Unexpected Family. Jill Kemerer
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I looked at her face and saw how small and cute she was, all I wanted to do was pick her up, buy her the contents of a toy store and protect her from everything that could hurt her. I can’t explain. It was instant.”
“Good. That’s the way it’s meant to be.” Dad nodded. “What did you say her name was?”
“Macy.”
“Macy.” Dad tilted his head to the side. “You know she needs you, right? She needs her father.”
“I know.” The revelations had worn him out, and Tom returned to the couch, his legs splaying and his neck falling back against the cushions. “I still can’t believe Stephanie kept this from me.”
“I can’t, either.” Dad perched on the arm of the chair.
“How could she?” The loss of time with Macy hit him again. “How could she not tell me? I’ve been walking around in a daze all these years when I could have been spending time with my daughter.”
All the wasted weekends, the boring nights, the hours at work—the aimless battery inside him that could have been sparked. If only he’d known.
“It’s hard to understand. It will be harder to forgive.”
Tom let out a dry laugh. “Forgive her? I can’t. This is—”
“The hardest thing you’ll have to do.” Dad leveled the you-know-I’m-right stare he’d perfected years ago. Tom shifted his jaw but listened. “I’m not saying forgiveness has to happen immediately, but anger and bitterness won’t help Macy. Take my advice and give this to God as soon as possible or it will eat you alive.”
It was already eating him alive. And he knew all about regrets and the way they hollowed a person out. The day he’d signed the divorce papers had set in motion a chain of choices he regretted as much as his brief marriage. Now Stephanie and her secrets flooded him with the past he’d fought hard to forget.
“I mean it, Tommy.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking. Forgiving isn’t pretending she didn’t hurt you. I’m not saying you act like nothing happened. Pray for her. Pray for the mother of your child.”
Tom shook his head. His neck was so tight, one more problem and it would snap.
Dad rose, his hand tapping against his thigh. “Do you want what’s best for Macy?”
“Of course.” He glared at him.
“Then find a way to forgive her mother.”
Tom jumped to his feet, his fists balled at his sides. “She didn’t think about me—did she, Dad? It’s common knowledge you don’t see other guys when you’re married!”
Dad moved closer and looked him in the eye. “I’m not taking her side. You have the right to be angry with her. She hurt you. But for Macy’s sake, you’ll have to work on a civil relationship. I don’t know what Stephanie is like anymore, but when you two got married, I saw an insecure girl who had never heard of Jesus and didn’t want to. I prayed for her then. I’m praying for her now.”
Tom ground his teeth together. He spent enough time with his worn Bible each night to know that what Dad said made sense. But it didn’t change the past. Tom would never get those early years with Macy back.
“She robbed me. She robbed me of my daughter. She robbed me of our marriage. You go ahead and pray for her. I’m not.” Even as he said it, Stephanie’s bruised face from earlier came to mind. The way she stood tall and maintained eye contact. Confidence infused her that hadn’t been there before.
The front door opened and his sister Claire breezed inside. “This is a treat. You got here early for once.”
Got here early? No. It couldn’t be Tuesday.
Dinner at the cottage. With the family.
“Uh,” Tom said, grabbing his keys. “I got to go.”
“No. You backed out last week. You’re staying.” She set a huge orange Tupperware bowl on the table. “Besides, Reed and I have barely seen you lately. How’s the training going?”
“Fine.” If he made a break for it, he might be able to skip dinner. But he stayed rooted. “It’s going fine.”
“Are you going to tell her or am I?” Dad raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I can’t keep a secret to save my life.”
Tom’s insides shriveled. It was true. Dad couldn’t keep a secret. He’d blown Sam’s surprise birthday party a mere two months ago. But...tell everyone? Tonight? After the divorce, his siblings had treated him like a trauma patient for months. Did Tom really want to blab the news now?
“What’s going on?” Claire raised an eyebrow. “You two are acting weird.”
If he didn’t say it, Dad would. Tom sighed. “I’ve got some news.”
“What kind of news?” Wariness hung on her words.
“It’s about Stephanie.”
“Are you two getting back together?” She might as well have asked if he was sacrificing animals on the weekend.
“No. Nope.” He shook his head. “No.”
She exhaled loudly, her hand dropping from her lips to her chest. “Oh.”
He furrowed his forehead. That’s how his family viewed Stephanie—as someone Tom should avoid. And why wouldn’t they? He’d bad-mouthed her enough after she left him. Not five minutes ago he’d smeared her past to his dad. He shouldn’t have. He’d worked hard to overcome the bitterness, to own up to his part in their botched relationship.
And the tenderness in Stephanie’s voice when she spoke of Macy, the way she’d tucked Macy’s hair behind her ear at McDonald’s, the fact she’d finally told him he had a daughter? It all tempted him to defend her. Which made no sense. One minute he was furious with her, and now he wanted to shield her?
“I found out—”
“Who’s ready to eat?” Aunt Sally and the rest of the family entered the cottage in their usual noisy fashion. His brother and roommate, Bryan, two years younger than him, then their baby sister, Libby, chattered behind her husband, Jake. His youngest brother, Sam, zoomed straight to the living room and claimed the remote. Claire glided over to her husband, Reed, when he came in. And last but not least, Uncle Joe heaved warmers of food into the kitchen. The large, open living room and kitchen had high ceilings, hardwood floors and comfortable furniture. Felt like home. When Granddad was alive, it practically was home.
Good a place as any to make an announcement. Macy would be part of their lives, too. This cottage, this family—she was part of the Sheffields, and he’d make sure she knew it.
Tom cleared his throat and raised his arms. Everyone turned to him. “Before we eat, I have something to tell you.”
“Can’t it wait until after Aunt Sally’s chicken?” Sam yelled from the couch.
Grinning, Aunt Sally waved her hand. “Let the boy talk.”
The boy. Tom had turned thirty-one this summer. Hardly a boy. His family continued to call him by his childhood nickname, Tommy, although he’d politely reminded them for years that his name was Tom.
“Go ahead, son.” Dad gave a firm nod.
Words chased each other around his brain. “I saw Stephanie earlier.”
“What? If you say you’re getting back together with her...” Libby popped a hand on her hip, her blond ponytail swishing in the process.
“No, I’m not getting back with her.” He glared at her. “She was in a car accident, and she came to the house. She told me...” He searched the