Constance said.
Lindsay wandered out the door. “Want to hold Toby?”
“Love to,” Garret said, gently taking the creature from the girl. Favoring his still-healing leg, he held the rabbit close for inspection. Garret twitched his nose right along with the little guy.
Lindsay said, “Be careful not to touch his face. That makes him grumpy.”
“Thanks for the advice. Last thing I need is a rabbit bite to go along with my bum leg.”
“What’s wrong with your leg? It looks fine.”
“I know, but it broke. Doctors had to put a steel pin in it to hold the pieces together. Until I get the all clear from my doctor, I’m supposed to be careful.”
“A steel pin?” The blue-eyed, dark-pigtailed girl grimaced, looking to her scuffed sneakers. “Yech.”
“Tell me about it,” he said with a laugh, surprised by how natural it seemed to be getting along with a child whose very existence had caused him countless hours’ grief. How many nights had he lain awake, wondering what Connie and Nathan’s baby looked like? Their little girl? The girl who, timewise, could’ve just as easily been his? Swallowing the knot in his throat forming over a broken past that could never be fixed, he vowed that before returning to Virginia, he would resolve his feelings for the girl’s mama. He’d thought himself over Connie, but judging by the simmering emotions he’d managed to hold in check since the day he’d foolishly called into her show, he was no more over their breakup than his love for any and all ice cream.
“Is that steel gonna be in you, like, forever?”
“’Fraid so,” Garret said with a slight frown before handing Lindsay her pet. He just hoped that was the end of it. His physical therapist and doctor both assured him his break was healing well, but if it didn’t, the issue of his returning to active duty as he’d known it was up for debate. In the meantime, Garret worked out as best he could and mostly ate right, determined not to let a broken leg diminish his physical edge.
“Does it hurt?” she asked, “having all that metal in you?”
He laughed. “Sometimes, but—”
“Lindsay,” Constance snapped, “shouldn’t you get to work on your report?”
“Do I have to?” the girl whined.
“Yes,” Constance said, hating to be a nag, but figuring the less time she spent with Garret the better. Having him here was dangerous on too many levels. It wasn’t that she didn’t think he’d make a great dad, just that she was afraid. She didn’t have a clue how he felt about kids. What if he’d always wanted one, and upon discovering the truth about Lindsay, he swooped in and took her off to some foreign locale, never to be seen again?
When Lindsay tugged the screechy old screen door open, then trudged up creaky stairs to her room, Constance finally felt able to breathe.
“She’s a great kid,” Garret said. “You’re lucky.”
“Thanks,” Constance said, arms crossed, wishing he would just leave.
“Look, I have to ask. You seem short on money. Is Nathan not giving you any child support?”
Glaring at him, she asked, “What is it you don’t get about the fact that Lindsay and I are fine on our own? The only help we need from anyone would be you agreeing to guest star a couple times on my show.”
“And I already told you no.”
“Why? Because you’re too busy calling in to the show for the sole purpose of thrashing me?” She laughed, only the strangled sound came out more desperate than merry. “Tell me, Garret, how you can come all the way over here with a broken leg to drill me about my financial situation when you alone hold the key to me keeping my job? Only you refuse to use it?”
“My reasons for not helping you in that regard are complicated.” A muscle erratically popped on his jaw. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Just as she didn’t understand how all those years ago she’d found the courage to let him go? Yeah, complicated she understood. Just plain mean, she didn’t. And it was meanness keeping Garret from doing her show.
And it wasn’t mean to have kept Lindsay from him?
Ignoring her conscience, careful to keep her voice low to guard from prying, ten-year-old ears, Constance said, “Since you apparently refuse to leave, please—” she gestured toward the relic of a porch swing “—feel free to have a seat, then explain why you can’t help me out with this one, simple thing.”
Rolling his eyes, he straightened, then eased backward, leaning on the porch rail. “You’re being melodramatic. Your job’s not really in danger. From what I gather, everyone in town loves you.”
“Yeah, everyone except my boss. What’s wrong with you?” she hissed. “What’s happened in the past decade? Because the boy I used to know would never turn down a single mom in need.”
“For one thing,” he said, eyeing her with a stare so intense she felt powerless to look anywhere but at him, “I’m a man now, sugar, and I don’t take crap from anyone. And what you did to me, the way you treated me, that was crap. Now you expect me to just roll over and forget it ever happened?”
“If you feel so strongly about it, then why are you even here? Why do you care what Nathan does?”
He laughed. “It’s your daughter I’m thinking about—not you. Because truthfully, don’t flatter yourself by thinking I want to hash things out with you for old time’s sake, it’s more about—” He looked sharply away, then limped off the porch. “Hell, it’s none of your business.”
“Garret?”
He didn’t turn back, just climbed into his mom’s beige Caddie and drove away.
Why was he doing this? What could he possibly want to prove? That he was better than her? Done.
Yes, as an adult instead of a scared seventeen-year-old, she realized she’d been wrong for having hidden Lindsay from him all these years, but she’d done it for his own good. Because of what she’d done, Garret had been able to go off and accomplish every one of his dreams, while she’d stayed in Mule Shoe raising a daughter on mostly minimum wage. Like his, her life was a constant battle, only in a far different arena.
But that constant struggle had made her strong. If Garret refused to help her, then fine. She’d darn well help herself.
If that meant giving up her beloved radio job because he refused to help, then what else could she do? Since office space at the station was limited, she did most of her preshow prep work at home, but instead of dreaming up new show ideas come Monday morning, it looked as if she’d be looking for a new job instead.
“FANCY MEETING YOU HERE,” Constance’s worst nightmare said bright and early Monday morning.
She looked up from Pearlman’s Office Supply store’s back table, the one beside the two copy machines where customers laid out their projects. At the moment, her only project was a nearly complete job application. “Are you following me?”
He
