Miracles and Dreams (5 page)

“You made this mess, Jack.” Misty’s lips turned down, and she swiped tears from her cheeks. “
You
.”

“If that’s the case,” he held his voice low, level, and clenched his hands in an effort to control his temper, “Then I’ll do whatever it takes to fix it.”

“Why now?”

“Misty—” Jack took a step toward her, grimaced when she backed away in a counter-measure. “I wish you’d quit doing that.”

“I wish a lot of things, too.”

“You’re not making this easy.”

“You expected me to?”

“I expected…” What, exactly, had he expected? He turned away to pace the width of the drive, slapping the thighs of his jeans. This was all wrong—everything was wrong, like a slow-motion replay of the days leading up to his previous departure. He sure didn’t want to play that scene again.

Dear God, make it right…guide me to make it right…

Turning back, he took two giant steps toward Misty, closing the gap before she could react. He reached for her hands, grasping her smooth, delicate fingers in his. “I’m not here to hurt you—or Allie.”

“It’s too late for that.” Though she didn’t pull away, sobs came with a vengeance, making Misty’s entire body quake. “Just go, Jack.”

“I can’t….I don’t want to.” The realization hit him like a rockslide. He drew her into his arms, sheltering her as the sky opened up and rain began to splatter them, the drops matching the cadence of her tears. “I want to make things right with you, and I need to see my daughter.”

****

Misty’s head threatened to explode.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.

The words grew to a chant that matched the throbbing at her temples. As her vision clouded over, she disentangled herself from Jack’s arms and gathered the nearly-empty bag of coffee beans.

His scent clung to her—spearmint gum and soap and a hint of rich earth that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Somehow, Misty managed to unfold herself and find her footing. Heart skittering, she staggered blindly toward the stairs and used the railing as a lifeline while she scaled to the porch.

“Misty…” Jack’s voice was a far-off echo. “Wait.”

“It’s raining.” Drops fell in huge, sloppy plops, like bullets from the sky. The wind kicked up, whipping her damp hair in a wild, dark wave. “I have to go inside.”

“We need to talk.”

“You should get out of the storm, too.” She nodded slightly, though the effort cost her, and heard the slap of his boots over concrete as he followed.

They snaked through the living room and into the kitchen, where Misty collapsed into a chair at the table. Her laptop sat open and a flurry of notes and color-coded file folders scattered the table.

“Coffee…please,” she managed. “Or there’s a good chance this headache is going to kill me.”

Jack crossed to the sink; water ran and splashed into the carafe and then the coffeemaker reservoir before the nearly-empty bag of beans was jostled from Misty’s hands.

“Where’s the grinder?”

Misty lifted a finger, pointed blindly.

“OK, then.” The machine whirred as it crushed the beans, and Misty felt her heart crushing, too.

How can this be? How can—

As Jack searched for mugs, cabinet doors slammed and the explosion in Misty’s head lifted her from the seat. She groaned.

“Stop that.” The words were little more than a grunt. “My head…” She lowered it into her hands, massaged her temples.

“Creamer?”

“Fridge.” Somehow, her lips formed the words. Her vision was slowly, painfully, returning. “Top shelf, back right corner.”

“Sugar?” Jack two-stepped around the kitchen, his bulk filling the space. Working with tools—heavy equipment—had been good to him. The muscles that strained beneath a snug black T-shirt were proof. And he had a beard now…more like a scruff that gave him a rugged, almost dangerous edge. Misty gave herself a mental slap for noticing as he paused in his search and turned to her. “Misty, do you have any sugar or that fancy stuff in tiny little pink packets?”

“Next to the toaster.”

“Spoons?”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Jack.” She lifted her head slightly, scowled. “Check the drawer.”

“Found them.”

The coffeemaker sputtered, and the rich hazelnut aroma coaxed Misty from the edge. Though the throbbing continued with a vengeance, her vision had cleared.

Not a good thing. Jack was real…he was here, puttering around like he belonged…in her kitchen. And he smelled as good as she remembered. The faint scents of sawdust and spearmint whispered over her as, outside the bay window, thunder crashed. Rain splattered the glass with such force Misty thought it might break.

“Take this.” Jack placed a mug of coffee in her hands. The warmth calmed and the inviting aroma soothed. “Drink.”

She took a sip and sighed deeply. Perfect…just a hint of sweet. How had he known just the way she liked it? She hadn’t begun to drink coffee until after Allie was born—and Jack had long-since left.

He eased into a chair across from her, his gaze holding steady while his forehead creased with worry. “Better?”

“Slightly.”

“I’m sorry, Misty.”

“You should be.”

“That’s how it’s going to go down, then?” He shifted in the chair and its legs scraped the tile she planned to mop sometime today—after the Web project and before the lawn. “We play the blame game?”

“This isn’t a game, Jack.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” She shook her head. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Why don’t you stop being angry for just a minute?”

“Angry?” Misty’s voice squeaked as resentment bubbled over. “You think I’m angry? Well, angry doesn’t even begin to put a dent in what I’m feeling. No, siree.”

“OK, then.” Jack sighed and held up his hands, fingers splayed in a gesture of surrender. “Let’s start over.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not starting a relationship again with you.”

“I meant the conversation, Misty.” Jack shook his head, lifted his coffee mug, and studied her over the rim as he gulped, swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I meant, let’s start this conversation over. That’s all.”

“Oh.” The slight stab of disappointment came as a shock to her. “I thought you meant…”

“Us?” He leaned back in the chair, balancing on two legs.

“Yes, us.”

“Well, I’d say you’ve made your feelings perfectly clear as far as that goes, right?”

6

“Is that her?” Jack stood and walked over to the refrigerator, taking a photo from the collage Misty had tacked together with magnets. His fingers trembled as he studied the image of the little girl, her contagious smile captured in time. The child’s long, black hair echoed his texture and Misty’s length. Her eyes mirrored his while her button nose had a gentle slope, just like Misty’s. “Is this Allie?”

“Um…” Misty hesitated. Her fingers clenched and unclenched as if itching to snatch the photo from him. “Yes, that’s her.”

“She’s beautiful.” Jack’s gut tumbled. “My daughter.”

“Quit saying that.” Misty leapt from the chair, jarring the table so coffee sloshed over the rim of her mug and splattered the file folders scattered there.
“
Having
a child doesn’t make you a father, Jack.
Being there
for the child…that’s what makes a man a father.”

“So, now you’re an expert?” He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, holding tight to the photo as a storm swept through, threatening to rip his insides apart. A huge, bushy-haired black cat wandered into the room to see what the commotion was all about. He took one look at Jack and then wandered over to Misty, plopping onto the floor and curling into a fuzzy ball at her feet. “Come on, Misty. Give me a break.”

“Give
me
a break, Jack. Five years—almost six—of changing diapers, soothing nightmares, reading bedtime stories—” Misty tore a healthy wad of paper towels from the holder beside the sink, “—
and
helping with homework, to name just a few things, has made me an expert.”

“Ouch again.” Jack rubbed his eyes, turned slightly so she couldn’t see the tears that burned. Outside the bay window, he noticed toys scattered along the overgrown lawn. The space could use a decent play set and maybe a sandbox. Did little girls like to play in sandboxes? “How many daggers do you have in that pouch you’re carrying, Misty? You can’t know how much it hurts to hear this.”

“No, I can’t.” She sopped up the spilled coffee and lobbed the soiled towels into a trash can tucked beneath the sink. “And you can’t even begin to know how much it hurt the day you left here—just walked away without a second thought.”

“That’s not true. I’ve thought about you every day.” His heart fractured in a way no spackle could mend. “And the only reason I didn’t think about Allie is because…well, I didn’t know about her.”

“Yeah, right. Nice cover.” Misty grabbed her mug, marched to the coffeemaker and filled it again. “Does the lie ease your conscience?”

“I’m not lying, Misty.” Jack turned back, his gaze capturing hers. “I’ve never lied to you. I didn’t know about Allie. Really, I didn’t.” He tugged a letter from his pocket.

“That’s the letter I wrote you. So you
did
get it. I’m not hallucinating.”

“Yeah, I got it all right…in the mail
yesterday
. It’s the first I heard…the first I knew.”

“That can’t possibly be true.” Misty shook her head vigorously. “I came to see you the night before you left for California. I left you that letter. I
told
you about Allie, Jack, and that I wanted to work things out. I was willing to go to California with you.”

“I know that now.”

“I guess it didn’t matter. By that time, maybe my offer just wasn’t good enough. I guess you weren’t willing to compromise…not even a little bit.”

“But I was, Misty. I would have.” Jack walked to the window, rested one hand on the frame as he peered into the roiling sky. “I loved you.”

“Don’t, Jack. Don’t say that.” The sink drain gurgled as she dumped the coffee she’d just poured. Ceramic clattered when she tossed the mug against the stainless steel. “I waited for you at the Landing just like I said I would—I waited most of the night, making excuses for why you were delayed, and how apologetic you’d be for making me wait—for scaring me—when you finally showed up.”

“I would have come.”

“But you didn’t.”

“How could I, when I didn’t know you wanted me to until yesterday?” He crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between them. “Look at it, Misty. Look at the letter.”

“I don’t have to look at it. I wrote it. I remember all-too-well exactly what it says.” She shook her head. “It’s…embarrassing.”

“There’s more.”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses.” She shook her head once more. “No. This isn’t happening. It
can’t
be happening.”

“Would you just stop for a minute—stop being so pigheaded and stubborn and read what’s in the envelope?” He shoved it into her hands. “Please.”

****

The urgency in his voice startled her.

I’m not lying, Misty. I’ve never lied to you.

Misty bristled at the words, because she knew, deep in her heart, that they were true. Jack had always been brutally honest—sometimes to the point that it hurt. But if he was being honest, then this…all of it…just didn’t make sense. She’d gone to his apartment that last afternoon, left a letter with his roommate. Though Jack wasn’t there, his roommate had promised to give it to him as soon as he returned.

“Please, Misty.”

She reached for the crumpled manila envelope, her fingers trembling, and lifted the flap. The contents spilled…a sheet of plain white paper enfolding her letter, still tucked carefully in its own matching envelope.

She hesitated. “Jack, I don’t think…”

“Read it, Misty.” The longing in his gaze could have melted the polar ice caps. “If we’re going to work this out, you have to know the truth—and so do I. It’s the only way.”

“OK.” She unfolded the paper carefully, scanned the words as she read silently.

Jack,

I’m selling the apartment complex and found this letter wedged behind one of the dressers while I was cleaning. Thought about opening it, to see if it was important after all this time, but that just didn’t feel right. So, I’m forwarding it. I figured you’d like to have it. Better late than never, right?

“No.” Misty dropped the paper, her fingers scorched by the words, her pulse like rapid fire. She backtracked, trying to make sense of things. “It can’t be.”

“But it is, Misty. Do you believe me now?”

The room swirled, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She grabbed onto the counter, her hand tangling in the coffeemaker’s cord. The carafe slipped free, tumbling. Glass shattered across the tile and what was left of the coffee splattered her jeans, stinging her legs though the fabric.

“Stay with me, Misty.”

“I can’t…” A wave of chills swept over her as the room went black. The last thing she remembered was the sound of Jack’s voice echoing through an endless, tunnel.

“It’s going to be OK, Misty. I promise…everything will be OK.”

7

“Come on, Misty…you can do it.” Cool water, a soothing touch. “Come on, open those huge baby blues.”

She wanted to sleep, to remain in the safe cocoon of her unconscious. But he was jostling her.

Jack
was shaking her.

“You’re scaring me, Misty.” His breath, warm and minty, caressed her cheek. “In about two seconds I’m going to scoop you up and carry you to the car for a visit to the emergency room.”

“No.” She struggled to sit up, but something was on her chest—Lucky. Gently, she nudged him aside and heard his paws hit the floor before he scampered off.

“That’s one persistent cat.” Jack’s voice swirled up. “Stood sentinel here the whole time, watching.”

“He’s a smart cat.” Misty’s head felt like it was full of Jell-O. “Give me some room. It hurts to breathe.”