“Sure.”
Billie grinned. “Great. I told the guys you would.” She stepped back and dug out the ever-present softball from her dirty red shorts pocket. “Sometimes boys are dumb,” she said.
Jane chuckled. “Interesting observation. Why do you say that?”
“They tell me I can’t do stuff ‘cuz I’m a girl.”
“So?”
“So I threatened to beat them up.” She tossed the softball into the air.
If Jane hadn’t been present at Billie’s birth, she might have questioned whether or not this child was really hers. “Don’t throw that in the house,” she warned. “Why not just do what they say you can’t and show them up that way?”
“Maybe.” She walked to the refrigerator and pulled open the door. “I’m hungry.”
“I was just about to make lunch.”
Billie peered inside the fridge. “Something good, okay?”
“Are you insulting my cooking?”
“Mo-om. I just thought we could forget about vegetables until dinner. It’s Friday.”
“So?”
“So, I just thought. You know. For a treat. How come we don’t have that center thing in our kitchen like Adam does?”
Jane blinked at the quick change in subject. “Do you mean the island?”
“Yeah.” Billie shut the fridge and stared around the room. “It has stools to sit at, like a restaurant counter. I eat there at breakfast.”
“What?” Her heart lurched. “I thought you were visiting Charlene in the mornings before camp.”
“Nope.” Billie smiled, unconcerned. “I went over there Monday, but she said she wasn’t a morning person and that I should have breakfast with Adam.”
Jane felt faint. “You’ve been there every day this week?”
“Yup.”
She didn’t sound too panicky. Billie and Adam eating breakfast together? Every day? It was inconceivable. On Monday Billie had bounced out of bed, her normal cheerful self, and had asked if she could visit Charlene before camp. Jane had known the other woman would have shooed the girl away if she was being a pest—but never would she have imagined Charlene sending her to Adam. Here she’d been worried about him having a chance to get to know Billie and it was already happening right under her nose.
“So, Mom, can we have a center island in our kitchen?”
“We don’t have room here, honey.”
Jane forced her thoughts away from father and daughter sharing a meal and studied the small room. Counters lined two walls, with a built-in stove in the middle of one and the sink in the middle of the other. Opposite the stove stood the refrigerator; opposite the sink, the old-fashioned Formica table with four matching vinyl chairs. She remembered that set from her childhood. The yellow, green-and-orange abstract shapes had reminded her of Crispy Critters breakfast cereal. Her mother had hated the set, but her father had picked it out, so she’d lived with it. Jane recalled that as she ate her solitary breakfast each morning,
she used to make up stories about the imaginary animals running across the Formica tabletop.
“But I like the island.” Billie tossed her ball in the air and caught it. “Maybe we could make the kitchen bigger.”
Jane pulled off the cap and ruffled her daughter’s bangs. “One, don’t throw your ball inside. And two, we don’t have the money. Besides, it’s just the two of us. We don’t need more room. We already have three bedrooms.”
“I like Adam’s house better.”
So do I, Jane thought, thinking of the large graceful mansion built before the turn of the century. The inside had been modernized, but each room maintained an elegance that couldn’t be manufactured today. By comparison, her house was small and dark. Still, it was home to her. The price was right and when she got a couple of paychecks in the bank, she’d be able to make some changes. Her mother had often talked about remodeling. She’d even made some sketches of the new room layouts and had pinned swatches of carpet and wallpaper to the sheets. Jane’s father had vetoed the idea, telling his wife that her foolish plans were just a waste of time and money. Her mother had turned away without a word and the sketches had disappeared, never to be mentioned again.
“It’s a nice house,” Jane said, pushing away her memories. “And ours will be, too. In time. Now you go play while I make lunch.”
“What are we going to do this afternoon?”
“What would you like?”
“The pool.” Brown eyes glowed with excitement. “And ice cream.”
“I think we can manage that.”
“All right!” Billie raised her arm and held her hand open. Jane hit it with her own, then paused for the high-five to be returned. “You’re the best.”
“Thank you. You’re somewhat of an exceptional child yourself.”
“I know.” Billie grinned, then ran from the room.
Jane pulled out sandwich fixings and the salad she’d been planning on having for herself. After spooning the lettuce and vegetable
mixture into two bowls, she used raisins to make eyes, Chinese noodles for hair and a ribbon of honey-mustard dressing for a mouth. If the plate looked interesting enough, Billie often forgot that salad meant vegetables. It wasn’t that she didn’t like green food, it was more that she felt it was her job to protest eating them. Kids, Jane thought with affection and a flash of longing that she could have had four more just like Billie. It would have been a handful, but more than worth the effort. Her daughter brought her joy and fulfillment. She gave her all the love and—
Crash!
“Billie?” Jane called as she wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked out of the kitchen. “I told you not to throw your ball inside. What have you broken?”
“Nothing.” But the small girl stood beside the living room coffee table and stared at the broken remains of what used to be a glass. “It slipped.”
“You didn’t throw your ball?”
Billie shuffled her feet. “Not really.”
Jane waited.
The girl sighed. “Yeah, Mom, I threw it.” Her shoulders slumped in a defeated gesture. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you for apologizing. However, sorry doesn’t replace the glass. We’ve been over this before. No ball throwing in the house.”
“I know.” The words came out as a whisper. “Here.” She held out her ball.
Jane took it.
“Where do you want me?” Billie asked.
“The hallway. Facing the back wall.”
Billie shuffled forward slowly, out of the living room, then down the hall until she reached the far wall. She sank to the floor and stared at the blank space. “How long?”
Jane glanced at her watch. “Ten minutes.”
Billie leaned her forehead against the wall. “I really didn’t mean to do it, Mom.”
“A time-out means no talking.”
“Sorry.”
Parenting was tough, Jane thought as she moved back into the
kitchen and set the timer for ten minutes. The punishment hurt her as much as her daughter, but Billie wouldn’t believe that for about fifteen or twenty more years. After sweeping up the broken glass, she continued with the lunch. She finished the last sandwich when the timer went off. There was a shuffling noise in the hall.
Billie appeared at the doorway. Tears created two clean streaks down her freckled cheeks. Her lower lip thrust out as she swallowed.
Automatically Jane held out her arms. Billie flung herself against her mother and held on tightly. “I still love you,” Jane murmured against her hair. “You’ll always be my favorite girl.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Billie said, then hiccuped. “I didn’t mean to break anything.”
It was the stress of moving, Jane thought as she blinked away her own tears. Usually punishment didn’t faze Billie, except that she found the time-outs boring. But sometimes, like today, they affected her deeply. With her bubbly personality and outgoing nature, it was easy to forget that she was still just an eight-year-old little girl.
“Let’s forget about it and eat lunch. Okay?”
“Okay.” Billie raised herself up on tiptoe and gave her a salty kiss. “I love you, Mommy.”
“And I love you.”
Jane gave her a last squeeze and pushed her toward the table. Billie looked at the salad and then at her. A tentative smile tugged one corner of her mouth. “I’m not fooled by the clown face.”
“But you’ll eat it.”
Billie stuck a raisin in her mouth. “Maybe.”
Jane poured lemonade for both of them and chuckled. Despite the mishaps, parenting was worth it. She felt sorry for people who couldn’t have children in their lives. The ones who were infertile or never married or—
The pitcher slipped from her grasp and she barely caught it. What about the people who didn’t know they had children? Guilt swept over her; the strong wave threatened to pull her under.
Adam. He had a child he didn’t know about. Apparently Billie had already taken it upon herself to get better acquainted with
her own father. Oh, please God, what was she supposed to do about the mess she’d made of everything? She had to tell him. And soon. But how? What would he say? What would Billie say? She preached that honesty was the best policy, but she’d told the biggest lie of all. What was she going to do now?
Billie glanced at her. “Aren’t you eating?”
“What?” Jane stared down at her full plate. “Of course.” She took a bite of her sandwich.
“What are we going to do until we can go swimming?” Billie asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, we can’t go in the water until our food has digested. We’ll get cramps and drown.” She made gagging noises and clutched her throat. “I’m drowning. Save me, save me. Ahhhgg!”
“We could walk around town.”
“Can we visit Charlene?”
“Not today.” Jane thought about those truckers due to arrive at any time. “Maybe we could—”
The idea popped into her mind fully formed. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. She bit into her sandwich and chewed. It was wrong. No, not wrong. In fact she had every right to be there. It was, after all, a business.
“We need to go to the bank,” she said.
“Bor-ring.”
“I have to open a new checking account and we need to move your college fund out here.”
Billie sat up straight. “I have money?”
“For college.”
“Oh. But maybe I could—”
“No.”
“But you didn’t let me—”
“No.”
“What if I don’t want to go to college?”
Jane smiled sweetly. “Baseball scouts go to college games.” Billie nibbled on a Chinese noodle. “I’m going.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Do I have to come with you to the bank?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s the bank?”
“In town.”
“Which one is it?”
“There’s only one. Barrington First National.”
Billie frowned. “That’s Adam’s name.”
“It’s his bank.”
*
“Here are the changes you requested, Mr. Barrington.”
Adam stared blankly at the folder.
“From the loan committee meeting on Monday,” his secretary reminded him patiently.
“Of course, Edna.” He took the offered pages and smiled. “I’ll look at them this afternoon.”
She raised her penciled eyebrows until they disappeared under the sprayed fringe of hair that curled to precisely the midpoint of her forehead. “When else?” she asked.
“What? Oh, the reports. Yes, I always read them on Friday afternoon. You’re right.” He glanced at his watch. “On time, as usual. Thank you.”
Edna’s narrow lips pursed together. Her heavy makeup and the fitted long narrow dresses and jackets she wore made her look like a time traveler from 1940. She’d been with him since he’d taken over the bank and with his father for who knows how many years before that.
“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Barrington?” she asked.
Despite the fact she’d known him since his diaper days, she always addressed him formally. After fifteen years, he’d given up trying to break through to her softer side. He’d begun to suspect she didn’t have one.
“I am a little scattered,” he admitted.
She nodded as if to agree. “You don’t want to talk about it, do you?” She asked the question because it was polite, but her folded arms and the fact that she was inching toward his office door told him that she really didn’t want his confidences.
“No, Edna, I don’t.”
“Well, I’m here.” She smiled quickly and let it fade. “I’ll be at my desk, Mr. Barrington. If you’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Good.”
She ducked out before he could begin his confession. Adam grinned and turned in his chair to stare out the big window behind his desk. Green grass stretched out on this side of the building. The bank sat on a corner and backed up on the town square. Pecan trees, the oblong fruit just beginning to turn brown, provided shade. Several employees sat in the early afternoon sun, taking their lunch break outdoors.
Orchard was a long way from New York or Los Angeles or Chicago, the places where his university friends had gone after Harvard. At one time he’d thought about leaving for the big city. But his parents had died at the end of his freshman year while he was at Harvard. He’d been the oldest son, and the Barrington heir. With two young siblings to care for, a bank to keep in business and an eccentric aunt who needed as much supervision as she provided, there had been no room for dreams about moving somewhere else. He didn’t mind that his fate had been set when he was born, and sealed by the premature death of his parents. But sometimes he thought about what it would have been like if he’d been able to grow up at his own pace. The parties and social events of his freshman year had given way to extra classes and study. He’d graduated a semester early so that he could return home and take over the bank.
Turning back toward his desk, he picked up the report Edna had left him. He knew he was driving his staff crazy. In the last few days he’d wandered around in a fog, upsetting a routine they’d all grown used to. He knew the cause—as much as he hated to admit the fact that he couldn’t drive her from his mind as easily as he’d driven her from his house.
Jane.
He stared at a portrait of his father hanging on the opposite wall. “Did Mom ever give you this much trouble?” he asked quietly. Not that Jane was troubling him, he amended quickly. He barely thought about her at all. And when he did, it was with completely justified anger and indignation. He hadn’t forgiven her for her childish behavior and the damage she’d done all those years ago. In fact…