Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(58)

“So?” she asked anxiously. “What did you f ind out?”

Before he could answer, the waitress returned with menus and said, “The special today is chicken-fried steak. Cook uses a recipe he got from his grandmother who was from Texas,” she announced proudly. “The soup’s split pea.”

After she left, Tim asked, “Are you hungry?”

She shook her head and then, as if to denounce her as a liar, her stomach growled loudly enough for him to hear. He grinned. “The soup’s homemade. I know, because I had it for lunch.”

His smile intrigued Anne Marie. “All right, I’ll have a bowl of the soup, but only if you eat something, too.”

He agreed and when the waitress came back they placed their orders. A moment later, Anne Marie repeated the question that had been burning in her mind ever since his phone call. “So you got the results?”

Tim nodded, took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Ellen’s my daughter,” he said without preamble. Anne Marie went numb. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel, how she was supposed to react. The f irst emotion that struck her was fear.

“I’d like to remind you that Ellen’s legally my daughter now,”

she f inally managed. “You have no rights as far as the courts are concerned. You—”

Tim raised one hand to forestall her. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of trying to take her away from you or proceeding with any form of legal action.”

Anne Marie sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

Staring down at the table, he unwrapped his silverware, setting it and the paper napkin aside. “I don’t mind telling you the results shook me,” he said in a low voice.

“I thought you already knew.”

He glanced at her. “I suspected, but having that suspicion conf irmed jolted me. All the emotions I felt—well, it was kind of a shock.”

“How do you mean?”

He f idgeted with the fork, running his f inger over the tines.

“Well, for one thing, I felt tremendous guilt at having abandoned Candy.”

“As I recall, you didn’t even know she was pregnant.” Because of that, he had no reason to feel guilty, in her view anyway.

“That’s true,” he said. “But Candy tried to let me know and that’s been bothering me.”

Anne Marie looked at him steadily but didn’t speak.

“I had a long talk with my sponsor.”

“Your sponsor?”

“Sorry. In Alcoholics Anonymous, part of the program includes having a sponsor, someone who’s successfully stayed clean and sober. That person listens and encourages when needed.”

“Of course.” She should’ve known that was what he meant. Tim set his fork aside and reached for the spoon. “Knowing I have a child threw me more than anything else since I entered rehab.”

“I imagine the guilt and regret is only natural.”

“I want to make it up to Ellen somehow and yet I know I can’t,”

Tim said. “I have a beautiful, intelligent, delightful child I can’t even acknowledge and it’s killing me.” He plowed his hand through his hair. Anne Marie recognized the agony in that gesture. As if he suddenly realized what he’d said, his gaze shot to her.

“Please don’t misunderstand me. I don’t blame you. Not in the slightest. If it wasn’t for you in Ellen’s life, I’m sure she wouldn’t be as healthy and happy as she is now. After Dolores died, Ellen could’ve ended up who-knows-where. I can’t even be sure I would’ve found my daughter if not for you or had the chance to conf irm that Ellen’s my child.”

Despite everything, Anne Marie was beginning to feel sorry for him. “Did your sponsor help you sort through all these emotions?”

Tim responded with a nod. “What he said about acknowledging my feelings made sense. At the same time, the fact that Ellen’s my own f lesh and blood hasn’t sunk in.”

“Yes, well…”

“I’ve only seen Ellen once and I love her. I mean, I love that little girl. There are years of my life that are more or less a blur. Years I squandered on stupid, destructive behavior. And yet out of that whole mess came Ellen. Precious, innocent, perfect Ellen.”

“I guess that’s why they say God works in mysterious ways.”

Tim laughed. “That’s for sure.”

The waitress arrived with their meals, Anne Marie’s soup and chicken-fried steak for Tim. They paused long enough to sample their food.

After taking a few bites, Tim put down his fork. “Would you allow me to see her again?”

Anne Marie hesitated, caught between contradictory impulses—

compassion for Tim and fear for herself.

“Not alone or anything. You’d always be there.”

Anne Marie knew that once this door was opened, there’d be no closing it. After a moment, she said—felt she had to say—“I think that would be f ine.”

For an instant she saw tears glistening in his eyes. “Thank you,”

he whispered. “You’ve been kind and generous when I haven’t deserved either.”

“We’ll go about this very slowly,” she warned.

“However you wish.”