“Okay.” I nod, satisfied with his answer, and so I offer an answer in return. “Peanut, the baby. She isn’t biologically mine, but she’s mine.”
Don’s eyes shine with what looks like pride. “I’m lucky my daughter had you and your family all these years, and I’m sorry I never thanked any of you for your support.”
“Clean slate?” I hold my hand out, and he grabs it firmly and shakes.
“So, tell me about the little shit stick that got my daughter pregnant and abandoned her.” He delivers the line deadpan.
“Not much to tell. It was one night, it happened, and he didn’t want to commit to anything or be in the baby’s life.” I choose to leave out the part of him wanting money as compensation for the baby being born.
“Seriously?” He looks on in disbelief.
“Yep, serious as a heart attack.” I realise what I’ve said as soon as the words leave my mouth, “Fuck. Shit, Don, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” But I don’t need to worry because Don Fullman laughs so hard, his monitor starts to beep, which then causes the nurse to come over and tell us off like two naughty schoolboys.
He catches me up on the conversation he had with Lacey. He agrees he has a lot of work to do where she is concerned and a lot of time to make up for. A thought occurs to me.
“What are you doing for work now?”
His cheeks redden. “Ah, I lost my business when Lacey was a teenager. Nobody wants a drunk to turn up and decorate their house.”
“I need a decorator. Not yet, but soon. If you’re up for it, that is?” This may be reckless of me, and I should probably consult Lacey first, but this feels right.
“I don’t need charity.” He shakes his head.
“Not charity, Don, work. It’s my business, and I genuinely need a decorator. Offer’s there, think on it.” I slide one of my business cards to him.
Maybe it is a little like charity, but if that means Lacey’s dad has something to get up for in the morning, something to focus on, and he can help? Then he would do it a million times over.
For her.
Only her.
**********
We left Don earlier with a promise to return tomorrow during visiting hours. Lacey didn’t want to go, but her dad told her she needed rest, and he was right. She looks beat and bone tired.
“What did you say to my dad when your mum and I went to get a drink?” She even sounds tired.
“Nothing much. Man stuff.” I smile at the very unladylike snort she lets out.
“Man stuff? Pfft, sexist much? I bet it wasn’t man stuff, I bet you were discussing me.”
“Hmm…good guess. But the world doesn’t revolve around you, so.” I trail off and laugh at the outraged look on her face.
“You’re an arse, Cole Peterson.”
“Yeah, but you love me.”
She’s quiet and doesn’t respond to me, and for a moment I worry.
“Oh wow. Cole, pull over.”
I find a safe place to pull in, worry cinching my gut.
“What is it? Are you okay?”
She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. “Cole, she’s moving, and I can feel it from the outside. Put your hand here.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her I already felt this; the love and happiness shining in her eyes is a look I want to keep there forever, and so I play along.
