Midnight Choices

“An’ my dad will be waiting for us when we get there, right?”

“He sure will. At the baggage claim.” That question had been asked at least as often as the traditional “How much longer?” Gwen bent and pulled a book from the tote that held a few small toys, some dried fruit and her laptop. “How about a round of Green Eggs and Ham to fill in the time?”

Gwen had read the Seuss story too many times for it to provide any distraction from her own thoughts, but she hoped it would work some of its usual magic on Zach. She began reading, with Zach chiming in loudly on the parts he knew.

A father, it turned out, was at least as exciting as a puppy.

Gwen had spoken with Ben briefly two days ago. He’d asked to speak to Zach—and Zach had been hanging by eagerly, waiting for his chance. Of course, as soon as the phone was in his hands, her ball-of-fire, never-met-a-stranger son had turned shy, barely able to breathe a yes or no to whatever Ben had asked him. He was always like that on the phone, she’d assured Ben. The rest of the time, his mouth worked just fine.

“‘Would you like them in a house?’” she read, thinking about last Christmas and wondering if the next one would be different. If she would have to share her son for part of the holidays. “‘Would you like them—’”

Zach tugged on her arm. “What does his house look like?”

“Well…like the picture here, I guess.”

“My dad’s house,” he said impatiently.

Of course. What other “he” was there these days? “It’s painted white and has a staircase and a big front porch. I think all the bedrooms are upstairs, so we’ll probably have a room on the second floor.”

“Will we be next to my dad’s room? Or my uncle’s?”

“You have three uncles now, remember? Your dad’s two brothers are your uncles, and his sister is your aunt, so his sister’s husband is your uncle, too. That makes three.” Ben’s sister and her husband were someplace in Africa at the moment, and the youngest brother was a long-haul truck driver who lived with Ben when he wasn’t on the road. And the other brother, the one she’d met, would be there at the house, though he didn’t usually live there. “Which uncle did you mean?”

“The army uncle,” Zach said. “I forgot his name.”

“Duncan,” she said, her mouth oddly dry. “He’s your uncle Duncan. I don’t know where our room will be, sweetie. We’ll just have to wait and find out.” She began reading again, hoping to stem the flood.

Zach had been brimming over with questions ever since she told him about his father—but they weren’t the ones she’d expected. And dreaded. He’d wanted to know what his dad looked like and if he liked little boys. How long would they stay there? Were there other kids to play with? Could he take his army guys with him? How big were the mountains? Could he climb one? Did his dad have a dog?

Puppies hadn’t been entirely eclipsed by the advent of a father.

Gwen didn’t fool herself that the other questions wouldn’t come up at some point. When she’d told him about his father, she’d tried to scale her explanations to a four-year-old’s understanding, saying simply that she hadn’t known how to get in touch with Ben when Zach was born, so his dad hadn’t known about him. “You didn’t have his phone number?” Zach had asked.

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t have his address, either, so I couldn’t write him.”

“So how come you found him now?”

“I hired a private investigator.”

Zach had been desperately impressed. A real private eye? Wow. He’d wanted to meet the man and maybe see his gun. Gwen had been glad the investigator and his gun, if any, were safely distant in Denver…and selfishly relieved she hadn’t had to face the other questions. Yet.

When they finished the book, Gwen judged it time to make a trip to the rest room or else Zach would undoubtedly need to go the moment they were instructed to stay in their seats. “C’mon, short stuff, time to take a walk down the aisle.”

Since Zach was fascinated by airplane washrooms, he didn’t object. No doubt he was tired of sitting still. So was she. Her mother often said she was as fidgety at thirty as she’d been at three. She wasn’t far wrong.

An older woman who reminded Gwen vaguely of Aunt Bee from The Andy Griffith Show was already waiting her turn. She fussed over Zach, insisting he go ahead of her—“it’s difficult for them to wait at this age, isn’t it, dear?”—and asked him if this was his first time on a plane.

“I been on lots of airplanes,” he informed her. “My mama an’ me like to fly. We don’t like airports very much ’cause they won’t let you run, even if there is lots and lots of room. But we like airplanes.”

She smiled at him indulgently. “Are you going on vacation, or is this a family trip?”

“We’re going to see my dad. He lives in the mountains in a big house with a porch, an’ he likes little boys. My mama said so.”

“Oh, ah…how nice.” She gave Gwen a quick glance, her eyebrows raised. “I assume he’s talking about a new stepfather?”

Zach answered before she could. “No, he’s my dad. A private eye found him for us.”

The woman’s rather protrudent eyes bulged further. Fortunately the rest-room door opened just then. Gwen breathed a sigh of relief and chivvied her talkative son inside. Zach was blithely unaware there was anything odd about meeting his father for the first time at the age of four. She didn’t want some stranger’s attitude casting clouds over this visit, making him worry about things he couldn’t understand.

Not that Gwen herself didn’t worry. How could she not? Between her mother’s furious disapproval and the expectations Zach had built up in the past eleven days, she had plenty to worry about.

Her nervous stomach clenched tighter as she helped Zach refasten the snap on his jeans. Heaven knows her own expectations had been knocked sideways when she’d seen her son’s father again—expectations she hadn’t known she’d had.

The plane was descending when they emerged, and she had the dickens of a time keeping Zach halfway still through the landing process. Finally, though, they were off the plane and headed for the lower level, where they could claim their four suitcases. And one father.

Over Zach’s protests, she scooped him up onto her hip before stepping on the escalator. She’d read a horrible story about children whose clothing got caught in the treads….

“Do you see him, Mama? Is he here? Do you see him yet?”

“Zach, you have to be still or I’m going to drop you.” The tote was trying to slip off her shoulder. She didn’t have a hand free to anchor it, and her heart was pounding, pounding…. “Ugh,” she said, shifting him slightly. “I must be feeding you too much. You weigh two tons.”

He giggled.

Gwen looked over the top of his head. Waiting at the bottom of the escalator were two men. Two, not one.

Her face felt hot. Ben had brought his brother to welcome his son to the family—and that was good, that was wonderful. She was here because Zach needed his family—all of it. But it wasn’t what she’d expected. Why do I keep expecting things? she thought fretfully. It doesn’t do any good. I just trip over those stupid expectations every time.

Ben’s gaze was fixed on the boy in her arms. As the moving stairway carried them to him, a smile spread over his hard, square face. The man who waited with him neither moved nor smiled. His expression was every bit as intent as Ben’s. But his gaze was on her, not her son.

Gwen’s mouth went dry. “Zach,” she whispered. “Zach, that’s your dad waiting for us at the bottom. The man in the blue windbreaker.”

He twisted around to stare. The little arm around her neck tightened. “There? The big one?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “The big one.”

The escalator deposited them on level ground. She stepped aside to let those behind her get off, then cleared her throat. “Zach, this is your dad. And this is your uncle Duncan.”

“The army uncle.”

“That’s right.”

Zach’s choke hold on her tightened. The boy’s blue eyes met the man’s brown eyes—met and held in the same straight-on way. Two male faces focused completely on each other, one of them large and hard, the skin weathered and shadowed by beard; the other small, soft and rounded, but with the same stubborn jaw and short, blunt nose.

“You’re my dad,” Zach whispered.

“Yes.” Ben’s throat worked. “Yes, I am. I’m so glad to see you, Zach. So damned glad.”

Zach nodded solemnly. “I’m dam’ glad, too.”