Rosewood Lane (Cedar Cove #2)(98)

“Of course you didn’t. Did you follow me around, Jon? When did you take that photograph?”

He lowered himself onto the bench several feet away from her. He kept his eyes focused on the waterfront and the jagged peaks of Olympic Mountains in the background. “We’re both adults. We should be able to come to an agreement regarding the baby.”

“If you don’t want money, what do you want?”

“My son,” he told her. “Or my daughter.”

“Why? Why does my baby matter to you? Is it some sort of male pride? Or vengeance? Or what?”

He shook his head. “A child is a child, and that’s a hell of a lot more than I ever expected out of life.” His voice was rigid with anger. “I’ve given up a lot over the years, but I’m not walking away from my own flesh and blood.”

Maryellen was beginning to feel truly frightened. His interest in the child wasn’t something she’d anticipated. She’d completely misread him that time before Christmas. Based on his reaction and on her own past experience, she’d believed he wouldn’t want anything to do with their child.

“All right,” she said reluctantly, “let’s talk about this. How involved do you expect to be?”

“I want joint custody.”

“Not on your life!” Her reaction was strong and immediate. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“What do you know about taking care of an infant?”

He shrugged. “About as much as you.”

“You work nights,” she argued.

“You work days. It’s a perfect set-up. Our child will be with one of his or her parents at all times.”

By now Maryellen’s stomach was twisted in tight knots. “That’s too difficult—we’d constantly be shuffling the baby from one house to the other.”

“You asked what I want, so I’ll tell you,” Jon continued. “Joint custody is number one on the list, but I also want to be at the hospital when the baby’s born.”

“You want to be there? For what possible reason?”

He ignored her question. “Have you chosen a birthing partner yet?”

“My mother.”

“Fine, have your mother go in with you. But after the baby’s born, I want to be the first one to hold him or her.”

“No.” This was getting far too complicated, far too unreasonable. She longed for him to simply leave her alone. She’d already been through one traumatic experience today and she wasn’t prepared to deal with another. “Anything else you want?” she asked with weary sarcasm.

“Oh yes, there are several more items on my list.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“And your response is likely to be the same, isn’t it?”

In retrospect she’d been naive to think he’d be like Clint and demand she get rid of the baby. She’d been even more naive not to consider that Jon might actually wish to be involved in the baby’s life.

“Why can’t you be like other men?” she muttered irritably. Like Clint, for example.

“Me?” he challenged. “Why can’t you be like other women who use a child as a meal ticket and a way to manipulate men?”

“You have a rather jaded view of the female population.”

“No more jaded than your view of men.”

He had her there. “Touché.”

He let the conversation drop a moment, and then turned to her. “Can we compromise, Maryellen? Will you voluntarily allow me to be a part of my baby’s life? To be a father to my child?”

That he would ask her this on the very day she’d buried her own father was an irony she’d never forget. “Do I have to make that decision right now?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been to see an attorney. If we can’t work this out between the two of us, then I’m going to take you to court.”

The day Grace laid her husband to rest, she’d stood with her daughters at the gravesite and gathered them close so the three of them could bid Dan farewell. The nightmare was over. She had the answers she needed. What she hadn’t anticipated was the aching regret that accompanied them. For three days, she’d suffered from nightmares. The questions and doubts that had plagued her constantly since his disappearance had been dispelled by his letter; she knew now that she wasn’t to blame for his misery or for his final choice. But she’d discovered that the answers were as haunting as the questions.

Dan had chosen to take his own life. He’d chosen to die rather than confront the past, rather than deal with the future, rather than seek professional help. What Dan wrote in his letter explained his dark moods, but it didn’t offer the expiation she sought. It didn’t explain why her husband hadn’t been able to turn to her. She’d failed him, failed their marriage. Dan was never the same person after Vietnam; she’d known that and she should’ve gotten him help.

With friends and family at her side these last few days, it had been easy to push the nagging questions out of her mind, but she was alone now. The girls were both in their own homes. They had made peace with their father and gone back to their lives. But Grace wasn’t sure she could ever do that. Dan’s last act had changed the way she saw her whole marriage—her whole life.