Walker finishes the glass and sets it inside the sink next to a bottle he doesn't seem to pay any mind to. “Well, I'm between contracts again and I came back to visit. When I heard about the storm, I volunteered with the fire department for their emergency response. When they saw how bad it could be, they knew they needed all the help they could get. It's a mess out there.”
“If it's anything like around here, you'll have your work cut out for you.” I hope that didn't sound as inhospitable as it does inside my head.
“You’re not wrong.” With a quick glance at Grandma Rosie, he says, “So would it be okay if I came back the next time I’m free? I’m not sure when that’ll be, but I want to see you again. I wanted to see you again after you left, but I didn’t have any way to contact you. I never did get your number.”
This is either my dreams come true, or my worst nightmare. I’m not certain which.
“Um, I’m not sure—”
Once again, I’m interrupted.
This time, by the thin, high-pitched wail of a hungry baby girl.
Chapter Seven
Walker
The first thing that comes to mind is there’s a baby at a neighbor’s. With most of the electricity out, it’s easier to hear ambient noises around even with all of the chainsaws buzzing around. Then I see Avery’s pained ghost-white expression. My brows furrow, because the dots don’t connect.
She’d never mentioned a kid before and I would have noticed if she had. Without a word, Avery turns and disappears into a bedroom and I’m left in a pile of confusion until she returns with a swaddled, squirming bundle in her hands. Throughout the paramedic arm of my training, I’ve been around enough babies to know a newborn or thereabouts when I see one and that baby isn’t more than a month or two old.
Avery doesn’t meet my eyes as she retrieves a container of milk from a cooler. She prepares the bottle in the absolute quiet save for the fussing sounds from the infant. The baby quiets as she teases its mouth with the bottle and begins to eat.
I don’t know what to think at first. My mind goes incredibly blank. After some quick mental calculations, I realize either she was pregnant when we were together or…
No.
There’s no way.
She would have found a way to tell me.
I couldn’t have spent nearly an entire year as a—I nearly choke on my own spit at the thought that follows—father and not known it.
“Is that a baby?” I ask when I can finally get my voice to work again.
Avery’s eyes are still on the gurgling infant and she nods silently.
“Look at me,” I demand, my heartbeat throbbing throughout my entire body. I swear I can almost hear it pounding in my head and ears. When she doesn’t, I say, “Avery.”
Her wide eyes meet mine reluctantly and there’s fear and defiance there in equal measure. “This is Rosalynn Grace,” she says. “My daughter. Gracie.”
“When was she born?” My words come out as harsh and choppy as the ocean in the middle of a winter storm.
“A few months ago.” Her words are so faint I damn near have to read her lips to know what she’s saying.
It doesn’t take a genius to realize a few months plus nine months gestation means the baby was conceived roughly the same time we were together. The sweet tea turns sour in my stomach and the sugar now seems like a terrible idea. I want to sit down, but I’m afraid if I try to move, my locked knees will give out from underneath me, completely betraying the level of shock I’m experiencing.
“Is she mine?” I ask, the words coming out harsh and cold unintentionally. Or maybe the tone is intentional. How could she have kept a secret like this from me for so long? What if something had happened to me and I didn’t make it out of a fire alive and died not knowing I had a child out there in the world.
At my question, Avery’s eyes go back to the now sleeping baby’s face. Mine follow despite how much I try to keep from looking at them, feeling anything for them. The baby must sense some of the unease in the room, because she shifts restlessly, her sleepy eyes cracking open just long enough for me to see how identical they are to my own.
“Yes,” is all Avery says.
At her answer, I collapse into the chair at the table next to her, my thoughts racing. I have a daughter. The words repeat over and over until they have no real meaning. I have a daughter.
I’d never given much thought to children. I never had much time. If I wasn’t training or fighting fires, I was traveling back and forth to Battleboro to make sure what was left of my family didn’t splinter off and fall to ruin. There was never any room for starting a family.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand.
Her hand fiddles with the baby’s blanket and a little chubby arm breaks free of its restraints and a pudgy hand finds her fingers and holds on tight. I can’t say why the image makes my chest tighten, but it does.
“You were already gone. I tried to find you, but I barely knew you. I only found out your last name today because you told Mary and Tom.”
“You knew I was from Battleboro. It’s not a small town, but you could have asked around if you wanted to and someone would have pointed you in the right direction.”
She bites her lip and I notice how red it is, nearly raw to the touch, from her constant gnawing. “I could have tried harder,” she admits, faltering. “I take full blame for that. I was scared.”
It’s her breathless vulnerability that stops me from berating her further. Striving for calm, I say, “I’ve had a daughter for damn near a year and you couldn’t tell me because you were scared? Do I seem like that much of a jerk to you?”
Her eyes widen. “No!” Her raised voice jolts a cry out of the baby. As Avery tries to soothe her, she says, “No, of course not. I just—I could hear how much you loved what you do. I could never take that from you. I knew you’d be back eventually and each day I didn’t tell you I rationalized that maybe it was better this way if you didn’t know.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make. I had a right to know.”
Who knows what the hell I would have done with the knowledge, but now I’ll never get the chance to find out.
“You did. I know you did. It was wrong of me and I’m sorry. I was scared.”
“Of what? Of me?”
“No, of course not. Of a lot of things. She means everything to me. I thought I was doing what was best for her.” The words sound torn from her very soul and I have to fight not to reach for her, bite back the words of consolation.
My first instinct is to soothe, but anger overrides it. “Do you have a police scanner?”
She glances up, confusion written on her face. “A—what?”
“A police scanner. Do you have one?”
“Um, I think so. My grandpa used to volunteer at the fire department. He liked to listen to it sometimes and I kept it around because listening to it reminds me of him.” Her expression turns wary. “Why do you ask?”
I get to my feet, suddenly needing some space. “Because that’s how we’re communicating. You can listen to them for the most up to date information and to find out when they’re organizing distribution of resources or whatever. Where’s your phone?”