The Single Dad Finds a Wife (15 page)

“Well, whatever you old people call dating,” Autumn said.

A dozen years separated the oldest Darling sibling from the youngest. And the dig about “old people” was a good-humored one that had been oft repeated through the years. Today, however, the barb hit home with uncharacteristic alacrity.

Spring stopped rowing and burst into tears.

Autumn was so startled she nearly fell off the elliptical.

“Oh, honey. I'm sorry,” she said, rushing to her sister's side. “I didn't mean anything by that.”

F.I.T. had not yet opened to the public for the day, so they were alone. Spring buried her head in the towel and wept as if her world had come undone at the first stroke of her oars.

Spring realized Autumn had never seen her big sister lose her cool. Autumn murmured comforting words and rubbed Spring's back until the sobs subsided into hiccups and then sniffles.

“Feel better?”

Spring nodded. “Sorry.”

“Don't apologize for being human,” Autumn said, squeezing her sister's shoulders.

“Help me out of this torture machine of yours.”

Autumn did. Instead of heading to the showers, they walked to the marked lanes along the gym's interior perimeter that were used for walkers and indoor runners to do laps.

“I take it that jag wasn't about being old.”

Spring sniffled and smiled. “What a perceptive child you are.” After a minute or so of them walking in silence, Spring said, “Do you want kids, Autumn?”

“Crumb snatchers? Sure. But not now.”

Spring gave a decidedly unladylike snort. “Take some advice from your big sister. Don't let ‘not now' turn into ‘it's too late.'”

“What's going on, Spring?”

The doctor squared her shoulders and increased her pace, which Autumn easily and quickly matched. “Just a little overdue introspection,” she said. Then, “Let's turn this little stroll into some real exercise.”

With that, she took off at a run, leaving a bemused Autumn to catch up or give up.

* * *

Spring didn't have a shift at Cedar Springs General Hospital that day. She was, however, scheduled at Common Ground. That's where the flowers were delivered.

The bouquet of mixed exotics was beautiful.

“Wow,” Shelby, the clinic's front desk receptionist, said. “Aren't you the lucky one?”

Spring plucked the card from the floral pick in the blooms, read it and grimaced. “When the Common Ground messenger comes around today, please have him take these to Manna. Summer can use them for the dining room,” she said to Shelby.

“Doc?” Shelby asked, concern lacing in her voice.

Spring shook her head and walked away from David's apology.

The next delivery hit her hard.

A large same-day FedEx envelope arrived. It had no return address, and she wondered how the sender had managed that. When she opened it, with Shelby looking on, she discovered a sheaf of papers. The one on top was a piece of cream-colored construction paper with multicolor crayon drawings completed in the style of a four-year-old child. The picture included three stick figures, two tall ones and a little one, all holding hands along with what looked like a brown snowman with a bow tie next to the little stick figure. A crookedly drawn red heart was in the corner of the page, presumably as a signature.

“Oh, Jeremy, sweetie. You're not playing fair, David,” she whispered.

“What is it?” Shelby asked.

Spring glanced at the other papers in the envelope. She saw an embossed logo with “Carolina Land Associates” at the bottom of the page and jammed them back inside without further consultation. She held on to the construction paper drawing, though.

She passed Shelby the envelope. “Would you please see that these are shredded?”

“Shredded? But—”

Spring took the envelope back. “That's all right,” she said. “I'll do it. When is my next appointment?”

Shelby glanced at the schedule and then gave Spring a quizzical look before answering.

“Not until two.”

“Send any walk-ins my way,” Spring requested as she headed to the volunteers' lounge with her drawing and FedEx envelope of unread documents.

* * *

“You're scaring your sister, and you're starting to scare me,” Cecelia Jeffries told her best friend that night. She and Spring were at the Corner Café downtown, where Spring was pretending to eat half of a Cobb salad and Cecelia was acting in the role of older, wiser best friend and sister-confidant. Her multicolored reading glasses had polka dots on them and made Spring smile.

“I'm fine, CeCe.”

“Uh-huh. You've dropped five pounds in a week and you're working like the end of the world is tomorrow.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Spring.”

She pushed the salad aside. “He's showing the designs to the city council, and with that burglary warehouse being out at the farm, Bernadette has even more ammunition to take the property via eminent domain. We've put a lot of work into the grant application for the history center, but it was all a waste of time.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because, CeCe, even if we get the grant, which we won't find out for another six weeks, by then it will be too late. This is yet another of the mayor's fast-track projects.”

“Maybe we should go public with our plans for the land.”

“You can if you'd like. I'm just tired of fighting.”

Cecelia leaned back in her chair and regarded her friend. “You fell in love with him and you think he's betrayed you by continuing with his plans.”

“Good deductive reasoning, Dr. Many Degrees. I see you've added psychology to your repertoire.”

“That's
Professor
Many Degrees.”

The little joke earned a small smile from Spring.

Cecelia cocked her head and raised her brow. “Wow, girl, you've got it bad.”

Spring shook her head. “Not possible, CeCe. I just met the man. I know nothing about him. Well, nothing besides his job, his son and his mother.”

Cecelia grinned. “People have married each other knowing far less. Face it, Spring, you've been struck by Cupid's arrow. Fallen in love at first sight. Found your soul mate and all that.”

“Please. I'm not eighteen and starry-eyed.”

“Nope,” Cecelia said. “You're thirty-five and jaded.”

“Speaking of being young and starry-eyed. I completely fell apart on Autumn today.”

“I know,” Cecelia said. “She called me. She's never,
ever
seen you cry. Did you know that? You were always the one wiping away tears, not shedding them. She said she thought about calling Lovie, but decided that would be like calling in the National Guard for something a meter maid could handle.”

Spring closed her eyes. “Well, thank the Lord for small blessings. That's all I need is more questioning from my mother. I got an earful and then some out at the farmhouse after David and I found that storage facility and he mentioned dating. You'd think I was the youngest the way they've all been acting.”

“That's because you've been acting like a woman in love and they've never seen that before.”

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“No,” Cecelia said. “You have to face this thing.”

“There is no thing.”

“Then why did you give away a perfectly lovely arrangement of flowers from him and say you were going to shred everything he's sent you?”

Spring threw up her hands. “Spies are everywhere! Who are you, MI6?”

Cecelia reached across the table, grabbed one of Spring's hands and clutched it in her larger brown ones. “I'm your friend, Spring. Your best friend. I know the secrets your sisters and mother don't. I know why you're afraid, and, let me assure you, sister, it's time to let it go.”

Spring felt water well up in her eyes and she swallowed back the tears. She would not cry. Not again.

“It's not supposed to be like this,” she said. “It's not supposed to hurt or be so complicated.”

“Says who? Girlfriend, if men weren't worth the heartache, the human species would cease to exist. Marriages would crumble. Life as we know it—”

Spring snatched her hand away. “I get your point.”

“That honey boy and his little man are worth fighting for.”

“But he's fighting to take away something I love.”

“He's forcing you to shift your paradigms, to consider new and alternative scripts for the same tired screenplay you've been reading since Keith.”

Spring stared at her friend. She realized with a start and with sudden clarity that that was the first time she'd heard his name spoken aloud in a long time. While the ache of how he'd used, abused and lied to her remained, it was a vague sort of ache, like the distant memory of a fall or a bad tuna sandwich from a month ago. She didn't have to believe or accept that David might—or might not—be The One. But she could allow herself to be free of the past.

She may have been keeping her emotional self cloistered away and shielded from potential hurt, and Cecelia was right. It was time to let the ghost of Keith Henson float away.

“And the light shines through,” Cecelia said.

“What?”

Cecelia smiled. “Your expression. Something just happened to you. I watched it cross your face.”

Spring reached for her salad and picked up her fork.

“You, Professor Many Degrees, are way too perceptive. And I love you for it, my friend.”

Chapter Thirteen

T
he conversation with Cecelia clarified Spring's thinking. Rather than resigning or conceding the battle, she discovered within her a new enthusiasm and will to make the history-center project a go.

She was a doctor, a pediatrician, but she could string coherent sentences together. She wasn't an editorial writer or journalist. Yet the idea of putting her thoughts and concerns on paper carried a certain appeal. It was easy to let her emotions get in the way when talking to David or to fail to find the words to express what she wanted to say when talking to her sisters. She knew she and David were not going to see eye to eye on this in a conversation. They were both too passionately invested in what each thought was the right course of action.

Writing an op-ed for the newspaper would give her the opportunity to lay out her rationale and concerns in a cohesive way—without the distraction of his presence throwing her off-kilter. So she called the local paper and inquired about writing an op-ed column about the benefits and reasons for historic preservation.

At a maximum of 250 words, the letters to the editor were basically a few paragraphs of opinion. But the columns that ran opposite of the editorial page, hence op-ed, were much longer and gave the opportunity for a more thorough analysis of an issue. She also liked that there was no arguing back with the writer. If people disagreed, they had to write a letter to the editor, which had to be mailed, emailed or hand-delivered to the offices of the
Cedar Springs Gazette
.

Although she had nothing to lose and didn't know what to expect of her request, she was surprised when the editor not only liked the idea but offered her own twist: she would get someone to write a pro piece to Spring's con.

“You do understand that I envision these pieces running on the same day,” Mac Scott, the editor of the
Cedar Springs Gazette
said.

Spring nodded. “Who is writing the pro piece?”

“I liked your idea. So after you called, I put out a couple of feelers, but I have no solid commitment yet,” Mac said.

“I'm sure Mayor Howell would jump at the opportunity.”

Mac shook her head. “My goal is to keep politics out of it. This is about community reaction and response.”

Spring liked that. An elected official, by virtue of office, could be seen to have more sway than an ordinary citizen would.

“I'm looking forward to reading the other side's point of view.”

Mac chuckled and pulled her hair back. “You and me both. I have to tell you, I had no idea how much this issue would resonate with people. On both sides.”

“Selling a lot of papers?”

“Print circulation is about the same, but our website is going gangbusters.”

Any arguments—and she knew David would have many to derail her solid case against the project—would have to be silenced in the short run. Cedar Springs City Council members and newspaper readers alike would only be able to read her words and contemplate her reasoning before offering up their own ideas and alternate opinions on the matter.

As a member of both the Darling family and of the Cedar Springs Historical Society, Spring knew more than most about the history of the city. But for something this important, she wouldn't rely on memory and emotion. This was a task that called for research and action.

She thanked Mac for the opportunity, then, after grabbing her purse and her laptop, she headed to the library. Information from the library's special collection of local and North Carolina history would be just what she needed to supplement her piece.

* * *

“Daddy, I want Seuss.”

Jeremy and David, ensconced again in their home away from home, had just completed a cut-throat game of Go Fish. Jeremy had come out victorious and declared his prize.

“Go get it,” David told him. “It's in your backpack.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jeremy said. “Grandma spilled chocolate milk. Seuss got wet.”

David bit back a grin. “Grandma spilled the milk?”

Jeremy stuck his thumb in his mouth. His sure tell.

“Jeremy?” David put his own thumb in his mouth and pulled it out, showing Jeremy the action he wanted the boy to take. Jeremy would be headed to kindergarten next year, and David did not want his son's propensity to suck his thumb when stressed or fibbing to head to school with him.

The boy released his thumb and confessed. “Maybe I helped her spill a little bit.”

That explained the alternate backpack that Jeremy had been toting when he transferred from Grandma Charlotte's car to David's.

This trip to Cedar Springs, David told himself, was just a little father-son overnight. But that wasn't true, and he knew it.

Spring had not returned his calls or text messages. And there had been nothing but silence from her after he'd sent both the flowers and his revised renditions for the site plans. He'd been so proud of the work he'd done on a compromise plan. He and his team had created it following the meetings with the city officials. Coupled with that was the knowledge he'd gained at the intervention by the Magnolia Supper Club and the appreciation he'd gotten for not only the Darling land, but all of the city parcels, after having roamed the length and breadth of the Darling homestead with Spring.

If not turn cartwheels, he thought she would at least express an appreciation for his effort.

“Can we go see my Spring?”

David started to say Spring didn't want to see them, but he reconsidered that and then studied his son. Somewhere along the way, Jeremy had stopped calling her Dr. Spring. She'd simply become my Spring.

Except for that one night.

They'd taken to calling each other around Jeremy's bedtime. Spring would help tuck Jeremy in via the phone. She'd purchased a copy of his favorite book about the train, the turtle and the boy, as well as a few other storybooks, and read them to him over the phone while David turned the pages on his end in Charlotte.

He had suggested a video call over a program like Skype, but the pediatrician said video stimulation before bed wasn't a good idea. Jeremy had a routine that worked, and sticking to it provided continuity. So they'd continued the calls, the stories, lullabies and prayers, falling into a routine that neither David nor Spring talked about. After the bedtime routine, he and Spring would talk for a bit. It was an odd relationship. Anyone looking at it from the outside would assume Spring was, like many in the region so close to Fayetteville and Fort Bragg, a deployed military mom maintaining the home ties while serving overseas.

And then, a few nights ago, Jeremy was drifting off. Spring had wished him a good-night and Jeremy murmured, “G'night, Mommy.”

David wasn't sure he'd heard his son correctly, but then he clearly heard Spring's startled intake of breath and knew he had. Jeremy was knocked out, Beau at his side as he'd been from the day after his emergency surgery. When he took the phone off speaker and lifted it to his ear to talk to Spring, the connection was dead.

David stared at Jeremy. The boy was cute. That was for sure.

Irresistible?

David didn't know, but he wanted Spring Darling back in their lives any way he could accomplish it. And his pint-size buddy might be the answer.

He wasn't proud of the idea that sprouted in his head like a weed in an untended lawn. But Spring and her friends had run an intervention on him. Wasn't it fair turnabout for him and his son to return the favor?

* * *

The intercom buzzed in the volunteers' lounge at the Common Ground clinic. “Dr. Darling, you have visitors at the front desk.”

Spring looked up from her laptop. She'd had a rush of patients and appointments earlier, but when things had slowed down, she'd opened the computer to work on her op-ed for the newspaper.

Former patients sometimes stopped by to let her know how they were doing or to update her on the situations that had been prayed over.

“My folks never come back to say hi,” intoned one of the volunteers who came in twice each month to do general dentistry.

“It's the drills, Patrick,” Spring said with a smile. “Just the memory of that sound gives people the heebie-jeebies.”

“Just for that,” he said, “you get the big one the next time you're in the chair.”

Chuckling, she saved her document and closed the laptop, then slipped on her Common Ground lab coat.

She heard Jeremy's voice before she got to the lobby. He was proudly, and in the loud voice that only a four-year-old thinks is quiet, informing someone that he had a scar from the hospital. A pang of longing shot through her. She'd missed her little man. But hot on that thought was that if Jeremy was there, so, too, was his father. The Spring of a few days ago would have turned on her heel and proceeded with haste out the back door. The new Spring scoffed at such cowardice and instead boldly strode to meet the Camden men.

Her breath caught when she got sight of them, and her heart seemed to swell with a fullness that she would have found overwhelming had it not felt so good.

They'd not yet spotted her, and she soaked in just seeing them. They were dressed in identical outfits. Khaki pants, short-sleeve blue button-down shirts and sneakers. And they both looked as if they'd stopped at a salon for cuts and styling before coming to the clinic. Father and son sported trim but spiky hair that looked as if it had a mousse or gel in it. She grinned at their “me and mini-me” looks.

“This is for Spring,” Jeremy announced. “I picked it out myself.”

“I'm sure she'll love it,” Shelby replied. She noticed Spring and added, “Well, look at who I see.”

Jeremy whirled around and let out a whoop.

She was ready for the torpedo launch of his embrace and hugged him tight.

“I missed you. You didn't read me a story.”

“I know, baby,” she cooed. “I'm sorry. Did you get to sleep all right without me?”

Jeremy nodded. “Beau helped me.”

“And where is Beau?”

“At the hotel. He couldn't get a haircut, so he had to stay there.”

In the time she'd been talking with Jeremy, she'd felt David's eyes on her but hadn't looked at him. She feared that everything she felt for them would show on her face and in her eyes. But when Jeremy said
at the hotel
, her gaze lifted and met David's.

He was watching them with an intensity that made Spring unconsciously hold Jeremy even tighter. When he wiggled in her arms, she let him down.

“I picked out a flower for you,” he said, thrusting a half-crushed pink carnation at her.

Although she knew it had little or no scent, she buried her nose in it to give her a moment to regroup. “It's beautiful, Jeremy. Thank you.”

“Can I go to space station?”

“Sure,” Spring and David answered at the same time.

She blushed. “I'm sorry.”

“How about I show you what we've gotten since you were last here,” Shelby said, taking the little boy's hand and giving Spring a conspiratorial wink.

“Hello, Spring.”

She couldn't stall any longer. The time was now for the new Spring to let go of the past and face the future. She didn't know if the future for her held this man, but she wanted to find out.

“Hi, David.”

And the next thing she knew, she was in his arms.

Spring didn't know—or care—who moved first. She just soaked in the warmth and strength and rightness of the moment.

“I missed you, too,” he murmured in her hair.

“Oh, David.” His name was longing and hope tinged with despair.

When she pulled away from the embrace, she wiped at her moist eyes.

“What are you doing here? Is it time for your meeting with the city council?”

He gave her an odd look. “That's not until next week. We just came for the weekend because Jeremy—because I wanted to see you.”

Spring's smile was tremulous. “How did you know I'd be here?”

“It seemed like the best place to begin,” he said. “If you weren't here, the hospital would have been the next stop. And then the farmhouse. And since I don't know where you live, if you weren't there, either, I was going to call Cameron Jackson.”

“I'm easy to find,” she said. “The phone book.”

“Ah, old-school technology. It never crossed my mind.”

She shook her head in amusement. “You two hit it off, huh?”

“Chief Cam? Yeah, he's a stand-up kind of guy.”

This time she did chuckle. “Everyone says that about him. And using exactly those same words. I don't exactly know what it means, being a stand-up kind of guy, but he makes my sister happy and that's all that matters to me.”

He took her hand in his. “I'd like to matter to you, Spring Darling, to make you happy.”