Loving Leah

“Are you angry with Aunt Leah, Daddy?” Gracie asked, her concern evident in the hush of her voice and the frown furrowing her brow.

Mentally cursing himself for upsetting his daughter on her first night back at home, John tightened his hold on her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“No, Gracie, I’m not angry with your aunt Leah,” he said as they made their way up the staircase to the second floor.

Well, not any angrier than he’d been with anyone else intent on interfering with his life lately, he admitted to himself, not counting Gracie of course. But then, his daughter wasn’t any interference at all, never had been, and to his way of thinking, never would be. From the moment of her birth, she had been the light of his life.

“But you sounded kind of growly when you talked to her, Daddy,” Gracie insisted.

“Growly, huh?” he replied with a wry smile.

What a way she had of describing how he’d sounded! He smiled slightly, musing that his verbal release had resulted from the unfortunate mix of emotions he’d been experiencing all afternoon. Since Leah’s father had first advised him earlier that day that Leah was the so-called nanny they had found to help him look after Gracie for the summer, John had been angry and resentful and, to his consternation, oddly unsettled, as well.

He was used to the anger. It had gone hand in hand with the pain of losing Caro in such a tragic, senseless, unexpected way. Resentment, too, had been a good friend in the months since his wife’s untimely death. He didn’t want sympathy, because to his way of thinking he didn’t deserve it. He, and he alone, had been responsible for Caro’s death. He had earned every agonizing moment he’d lived since that fateful night, and then some.

The restiveness he had been battling the past few hours was something else altogether, though—a feeling he most definitely didn’t want to indulge in, especially in regard to Leah Hayes.

A heart thrum of tension had lanced through him at just the thought of having her in his life again on a daily basis—close enough to see, to touch. He’d wanted to roar like the caged and wounded beast he’d felt himself to be for far too long. When he’d actually had to open his door to her and meet her clear, level gaze face-to-face for the first time in eight years, he’d been stirred by a nearly uncontrollable urge to pull her into his arms, hold her close and confess, without any constraint, the many sins he’d committed.

It was lucky for all concerned that he had only come across as “growly.” And he would have to put a lid on even that particular tone of voice, at least whenever Gracie was around, he thought as he set her down just inside the bathroom doorway and switched on the overhead light.

“Yes, Daddy, very growly,” she assured him. Then, tugging at his hand, she added gravely, “We can go back to Grandpa and Grandma’s house if you need some more private time. Only, we’ll have to come back here again tomorrow ’cause somebody else is going to be staying there while they’re gone on their big trip.”

Squatting on his heels in front of his daughter, his heart twisting at the painfully tentative look in her eyes, John smoothed a hand over his daughter’s tumble of blond, silky curls.

“I’m so glad you’re home again, Gracie, even if I didn’t exactly sound like it when I came to the door. And you’re staying right here with me from now on,” he vowed. “I’ve had enough private time the past few weeks to last a very long while.”

“What about Aunt Leah? Are you glad she’s here, too?”

“Are you glad, Gracie?” John asked, attempting to avoid telling the little girl an outright lie.

“Oh, yes. Really, really glad.”

“Then I’m glad that you’re glad. Now wash your face and hands and put on your pajamas while I turn down the blankets on your bed, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” As he stood upright again, she asked shyly, “Will you read a story to me?”

“I most certainly will. Any special requests?”

“You choose tonight.”

Leaving Gracie to get ready for bed on her own—something she had insisted on doing now that she would be starting first grade soon—John walked slowly down the hallway to the little girl’s room. It was just across from the bedroom he’d shared with Caro, and unlike most of the rest of the house, it was clean and tidy. The cherry furniture was freshly polished, there were clean linens on the canopy bed, Gracie’s books, dolls and stuffed animals were neatly arranged on the built-in shelves, and her toys were stored in the hope chest that matched the bed, dresser and nightstand.

Everything in the room was impeccably tasteful, everything chosen by Caro to suit a little girl as she grew into young womanhood. A transition Caro would have delighted in overseeing, but now never would, thanks to him.

Willing away that particularly unprofitable train of thought, John crossed to one of the two windows facing out over the front lawn, meaning to close the wide-slatted blinds. He saw that Leah had turned on the porch light, and at the edge of its glow, he saw her opening the trunk of her car, then reaching for a suitcase.

In the years they’d been apart, he’d forgotten how truly lovely she was with her dark hair falling softly against her shoulders, her green eyes flashing with intelligence. Her tall, slender body, once girlish, was now womanly in intriguing ways. She still seemed to have her own brand of inner beauty, as well—a steadfast heart that complemented the serenity of her soul.

Too bad he hadn’t valued all that she was when he might have been worthy of her attention. Now…

Now John hoped she didn’t plan to make herself too comfortable in his house, especially since she wasn’t going to be staying long. There were too many things he’d rather she not know about him, things he would have much too hard a time hiding from her if he allowed her into his life again on a regular basis.

He was more than capable of taking care of Gracie on his own. He’d have to pull himself together of course, but it was time he finally made the effort. The alternative—having Leah around for the next three months, a constant reminder of the lie he’d been living and would continue to live—was just the spur he needed.

“Daddy, you didn’t turn on the lamp,” Gracie chided gently as she joined him in her bedroom.

“I didn’t expect you to be ready for a story so soon.” With a flick of his wrist, John closed one set of blinds, crossed to the other window and closed the second set, then faced his daughter with a teasing smile. “Are you sure you gave your face and hands a really good wash?”

“A really, really good wash.” She smiled back at him as she turned on the nightstand lamp, then hoisted herself onto the bed. “I even put my clothes in the hamper. I brushed my teeth and my hair, too.”

“Need help with the brace?” he asked, striving for a casual tone.

“No, I can do it myself,” she replied as she worked at releasing the first of several Velcro straps that held the brace firmly in place around her left leg.

“Then I guess I’d better get busy and choose a story.”

Gracie had been good about wearing the ungainly brace, or at least she’d put up a good front in her own matter-of-fact way. She’d also worked hard during the daily, then weekly physical-therapy sessions following the surgery to mend the broken bones and torn ligaments, and she’d been rightfully proud of every small achievement she’d made.

She had been able to walk on her own in the bulky, metal contraption for a couple of months now. And according to the orthopedic surgeon’s most recent prognosis, she would soon be able to dispense with the brace altogether.

Gracie had also worked toward accepting the finality of her mother’s death, aided by a skilled psychologist and her loving grandparents. Slowly but steadily, she was returning to the happy, healthy and adventurous little girl she’d been a year ago.

John wished he could say that he’d had a hand in her recovery, but in truth, he had been too busy wallowing in his own brand of self-pity—one laced with self-contempt—to be of much help to anyone, even his beloved little girl. No more, though, he promised himself. The time had come for him to get past the anger, bitterness and pain and try to be the kind of father Gracie deserved.

Time, too, he acknowledged, to try to forget the words Caro had spoken to him those last moments they’d spent together, and what he had done to make her say them. Those awful memories only reinforced the cycle of unhealthy emotions that couldn’t change the past, but had already come much too close to destroying his future.

“How about Goodnight, Little Bear,” Gracie prompted softly, reminding John of why he stood in front of the bookcase that filled one entire wall of her room.

“An excellent choice,” he said as he reached for the slender volume. “I can read another one, as well, unless you’re feeling too sleepy.”

“Too sleepy tonight, Daddy.”

“Then it’s Goodnight, Little Bear and good night, little Gracie. How does that sound?”

“Oh, Daddy, you’re so silly sometimes.” Snuggling into her pillow, she giggled as he stretched out beside her atop the pretty, pink-and-white patchwork quilt.

“Sorry, I meant to be serious,” he teased, opening the book. “Guess I’d better use my growly voice again.”

“Oh, no, don’t do that. I don’t like your growly voice at all.”

“Then I’ll lock it up in a box.”

“And throw away the key?”

“Well, I might need the growly voice again sometime. I might have to use it with other people.”

“But not with me, right, Daddy?”