She slid the chair back and climbed down.Her dark eyes accused him.“I thought you were my friend.”
He wanted to be.But more than that, he needed to be a parent.This was the fine line those books he’d read had talked about.The reality of caring about someone enough to do what was best, even if it made her unhappy.“I’m your father.”
“I don’t want you for my dad.”
He’d seen it coming, but that didn’t stop the pain.“I’m sorry you feel that way, Billie,” he said quietly.“Come into the kitchen.”
“Why?”
“You’re going to write a letter to your mother explaining what you did and that you’re sorry.I’ll give it to her when she gets home.”
Billie followed him silently.When he placed a sheet of paper and a pencil on the small table, she sat in the chair without saying a word.He poured cocoa and set a mug next to her.She ignored it.
He wanted to say something.But what?She deserved the punishment.Didn’t she?His chest ached from the hurt inside.It seeped all through his body, making him feel beaten.It was happening, just as he’d feared.He cleaned up the pot he’d used and put away the ingredients.Behind him, Billie wrote on the paper.Her pencil scratched slightly with each letter.He heard a sniff.He turned around, and she was brushing away her tears.
“Billie?”
She didn’t look up.God, he wasn’t ready for this.Before he could decide what to do, she pushed back the chair.“I’m done.”
“Fine.Would you like—”
“I’m going to bed.”She wouldn’t look at him.
“I’ll come up and tuck you in.”
“No!”She raised her head and glared.“I hate you.You’re not my dad.My dad would never do what you did.Go home.”
With that, she marched out of the room.
He’d lost her, he thought grimly.He’d had her for less than two weeks and now she was gone.“I hate you.”The wordsrepeated themselves over and over in his mind.He could see the tracks of her tears, hear her voice, see the rage in her small body.He’d lost his child.If he’d ever had her.
Was it all an illusion?Jane, Billie, the chance to be part of a family—his family?Everyone left eventually.Why hadn’t he learned that lesson?Billie was gone; Jane wouldn’t be that far behind.He took Billie’s untouched mug and poured the cocoa into the sink.He couldn’t let it happen, he realized.He couldn’t let Jane go.He had to hold her with him.Being left a second time—he shuddered—he would never survive.
He turned off the lights in the kitchen and walked toward the parlor.There was only one way to convince her to stay.
* * *
Jane arrived home a little after nine-thirty.Adam heard her car in the driveway.
“Hi,” she said, as she swept into the kitchen.Drops of rain glistened on her smooth hair.“It’s still raining.”
“So I noticed.”He smiled slightly and wiped the moisture from her cheek.“You should have taken a jacket.”
“You sound like my mother.”She wrinkled her nose.“Besides, it’s too hot out there.I won’t melt.”She set her briefcase on the counter.“Is Billie asleep?”
“Yes.I just checked on her.”He didn’t mention that he’d spent the better part of an hour sitting in the dark and watching his daughter sleep.She clutched her teddy bear so tightly to her chest.Was that her normal position, or was she still traumatized from what had happened before?He knewhewas.His stomach clenched tight as her words again echoed.“I hate you.”
“How was the meeting?”he asked.
“Great.I really like several of the programs they have here for the students.”She slipped out of her jacket and hung it over one of the chairs, then sniffed the air.“Coffee?”
“Decaf.”He motioned to the pot.“Want some?”
“Thanks.Anyway, they have a real commitment to education.And a few surprises.I heard about the Barrington scholarships.”
He walked over to the cupboard and pulled down two mugs.“So?”
“So?It’s wonderful.You’re offering ten scholarships to kids who otherwise wouldn’t have a chance.”
