A Mother's Homecoming(22)

“Alcoholics Anonymous? But you never drank.” The most he’d ever seen her imbibe was a wine cooler.

“I told you, Nick.” Her voice softened, more apologetic than argumentative. “You don’t know me.”

“Not because I didn’t want to.” He locked gazes with her. “You took that choice away.”

“It was the best thing for all of us.”

Based on what, her woman’s intuition? The fact was, they’d never know. Maybe he and Pamela Jo and Faith could have been a happy family, once they’d found their footing, moved out of his parents’ house. But she hadn’t given them a chance.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” Nick said. He hadn’t come here to debate the past. He just wanted to help Faith. “You should trust me, as the man who raised her, to have a good idea of what’s best for my daughter now. She should meet you. Think about it?”

“Every waking second,” she said grimly.

He took out his wallet and reached for his business cards. Holding one out to her, he said, “My number’s on here. Let me know, whichever way you decide.”

Her arms remained crossed over her chest. “I don’t need that. It’s a small town. I can find you.”

Was she so determined to keep her distance from him and Faith that she couldn’t even extend a hand? His temper sparked. “Just take the damn card, Pamela Jo.”

“It’s Pam.”

He ground his teeth. “Take the card, Pam. Please.”

With obvious reluctance, she complied, delicately grasping the very edge between her fingers. It stung more than it should have, the way she rejected him with every motion and mannerism. Why should he be surprised by her abhorrence to being around him or Faith? She’d made it clear in the letter she’d left on his nightstand years ago, the one that had granted him absolute, uncontested custody of the baby she didn’t love.

Despite his promise to Faith, he teetered on the brink of just telling Pam to forget it, not to do them any favors.

But then she asked in a tiny voice, “Do you have a picture? Of how she looks now?”

The request startled him. “Yeah. Hang on.” He once again retrieved his wallet, fumbling this time. An entire clear plastic section showcased Faith’s maturation from a chubby-faced baby to the grinning honors student who would be dating boys and driving cars before he knew it. He pulled out her school photo from last spring. “This one’s recent, only a few months old.”

Pam swallowed. “She’s beautiful.”

She looks like her mother. Faith’s hair was the same color as his, but she had Pam’s features and build. “She has your smile.” He wasn’t sure why he was compelled to point that out, when surely Pam could see the resemblance for herself, or why he added, “And your voice.”

Her gaze lifted. “She sings?”

“Like an angel.” He thought about the lyrics to a Lady Gaga song Faith had been belting out in the car the previous week. “Angel might not be the right comparison.”

Pam took the picture from him, studying it silently. He found himself holding his breath, as if unwilling to interrupt a private moment. Finally she nodded, handing the photo back. “Tell her I said yes. I’ll meet her. But between you and me, I still think it’s a mistake.”

He told her what he always told his daughter. “Mistakes are how we learn.”

“HOW DID IT GO?” Gwendolyn Shepard asked from her chair at the kitchen table.

“Don’t start, Mom.”

“That well, hmm?”

Nick dropped into a seat, so weary he thought maybe he’d just sleep there tonight. “Thanks for coming over to keep an eye on Faith. Is she up in her room?”

“Getting ready to take a shower. We just finished eating.” His mother’s eyes narrowed. “A real dinner. Honestly, Nicholas, ice cream? She’s a growing girl. You know how important nutrition is.”

“I’ll be nutritionally virtuous tomorrow,” he promised. “Today seemed like an ice-cream kind of day.”

Above him, the second-story floor creaked. He heard the linen closet being opened and closed, then water rushing through the pipes. At least he knew he had a little while to regroup before Faith interrogated him, wanting all the details of his meeting with Pamela Jo.

“Let me fix you a plate,” Gwendolyn suggested, scraping her chair back across the floor. “You look beat. I knew going to see that woman couldn’t be a good idea.”