You’re your mother’s problem, not ours.
They were awful, awful people.
When she imagined Brogan as a youth, and how hurtful those words would have been, tears welled in her eyes … and Pixie didn’t care. She was a crier. So what? If Brogan planned to hang around, or to know her and Andy long-term, he’d have to get used to it.
Curiosity had her skimming the papers until she saw Connie’s address. Just as Marlow had, Connie had lived near Chicago. She found a few notes explaining how Connie had randomly met Dylan.
She didn’t read anything in detail, not until she saw her own name. Settling back against the couch, she took in Connie’s account of how Dylan had cried over Pixie’s “betrayal,” the way she’d kicked him out of her life, even though she knew he couldn’t divorce Marlow. He claimed to have genuinely cared for Pixie, but understood that his parents would never accept her.
Connie, he’d claimed, was someone his parents would love.Ha! More of Dylan’s lies.His parents, Andy’s grandparents, didn’t fully approve of anyone. Lately, however, they had tried to be more accepting of Pixie because in their own way, they loved their grandson.
As she read more and more, the kicker for Pixie was that her first inclination was to call Marlow. She always dumped her problems at Marlow’s feet, because Marlow helped her to think things through, to work them out rationally.
But this? How would Marlow feel?
It was almost unbelievable that Marlow had accepted Pixie into her life, that she loved her as a friend and a sister.
Yet another woman? Marlow wouldn’t resent Shayna; she didn’t have it in her to feel animosity, or even indifference, toward a child. But this second betrayal would surely anger her.
Pixie hadn’t been married to the man, and she was irate—at least a little. Dylan hadn’t missed her, hadn’t even gone that long grieving the loss of their relationship before he’d turned to Connie. Or maybe he’d been with Connie long before Pixie had ended things.
Possibly, during the entire time he’d been with Pixie.
In personality and behavior, he was the bastard, not Brogan.
Since Connie had been so thorough in her notes, it was no surprise that Brogan had so much info on Pixie. Dylan must have given her most of the details, but Connie had gone a few steps further and found Pixie’s location.
She even stated why:
You and I were alone, Brogan. Shayna doesn’t have to be. If Ms. Nolan is at all as Dylan described her, she might allow her son to know Shayna. She might help provide the familyyou and Ineeded—or at least that I needed. You, little brother, were always stronger than me. So strong. Yes, I admired you a lot. You were my hero and my inspiration.
Pixie dashed away more tears. How painful it must have been for Brogan to read that, to know how much his sister had needed him. No wonder he seemed to hate Ruthie.
I used to pray that eventually we could reconcile, that you’d accept me, but please, please know that I never blamed you. I knew who kept us apart, and I understood. I loved you then, and I loved you every single day.
Never, ever have I doubted that you would accept Shayna if something happened to me.
Brogan, if you’re reading this, then she needs you, even more than we needed each other. Without you, Mom and Dad will have her. I know you won’t let that happen, so thank you. Love her like she should be loved. That’s all she really needs.
However, if you want my input (I know, I’m that pushy older sister!), then here’s what I’d like to see happen. Only if it’s possible. Again, the most important thing is that you love her—and I know you will.
Pixie’s chest ached, her heart held in a vise. Oh, God, she could feel Connie’s pain, knew that the poor woman had been imagining her daughter growing up without her, and she’d been doing the absolute best she could to make sure—even after her death—that Shayna would be cared for.
“Hey.” Suddenly, Brogan was there, sitting down beside her. He took the papers from her hands and put them back on the table. “You okay?”
“Yes.” Pixie nodded jerkily, gave an audible swallow, and again wiped her eyes. When she tried to speak, her voice broke. “No mother should ever have to make these plans. Not for an infant.”
“I know.”
Pixie saw that Andy was now jabbering away with the lamb, emulating Brogan’s storytelling to entertain Shayna. It warmed her soul to see them together, especially with her new understanding of why it was so important—not just to Brogan, but to Connie, too.
On impulse, she turned to Brogan and hugged him fiercely.
Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder, saying again, “Hey.”
That made her laugh, but it was a shaky laugh. He was such an enormous, buff, competent man—his awkwardness amused her.
Straightening away, she smiled up at him, then sniffed. “Well, Mr. Rafferty, you may as well understand that I’m overly emotional about many things, especially children. My own, and apparently anyone else’s. For that reason, I get tearful a lot.” She brushed the fresh batch of tears away from her cheeks. “I know, it’s a hideous look. I’m so fair-skinned that I turn blotchy with the first tear, and it only gets worse after that.”
