A Camden's Baby Secret (5 page)

Livi raised her chin a second time, accepting the apology that way because she couldn't
not
accept it when it came with that explanation.

But it wasn't easy to let go of the humiliation she'd felt at his vanishing without a trace. It was hard to move past thinking the worst of him.

Instead she chose to say quietly, “I'm sorry about your friends.”

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Me, too. They were good people.”

Again he didn't seem to want to make eye contact with her, instead turning to toss the gloves onto a hay bale. “Anyway,” he repeated, “here we are.”

“Here we are,” Livi echoed.

“And I thought maybe we should talk about...you know...where we go now.”

He did meet her eyes then and Livi didn't allow herself to look away. But she didn't say anything, because she had no idea where they
should
go now—especially factoring in that pregnancy test she had in that bag in the trunk of her cousin's car.

“How about we just put it behind us?” Callan suggested. “Forget it happened. Start fresh.”

Easy for him to say.

“You want to help Greta,” he went on, “and now she's kind of my job—her and the Tellers—so we'll be seeing each other. But Hawaii was...well...”

A one-night stand? A vacation fling? Pure stupidity on her part? Yes, what exactly should they call it?

As bad as the last two months had been for Livi, this was worse. This was excruciating. It felt like a brush-off. As if he was telling her that even though they'd slept together, he didn't want there to be anything more between them than that.

And while she certainly didn't, either, it was still a rejection. This made it seem as if she expected something from him that he was letting her know he wasn't on board for.

I belong to Patrick!
she wanted to tell him in no uncertain terms.

But she resisted the urge. Instead, she tried to rise above what felt like an insult and said, “Hawaii is already forgotten.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire...

“And we can just do...whatever...for Greta and go on?” Callan asked.

“Sure.”

“Not that Hawaii wasn't something damn memorable...” he said, as if giving credit where credit was due, his eyebrows raised in what looked like appreciation.

“But it's over and done with. Finished. On to a new chapter,” she said curtly.

This time it was Callan who nodded in acknowledgment. “Yeah, I guess,” he said, though now he sounded a little confused. And perhaps a little offended. “But maybe we should actually get to know each other...for Greta's sake.”

Was that what he'd been trying to say? Livi didn't have any experience with any of this, and was running on high-octane emotions. Maybe he wasn't being a jerk—even if it still felt that way.

She took a deep breath and tried to look at things from a calmer, less sensitive perspective.

She'd been as responsible as he had been for them spending the night together in Hawaii. And though he had left, he'd had a good reason.

Now here they were, but he'd inherited a nine-year-old—and apparently two geriatrics on top of it—and had his hands full. It stood to reason that romance was the last thing he needed at the moment. And yet he and Livi would still have to spend time together, for Greta's sake, so it made sense to settle things between them.

And it wasn't as if her own thinking was any different than it had been before she'd met him in Hawaii. Livi still couldn't imagine herself in a relationship with anyone other than Patrick.

Take away her newest worry, and Callan was right that they just needed to wrap up Hawaii and stuff it in a compartment. That they just needed to start over as nothing more than they actually were—two strangers brought together over the welfare of a little girl.

Thinking about it all like that helped Livi calm down.

“Hawaii is history,” she decreed. “Let's wipe the slate clean and just move on.”

Those words again. Only it was her saying them this time.

But in this instance she meant them. She just hoped that they
could
move on freely and with a genuinely clean slate. If they couldn't—if that pregnancy test came back positive... But she refused to think about that yet. She'd wait to deal with that hurdle when she'd actually taken the test and knew for sure what was going on.

There was certainly no need to tell Callan before then.

“So we're okay?” he asked, sounding sincere.

“We're okay,” Livi confirmed, with more bravado than confidence.

“Good,” he said, as if he was relieved.

“Good,” she parroted, not relieved at all. Then she inclined her head toward the house, told him she needed to get going and wanted to say goodbye to Greta.

“Sure,” Callan said, bending over to pick up those gloves, putting them on again.

Onto those hands that Livi suddenly recalled the feel of on her body.

Until she forced that memory out of her head, took a long pull of fresh air and turned to go to the farmhouse.

Chapter Four

I
t was positive.

Livi took the home pregnancy test first thing Tuesday morning and stared at the display on the stick until it showed the results.

But a positive reading didn't
necessarily
mean the test was right.

There were false positives, weren't there?

Or she could have done it wrong.

Dazed, feeling as if everything was spinning out of control, she reread the instructions.

Then she stared at the display again, willing it to show her something different.

And at the same time thinking that this would have been such happy news if Patrick was still alive.

They'd wanted children, had tried for them. She'd even had a plan for how to tell him.

But this?

She just couldn't face it happening like this.

So she wasn't going to, she decided.

She wasn't going to fully believe it until a doctor told her for sure.

Especially when she was hardly sick at all this morning.

She'd go to the doctor. The doctor would say this happened sometimes—an imbalance of hormones that was delaying her period and causing a false-positive test, but she wasn't pregnant.

She couldn't be pregnant.

The doctor would clear it all up.

The sooner the better.

So she called her gynecologist in Denver and made an appointment, trying desperately to stay in a state of denial.

* * *

Livi was surprised—and not particularly pleased—to find Callan at Greta's school when she went for Greta's going-away party that afternoon.

Greta had invited her the day before, but hadn't mentioned that Callan was coming, too. And Livi was in no shape to see him—the guy who wanted them both to just forget Hawaii and everything that had happened there.

How would she ever tell
him
?

But she couldn't think about it. She couldn't think about any of it. And she'd given herself permission not to until she saw her doctor, so she pushed any notion of pregnancy out of her mind.

What she couldn't push out of her mind, though, was Callan himself.

They were sitting on the side of the room, Callan slightly ahead of her, just enough in her line of vision to distract her from what the teacher was saying about how much they would all miss Greta.

He was dressed more the way he'd been in Hawaii—in khakis and a navy blue polo shirt. But he couldn't have looked more uncomfortable, sitting like a giant in the too-small-for-him desk chair.

It wasn't only the chair, though. Even as the party got under way Livi could see how much of a fish out of water he was when it came to kids, Greta included.

The day before, when Greta had run to him in the barn, Livi had lagged behind, so she'd seen very little of the exchange between them. And on Sunday, when she'd witnessed his unenthusiastic response to Greta's delight in the scarf, Livi had thought that was due to his shock at seeing her.

But he wasn't any different at the going-away party. He was still wooden and overly formal, as if someone had set him down in a room full of aliens and he just didn't know how to relate.

It made Livi begin to wonder about him as the choice to raise Greta.

Or any child...

After the party Greta begged Livi to come back to the farm and stay for dinner with the family.

She didn't have the heart to say no, when saying goodbye to her friends had clearly left the little girl down in the dumps. The only thing that seemed to perk her up was the idea of Livi coming home with her so Greta could show her the mementos and going-away gifts her friends had given her.

So Livi accepted.

Over dinner she saw more of what she'd glimpsed only a hint of on Sunday—a certain tension in the dynamic between Callan and John Sr.

Maeve Teller seemed to be fond of Callan. In fact, she doted on him the way she might have doted on a son. The thin, slight woman with the gaunt face and long, silver hair wound into a bun at her nape was warm and loving toward Callan.

John Sr. was another story. He was a big man—tall and boxy, with only a wreath of white hair remaining around a bald center, and a face that resembled a bulldog. There was nothing lighthearted about him in any way, but to Maeve and Greta he was gruffly loving. When it came to Callan, he was only gruff.

The two men didn't speak to each other unless it was necessary. Callan was strictly civil, but John Sr. bordered on rude, never looking at him without a scowl. Most of what he did say to Callan seemed to hint that he only expected the worst from him, that he didn't like or trust him.

It was understandable that Callan didn't appreciate it, and easy to see his negative feelings in response. But he tolerated John Sr.'s treatment of him without striking back, and Livi wasn't quite sure what to make of that. Certainly her impression of Callan was not as someone who would just accept such scorn and contempt.

After the meal there was a joint cleanup involving Livi, Callan, Greta and Kinsey, before Livi announced that she had to go. She was flying back to Denver before dawn in order to get to her doctor—though she only said she had an early flight, without giving the reason why.

Greta wanted her to stay, but Maeve and Callan both reminded the little girl that the next day was a travel day for them, too, and that she needed to get to bed.

Because the house had not even begun to be packed up, Livi was surprised to hear that they would be following so soon, but she assured the child that she would see her in Denver.

Then, although there was no need for it, Callan walked Livi out to her car.

“Do you have movers coming tomorrow?” Livi asked along the way to satisfy her own curiosity.

“The house is staying intact—I've hired a man and his wife to move in and take care of it and the farm for now, until the Tellers decide whether or not they want to sell. In Denver, they'll be living with me, too, so there's no reason to bring anything but what they need or want for themselves for now. My pilot flew in today and came out here to take what belongings the Tellers wanted with them to make their room feel like home, suitcases were mostly packed today to go out tomorrow with us, so we're all set.”

“Oh,” Livi muttered. She'd thought that she would have a little break from him, a little time to get her bearings at home before contending with everything. But she guessed not.

“Kinsey is driving in ahead of us tomorrow—her car is here, so she can't fly back with us,” he was saying as they drew near Livi's borrowed sedan. “She'll be in Denver around noon and will go straight to my place to arrange accommodations for Maeve's wheelchair. Any chance you could meet her there and—I don't know—take a look at the room that will be Greta's? Maybe do a little something? A decorator handled everything, so it isn't all pink and frilly the way her room at home is, or even the way Maeve has her room here.”

“Two things,” Livi said in response to the request. “I can't redecorate a room in a couple of hours. And I think it's a better idea to let Greta make the changes. It'll help it feel more like her room if she chooses the bedspread and curtains and anything that goes up on the walls. What I
can
do is maybe have some new stuffed animals and dolls waiting for her, so the space seems more welcoming. And once she's in town, I'd be happy to take her shopping for more things.”

“Just the two of you...” he said, more to himself than to her. He seemed to consider that for a moment and then he let out an almost inaudible sigh that gave Livi the sense there were still reservations in his feelings about her being with Greta. But still he said, “Yeah, okay, I guess that would be good. Tomorrow—and the whole move—is going to be a big deal for all of them and I'm just trying to figure out how to make it easier.”

When they reached Livi's car she opened the door but didn't get in. She was wondering about too many things from her afternoon and evening watching his interactions with all three Tellers. And since he'd wandered out here with her and the evening air was still warm—and he didn't seem to be in any hurry for her to leave—she thought she'd take the opportunity to do a little digging.

“You don't seem all that comfortable with...things,” she ventured.

“Things?”

“Greta, being around kids...and John Sr., too. Did you know you were being named as Greta's guardian?” Livi asked, narrowing the scope of her inquiry to that for starters.

“Sure, I knew. Mandy and J.J. asked me if I'd do it. But you know, you never think anything is actually going to happen.”

“And now that it has? Is it a job you really want?”

His brows drew down over those brooding, coffee-colored eyes, but he didn't hesitate to say, “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

That surprised her. “It's just that you don't seem...” She struggled for a diplomatic way to express what she was thinking. “You aren't married anymore and don't have any kids of your own, if I'm remembering what you said in Hawaii—”

“Just before
you
said you weren't married—anymore—and didn't have any kids, either, and then told me you didn't want to talk about our real lives,” he stated drily.

She needed fewer and fewer reminders of that night, as more and more details popped into her head every time she was with him.

But she stayed on track and said, “So you're a single guy without any experience with children, let alone a little girl. Yet they chose you as Greta's guardian.”

“And you can't figure out why they would have,” he surmised with a wry laugh and a hint of a smile that lifted one side of his mouth.

“I'm just wondering about it, is all.”

“I grew up here,” he said, nodding in the general direction of Northbridge. “On the wrong side of the tracks. My father's family had a good-sized working farm at one point, but when my old man inherited it he let everything go to seed, then sold it off acre by acre for booze money for him and my mother.”

That was blunt and raised Livi's eyebrows. “Your parents had a drinking problem,” she said, putting it in more polite terms.

“They didn't think it was a problem. For them, it was a way of life. They drank from the minute their feet hit the floor in the morning until they passed out. And when they came to, they drank more.”

“Did they do that from when you were just a little kid?”

“I think they always drank, yeah—my mother even admitted that she drank some when she was pregnant with me. I can recall knowing as a little kid that there was my orange juice for breakfast and
grown-up
orange juice that I wasn't supposed to touch.”

“You actually remember that?”

“I do,” he said without question, before picking up where he'd left off. “But they held jobs until I was maybe seven or eight, so I guess they were initially what's considered ‘functional alcoholics'—they'd just hit the bottle hardest after work. But they got less and less functional and kept losing their jobs. By the time I was about Greta's age, drinking was pretty much their occupation.”

“But they still took care of you,” Livi said, assuming that had to be true.

“In their way,” he answered with a shrug. “The more they drank, the more I took care of them. But luckily, as that started to happen, I was old enough to do things for myself.”

“Everything?” Livi asked, unable to imagine that a nine-or ten-year-old could take complete care of himself and his parents, too.

Callan looked embarrassed to admit it, but said, “I have a pretty high IQ and I guess that was to my advantage in more than my schoolwork. And this is the country—kids aren't pampered out here. They have to pitch in at an early age. For me, by the time I was in fifth grade, it wasn't feeding chickens or slopping hogs before school, it was fixing breakfast and getting my parents to eat, or dragging clothes to the Laundromat while they were buying liquor and cigarettes and groceries—”

“So they
did
buy groceries.”

“Yeah, they did. I'd make a list for them—canned soup and beans, frozen dinners, bread, peanut butter. Stuff for meals I could manage myself, plus things like toilet paper and soap.”

“Would they have only bought the liquor if you hadn't made them a list for the other stuff?”

“More than likely. They didn't really care about food. If I didn't make dinner, they didn't eat, just drank. I did the dishes—when there weren't any more clean ones. Brought cash to town to pay to keep our utilities on. Wrote my own notes for school and forged their signatures. I just kept things going—not great, but the best I could as a kid.”

He didn't say that with any self-pity, his tone matter-of-fact.

“No one called Social Services?” Livi asked.

“It wasn't as if my parents ever physically hurt me, so there wasn't that to trigger anything. They loved me in their way. Booze was just their priority and I had to adapt.”

Their priority over him.

That was so sad.

“Every year my father would sell off another acre or two of land and we'd live off that money. We had enough to get by, and I kept my mouth shut about what my home life was like.”

“So no intervention?”

“No intervention. I guess I did just enough to dodge that bullet. But I wasn't the most popular person around,” he said. “I was still the poor kid who lived out in a run-down trailer and wore secondhand clothes. That didn't put me on the guest list to many birthday parties. Most parents didn't want their kids around that kind of trash.”

Was that something he'd heard said about himself? The thought made Livi feel even worse for him, for the little boy he'd been.

“But that didn't faze Mandy and J.J.,” Callan concluded in a happier tone. “Don't ask me why, because I couldn't tell you, but Mandy and J.J. were friends to me in spite of what other kids and the rest of the town thought. From kindergarten on, we were stuck together like glue. The three of us.”