Picket Fence Surprise
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Kris Fletcher
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Chapter One
“MOMMY, I’VE DECIDED what I want for my birthday.”
Heather Jacobs paused in her conversation to focus on her daughter. Not that she had much choice: Millie had wrapped herself around Heather’s waist much like an octopus would wrap itself around lunch.
“Millie, I’m talking. You’re supposed to say ‘Excuse me,’ and wait.”
“I’m sorry. But it’s so perfect, and I’ve been thinking about it forever and I just have to tell you about it now!”
Heather glanced across the top of Millie’s head and shared a look of empathy with her friend Xander Sorenson, a fellow single parent and her main link to sanity at these extended family gatherings.
“Who else needs an apology from you?”
Millie wriggled with impatience, but offered a sincere, “Sorry, Mr. Sorenson.”
“Accepted.” He tugged on the end of Millie’s ponytail, narrowly missing the bright blue ribbon that Heather had woven into the curls to mark the festive occasion—the birthday party of Xander’s daughter, Cady. “So what’s such a perfect present that you figured it out already? Isn’t your birthday in the fall?”
“October 29. Almost Halloween. And, Mommy, what I want is...” Millie clasped her hands in front of her, twisting them together. “What I really want more than anything is for you and Daddy to share me more. Like Mr. Sorenson and Aunt Darcy share Cady.”
So much for Heather’s lifelong certainty that it was impossible for a jaw to actually drop.
It wasn’t that the question was unwelcome. On the contrary, it probably ranked right up there with Millie’s just-birthed howl, or the first time she’d said Mama. Heather had been yearning to hear those words, or a variation thereof, for almost nine long and lonely years.
But why had Millie chosen to make her request in the middle of a birthday party that was almost entirely populated by members of her ex’s very large, very nosy family?
Parenting Truth Number 614: Kids will always find the worst possible time to ask you anything.
And Heather had thought it was rough explaining tampon dispensers in public bathrooms.
“Mommy? Did you hear me?”
Thankfully, most of the adults in attendance were busy blowing bubbles for the pint-size guests. The back lawn of the North family home, usually an expanse of green reaching from the house to the bank of the St. Lawrence River, was today dotted with clumps of toddlers, their parents and enough balloons to decimate the world’s helium supply. No one was within hearing distance.
No one, that was, except Xander, her fellow North family outlier. Who, being no dummy, immediately shoved his hands in his pockets and began backing away.
“You know, I’m pretty sure I should be flipping burgers or something.”
Heather did a mental eye roll. Not five minutes ago, he had joined her beneath a towering maple, brushing glitter from his hair and shoulders—he’d been under the piñata when it had surrendered—and making jokes about getting out of the sun before he turned into a disco ball.
The truth, Heather suspected, was that he—like she—had needed a moment away from the crowd. The Norths were a large and loving family, one that didn’t hesitate to fold newcomers and outliers—and even exes such as herself—into their midst. It was one of their better characteristics. But for those not accustomed to the family, the effect could be most charitably described as overwhelming.
She waved him away, expecting him to escape as fast as his long legs could take him. But after two steps, he stopped and turned back.
“You know,” he said, “I heard there’s a turtle that’s been making an appearance near the dock these days. You guys might have time to catch it before lunch.”
“A turtle? Cool! Come on, Mom!”
Millie grabbed Heather’s hand and half dragged her across the lawn. The parts of Heather’s brain not occupied with making sure she didn’t trip over a clump of weeds sent a mental message of thanks toward Xander. He’d bought her both time and distance, and did it in a way that was guaranteed to ensure that Millie the junior scientist would be too excited to see how she’d been played.
Thankfully, the wild flight halted as they approached the shore, where Millie cautioned Heather to move slowly and quietly. They crept to the spot Millie decreed was the perfect place for a turtle to approach. Moments later, Heather found herself sprawled on the dock, her belly warmed by the sun-kissed boards and the back of her neck already tingling in a way that made her wish she’d applied more sun block. But early June was too soon for her summer instincts to have kicked in.
“We can’t stay too long,” she cautioned. “We’ll get burned.”
“I know.” Millie spoke absently, inching forward to peer into the water. “I don’t see anything. I wonder if it’s here?”
“Mills...” Heather hesitated, unsure how to begin.
Parenting Truth Number 471: Let the kid set the pace.
“Mills, when you said you want me and Daddy to share you—what do you mean?”
“Well, you know, Jason in my class, he spends a week with his mom and then a week with his dad. He’s always forgetting his homework at the wrong house, but he still has to do it.”
“Of course.”
“So I wondered how come he got to do it that way, but I only get to be with you a little. And then at Easter, we were hunting for eggs and Cady was here and I remembered that she gets to do something like that with her mom and dad, so I—Whoa! Did you see that?”
Millie pointed toward a series of circles rippling through the water from a spot a couple of arm’s lengths off the deck. She pushed herself forward enough that Heather grabbed her shirt.
“Back, kiddo.”
“But Mom—”
“Scooch back. Now.”
“Fine.” Millie complied with a sigh. “Jeez, Mom. I’m ten and a half. I know how to be safe.”
The part of Heather that would never be comfortable seeing Millie around water urged her to grab the child and march her off the dock. The part that had spent years learning to listen to her head instead of her gut reminded her to take a chill pill.
“Humor me.” With a deep breath, she did a fast mental recap of the conversation before the interruption. Jason... Cady...sharing.
Easter had been over two months ago. Which meant that this wasn’t a spur of the moment request.
“Honey, about me and Daddy sharing you. I—You know, sometimes things seem like they should be simple, but they’re actually complicated.”
Millie shielded her eyes, but Heather suspected it wasn’t against the sun, especially when her shoulders sagged. “Daddy said something like that, too.”
Wait. “Mills. Do you mean—did you already talk to Daddy about this?”
Millie’s shrug had nothing to do with indifference.
“Kind of.”
Oh God. Millie’s father was a good man, truly, fair and forgiving, but he didn’t do well when caught by surprise. If Millie had broached the topic with him the same way she had with Heather, it probably had not gone the way Millie had wished.
Which would also explain the long gap between a conversation with one parent at Easter and another conversation now.
“You don’t need to tell me things that are between you and Daddy,” she said, hoping she could find the right approach. “That’s private. But I have a feeling he maybe wasn’t as excited about the idea as you were.”
Millie shook her head and shifted her gaze to the water.
“Mills... I would love to have more time with you, more than anything, but it’s not something you can just wish for and make it happen, like getting your ears pierced. This as a two-parent decision. Daddy and I have to talk about this together and make sure we’re doing what’s best for you.”
“Why wouldn’t it be good for me? It’s good for Jason. It’s good for Cady.”
Heather had no idea what had happened between Jason’s parents, but she was almost positive that there was a lot less history—and hurt—between Xander and Darcy than there was between her and Hank. Negotiating joint custody was probably a lot easier when one party hadn’t inflicted the kind of wounds that Heather had. She had been amazed when Hank had been able to remarry. Amazed, and truly glad for him. He was a good guy. He deserved the happiness he had found with Brynn and their new son.
Heather would never have the guts to try marriage again.
“I know that it looks like it would be good, Mills, but there are things that adults have to discuss. Like schedules, and is this a good time to make this change, and how would we make it happen. And let’s face it. You and Daddy have something pretty special. He might need time to get used to the idea.”
Time, and maybe a large dose of a really strong sedative.
Because Heather knew what had gone through Hank’s head when Millie brought her request. He would have focused on their past. He would have relived—justifiably—the night when Heather had walked out on him and Millie. Walked out and hopped on a plane and put three-quarters of a continent between them.
How was Heather supposed to encourage Millie when every objection Hank could raise was true?
Millie turned away from the water, hands shoved in her pockets, and shuffled down the dock. “I don’t think the turtle is coming back today,” she said in a tiny voice.
Oh hell.
“Millie... Listen. I can’t make any promises, but we...well, we can try. But we have to take it slow. Give Daddy time. You do some more thinking about what you would like. I’ll figure out grown-up details and prepare my pitch, just like I would at work. And then when the time is right—” God give me strength “—I’ll talk to Daddy.”
“Okay.”
“And maybe for now, we can keep an eye open for extra days. You know, like, we could have an extra outing on a weekend when there’s some special girl thing happening.”
“Like when I need to do stuff for a badge?”
Heather was already a big fan of the Girl Guides of Canada for the experiences they provided Millie. But as she thought of the many opportunities for mother-daughter bonding that came with the group’s activities, she was triply glad that Millie had joined.
“Absolutely for a badge. Or to get your hair cut, or do some shopping for school or whatever. Daddy and Brynn are still getting used to life with baby Noah, so it will be good for you and me, and it will help them at the same time.” Inspiration hit like a flash of sunlight on the water. “And you know what else? We talked about painting your room at my place, but the time kind of slipped away. How about we start on that, now that the weather is nice?”
“That would be awesome, Mom! Can it be purple, maybe? Or do they make glow-in-the-dark paint for stars?”
“I bet we can find some stickers for that.”
“Okay. Is it time to eat yet? I’m hungry.”
Ah, that was far more like the optimistic girlie that Heather knew. She pushed to her feet, grabbed Millie’s hands to pull her up and tugged the child close for a fast hug and a kiss on the top of her head.
“Do you know how much I love you, kiddo?”
“To the moon and back.”
“You got it.”
Hand in hand, they followed their noses back to the gathering. Millie chattered and jumped and raced ahead and back like the friskiest of puppies, and Heather reveled in every minute of it.
Did she want more time with Millie? God yes. The problem—no, the challenge—would be in finding the way to make it happen without disturbing the peace.
Heather knew what it was to grow up in a home where the only constants were disruption and fear. Millie would never know anything as messed up as Heather’s childhood, thankfully, but that didn’t mean that Heather could be cavalier about upsetting the status quo—especially when she knew that Hank had already rejected the idea. She had to find a way to turn this into a logical, reasonable next step instead of a point of disruption. She had played hell with Millie’s life once. She would not do it again.
All she needed was a plan.
* * *
XANDER WAS A MAN who trusted his gut. And as he laughed his way through the party and helped Cady open more presents than any two-year-old could use, his gut kept whispering that he should check on Heather.
Not that anything was obviously wrong. She sang “Happy Birthday” with everyone else, talked to everyone, laughed and goofed around with Millie. But he couldn’t dismiss the way she had tensed up over Millie’s question. The wonder in her eyes hadn’t exactly meshed with the way she closed in on herself, arms and legs and everything pulling in tight. Like she was afraid that if she let anything free, she would lose it.
He pushed his worries to the back burner while the party was in full swing. Not only was this Cady’s birthday, it was the first time he’d celebrated it with her. A year ago at this time, he hadn’t even known she was alive. Now, though, she was the reason he was alive—or at the very least, the reason he was living this life. He wasn’t taking any of this for granted.
He memorized the sound of her squeals when she spotted her Winnie the Pooh cupcake. He soaked in the sight of her chipmunk cheeks as she tried to blow out her candles and bit back his laughter at the confusion on her face when her attempts left the candles blazing despite the hefty showering of spit she sprayed over the frosting.
Yeah, Darcy had been right to insist on Cady attacking an individual cake instead of the big one intended for sharing.
But when the candles continued to flicker and the twist to Cady’s mouth started the descent from gamely trying to core meltdown imminent, he squatted beside her and tapped her cheek.
“Want some help, Cady?”
Her quivering chin was his only reply.
On Cady’s other side, Darcy imitated his stance. “Here, sweetie. Let’s all do it together. You, me, Daddy and Ian.”
Darcy took Cady’s hand and extended the other toward her fiancé, who joined the circle.
Xander had never believed that line about it taking a village to raise a child until this moment, seeing how three adults were required to help a kid blow out two candles.
But then, the slightly-odd-but-definitely-working family they had built over the past year was almost a small village in itself. And none of them would be here, now, if not for the others.
If Xander hadn’t decided to spend a few weeks crashing with his old university roomie Ian...if Ian hadn’t been renting a garage apartment from Darcy...if Ian hadn’t been out of town the weekend Darcy’s rat bastard ex-boyfriend dumped her, leaving her in need of a shoulder, a stiff drink and some unexpected comfort...
None of it had been planned. Not him and Darcy ending up drunk. Or horizontal. Or—as he found out when he came back two years later—parents.
“One...two...” Darcy guided Cady forward.
Change any one of those factors, and none of them would be here. Because without that perfect storm of events and timing, Cady would never have been born. And Darcy would never have turned to Ian for help that became friendship that turned into something so real that they were getting married in a couple of months.
“Three!”
And if Darcy and Ian hadn’t been the understanding and forgiving people they were, Xander would never have walked out of a jail cell and into this family.
“Make a wish!” someone called. Xander checked on Cady, now clapping her hands while leaning against Darcy, and was pretty sure that his daughter had absolutely everything she could want at this moment.
But birthday wishes weren’t to be wasted. So as Ian reached across Darcy to bop Cady’s nose and the three of them laughed together, Xander closed his eyes and sent up his own wish.
That, please. I want something like that.
* * *
ONCE THE CAKE had been cut and the gifts opened, Xander prowled the edges of the party with his camera, gathering trash with one hand while sneaking in some candid shots of the birthday girl and her guests. Cleaning, preserving memories and casually working his way toward Heather, all at once. Who said men couldn’t multitask? Add in the way he managed to sneak a few peeks at Heather’s shorts—or, more precisely, what they covered—and he felt positively superhuman.
Well, except for the fact that Heather’s shorts—and, more precisely, what was in them—were strictly off-limits.
She was a damned fine looking woman who made him laugh. More than that, when he was with her, he felt he could relax more than with most folks. Maybe because she understood how it felt to be on the outside looking in. Maybe because she, like he, knew all about duct-taping a life back together after throwing it in the toilet.
Heather was a friend. And while Xander wanted someone to build a life with, these days he needed friends. So yeah. Off-limits.
But off-limits didn’t mean he couldn’t be a buddy. So when Heather finished saying something to Millie and sent the child off with a laugh, he raised his camera.
“Say cheese!”
He’d expected her to squeal and whirl away from him. Instead, she raised her hands to her head so they resembled antlers, wiggling her fingers while scrunching up her face.
He lowered the camera. “Seriously? You want me to take your picture when you look like a moose that ate a lemon?”
“It got you to stop, didn’t it?”
That was another reason why he needed to stay away from Heather. She would outfox him.
“Good one.” He scanned the area, saw that they were relatively alone and wandered closer. “That’s an interesting pile of sticks by your feet.”
“Sticks?” She glanced from him to the ground and back again, confusion evident on her face. “What’s in your lemonade, Xander?”
“Nothing. But if I act like I’m taking pictures and make a show of having the camera out, people are going to stay away while I ask if you’re okay.” He pulled the camera from his face for a second to meet her gaze. “After Millie’s question, I mean.”
“Oh.”
He waited, focusing in on the sticks as if he really cared about them. Patience had never been his favorite virtue, but he had learned to appreciate it during his time in jail. Proof that there was a silver lining to everything.
At last, Heather spoke, her words quiet—though not, he suspected, from fear of being overheard.
“She caught me by surprise.”
“I figured.”
“I’m not sure...” She sighed. “It’s not as simple as Millie believes.”
“Tell me a part of parenting that is.”
At that, she laughed, though not with her usual abandon. He crouched and adjusted his focus. There was a tiny dandelion poking through the sticks, a flash of yellow he would have missed if he hadn’t changed angles.
“How do you manage it?” she asked. “Sharing Cady must be hard.”
“Do you mean, like, the timing? The logistics?”
“For a start.”
“It takes a lot of communication. But you probably know that already.”
“Right.”
“If you want, I can give you a copy of the schedule we use. You couldn’t do the same times, not with school and all, but it would give you someplace to start.” And maybe she could accept it with more grace than he could. For while Xander understood the need for a schedule and was blown away every time he realized how close he had come to missing out on the miracle of Cady, a part of him still ached at the reality of needing a spreadsheet to mark his time with his daughter.
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” She crouched beside him and tugged on one of the sticks, tumbling the pile into a new arrangement. The dandelion vanished from his view. “Of course, I’m probably jumping the gun. Hank—”
She stopped. He raised the camera, using it as a shield so he had to watch out of the corner of his eye as the emotions played across her face. Hope, wistfulness, some kind of longing that made him feel he should reach over and squeeze her hand...
He hadn’t known Heather when she was married to Ian’s brother Hank, but he’d known about her, and them. He remembered Ian telling him about Heather’s abrupt departure from the marriage and Comeback Cove, and even during that self-absorbed point in his own life, he had wondered how a mother could willingly leave her child.
These days, knowing Heather, seeing how she glowed whenever she was with Millie, he wondered all the more.
“Anyway—” Heather clapped her hands as if dismissing the topic “—the other big issue would be work.”
“Isn’t Millie a bit young to have to think about a job?”
Yeah, it was a lousy joke. But Heather was the pacesetter here.
“You do know that when you’re all hunched over like that, it would only take one little push for me to send you over. Right?”
On the other hand, maybe he should take a stronger lead in the conversation.
“Sorry. Whatever. Why is work a problem?”
She adjusted her position so she was sitting on the ground. Guess her thighs weren’t up to the test.
Not that he was going to think about her thighs.
“The job itself isn’t the trouble. It’s the hours. Which are totally reasonable until you tack on the megacommute every day.”
“Gotcha. So you’re gone from, what? Eight to six?”
“More like seven thirty until about seven.”
He whistled. “Busting ass to impress the boss?”
“Busting ass to get the work done.” Her head swiveled. “And to let me leave early on Wednesdays, so I’m home when Millie finishes school.”
He didn’t have to follow her line of vision to know she was checking on the kid in question.
“You’re right. That doesn’t leave much time for anything, let alone having time with a kid.”
“I know.”
It was the way she watched Millie that caught him in the gut. Like she didn’t dare miss one action or one giggle, in case she might never get the chance again.
“What about getting a new job?”
This time when she laughed, it was like he’d said the silliest thing she’d ever heard.
“Right. Because Comeback Cove is overflowing with jobs.”
He bit his tongue to keep from reminding her that there were a lot more options for her than there were for someone who had, oh, a criminal record to add to the list of references.
No regrets, Xander.
Instead, he waved a hand toward the river and said, “I hear the town is looking for someone to help sell all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re creating a new position. Tourism director, or something like that. There was an article about it in the Comeback Cove Chronicle last week.”
She did a double take. “You read the Chronicle? I thought their only subscribers were the people who work at town hall. And maybe the folks who advertise in it.”
“Of course I do. I’m a concerned, involved citizen.” Who also happened to be trolling the community calendar for events where he might meet someone looking for a guy with an adorable daughter, a steady job and a slightly checkered past.
“You’re about twelve steps ahead of me, then. But...tourism? It’s a nice thought, but I don’t have any experience in that.”
He raised the camera to his eye and focused in on Cady, now spinning in circles with Millie. “You’re in marketing.”
“Sure, but—”
“Would it cost you anything to apply?”
“No.”
“If you got it, would it make things easier for you to have more time with Millie?”
This time, her silence went on long enough that he had to check to be sure she was still sitting in place.
“Yo, Earth to Heather.”
“Sorry. I was thinking.”
“I’ve heard that can be dangerous.”
She shook her head, seeming to cast off some spell that had gripped her. “What does that mean?”
“It means that there’s a time to think and a time to do. Take a chance. Go with your gut.”
Her head swiveled. Her gaze locked on Millie.
“My gut is the last thing I need to listen to.”
He had never understood people who didn’t trust their own instincts. How was a person supposed to navigate all the noise of the world without having some core sense of what to do and where to go?
Though on the other hand, refusing to listen to your gut was probably a lot safer than his specialty of acknowledging and then ignoring the truth he didn’t want to see.
“But,” she continued, “there is a certain logic to the thought.”
Ah, now they were getting somewhere.
“I doubt I could even get an interview, but you’re right. It would give me a deadline to update my résumé and get into job-changing mode. If nothing else, getting an offer from someplace else might give me some negotiating power. Shift my hours, arrange to work from home part of the time...something that could make things more possible.”
She turned a sunny smile in his direction, one that had his own gut suddenly tightening.
“Thanks, Xander. You’ve been a huge help.”
No problem. My pleasure. The smart and sensible response was clear in his head.
So why did he open his mouth to say, “You know, I’ve sat in on a good number of classes on résumé writing over the years.” Most recently as a guest—ahem—of the Province, but knowledge was knowledge, right? “If you’d like me to have a look at yours, just say the word.”
“Seriously?”
Xander, you idiot. What if she’s wearing those shorts again? “Anytime.”
“Thank you. I haven’t had to do this kind of thing in years. I just might...” She shrugged, not dismissively, but almost as if she were hugging herself. “I owe you.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for.” He pushed to his feet, stifling a groan as he straightened. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so smug about her choosing to sit instead of squat.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’m going to stay here for a minute.” She nodded toward the house. “Watch the show for a bit.”
He followed her gaze and saw Millie doing an admirable imitation of a horse, galloping in circles around Cady. A soft neigh carried across the grass.
“Okay then. Let me know if I can help, and I’ll see you around.”
With that, he set off across the lawn, doing his best to stay focused on the crowd in front of him rather than the woman behind him. Forward. Onward. No regrets.
He managed to face away from her until he hit the deck, where Millie ceased her prancing long enough to pull up in front of him.
“Whoa,” she said to the air, then looked to him. “Hi, Mr. Sorenson. What’s my mom doing?”
He had to look back at her then, didn’t he?
Heather no longer sat cross-legged and contemplative on the grass. Instead, she was kneeling, hands moving on the ground.
Moving...a pile of sticks?
“Millie,” he said, resting his hand on her curls, “I can’t be certain, but I think your mom is giving hope to a weed.”
