Читать книгу Father in the Making - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 8

Bridgette held Mickey against her. She ached for him when she thought of what his young heart had to endure. Death was always difficult to cope with, but it seemed so much more brutal when it invaded the life of a child. More than anything, she wished that there was something she could do for him.

Without thinking, she stroked his hair, just the way she’d seen Diane do a hundred times before.

Mickey pulled away from her with a jerk, as if something had suddenly snapped shut within him. The impression wasn’t negated when Bridgette looked down at him. The friendliness was gone, wiped away like a chalk drawing on the sidewalk in the rain. In its place there was a somber cast in his eyes which brought a chill to her heart.

“Mickey?”

Hand extended, Bridgette took a step toward him, then stopped. She had the definite feeling that she was intruding.

Never forgetting what her own childhood was like, both the good and the bad, Bridgette prided herself on being instinctively good with children. It was a gift rather than something she had to nurture. She truly enjoyed their company and they sensed it and responded to her. Especially shy children like Mickey.

This reaction was something she was entirely unprepared for.

Mickey licked his lips and shrugged, his shoulders moving independently of each other. He looked uneasy, lost. Looking down at the floor, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“I got my video game on pause,” he mumbled to the rug. “I can’t keep it that way or it’ll get ruined. That’s what Mom says. Said. I gotta go.”

Mickey turned and fled. Spangles followed like a four-legged shadow.

Bridgette could have sworn she’d heard Mickey’s voice crack, though his expression had remained frozen, unemotional. It was all the motivation she needed. But as she began to follow after him, a hand fell on her shoulder, preventing her.

Just barely suppressing her annoyance, she looked up at Blaine.

He waited a moment before he dropped his hand from her shoulder. “Maybe he just needs to work this out for himself.”

That would be the path he’d take, she thought. Noninterference. Translation: Do nothing, just as he had been doing all along. The man hadn’t a clue as to what Mickey needed.

“He’s ten years old. He doesn’t know how to work this out for himself,” she shot back. “What he needs is to be held.”

With the bearing of a man who knew an altercation in the making when he saw one, Jack physically placed himself between them. “What he needs is not to hear two adults arguing over him.”

Bridgette flushed as she turned toward Jack, embarrassed at having taken the safety latch off her temper. But she was a passionate woman who took each emotion she was experiencing to the limit.

Ignoring Blaine, she placed her hand on Jack’s arm. Comfort seemed to flow from her very fingertips. “I’m sorry, Jack. I guess my emotions just got the better of me.” She knew Jack understood. She wasn’t all that different from her grandmother. “Is there anything I can do for you or Mickey?”

Jack shook his head, a bittersweet smile on his lips. Bridgette meant well, but there wasn’t anything she could do. Nothing anyone could do, really.

“You can give us time, honey.” He patted the hand on his arm, knowing that she was in need of comfort herself. She’d lost a friend she’d cared about. “That’s the only thing that’s going to help. Time. Putting one foot in front of the other and getting from here to there.”

He was right. She knew that from experience. Still, she wished there was something she could do. Something that didn’t make her feel so useless, so frustrated. Especially when it involved Mickey.

Bridgette blew out a breath. “Well, if you think of anything, I’m here.” She looked in the direction that Mickey had gone.

She really didn’t have to say it, but it was nice to hear. “I know.” Jack fought back the clawing emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. Tears, he knew, were going to be a part of his life for a long time to come. But he refused to give in to them except in his room at night. So he forced a smile to his lips for everyone’s sake, including his own. “Tell Sophia I appreciated the casseroles. I didn’t really feel like cooking.”

If anyone could help him through this, Bridgette knew her grandmother could. Zestful and vivacious even though she was well through her fifth decade, Sophia Rafanelli had the enthusiasm for life of a woman one-third her age. Nonna had seen Bridgette through the darkest parts of her life.

“You can tell her yourself. She plans to come by this evening.”

Jack nodded, visibly brightening. “Great.” Emotion threatened to take hold of him. He thought he’d be better off alone just now. Jack edged his way to the hall. “I’ll see you later.”

Nonna would help Jack, Bridgette mused as the man left the room. But who or what was going to help Mickey?

The answer was plain. She was.

Bridgette took a step toward the hall, only to feel the same hand on her shoulder, laying a bit more heavily this time. Annoyance leapt up again. She glared at his hand as if it were a disembodied limb until he removed it.

The woman had a look that could ignite wet kindling, Blaine thought as he dropped his hand to his side. “I’d rather that you didn’t go there right now.”

There was no point in playing innocent. They both knew she meant to go to Mickey’s room. “Why?”

Blaine saw no reason to give her any explanations. “He’s my son,” he answered flatly.

It amazed Bridgette that he didn’t stumble over the word. It was certainly foreign enough to him. Everything that Diane had told her about him rose up at once, crowding her mind.

“That’s not a reason, that’s a fact.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. “One that didn’t seem to trouble you before.”

Blaine had no idea what this woman was talking about, nor why he even cared. But puzzles had always drawn him in. “Excuse me?”

Didn’t he care how all this affected Mickey? Hadn’t it occurred to him that Mickey had needed him before this day? “I don’t remember seeing you coming around.”

The woman’s gall took his breath away. She certainly outdistanced Diane when it came to nerve. “I didn’t know I was supposed to check in with you.”

Bridgette saw temper flaring in his eyes. Hers rose higher. It was fueled by her feelings for Mickey and by the indignities that Diane had confided she’d suffered. Bridgette was surprised that Blaine even had the nerve to show his face after all this time. Most of all, she was surprised that Jack wasn’t making plans to ride him out on a rail. But then, Jack had always been a very kind man.

“From what I gathered, it wouldn’t have been often.” Bridgette turned on her heel. She made it all the way across the threshold before Blaine grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him.

“Just a minute. I think I’d like a word with you.” The defiant look on her face made him think of a winter storm about to break. If she thought he was going to back off because of it, she was in for a surprise. “A very long word.”

“All right.” Bridgette pulled her arm away and then folded both in front of her. “I’m listening.” Not that anything he had to say would make a difference in the way she felt, she added silently.

She was pushing buttons that brought back scenes from his marriage. But Blaine held his ground instead of ignoring her and walking away. This wasn’t Diane. This was some crazy woman who thought she had a place in his son’s life. Why, he didn’t know.

“I don’t even really know who the hell you are, lady.”

Bridgette gave a short laugh. “I’m surprised Mickey didn’t say the same thing to you when you showed up, omitting the ‘lady’ part, of course.”

The word shrew leapt to his mind. But that wasn’t unexpected, seeing as how she and Diane had been friends.

“My son knows who I am.”

“Long-term memory, no doubt.”

Blaine curbed the very real desire to take her by the arms and shake her until she made some sense. “Did you come here to go a few rounds with me for some warped reason?”

The moving men were looking at them. They’d stopped working and were obviously very entertained by what was transpiring. Taking her by the arm, he ushered her none-too-gently back into the living room as he mentally cursed himself for losing his temper like this. He was an easygoing man who hardly ever raised his voice. Diane had been the only one who had ever made him shout.

Until now.

Hanging on to what was left of her temper, Bridgette waved a dismissive hand at Blaine.

“I didn’t even know you were here. I just came by to see how Jack and Mickey were doing.” She paused for a moment as she looked him squarely in the eye. “Mickey obviously isn’t doing very well.”

Exasperation shouted for release. Just who did she think she was, coming here and passing judgment? “His mother just died, what do you expect him to be? Practicing cartwheels for a circus act?” A loud noise in the background reminded him of the movers, as well as of Jack and Mickey. With effort, he lowered his voice again. “All things considered, he’s doing rather well.”

“Oh, really?”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. The slight action looked like a challenge from where he stood. Her hands balled into fists at her waist didn’t do anything to dispel that impression.

“And just what is your definition of ‘well’?” The man was not only heartless, he was blind to boot, Bridgette thought.

For two cents, he’d gladly clip that raised chin of hers. “Not that it’s any business of yours, Ms. Fanelli—”

“Rafanelli,” she corrected tersely.

“Ms. Rafanelli,” he echoed in the same tone she’d used, “My definition of well is the way Mickey is handling it. He’s behaving calmly, like an adult.”

There were words for dunderheads like O’Connor, but she refrained from using them. She didn’t want Mickey hearing her swear. But she had to bite her lip, physically holding back the barrage. When she finally spoke, it was in a low, barely controlled voice.

“You probably missed this piece of information in your vast travels around the globe, but Mickey is only ten. He’s not supposed to act like an adult until he’s past puberty.” Her eyes washed over Blaine. The look in them was far from flattering, even though she wasn’t oblivious to the fact that he was a very good-looking man. “Of course, for some it’s a reversed process.”

He’d had enough of her sarcasm. “Look, I really don’t have time for this—”

That had been the excuse Diane said he always used when she called him, asking him to come see his son. “Don’t have time for very much except your work, do you?”

The image of wrapping his hands around her throat seemed to spring up out of nowhere. He wasn’t a violent man by nature. Nonetheless, it was a very pleasing image.

“Not that I really care about your opinion, but just what is that supposed to mean?” Before Bridgette could respond, he added, “For that matter, what are all of your sarcastic remarks supposed to mean?” It took a great deal to keep from lashing out at her. “You don’t even know me.”

That’s where he was wrong. Bridgette set her mouth hard. Diane had told her plenty about this man, the heartache he’d caused her, the pain. “I know enough.”

There was a steely look in his eyes. His tone dropped. It was harsh, devoid of emotion, as if it had all been spent. Or kept under lock and key. “From Diane.”

Blaine saw her raise her head, as if to defend the dead woman. Diane might be gone, but it seemed that her staff had been taken up by another. Even dead she knew how to make his life difficult. “Well, did it ever occur to you that perhaps she colored things a little? Or a lot, as the case may be.”

She wouldn’t have expected him to say anything else. But Bridgette had facts at her disposal. “You were in London for Christmas.”

The statement was worded like an accusation. “What does—?”

She didn’t let him finish. “And you were in the Philippines, doing layouts for the ever famous swimsuit issue for Mickey’s tenth birthday.”

That had been unavoidable. He’d been facing an ironclad deadline. But he had managed to call Mickey and talk to him at length. Only because Jack had answered the telephone. Had it been Diane, he would have never had the opportunity to talk to the boy. He and Mickey had celebrated the day a week later. Royally.

“Yes, but—”

She ignored his attempt at a protest. Nothing he could say would negate the facts. “On Mickey’s first birthday, you were—” She looked up at him innocently. “Where was it again?”

Blaine shoved his hands into his pockets much the way Mickey had. “Canada. Quebec.” He grounded out the answer through clenched teeth. He remembered being very lonely that day. He’d missed Mickey something fierce. “Is this a trial?”

It was a rhetorical question. She had obviously already convicted him and was leading him to the gallows.

She wished Jack hadn’t left. She felt better talking to him, not arguing with this biological miscreant. “No, I’m merely substantiating my point.”

Blaine’s expression hardened, hiding the anger boiling just beneath. “Which is?”

“That what Diane told me was true.”

Leave it to Diane to skip the part about how he made it up to Mickey. How he always found a way to make it up to Mickey. The nature of his work didn’t allow him the freedom to live like most men. That was both the beauty and the burden of his career. And even if he hadn’t had that career, there’d always been Diane to act as a stumbling block.

“Yes, but—”

Her eyes dared him to deny what she was saying. “There is no ‘but’ here, O’Connor. It’s either true or it’s not and you just said it was, thereby dismissing your earlier insinuation that Diane lied about you.”

Why he was even bothering to stand here, arguing with her, within earshot of his father-in-law and the movers, was beyond him. Maybe it was the fact that he had never managed to convince Diane that he was innocent that goaded him on to make her understand.

“Look, before you pass judgment on me—”

He had told her what she wanted to know and she didn’t care to stand around, listening to him attempt to talk his way out of it.

Her eyes were cold as they appraised him. She could see why Diane had fallen for him. He was tall, muscular and had a definite sexual air about him that would have been appealing if she didn’t know what she did about him.

“I’m not passing judgment. I couldn’t care less what you do or where you go. I do, however, care a great deal about Mickey.”

“Why?” She wasn’t a relative. He saw no reason for her to be so adamant about the boy.

She debated ignoring his question, then relented. “For a lot of reasons. For one, I’m his godmother.”

It took him a moment to assimilate her words. Diane had deliberately planned Mickey’s christening to take place while he was away. As always, he hadn’t found out about the ceremony until after the fact.

“You are?”

His ignorance of the fact didn’t surprise her. Diane had said he had cut himself off from his son’s life except for the mandatory child support payments. And even they were late in coming.

“Didn’t know that, either, did you?”

The tally against this man was adding up. He was an absentee father, just like her own had been. Oh, Carlo Rafanelli had been there physically, providing a roof over her head and food for her sustenance. But emotionally, where it counted, it was as if he didn’t exist. Or she didn’t. And when he had remarried, he had moved away, leaving her in Nonna’s care. In the end, he’d gone on with his life as if he’d never had a daughter at all.

Standing here, talking to this thickheaded, thick-skinned oaf, brought it all back to her.

Well, maybe she thought she had some right to interfere in Mickey’s welfare, but not in Blaine’s book. Especially not with that attitude. “As his godmother, it would have been your obligation to look after Mickey if both his parents were gone.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that they might as well have been for all the difference he made, but she bit it back.

There, he thought with a small measure of triumph, that seemed to have managed to shut her up. “As it happens, I’m very much alive and intend to take care of Mickey on my own.”

She had no idea why he was here—possibly to ease his conscience, or maybe just to sell off Diane’s furniture. But there was no doubt in her mind that the man Diane had told her about would soon be off somewhere. Without Mickey in tow. Seeing as how he was a philandering womanizer, that would probably be all to the good.

Bridgette nodded, making no attempt to hide her skepticism. “Fine. How?”

There seemed to be no end to this woman’s audacity. “Excuse me?”

“How?” she repeated, slowly mouthing the word as if she were talking to someone with greatly diminished mental capacities. “What are your plans for him?”

He had barely gotten his head together and accepted the facts that Diane was dead and that he was a full-time father and had to change his entire life around. Restructuring Mickey’s life was something he hadn’t gotten around to, yet.

Blaine waved his hand around in frustration. “Beyond sending him to school tomorrow, I haven’t thought that out, yet.”

She was forced to step out of the way and toward him as the movers brought in a rather scarred-looking credenza. As soon as she could, she moved aside. She didn’t like standing so close to him. There was too much charged tension in the air.

“So, you plan to live here with him?”

“Yes.” He nodded, then shrugged. That, too, was up in the air. “For now.”

He made it sound tentative. Mickey needed stability. He needed a lot of things, especially a loving father, but at the very least, he needed stability. O’Connor owed him that much. If he didn’t think so, he was badly mistaken. And Bridgette would be the one to show him.

“I think you should try to make life as normal as possible for him.”

That was exactly why he was moving in. So why was hearing it from her lips setting his teeth on edge? Right about now, if she said snow was white, he would be tempted to shout that it was black.

“What you think is completely irrelevant to me, Ms.—look, what’s your first name again?”

“Bridgette.” She didn’t want him calling her by her first name. She wanted their relationship to remain completely formal. “Ms. Rafanelli will do just fine.”

The absence of Ms. Rafanelli would do even better, he thought. It was time to get on with the rest of his life and get her out of here. He took her elbow. “Well, thanks for coming.”

Bridgette eluded his hold. “I’d like to say goodbye to Mickey.”

If he let her go, there was no telling when she would leave. “I’ll tell him for you.”

The hell he would, she thought.

“Thanks, but I’d rather do it myself.”

With that, she hurried down the hall before he attempted to forcibly eject her. She wouldn’t put it past him. Any man who could neglect a child was capable of almost anything.

Bridgette stopped just short of Mickey’s doorway. Singsong music was coming out of the room. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open slowly with her fingertips. Inside, Mickey was sitting on the floor in front of a small portable television set. He was as erect as if a ruler had been inserted under his hockey team T-shirt. Bridgette quietly slipped into the room.

Mickey didn’t even notice her presence. His eyes were focused on the colorful screen, his finger mechanically pumping the buttons on the control pad.

He didn’t seem to be in the room at all.

Cry, Mickey, cry.

On-screen, a tiny gnome in green livery was valiantly attempting to rescue an equally tiny princess in a far-off castle. The gnome kept falling into the moat. Each time he did, another one of his lives was lost.

“How many points do you have?” she asked softly.

Mickey didn’t bother to turn around. It was as if he’d known she was there all the time. Known and hadn’t reacted. “Nine hundred and three. But I’ve only got one life left.”

He usually played very well. And likely as not, he would ask her to join him. He made no such request today.

“Better be careful then.”

There was nothing left to say for the moment. Mickey had completely withdrawn into himself. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe Mickey did need a little time to himself first. “I’m going home now.”

Mickey nodded. The gnome fell into the moat again. The sign Game Over flashed. He started a new game.

She wanted to sweep him into her arms again. To hold him and rock him and let him cry his heart out. Stymied, she remained where she was.

“If you need anything, my telephone number is number three on the ReDial.” She’d helped Diane program it. Diane had always been so lost when it came to anything remotely complicated. “Call me anytime if you need to talk.”

Mickey nodded again. She knew he wouldn’t be calling. At least, not for a while.

Bridgette felt awkward. She had never felt awkward with a child before, but then, there was the aura of a third party in the room with them. Death made her feel uncomfortable and at a loss.

“Anyway,” she said, backing up toward the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow after school for lessons.”

“Okay,” he mumbled to his control pad.

Bridgette was desperate to get any sort of reaction from Mickey. It was as if that one moment when he’d first seen her had been a slip. She saw no trace of the boy she knew. “We can go over a new song.”

“Okay.”

She sighed inwardly and retreated. She’d try again tomorrow. “Bye.”

He glanced at her for a moment, a troubled, lost soul, before returning to his game. “’Bye.”

Feeling frustrated beyond words, Bridgette turned and walked directly into Blaine. He’d been standing right outside Mickey’s room, obviously listening to every word. Needing a target, she selected him.

Bridgette pushed Blaine away, trying not to notice that she had experienced a definite reaction to brushing up against his very hard body.

“Why are you hovering over me?” she whispered angrily as she stepped to the side so that Mickey couldn’t hear them.

He had a question of his own. “Why are you coming back tomorrow?”

She had a feeling that he’d like nothing better than to bar her from Mickey’s life. Fat chance.

“I already told you. Besides being his godmother, I’m also his piano teacher. We have a lesson tomorrow.” She was determined to give the boy some semblance of order within the chaos he found himself in. It was a given that this man wouldn’t.

“I’m canceling it. You don’t have to come by.” The last thing he needed while he was trying to establish a fuller relationship with Mickey was to have her around, sniping at him.

Oh, no, it wasn’t going to be that easy. It wasn’t going to be easy at all. Getting rid of her was going to be downright impossible, she promised him silently. She had an emotional stake in Mickey. For his sake and Diane’s, she intended to be around.

“I’m paid up through the end of the month,” she informed him as she crossed to the front door. “I’ll be back.” She paused in the doorway and looked at him over her shoulder. “Some of us still honor commitments.”

There was no denying the fact that the woman was gorgeous, just as there was no denying the fact that she was a shrew. A pity.

“And some of you need to be committed,” he muttered under his breath.

She grinned for the first time since she had entered. “Exactly. ‘Bye, Jack,” she called out. “I’m leaving.”

Not far away enough, Blaine thought as he closed the door firmly behind her.

Jack walked in, too late to say goodbye. He gathered by Blaine’s expression that the meeting with Bridgette had gone from bad to worse after he’d left the room. The fact amused him. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

Blaine turned, then made an effort to regain his composure. “That’s putting it rather mildly.”

Jack laughed as he led the way into the kitchen. “You should see her grandmother.”

Blaine caught the fond note in Jack’s voice. Jack had been a widower for as long as he’d known him. He had never thought of the man as being interested in finding a romantic partner. He wondered if Jack was being taken advantage of.

“Anything like her?”

Jack took out two mugs from the cupboard and set them on the counter. The expression on his face belonged to that of a man years younger. “Yes. A warm, passionate woman who makes you glad you’re alive.”

Blaine shook his head as he watched Jack pour coffee into his mug. “Then she’s nothing at all like her granddaughter.”

Jack lowered himself into the kitchen chair, then took a tentative sip of his coffee. He studied his former son-in-law over the rim of his mug. “Bridgette was very close to Diane.”

Blaine had already gathered that. He joined Jack at the table. “She looks like she wants to get close to me, too.” He saw the quizzical look in Jack’s eyes. “With a hatchet.”

Though he loved his daughter, Jack had been very aware that Diane had had her shortcomings. “Diane might have told her a few things—”

Now there was an understatement. “If she had told Bridgette that I was the Boston Strangler and Bluebeard rolled up into one, I still would have had a warmer reception.”

Blaine didn’t know Bridgette the way he did. “Bridgette’s just worried about Mickey.”

“Well, so am I,” Blaine snapped. He realized that he was letting his own tension spill out. Maybe that was why he’d balked at what Bridgette said, as well. No, he amended, the woman had merited his reaction. But Jack didn’t.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Jack, I have no idea how to be a father.”

Jack laughed softly under his breath. “When you find out, you can let the rest of us in on it.” Mentally, he postponed his trip to the store. It was time to walk Spangles. Mickey would probably enjoy that more. He rose stiffly and clamped a hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “Mostly it’s just flying by the seat of your pants and hoping you don’t crash-land.”

Blaine shook his head. That wasn’t the way he saw it. “My dad always seemed to know what to do, what to say. He was never at a loss in any situation.”

Then he’d be the first, Jack thought. “Your dad was just good at playacting. Fathers only pretend to know what they’re talking about.” He considered Blaine the son he’d never had. “Remember, every father was once a little boy. It’ll work out, Blaine. It’s just going to take time. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll hang around for as long as it takes for you to get comfortable with this.”

Blaine knew it was the coward’s way out, but right now, he wasn’t feeling all that brave about the situation. And talking to Bridgette had just made it worse. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

Jack easily dismissed his thanks. “And don’t be too hard on Bridgette. She loves Mickey a lot.”

Why did he get this feeling that it was a competition between them? “So do I.”

Jack winked, amused at Blaine’s tone. “That gives you something in common.”

Blaine set his empty mug down and pretended to shiver. “Now that’s a scary thought.”

Jack laughed again. It was good to begin to feel alive again. He had three other daughters, but Diane had been his baby. Perhaps he had always favored her because, of all his children, she’d been the one who needed it most, the one with so many insecurities. For whatever the reason, he’d closed his eyes to a lot of her faults.

“After I walk Spangles, I’ll help you hook up your VCR.”

Blaine looked at him in surprise. “You know how to do that?”

Jack pretended to take umbrage at Blaine’s tone. “Hell, not everyone over fifty is a dinosaur.” He squinted a little as he focused on Blaine. “I could probably beat you at that video game as well.”

“Probably.” Blaine’s smile faded a little. “Jack?”

Jack took a box of dog biscuits out of the cupboard and pocketed one. Sometimes, Spangles had to be coaxed to head for home. “Yeah?”

Blaine knew he was lucky to have help at a time like this. “Thanks for being here.”

Gratitude always made him uncomfortable, as if he were wearing a scratchy sweater.

“My pleasure, Blaine, my pleasure.” And then he smiled. “I always did like you.”

Blaine nodded. “Too bad Diane didn’t.”

Jack nodded as he left the kitchen. “Yeah, too bad.”