Loree Lough: Raising Connor

“I used to call them the Three Musketeers,” Deidre continued, “because they were like siblings...until Beth came to her senses and married Kent.”

The not-so-veiled hint wasn’t lost on Brooke.

“Frown all you like. It’s the truth and you know it.”

It seemed her grandmother was determined to pick a fight. She blamed it on the fact that, just as Brooke had lost a sister, Deidre had lost a granddaughter...one she’d raised as her own child.

“These past years haven’t been easy on Hunter, either, you know.”

“They shouldn’t have been easy!” And Deidre of all people should know why.

“Have you ever considered all that Beth gained when she forgave him?”

Brooke huffed. “A babysitter who lives just two doors down?”

“Tsk. Listen to yourself.”

“I almost forgot. She got a babysitter who minds Connor for free. And someone who knows how to hammer nails into plaster walls without cracking them, fix leaky faucets, hang storm doors. Oh. And wait. Beth also gained a confidant. A genuine friend.”

“You sound as though you think those are bad things.”

“They are...if you have to trade them for self-respect.”

Deidre’s eyes widened. “Is that what you think? That by letting go of the anger and bitterness, Beth and I handed over our dignity?”

Yes, that’s exactly what Brooke thought. And it should come as no surprise to her grandmother, because they’d had this conversation no fewer than a dozen times over the years.

“If you knew the whole story, you wouldn’t feel that way.”

“I know enough. I know he couldn’t stop that gunman in time because when the robbery began, he was asleep in the squad car.”

Deidre harrumphed. “You talk as if you’re the only one on the planet who ever suffered a loss.”

Brooke didn’t know how to respond to that. Deidre had buried two husbands. And when Brooke’s dad couldn’t face life without her mom, he’d closed himself in the garage and turned on the car. And now, Beth.

“But Hunter did stop that gunman, Brooke, permanently. And he’s had to live with that, too, all these years. That’s the truth, like it or not.”

She did not.

Brooke glanced at her watch. “Well, I have just enough time to feed Connor and put him down for a nap before Hunter gets here.”

“Aw, let him play. He’s having fun for the first time in days. I’ll keep an eye on him. You go on inside. Touch up your lipstick and mascara, run a brush through your hair. And if you have any of that dark-circle concealer in your makeup bag, you might want to use it.”

“Wow. Aren’t you good for the ego.”

Deidre shrugged. “I calls ’em as I see ’em. Now go. Make yourself presentable for Hunter.”

“I honestly don’t care what Hunter thinks of my appearance. And since the bank manager and the funeral director are only interested in money, they won’t even notice that I look like a worn-out old dishrag.”

“Man,” said a smooth DJ-like voice, “Beth hit the old nail on the head....”

Hunter...

“You really are too hard on yourself.”

How much of the conversation had he heard? It annoyed her that Deidre hadn’t given her a heads-up, since she’d been facing that direction. Traitor, Brooke thought as her grandmother wrapped Hunter in a welcoming hug. In reality, she was far more annoyed with herself: she’d come home from Richmond at least once a month. Had she really been so centered on her own trifling matters that she hadn’t noticed how deeply he’d embedded himself into her family?

As if to underscore his importance in their lives, Connor ran to him. “Up,” he said, clutching at Hunter’s pant legs. “Conner up?”

Oh, how she’d love to tell Hunter that he had a lot of gall using feigned friendship with her loved ones to ease his guilty conscience!

But in the time it took to pick the baby up, his stance, his smile, even his voice changed. Caring was the only word she could think of to describe it. Which raised an important question: If someone else’s child could incite such a transformation, why didn’t he have children of his own?

“How’s my li’l buddy?” he said, scrubbing his whiskered chin across Connor’s palm.

The baby snickered, and envy coursed through Brooke. She’d done everything but imitate a monkey swinging from the chandelier and hadn’t roused so much as a giggle. Jaws clamped and fists clenched at her sides, she stared at her shoes, remembering how Beth used to say that people could read her moods just by looking at her. She took a deep breath, then met Hunter’s eyes.

“You’re early.”

He checked his watch. “You want me to go out the gate and come back in again?”

Beth had occasionally accused her of pettiness, but for all she knew, Beth had shared that with Hunter, too, and Brooke had no desire to prove it to him.

“My watch must be slow, then.”

“So tell me, Hunter,” Deidre began, smiling sweetly at him, “what prompted you to offer your babysitting services today?”

“When my dad died last year,” he said, propping Connor on one hip, “I was the only son who wasn’t working swing shifts. So I made all the arrangements. Dad hadn’t left a will, which put my mom in a tough position, legally and financially. It was hard for her.” He caught Brooke’s eye. “I just want to help.”

Deidre nodded. “I seem to remember your sister-in-law telling me at your dad’s memorial service that if it hadn’t been for you, your mother would have lost everything.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, cheeks reddening.

Bearing in mind how boldly he’d invaded the O’Toole world, his humble attitude surprised her. What invited it, Brooke couldn’t say, but just as surprising was the way she remembered him, crawling around on all fours to help scoop up melting ice cubes. If Beth and Deidre knew of other messes he’d cleaned up, no wonder they had fallen so easily for his nice-guy routine.

Connor snuggled closer to him and whimpered.

“Aw, what’s the matter, kiddo?”

It was all Brooke could do to keep from groaning out loud. She resented Beth for starting the “forgive and forget” ball rolling, resented Kent for keeping her at arm’s length while letting Hunter get so close, resented Deidre for not understanding that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him off the hook as easily as they had.

Connor yawned, and like an indulgent dad, Hunter began rocking side to side. “I don’t want you to worry about him,” he told Brooke. “He’ll be fine.”

She only nodded.

“And don’t worry about anything else, either. What you’re facing is hard and painful stuff. But you’ll get through it. And the sooner you put obituaries and grave markers and bank statements behind you, the sooner your life—and more importantly, Connor’s life—can get back to normal.”

“Normal? When I’ve lost my only sister? And the man I was going to marry deceived and humiliated me? When Connor and Deidre—the only family I have left—think you hung the moon? There’s nothing normal about any of that!”

Hunter’s eyebrows shot up and her grandmother gasped.

And she could hardly blame them. Even in her own ears, she sounded like the whimpering, self-centered women who’d always driven her mad; if they’d spent as much time counting their blessings as they did cataloging all that was wrong with their lives...

Maybe you should take your own advice. Deidre, still mentally sharp at seventy-five, was healthier and more active than people half her age. Brooke couldn’t remember the last time Connor had suffered so much as a head cold, and the same was true for her. Thanks to years of scrimping and saving, Brooke had enough in her savings account to make a year’s worth of mortgage payments on Beth’s house. And moving in here meant she could sell the furniture she’d put in storage, adding to her account. So life had thrown her another curve. She’d survived the others; she’d survive this one, too. For the time being, anyway, it made more sense to meet Hunter halfway. That wouldn’t just be good for Connor; it would please Deidre. And if they were happy, she’d be happy.