s pregnant herself.”

It was almost too much to take in at once. Annette stared at him. “My God. How old is she?”

“Seventeen.”

“The same age Katie was when she had her?”

“Yeah. But this girl looks more like thirteen.”

“Wow.” Annette flopped back against her pillow. “How—how is Katie?”

“In shock. This all hit her out of the blue.”

“Good heavens.”

“She’s coming by this evening to tell you, but I thought I’d give you some advance warning.”

“A daughter,” Annette said wonderingly. “Katie has a daughter.”

Dave nodded. “And she’s about to have a granddaughter.”

“She’s going to be a grandmother at thirty-five?” Annette tried to wrap her mind around the concept. Grandmothers were her
age. Katie was young enough to be having a baby herself. “Does the girl look like Katie?”

“Yeah. But she kind of looks like her dad, too.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“Yeah.”

Anger and something that felt oddly akin to jealousy rushed through Annette. Paul should have been the father of Katie’s child.
They’d tried for a child; they’d both wanted one so badly. And now it turned out that Katie already had one, and Paul was
dead, and…

“It’s so unfair! Paul should have been…” The words choked off in her throat.

Dave grasped her hand in both of his. “I know, Annette.”

His hands were warm and familiar, and they covered hers like a long-lost glove. She hadn’t felt his touch in more than four
years—not even when Paul had died.

The days surrounding Paul’s death were mostly a blur, but one day stood out. She’d been at the funeral parlor with Katie,
in the room with the coffin displays, walking from coffin to coffin, numbly trying to pick one. Dave had walked into the heavily
draped room and looked at Annette, his eyes watery, his shoulders hunched, his expression stricken, his eyes reflecting all
the agony she’d felt inside.

“Annette,” he’d whispered in a tear-choked voice. “Oh, Jesus, Annette.” He’d reached out his arms. She’d started to step into
them, into the only place she might find comfort, into the embrace of the only other person on the planet who had been there
when this child they had lost was created and born and loved into manhood. And then, over his shoulder, she’d seen that tramp
he’d married walk into the room and flip her hair. Annette had jerked away.

She hadn’t wanted his touch then, and she didn’t want it now. She yanked her hand from his.

“Can I get you a Kleenex?” he asked. “Do you want to talk?”

“No.” Her throat felt as swollen as the bayou after a rain. “I want you to go.”

“Annette, this thing with Katie—we should be glad for her.”

Annette tried to swallow.

“She’ll need your support. You’re like a mother to her.”

He was right. Annette jerked her head in a stiff nod.

“That’s my girl.”

“I’m not your girl,” she said curtly.

Dave’s voice grew low and soft. “In my heart, you’ll always be my girl.”

“Please go.”

“Okay. On my way out, I’ll ask the floor nurse if she has a vase.” He headed toward the door, then turned, his hand on the
doorknob. “See you tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Oh, it’s no bother.” He gave her a wink as he closed the door. Dave used to wink at her all the time, a silly little you-and-me-are-in-this-together
signal that always made her smile.

Despite everything that had happened between them, her foolish heart leaped at the gesture.

After talking with Dave at the bookstore, Katie hurried to the Sunnyside Assisted-Living Villa, where she rushed through an
appointment to perm Mavis Shroeder’s thin, gray hair in the tiny, one-sink salon. Unfortunately, she couldn’t rush the perm’s
timing, so it was nearly two hours later before she could make her way up to Annette’s room in the rehab wing. She wanted
to break the news about Gracie and Zack in person, but gossip spread faster than melted butter on hot toast in the small community.
She knocked on the door, wondering if Annette already knew.

“Come in,” Annette called.

Katie hesitated, her stomach roiling. She wasn’t sure how the older woman would react. Annette was the mother she’d never
had, the mother she’d always wanted, and her good opinion meant more to Katie than anything. All of the self-help experts
out there would probably say it wasn’t healthy to care so much what someone else thought about her, but Katie couldn’t help
it. She loved Annette, and the last thing she wanted to do was to hurt her or let her down.

Annette clicked off the TV as Katie stepped into the room. An uncharacteristic tension stretched between them.

She knows.

All of the old shame she used to feel about her mother’s behavior gorged Katie’s throat. Oh, God—did Annette think she was
like her mother? Was she repulsed? Did she feel scornful? What if she wanted nothing further to do with her? Even faint disappointment
would be unbearable. Katie tried to swallow, but her tongue felt thick and her mouth was too dry. “Annette, I…”