Daughter of the Spellcaster

And then his head came up and he stared into her eyes. “Is it mine?”

“Yeah.”

He gaped, then clamped his mouth shut, looked up at the sky, clapped a hand to his forehead, turned in a complete circle and faced her again. “My God, Lena. My God, why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Do you really need to ask me that?”

He frowned at her. “Uh, yeah. I really need to ask you that.”

She said, “Think about it, Ryan. Think about our last night together and then ask me why I didn’t tell you.” Suddenly she realized how pointless this discussion was, that they were never going to see their way across the chasm between them. She yanked out her cell phone and flipped it open.

“Who are you calling?”

“A taxi. It’s not like I can flag one down out here in the middle of nowhere, is it?”

“I’ll drive you back.” He lowered his eyes to her belly again, shaking his head in bewilderment. “It’ll give us time to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Ryan. It is what it is, and trust me when I tell you, I don’t want, need or expect anything from you. I can do this alone.”

“Well, that’s fine, but I get some say in this, don’t I?”

“You had your say already.”

“Bullshit.”

Angry, and knowing she shouldn’t be—he had every right to be upset—she accepted defeat and walked toward the car, pulling her coat closed and doing up the buttons on the way. She was wearing flats, but the ground was wet. She was almost there when her foot slid on a patch of slick mud and she started going down, her arms flailing like some cartoon character.

He was behind her instantly and caught her before she fell, so she landed against his chest, with his arms around her above her beach ball and below her boobs. He stayed that way for a second, his palms turning to rest on top of her belly, and her helpful progeny chose that moment to kick hard, three rapid-fire, Jackie Chan-worthy thrusts directly where his hands were.

Automatically she looked up at his face for his reaction to what he’d just felt and then wished she hadn’t. Because his expression went from stunned to rapturous in the space of a heartbeat, and when he met her eyes again his were wide and delighted, like a little kid on Christmas morning.

She understood it. When she had first felt the baby kick, that was the moment when the whole thing took on a new level of… of realness. Up until then she’d thought of the baby more as a concept than a reality. But once it had kicked, it was real. That’s when it became a she—or he, she admitted, but probably she—wiggling around inside her body, just waiting to come out.

Ryan’s smile was the biggest, most genuine smile Lena had ever seen.

Okay, kid, she thought, good call. You made him smile on the day he buried his dad, so I guess it was worth it.

His smile died as he stared into her eyes, and his expression softened. “Are you okay?” he asked, straightening her up again but keeping one arm around her shoulders as they turned toward the car.

“Yeah, fine. I didn’t fall.”

“I mean—I mean, you know… overall? You’ve been pregnant for…”

“Almost eight months now. And yes, I’m fine, and the baby is, too. Healthy. Growing like a weed.”

“I’m glad.” He opened the passenger door and stood holding it while she got in, then went around to get behind the wheel while she fastened the seat belt in what had become her customary fashion, with the lap belt behind her, and the shoulder harness across her chest.

He started the engine and pulled the vehicle into motion, glancing at her as she buckled up with a puzzled frown. “When is the baby due?”

“Thirteen days past Imbolc.”

He frowned in confusion.

“Sorry. Mid-February. I’m calling her my little groundhog.”

He shot her a look. “‘Her’ again. What makes you so sure it’s a girl?”

She was surprised at the line of questioning. He actually sounded interested. “Well, like I said, I haven’t let the doctor tell me that for sure. But I have my own feelings about her, and I think she’s a girl.”

“Where have you been living?”

It was her turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you vanished. The firm said you resigned. Your building manager said you’d opted not to renew the lease on your apartment. Your mother sold her place in Brooklyn—”

“You looked for me?”

“Of course I looked for you.”

“Huh.” That she hadn’t expected. She had kept the same cell number and he had called numerous times, but she’d chosen not to answer. And after a while he’d just stopped.

“You didn’t need to hide from me, you know.”

She sent him a quick, sharp look. “I wasn’t.”

The look he returned was an “Oh, come on now” sort of expression, as if she’d said something ridiculous.

“No, really. Bahru knew where I was the entire time. In fact, he’s the one who tipped me off about the place.”

Ryan sent her a searching look. “Bahru?”

“Yeah. I went to say goodbye to him and… and to Ernst. And as he hugged me, Bahru slipped me a note with a URL on it. Turned out to be a real estate listing. He said he had a feeling it was meant for me from the moment he’d seen the place. And when I saw it, I knew he was right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s an old vineyard near Ithaca, right on the shore of Cayuga Lake. Kind of decrepit, but we’re restoring it as we go along, and it’s just full of character. It was called Havenwood. Someday I’d like to replant the grapevines and try my hand at making wine.”

She almost added that she and her mother were convinced the place had a resident ghost, too, but decided against it. He’d never taken her beliefs seriously, and frankly, she was enjoying his interest too much to want to ruin it by eliciting his skeptical indulgence of things he didn’t understand.

“I’d love to see it,” he said.

She met his eyes but didn’t answer. Because he might be asking permission to visit, which might mean after the baby came, which might mean he was actually asking to be involved in her life. Both their lives. And she wasn’t sure she wanted that. Nor was she sure she didn’t want it. And moreover, she wasn’t sure she had the right to make that call. It was really up to her little groundhog.

In response to her silence he said, “You look tired. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. But it’s been a long day. How about you? This must have been a grueling day for you. I know how things were between you and your father. Did you ever… you know, make up?”

“We weren’t really estranged, just…”