Loving Leah. Nikki Benjamin
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“Do you think my dad’s home?” Gracie asked as Leah turned into the driveway, the uncertainty in her voice adding to Leah’s own.
“That’s his SUV, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” the little girl replied, then added by way of explanation, “but that doesn’t mean he’s home. He goes for long walks at night. Really, really long walks, and it’s nighttime now.”
Leah could understand John’s avoidance if she’d been the only one showing up on his doorstep. But would he go for one of his long walks on an evening when he was supposedly expecting his daughter to come home, as well? The man she had known eight years ago wouldn’t have, but John had changed after Caro’s death in ways that Leah wouldn’t have believed possible had anyone except her father told her.
“If your father isn’t home, we can always go back to Grandpa’s house and wait there until he returns,” Leah said, hoping she sounded more decisive than she felt.
“Okay,” Gracie readily agreed, her fears obviously eased by Leah’s simple solution.
Deciding to leave her suitcase in the trunk of the car, Leah helped Gracie out of the back seat. The little girl had only a slight bit of trouble maneuvering her injured leg, encased in a metal brace, so that she could stand up, but she accepted Leah’s assistance graciously. And though she was more than capable of walking up the brick path that led from the driveway to the front door of the house on her own, she also tucked her hand into Leah’s. Leah held on gratefully, receiving her own measure of reassurance from the physical contact.
Pausing on the small covered porch, she took a deep breath, gave Gracie’s hand an encouraging squeeze and rang the doorbell. A cool breeze stirred the tree branches and lifted her straight, shoulder-length brown hair as she listened to the faint echo of the chimes. Shivering slightly, she wished she had put on her sweater before leaving the car. It might be June, but in Montana the night air still held a definite chill that her jeans and denim shirt couldn’t ward off.
“Oh, no…” Gracie murmured as seconds ticked into a minute, then two, without the door opening.
Reaching out, Leah pressed her finger against the doorbell a second time, holding it there several seconds longer than she had the first time. Another minute or two passed and then, to her relief, she heard the sound of the bolt lock being drawn.
“He’s here!” Gracie’s voice was filled with an odd mix of excitement and uncertainty that Leah determined to be a consequence of her father’s erratic behavior.
Choosing to ignore as best she could the quiver that stole along her own spine, Leah forced herself to smile. The simple words “Hi, stranger” formed in her mind, a perfectly acceptable greeting after eight years, especially if spoken in a cheerfully teasing tone.
The front door finally swung open, not smoothly but with a jerk that signaled impatience, even irritation, and in the semidarkness, the man looming on the threshold presented a frightening visage, at least to Leah’s eyes. Had she not expected him to be John, she would have never recognized the person now standing before her.
With his dark, shaggy hair unkempt, his face unshaven, his eyes bleary, his navy T-shirt and faded jeans hanging much too loosely on his tall, lanky frame, John Bennett looked no more familiar to her than a total stranger would have. And a hostile stranger at that, she thought, her smile fading and her jaunty greeting left unspoken.
“Hi, Daddy,” Gracie said.
The child’s high, sweet, hopeful voice filled the gaping silence as she let go of Leah’s hand and took a tentative step forward.
Immediately John’s expression changed, softening perceptibly as his gaze shifted to his daughter. His love for the little girl was so obvious and unencumbered that it seemed almost palpable to Leah. Here was the man she remembered, she thought, the good, kind man who would never intentionally hurt anyone, especially her. He wasn’t hostile at all, only ravaged by a grief so profound and desperately unrelenting that nothing, save the sight of his beloved daughter, could ease it.
“Hi, Gracie.” John bent down and scooped his daughter into his arms, gently cradling her injured leg in one large, competent hand. As he straightened up, he shared a warm and heartfelt hug with her. “Did you have a good time at Grandma and Grandpa’s house?”
“Oh, yes. They had a big surprise for me, too.” With a satisfied smile the little girl turned and waved a hand at Leah. “Look, Daddy, it’s Aunt Leah. You remember her, don’t you? I went to visit her in Chicago with Mommy a whole bunch of times. Now she’s finally come to visit us here in Missoula, and guess what? She’s going to stay right here with us all summer, and I’m so glad, Daddy. Aren’t you?”
“Of course I remember your aunt. In fact, I remember her quite well,” John replied in a noncommittal tone, his gaze settling on Leah. “Welcome back to Missoula, Leah.”
She started to smile again, started to greet him as she’d planned, but the expression on his face belied his softly spoken words. Though not openly hostile, the glance he cast her was, at the very least, unfriendly. So unfriendly, in fact, that it caught her completely by surprise. And his failure to agree with Gracie that he was glad she would be staying with them spoke volumes about his feelings in that regard, as well.
She had thought that John was not only aware of the arrangements her father and stepmother had made on Gracie’s behalf, but that he also approved of them. He had to have known that she was the one Cameron and Georgette had chosen to serve as the little girl’s nanny for the summer. Surely they’d discussed their plan with him and gotten his approval before approaching her, hadn’t they?
But if John had given his approval, why was he treating her with such hostility?
Leah realized that she’d never asked either Cameron or Georgette how John felt about the matter, and apparently, in their wisdom, they had chosen not to mention it themselves. They had told her only that John had changed quite a bit since Caro’s death, and to Leah that had been understandable, considering the extent of his loss. Had she known he would be irritated by her arrival and dislike the idea of her living in his house, she would never have agreed to return to Missoula.
What had possessed her to assume so much, so mistakenly?
Her love for Gracie, Leah realized. Cameron had insisted that John was still too preoccupied with his own loss to give the little girl the attention she needed, and Gracie’s comments in the car had verified that. And then, of course, there had been that unavoidable flare of hope, coupled with the sudden reawakening of long-dormant dreams, that had stirred deep in her soul at the thought of seeing her dearest friend again after eight long, very lonely years.
She hadn’t expected John to share her feelings. Barely a year had passed since Caro’s death, and he would never love anyone as much as he’d loved her. But neither had Leah anticipated such a total lack of warmth, not to mention welcome.
“The nanny’s room is on the far side of the den past the kitchen,” he directed, interrupting her reverie in a no-nonsense, matter-of-fact tone of voice. As if she was a lowly stranger hired for the summer against his better judgment, instead of someone with whom he’d once shared his hopes and dreams, Leah thought, staring at him in undisguised bewilderment.
“Make yourself at home,” he added, his cool, distant expression devoid of any hint of invitation. Then to Gracie in a much softer, gentler tone he said as he turned away, “I bet you had dinner at Grandma’s house, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes, my favorite—hamburgers and French fries.”
“Well, then, let’s get you upstairs and into your pajamas. It’s almost past your bedtime, young lady.”
Putting her arms around her father’s neck, Gracie giggled with uninhibited delight.
Standing alone on the porch, watching John walk slowly up the staircase just inside the entryway of the house with Gracie held close in his arms, Leah’s first impulse was to yell, “Hey, wait a minute.