For the Girls' Sake

chapter NINE

ROSE’S SMALL HAND CREPT into Adam’s. "Do you think Shelly got good presents, too?"

"I bet she did," Adam said heartily, although he felt sick looking at the torrent of ripped paper and bows and ribbon covering the floor. Toys and new clothes and books formed islands in the midst of the chaos. No, he knew very well Shelly didn’t get as much.

But then, Rose didn’t need any of it. He’d bought less this Christmas and had made a point of taking Rose shopping to choose gifts for children whose parents couldn’t. Somewhat to his surprise, given her egocentric age, she had helped him, earnestly debating which Barbie would be the most fun if you could only have one, which remote control car was the coolest. She’d learned that word lately from bigger kids at the preschool, piping up in her little girl voice, "Cool."

Adam’s relative restraint in the gift department was meaningless, however. Her two sets of grandparents had come bearing carloads of goodies. On the one hand, he was glad: even Jennifer’s parents weren’t turning their backs on Rose. Although Angela had given him a couple of wrapped gifts to set aside for Shelly, she hadn’t stinted where Rose was concerned.

On the other hand, he wished they had more time for Rose instead of so much money. Rose would have loved to go to their house one day a week instead of to preschool. But no, they were too busy. Visits instead were special occasions that usually cost a lot and took the place of something deeper.

He’d begun to realize that the McCloskeys must have raised their only child in much the same way. If Jenny had had a flaw, it was her liking for luxuries and for her own way. She’d pouted with such charm, somehow he’d never minded, but just lately he had begun to wonder whether that might not have changed. He felt disloyal that the thought had even edged into his mind but couldn’t dislodge it.

Would Jenny have had the patience to be a good mother? Or had she looked forward to having a baby like a child wanting a doll? Of course she was going to do it all herself; she’d read a million books and planned every glorious moment. What she hadn’t foreseen was that having a sobbing baby waking you every couple of hours all night long, night after exhausting night, was not glorious. Those parenting books hadn’t showcased a photo of a three-year-old’s stinky diaper. The whining of a tired child was mentioned, certainly, but the boy in the picture was so cute the reader couldn’t imagine how explosively tired and angry and tense a parent could get.

Sometimes his imagination balked at the idea of his Jenny coping. If she’d lived, by now they might have a nanny who would present a sweet-mannered, clean child for a good-night kiss.

He tried to convince himself he was doing Jenny an injustice.

Once again, he shoved the disloyal thoughts under a pile of mental garbage that he hoped would keep them from surfacing again.

"We’ll see Shelly next week," he reminded Rose. "You can show each other your new stuff. And exchange presents."

Rosebud’s fingers tightened and her eyes pleaded. "I wish we could see her today."

So did he.

He wanted to spend Christmas with both daughters. And with Lynn, who was inescapably part of their peculiar mixed family. The day stretched bleakly before Adam and Rose. Both sets of parents had come last night. He’d cooked a huge ham and all the trimmings then. The two mismatched couples had made polite conversation and avoided inflammatory subjects like politics. His parents had left as soon as possible with their usual excuses. He imagined that today his father had gone to the hospital and his mother was working at her wheel and keeping an eye on the red-hot kiln.

Angela and Rob had wanted him to bring Rose to their house today, but he’d demurred. The past week, they’d dropped talk of lawyers and court—the Christmas spirit must have gotten to them—but the threat wasn’t removed, only in abeyance. It tainted his affection for them. Just lately he’d noticed, too, that Rose was nice to them, but not comfortable. She didn’t run into their arms for a hug, or go to Grandma when she bumped herself on the coffee table, or confide in her shy voice to Grandpa.

Not the way she did with Lynn.

"Don’t you want to play with your new toys?" he asked Rose now, as they stood looking at the aftermath of last night’s and this morning’s whirlwind of gift opening.

"Will you play with me?" she pleaded.

Not dolls. Please, not dolls. "Did you get any games?" he asked hopefully.

"Uh-huh." Her mood lifted. "Chutes ’n Ladders. I’ve played that one at school. And Grandma ’Closkey gave me a clown game. Only, I don’t know where it is."

Oh. He supposed he should clean up. Where was his Christmas spirit?

In Otter Beach. The answer came swiftly, certainly.

"Lily," he said, "let me make a quick phone call."

"Okay." She didn’t correct her name, a barometer of how spirited she was feeling. "Then can you help me find my new games?"

He crushed her into a hug. "You betcha, Violet."

A giggle rewarded him. "Daddy! I’m Rose.”

In the kitchen, Adam dialed and drummed his fingers while the phone rang once, twice, four times. When someone picked it up, "Jingle Bells" was playing in the background. "Hello?" said an unfamiliar woman.

Rose’s grandmother. "Uh...merry Christmas to you. May I speak to Lynn?"

“Of course." The voice was warm and friendly. "And the same to you."

Lynn came on a moment later, sounding breathless. "Adam!" she exclaimed, when he’d identified himself. "Did Santa visit?"

Thinking about his living room, he said ruefully, "Big time. Did he touch down there, too?"

"Oh, yeah. Did you want to talk to Shelly?"

"Actually..." Unconsciously he squared his shoulders. "I was wondering. Do you have anything special planned for today?"

Stupid question. It was Christmas. But he didn’t retract it.

"No," Lynn said quietly. "Except, my parents are here."

"Um, what I was thinking is..." Good thing he didn’t stumble and fumble like this all the time. He finished more strongly, "That maybe Rose and I could drive over today. She wants to play with Shelly, and your parents could meet her."

"Today." Lynn sounded dazed.

"If it’s not convenient—"

"No," she said quickly. "No, I’d love to have you. I just thought...aren’t you getting together with your parents? Or Jennifer’s?"

"We did that last night."

"Oh." He could hear a dawning smile in her voice. "Please. Come. We’d love to have you. Can you stay the night?"

"Your parents..."

"Have a room at an inn." She laughed.

“Rose and I’ll pack up and be on our way as soon as we can."

"I’m so glad you called."

He was, too. Suddenly Christmas Day had become joyous.

* * *

LYNN CHANAK’S HOME at Christmas was everything he’d imagined it would be. Everything, despite the poverty of her possessions, that his wasn’t.

Her mother and stepfather were warm, uncritical and present not just in a corporeal way, like his own parents. The Millers seemed delighted to meet him and they swept Rose into an affectionate circle of games and stories that soon had her chattering as naturally as she did with him.

Carols played in the background, the delicious smell of turkey and stuffing in the oven drifted from the kitchen, the decorations were more affecting for being modest and homemade. If Shelly hadn’t gotten as many gifts as Rose, she hadn’t suffered. She and Rose would have plenty to do today.

A cold rain fell outside, but the early darkness pressing at the windows suited the season and made him all the gladder for the golden glow of life and liking in here. With four adults and two children, there were hardly enough places to sit; except for the girls and Grandma, who insisted on joining them at the kitchen table, they ate with plates on their laps and drinks carefully set on the floor at their feet. He and Hal Miller, Lynn’s stepfather, talked about the economy and the stock market. Miller had enough investments to be interested and to have some intelligent questions and observations.

"I’ve bought shares in several of the more solid Internet companies,” he commented. "It’s got to be the future."

Lynn made a face. "Don’t tell me you’ve invested in my competition?"

"’Fraid so." He grinned. "Figured we’d better have a cushion just in case."

She rolled her eyes, but grinned. "Oh, thank you. I’ll have you know we had a fabulous Christmas season!"

"Weather was good this fall," Adam said. "Did that keep tourists coming?"

"It didn’t hurt, but tourism is booming over here no matter what the weather," she answered. "Off-season rates entice people to get away for a few days. I guess an ocean storm sounds exotic and wonderful compared to a Portland or Seattle drizzle. Everyone hopes to find a treasure washed up on the beach afterward. In the meantime, they get here and it’s rainy and cold and they didn’t bring enough to do in their hotel rooms." She sounded smug. "They come and see me."

"Ah." Her stepfather nodded seriously. "Not hard to find something to read in your place. I browsed yesterday." He glanced at Adam. "Good section on money and investing."

"I noticed." Adam had browsed, too. Wanting—well admit it, he thought—to find out how smart Lynn Chanak was.

Very, he had concluded. She knew her business, which a surprising number of people who hung out a shingle didn’t.

Lynn excused herself to dish up apple pie, à la mode, for those who wanted it. The pie was warm and obviously homemade. Flaky crust, the apples spicy, tart and melt-on-the-tongue soft.

Taking a sip of coffee followed by a mouthful of pie, Adam almost groaned in pleasure.

In one corner of the living room, Rosebud and Shelly squealed happily over a game that seemed to involve contorting their bodies into absurd positions to put hand or foot on big bright colored circles on a mat. Grandma Miller spun a dial and announced, "Right hand, blue!" and the girls both collapsed in an attempt to move their hands.

The next round, they spun the dial while Grandma and Mom played. Adam enjoyed watching Lynn as she struggled to keep left foot on yellow, right on blue, and her hands on two different colors. Her hair was a glorious tousle that tumbled to the mat and exposed a pale, delicate nape. Her cheeks were flushed with laughter, her eyes bright.

He was happy, Adam realized in some astonishment. He and Rose had good times, but it wasn’t the same. He liked being here, or having Lynn—and Shelly, of course—staying at his place. He wished they could do it more often. He was amazingly comfortable with Lynn. As far as he was concerned, she could just move in with Shelly...

Bang. He might as well have walked into a sliding glass door. Dazed, head pounding, Adam saw the answer to everything through the clarity of the glass.

A marriage of convenience. Miraculous convenience. They could share the girls, each have a legal claim on the other one. The grandparent problem would be solved. He could help Shelly and Lynn financially. He didn’t have to miss them. Rose and Shelly would be sisters in truth.

He hardly saw Lynn fall amid giggles, leaving Grandma triumphant but needing a hand to straighten up and unkink her back. Adam was too busy examining his incredible idea.

Yeah, okay, he argued with himself out of habit, he wasn’t in love with her. Presumably she wasn’t with him. But he wasn’t seeing anyone else, and he hadn’t heard even a hint that she was. He liked her. They could talk about things he usually stayed closemouthed about, and he had an idea she felt the same about him. And of course, they had something profound in common: their daughters.

He wasn’t looking for a love match. Once was enough. But he missed having a woman in his life. He’d been disconcerted by his attraction to Lynn, but what had formerly been a problem now was a bonus. Despite the peculiar beginning, they might make a comfortable, affectionate marriage out of it. It didn’t have to be temporary. He could see himself growing old with her.

Assuming she saw the logic of his proposal.

Proposal, he thought in astonishment. Did he mean it?

"Is something wrong?"

Adam swung his head around sharply enough to crack a vertebra. Lynn had sat down on the couch beside him and was gazing at him with soft concern.

"Wrong?" he croaked. "No. Nothing’s wrong." It was right. He wanted to shout and seize her hand. Go to his knees.

Now? Her parents were making leaving motions. He could let her tuck the girls into bed, and then ask.

But he wasn’t a man of impulse. No. Wait until the chill gray light of morning and see whether his idea seemed as brilliant. Maybe he’d be dying to escape back to his big solitary house after a look at Lynn in her bathrobe before a cup of coffee.

Of course, he’d seen her that way before, and she’d looked cute.

Wait. Don’t be an idiot, he told himself. Be sure before you jump.

Morning was soon enough.

* * *

ADAM AWAKENED at the crack of dawn after another wretched, chivalrous night on Lynn’s too-short couch. His head pounded, his mouth was dry, and his joints ached. He dreaded the drive home.

Christmas was gone, and with it his cheer.

He couldn’t stand under the hot spray in a shower, because that might wake everyone else up. Disgruntled, he rooted in his overnight bag and got dressed in clean clothes. After gulping a couple of painkillers in the bathroom, Adam went to the kitchen, put water on to boil and dumped two teaspoons of instant coffee into a mug. Then he braced his hands on the edge of the counter and stared at the kettle, waiting for steam and gurgling.

What if she walked into the kitchen right now? Smiled shyly, offered to make breakfast? Adam asked himself. Would he be annoyed, or feel his mood lift?

The kettle stayed still. The force of his stare didn’t heat the water.

His thoughts stumbled back into a rut worn by a night’s worth of brooding.

Was he insane to think of marrying a woman he didn’t love, didn’t even know all that well except as the mother of his three-year-old daughter?

No.

The answer stayed the same. It made sense. So much sense, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of the possibility before. He wondered if Lynn had.

Maybe it would have occurred to him before if he didn’t find the idea of a temporary marriage abhorrent. He was old-fashioned in believing that a wedding vow should be kept. No matter how convenient it would be to take Lynn and Shelly into his household, he wouldn’t have considered proposing if he didn’t think they could make the marriage work for the long haul.

The teakettle whispered and gave a little hop.

He heard a footstep a second before Lynn said, "Good morning."

There she was in a new, nubby cotton bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, with her tousled hair, sleepy eyes and sweet smile reminding him sharply of his—no, her—daughter on early weekday mornings. Yet there was nothing childlike about her. The bathrobe sagged open above a loosely knotted tie, giving him a glimpse of flowery flannel and creamy throat with a sprinkling of cinnamon freckles. He had to tear his gaze away.

"Good morning." After hearing his scratchy voice, he cleared his throat. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I just didn’t sleep well." Her gaze flew to his. "Oh, dear. There’s no way you did, either. I wish you’d let me take the couch."

"Maybe next time."

"I’ll hold you to that." Lynn advanced hesitantly into the kitchen. "Your water’s boiling."

"It is?" The kettle was rattling on the burner, steam bursting out. "Oh. Right. Can I get you something?"

"I’ll make a cup of tea." She stood on tiptoe and took down a copper canister that held tea bags.

Adam wanted to take a step across the tiny kitchen, wrap his hands around her waist and bury his face in her wild, soft curls.

Hands fisting, he managed to stay put as she murmured under her breath and got out a mug, adding sugar and one of those tea bags that brought the scent of oranges and spice into the kitchen. With an apology, she took the step to him, but reached past him for the kettle. Adam stood frozen as she poured boiling water into first her own cup and then his.

"Are you hungry yet?" she asked.

"Um? Oh." The grit was in his throat again. "No." Still he didn’t move, watching as she took her mug to the table. "Were the girls still asleep?"

Her smile was fond. "Rose was giving little snorts. Shelly has her head under her pillow."

She’d momentarily distracted him. "Rose sounds like a little pig when she’s deep under. I’ve wondered if her tonsils will need taking out."

"Well, snoring is not hereditary," she said in amusement. "Brian didn’t, and I’m pretty sure I don’t."

So she slept quietly. Would she burrow like Rosebud did when she slept with him? Would she murmur under her breath, the way she did when she was puttering around the house? Would he wake to find her head on his shoulder?

He grabbed his mug and took a scalding gulp. The burst of caffeine failed to clear his head.

"I’m not looking forward to going home," he said abruptly. Okay, it was a beginning.

Lynn looked up in surprise. "You’re welcome to stay another day if you’d like. I know Shelly would be pleased. In fact, stay as long as you’d like. Are you taking the week until New Year’s off?"

"No, I wasn’t planning to."

Actually, a generally disappointing Christmas retail season was wreaking havoc on the stock market. Right now, he didn’t even care.

He took another gulp of coffee, then tried a new tack. "I was thinking."

"Yes?" Her eyes were wide and clear, a gray as luminous as the dawn sky.

"I’ve thought of a solution to this back-and-forth business."

Her lips parted and he imagined that her expression became wary, but she said nothing.

"Will you marry me?"

She stared at him for the longest time. Adam shifted uneasily.

"Say something." He sounded gruff. Defensive.

"I..." Lynn swallowed. "You mean as a...a sort of convenience?"

"At first." He rubbed his hands on his thighs. "For the girls. We can take it slowly." Dimly he realized that this wasn’t coming out the way he’d intended it to. He sounded as though he was proposing a cold-blooded legal contract, not a flesh-and-blood marriage. "I’m not saying we’ll get divorced. Down the line, I mean." Oh, yeah, that was coherent. "I thought maybe we could make it work," he stumbled on. "You and me."

He’d have sworn she hadn’t blinked in two minutes. The owl-like stare had him twitching like a second-grader in trouble with Teacher.

"Is this another way of convincing me to sell the bookstore and move to Portland?" she finally asked.

"No." Yes. Of course he wanted her to. She’d no longer need the income.

No, he realized in confusion, he didn’t want her to give up something she loved. Besides, he liked this house, its creaks, the sound of the ocean always throbbing in the background.

"I thought," he tried again, "that for now we could commute. I could come over here two or three days a week, and you could bring Shelly to Portland on the days when the bookstore is closed. We could be together most of the time without changing anything."

Who was he kidding?

But she didn’t call him on it. Instead she continued to study him with grave eyes. "You’re serious," she said at last.

"I am." He was getting irritated. "It would let you be Rose’s mother, me be Shelly’s father. It would solve all our problems."

"But...marriage."

She hadn’t considered the possibility, he could see. She was too shocked.

"We get along well. We want the best for Shelly and Rose." They had to talk about everything. "I won’t push you, but I thought, down the line..." He’d said that already. Spit it out, he told himself. "I find you attractive. I can wait, but I don’t, uh, find the idea unappealing." The palms he rubbed on his thighs were sweaty now. "If you do..."

"I..." Suddenly she wasn’t looking at him. "No, I suppose not. I just hadn’t..." Her voice died away.

"I hadn’t, either."

"Marriage."

He wished she’d quit saying the word in that incredulous way. "I think we can pull it off."

Her pretty greenish-gray eyes flashed with annoyance. "Pull it off? We’re not talking about a corporate merger. Or...or a buyout."

He went to her at last, sitting across the tiny Formica table. "Lynn, I won’t pretend to be in love with you. I haven’t thought of you that way. But I like you, and I do love my daughters. Both of them. I know you do, too. Can’t we learn to love each other, too?"

Her soft exhalation sounded as if he’d landed a blow to her body. She seemed to sag inside that thick chenille robe. "I need to keep the bookstore."

"That’s fine."

She looked fiercely at him. "It’ll mean compromises for you, too."

Hardly daring to breath, he agreed, "Of course."

"Then—" her eyes closed briefly, and when she met his gaze again, hers was dazed "—yes. I’ll marry you."

He was shaken by a surge of exhilaration out of proportion to the deal they’d just struck. Disquieted, he hid that response. Instead, he stood, took a step and kissed her cheek.

"Good," he said inadequately. "When?"

"I...I suppose there’s no reason to wait." She still sounded shell-shocked. "My parents are here."

He kept a tight rein on his gratification. "We can apply for a license today."

A tremor passed through her. "All right."

"You won’t regret this," he said quietly.

This time she visibly shuddered. "I hope and pray you’re right. But for Rose and Shelly..."

She’d do anything. He’d counted on it. And it scared him to think of what they were going to do for the sake of two toddlers.

* * *

THEIR WEDDING DAY DAWNED clear and cold, with a wind that sliced through overcoats. Lynn’s minister had agreed to marry them when he heard the details of their situation, although he had expressed reservations about marriage as a solution.

So there they were, gathered in the small white church two blocks from the oceanfront, a tiny cluster at the altar. Lynn’s mother and stepfather had come, of course. A friend of Lynn’s was maid of honor; likewise, Adam had asked Ron Chainey, his closest friend, who was also his business partner, to drive over from Portland to stand as best man. He told his own parents about the wedding but didn’t expect them to come and wasn’t surprised by their absence. Jennifer’s parents he hadn’t invited. Their shock was too evident, their fear that he would forget their Jenny.

Lynn wore a navy-blue sheath with creamy pearls, her hair in a loose roll. With him in a dark suit and white shirt, the two of them looked as ready to attend a funeral as a wedding.

The brightest note was provided by the two flower girls in matching white dresses with frothy full skirts—Grandma Miller had outfitted them. Each carried a small basket filled with dried rose petals that the girls scattered in front of the altar.

"Dearly beloved," began the minister, an older, balding man whose doubts were as plain as his kindness. He talked about duty and affection and "for better or worse." Standing beside his bride, Adam listened, but the words rolled over him. He’d never expected to hear them again as a participant.

Jenny, forgive me, he thought, but she wasn’t real to him right now. Lynn was, although she felt more like a stranger than ever.

"To love and to cherish..."

Would love come? The very idea felt like a betrayal of the wedding vows he’d made long ago. But even they had said "till death do us part." Jenny was gone, Lynn here.

All he had to do was turn his head a fraction so that he could see the flower girls, both wide-eyed and radiant.

"You mean, Lynn will be my mommy?" Rose had asked, with such hope his heart had flipped over. "And she’ll still be Shelly’s mommy, too?"

"That’s right," he’d said gravely. "And I’ll be Shelly’s daddy. You’ll have to share me. Do you mind?"

She had shaken her head hard and squeezed him around the neck. "Shelly’s my best friend," Rosebud whispered.

"Now she’ll be your sister."

They held hands during the ceremony, looking enough alike in their white dresses, with their hair done the same and sprinkled with glitter, that he could see how they might have been mistaken for each other as infants. Closing his eyes, he could just summon the glimpse he’d had of his newborn daughter being handed to a nurse, body slick with blood, fuzz of brown hair damp against her head, eyes squeezed shut and mouth forming a circle as she drew air for a first sob.

If only they had banded her then...

"Do you, Lynn Marie Chanak, take this man, Adam Thomas Landry, to be your lawfully wedded husband..."

Jenny would still be dead. Was this so bad?

"I do," Lynn said clearly.

“Do you, Adam Thomas Landry, take this woman, Lynn Marie Chanak, to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health..."

For better or worse.

He stole one last glance at his daughters and said, in a strong, confident voice, "I do."