The Next Little Thing (Jackson Falls #4) (8 page)

Rob

The family get-together that should have been quick and painless
had morphed into some gargantuan, hideous monster over which he had no
control.  When Casey had asked him to go looking for Paige, she'd given him the
ideal opportunity to escape.  It wasn't as though she needed him there.  His
wife was perched on her chair like a queen holding court.  And why shouldn't
she be?  She'd finally achieved that elusive thing she'd spent years chasing
after:  motherhood.  She was rightfully basking in the glory of that
achievement. At this moment in time, he was little more than the gardener who'd
planted the seed.  She was the one who'd nurtured it until it bore fruit.  He
didn't mind being relegated to the wings, because he knew the significance of
the gift he'd given her. He knew what was in her heart. That was what
mattered.  Let her entertain the peasants.  He had bigger fish to fry.

He was here to see Danny.

Rob left the car parked on the grassy shoulder and walked in. The
galvanized steel gate squawked in protest when he opened it.  He let it swing
shut behind him, and slowly climbed the steep gravel road to the top of the
hill.  The afternoon was breezy, and he hadn't worn a jacket. It was chilly up
here in the shade of the giant elm tree that had managed to avoid the disease
that had killed most of its contemporaries.

His wife didn't know he'd come here, and the irony wasn't lost on
him; he'd gone ballistic last winter over her continued visits. She'd
drastically curtailed them after his meltdown.  He should feel guilty, but he
didn't.  It should seem odd, coming here to visit his wife's late husband, but
it didn't.  Their lives, their destinies, were inextricably intertwined.  Danny
Fiore had been his bandmate, his friend, his brother. Why should death change
that, simply because Casey slept in his bed now?

Wild violets grew in clusters among the waving grasses.  He
crouched before the gravestone, silent as he drew in the essence of this
place.  "Hey," he said.

Danny, of course, said nothing. He simply waited, patient in
death, a trait he'd never possessed in life.

Balancing on the balls of his feet, he said, "Don't take this
wrong, Fiore, but I really miss you.  Sometimes, I miss you so much it hurts.
What you did for me—I'll never forget it.  You saw something in that scruffy,
underfed nineteen-year-old kid with a guitar, and you took me along with you for
the ride of a lifetime.  Man, oh man, it was something. 
We
were
something."

The breeze ruffled his hair.  He crouched lower, bracing himself
with a hand.  "I'd do almost anything to bring you back. Except give up
Casey. I should've fought for her when you were alive. But she was your wife,
and you were my best friend, so I bowed out and let the two of you break me
into little pieces.  It was the biggest mistake of my life.  If I had it to do
all over again, I'd fight to the death to hold onto her.  She's mine now, and
there's nothing that'll ever make me let her go.  Funny how life turns out,
isn't it? She was your wife, and I was on the outside looking in. Now, you're
here, and I wound up with the girl. Who would've ever thought our story would
end that way?"

On the road below, a car passed.  "You were a lousy
husband," he said, "but you know what?  You were one hell of a
father.  You just got dealt a rotten hand.  You weren't responsible for what
happened to Katie.  I know you blamed yourself, but it wasn't your fault.  That
little girl was happy and healthy and beautiful, right up until she got sick. 
Nobody could've prevented it.  You did everything that was humanly possible.
And she loved you, Dan. I remember the two of you raising hell together, rolling
around in the grass. You tickling, Katie laughing that amazing, wonderful laugh
of hers.  That kid adored you.  And that kind of adoration, that kind of
happiness?  It means you had to be doing something right."

He paused in an attempt to capture and organize the thoughts that
swirled and danced inside his head.  Clearing his throat, he said, "We
have a little girl now. Casey and I.  Two days old, and, God, Danny, she's so
beautiful! So perfect. She looks just like her mother. We named her Emma Danielle,
after you. I'm not even sure which one of us came up with the idea first, but
we both knew it was what we wanted.  It took us some time to pick a first name,
but we knew that middle name right from the get-go.  Daniel for a boy, Danielle
for a girl.  It's a little unconventional, but then, when have the three of us
ever done anything conventional?"

His stomach gurgled and churned.  "I'm scared, Danny, more
scared than I've ever been in my life. So damn scared that I want to run away
and never look back.  How's that for irony?  You never wanted kids, and you
were the best damn father around.  A natural.  Me, I've always dreamed about
having a half-dozen kids. A big family, like my parents had.  Yet here I am,
scared silly by one little five-pound baby.  I don't know how to do it.  Oh,
sure, I can change diapers and wash bottles and fold blankets.  Any idiot can
do that.  It's the important stuff I don't get.  The whole daddy thing.  How'd
you do it?  How'd you manage to get it right?"

Wind sighed through the treetops, rustling the spring leaves.
"I know," he said in resignation.  "You can't tell me.  I have
to figure it out on my own.  Just like you did.  But I understand now why you
did what you did.  Why you made sure you and Casey couldn't have any more kids
after Katie died.  You knew you'd never survive the pain if you lost another
one.  It's only been two days, and already I love my little girl so much that
losing her would kill me. I didn't understand before.  Not even after Paige
came into my life.  It took a helpless baby girl to make me understand that it
was self-preservation driving you. For so long, I was furious with you for
doing that to Casey.  Hurting her that way.  But now, with a baby of my own, I
finally see your side of the story.  You weren't a monster; you were in pain. 
Terrible pain.  And you did the only thing you knew that would prevent that
pain from ever happening again."

All around him, the tall grass nodded, and disembodied voices
whispered on the wind.  He strained to hear what they were saying, but he
couldn't quite make out their words.

"I'm taking care of her," he said.  "I don't want
you to ever worry about that.  Well, hell, as long as we're being honest, I
always took care of her.  You always had your head in the clouds.  I was the
one with my feet on the ground.  My wife is an amazing woman.  But I don't have
to tell you that.  You loved her, and you knew what you had.  How goddamn lucky
you were. You just couldn't maintain. That's the difference between us, Dan. 
No matter what happens, I won't let her down.  I'll always be there for her,
just like I've been there for her since the day you brought her into my
life."

He'd come here looking for answers.  And he'd found a few of them,
although they weren't necessarily the ones he'd been seeking.  "I always
looked up to you," he told Danny.  "Even when I wanted to put both
hands around your throat and squeeze, I still thought you were a god.  But you
weren't, were you?  You were just an ordinary guy with an extraordinary
talent.  And, me?  I have to find my own way, even if it means stumbling around
half-blind, feeling my way in the dark.  I've pretty much made a career out of
that anyway."

He rose to his feet and drew in a deep breath.  Walked over to the
headstone and touched his knuckles to the smooth, polished granite.  "It's
been great talking to you," he said.  "Break a leg, buddy."

And he walked away, the warm sun on his shoulders like a
benediction.

* * *

Back at the house, he went looking for Paige.  He found her on the
porch swing, slumped on her tailbone, with those long legs of hers stretched
out, her feet propped on the railing. He'd actually measured the distance
before the carpenter hung the new swing, just to make sure it was close enough
to the railing to accommodate his legs. He made his way along
immaculately-painted floorboards that seemed a little odd because there were no
squeaks. This house was fresh, new, beautiful,
theirs
—but damned if he
didn't miss the old one just a bit. That was a surprise, although he didn't
know why it should be, considering that he seemed to suffer from some
adjustment disorder that made him struggle mightily with every life change that
came his way.

As he approached the swing, his daughter said dryly, "Welcome
to MacKenzie's refugee camp."

He sat beside her, lifted his legs, and propped his bony ankles on
the railing. The view from here was something else.  Mountains, lakes, and blue
sky stretched into the distance as far as the eye could see.  The immediate
view, on the other hand, wasn't quite so pretty.  After last night's rain, the
yard was a muddy quagmire.  That damned landscape contractor had better do
something, and fast. "Casey's been looking for you," he said.

"Too many people.  I'll talk to her when the crowd thins
out."

"A little intense in there?"

Paige snorted. "Intense is an understatement. I swear to God,
if I have to listen to one more minute of that
goo-goo-ga-ga
crap, I'll
go postal and start throwing knives at people."  She eyed him with
suspicion. "What about you? Shouldn't you be in there with your wife,
celebrating the arrival of the long-awaited heir to the Fiore/MacKenzie
fortune?"

He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and smiled up at the
porch ceiling. "This is her big day. She's sitting in there with the baby
like a queen on her throne. I don't want to get in the way."

"
What are you talking about, old man?
It's your
big day, too."

"It's different for me."

"Why?"

He crossed his ankles on the railing. Opened his eyes. "I've
waited a long time for this day. I won't lie and say I haven't. And I am mad
crazy about that little baby.  On the other hand, I already have a kid. Casey
doesn't. She loves you, but she didn't give birth to you, and somehow, it
matters. After Katie died, Danny took that away from her. Hope. The possibility
of ever again holding something warm and sweet and helpless in her arms. I gave
that back. You can't know how much it means to me that I was the one to give it
back to her. I wish you could've known her before."

"Before what?"

"Before she lost Katie. Life throws shit at you. Some of it
slides off. Some of it sticks. Some of it changes you."

"And it changed her?"

"She's stronger, in a lot of ways. But there's a trade-off.
Somehow, there's always a trade-off. You give up one thing to get something
else."

"What did she give up?"

"Innocence. Once that's gone, you don't get it back. And even
though she's tough as old leather, there's still been this yawning hole inside
her that nothing could fill.  I realize Emma can't replace Katie.  It doesn't
work that way. You don't replace one kid with another one.  But I'm hoping Emma
will help to fill that hole, give Casey some comfort, help her to heal.  She
needs so much to be a mother.  I know she has you, but I'm talking the full
monty, from conception on. Why any woman would choose to go through what I saw
on Friday, I can't imagine.  Except that maybe, the end result is worth the
hell. But it really makes you think."

"What do you mean?"

"I was responsible for all that pain.  She suffered to give
birth to the baby I planted in her.  And she did it willingly.  Happily.  It
was harder on me than it was on her.  I'm still trying to wrap my head around
that one."

"Is that why you've been acting so weird ever since Emma was
born?"

She was perceptive, this daughter of his. He had to give her
credit for that. He shifted position, re-crossed his ankles. "Having a
baby is a big life adjustment," he said.  "I have a lot of stuff
going on inside my head right now. I'll work it all out eventually.  Listen…I
want you to know how proud I am of you."

Paige snorted.  "I didn't do anything."

"Yeah.  You did." He fingered a strand of that wild,
curly blond hair. "What you did for Casey by organizing this whole move
was huge. I wasn't born yesterday. I know you could've hated her. The wicked
stepmother. The fact that you seem to really care about each other is a
blessing, way more of one than I deserve. Because, you know, I'm the guy in the
middle. I love you both. If you hated each other and forced me to choose
between you, what the hell would I do?"

"You'd pick her. I know that, you know that, and probably she
knows that."

"It's not that easy, Paige. You're my daughter."

"I know. But having a baby with the wife you adore isn't the
same thing as having a teenage daughter dropped into your lap from out of
nowhere."

"No," he said, because he couldn't lie to her. "It
isn't. You didn't grow up with me, and there's no way we can go back and change
that. We can only move forward from here. But we've come a long way in nine
months."

His feelings for this kid were so emotional, so loaded, still
tinged with resentment because Sandy hadn't trusted him enough to let him know
he had a daughter.  She'd deliberately deprived him of his child, deliberately
deprived Paige of her father, for fifteen frigging years.  If Sandy were
standing here in front of him, he'd give the woman a piece of his mind, one she
wouldn't soon forget.  Except that he couldn't, because she was dead.  He
wasn't even sure what he was supposed to feel about that.  Anger and
resentment?  Sorrow?  Or relief and gratitude, because it was Sandy's death
that had brought his daughter into his life?