Debra Kastner - Daddy's Home

“I had my hair set in the salon today,” she said, relating the story as if it were of no consequence. As if Jasmine’s world hadn’t come crashing to a halt the moment she’d heard Christopher’s name. “Lucille Walters came in for a perm. She told me everything she knew. Said since it’s January and all, he’s looking for a new beginning. Clean slate, you might say. Seems he’s bunking with her boys at the Lazy H.”

“He’s rooming with ranch hands?” she asked, surprise sounding in her voice. His parents, like hers, were with the Lord. And as an only child, he had no family to return to. But ranch hands?

“Seems a bit peculiar to me.” Gram raised a gray eyebrow and cocked her head to one side.

Her laughter was dry and bitter. “Yeah, for someone who’s scared to death of horses, I’d say it is.” How quickly the old anger returned to course through her. Righteous indignation swelled in her chest. She embraced it, welcoming the heat that surged through her bloodstream like electricity.

It was her way of dealing with what she couldn’t stand to face. Anger filled the empty spaces, leaving no room for more painful, tender emotions to surface.

It was a welcome relief. “Did you talk to him?” she queried, her voice unusually low and scratchy.

“No.” Gram leaned forward and cupped a hand to her mouth as if to whisper a secret. “But he told Lucille he wants his son.”

“Sammy is not his son!”

Sammy! Would Christopher take him away from her? That sweet baby had given new meaning to her life, given her a reason to live when all she wanted to do after Jenny’s death was crawl into the nearest hole and die.

And Christopher could take it all away. The thought pierced her heart like a stake. Sure, she had the papers that said she was Sammy’s legal guardian, but Christopher was related by blood. She pumped her fists open and closed to release the tension swirling through her.

Oh Jenny. Why did God take you away from us?

“Sammy’s my son,” she said again, more to reassure herself than to answer Gram.

“Not sure the law will see it your way.” Gram’s age-roughened voice broke into her thoughts. Her eyes were full of compassion as she reached forward to squeeze her granddaughter’s hand. “Seems to me Christopher had some part in making that baby.”

Jasmine didn’t want to think about that. “Jenny’s will makes me his guardian. Besides, a romp in the sack doesn’t make a man a father.” She snorted her derision. “He doesn’t deserve to be a father to baby Sammy, as I’m sure the courts will agree. He abandoned Jenny long before his son was born. What kind of a father does that make him?”

Gram held up her hands as if to ward off a blow. “I’m not disagreeing with you, honey. No-sirree! I’m just concerned that he’s going to fight you every step of the way. Mark my words! You know as well as I do that Christopher Jordan is a strong, stubborn man. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”

She knew. Better even than Gram did. Once, she’d known his heart and soul. Or at least she thought she had. “He won’t get Sammy,” she vowed, her voice tight.

Gram raised an eyebrow. “Well, girl, I’ve gotta say you can be just as determined as any ol’ man when you put your mind to it.” She chuckled. “My money’s on you.”

“Thank you for your confidence,” she replied with a wry smile. “I’ll fight him if I have to.” No one would take Sammy away from her. No one. He was her baby now. And he was all she had left of Jenny.

Sammy’s cry pierced the gray haze of rage and frustration that flooded Jasmine’s mind. She dashed into the other bedroom and tucked the crying baby to her chest, speaking to him in an incoherent, soothing whisper.

At three months old, Sammy was already well able to make his desires known, she reflected with a smile. Not all the anger in the world could dim the gentle glow of love that filled her heart every time she held this sweet, precious child.

With the palm of her hand, she smoothed the tuft of light brown hair covering his head. He had a cowlick on the left side of his forehead. Just like his father.

Christopher.

She shook the thought away. “Gram, if I change Sammy’s diaper, will you take him for a while? I want to go through the rest of Jenny’s clothes before I quit for the night.”

Gram came around the corner, smiling and cooing as she approached Sammy. “Let’s get you changed, little fellow, so I can take you. Your Mommy needs to get some work done.”

Mommy. Jasmine felt less awkward after three months, but still the term hovered in the corner of her consciousness, taunting her to prove herself. She wrapped a fresh diaper around Sammy’s waist and pinned it securely, barely giving a thought to her actions.

Some things, at least, were beginning to come easier for her.

It was she who rose each night for the two o’clock feeding, she who burped and cuddled and changed the boy.

She hadn’t planned to be anyone’s mother. Not for years yet, in any case. If only…

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough for one day?” Gram asked, reaching for the infant and bouncing him against her shoulder, patting his back in an age-old, soothing rhythmic gesture. “You have to go to work early tomorrow. Besides, you’ve been called out three evenings in a row. Can’t the people around here stay out of trouble for a single night?”

She chuckled. “I don’t mind, Gram. Really. That’s why I went to medical school. I survived my residency with far less sleep than I get here. This town rolls up the carpet at six o’clock in the evening! In Denver, our worst hours were late at night.”

“Be that as it may,” Gram argued, “things have changed. You’ve got a little one dependent on you. You need to keep yourself healthy. For Sammy’s sake, Jasmine, if not your own.”

She laughed. “Gram, I’ve never been sick a day in my life, and you know it. I rarely even catch a cold!”

“For Sammy’s sake,” the old woman repeated, kissing the infant’s forehead.

Jasmine sighed. “For Sammy’s sake. Everything I’m doing is for Sammy’s sake. Not that I regret a minute of it.” She stroked one finger down his feathery cheek, enjoying the loud giggle that erupted from him. Staring down at him now, her heart welled with love.

“Take care of my baby.”

Her sister’s voice echoed through her head as if it were yesterday, and not three months past. Would that fluttery, empty feeling in the center of her chest ever really go away, or would she eventually learn to live with it? It caught her unawares at the oddest moments.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady her quivering nerves. “I’ve got to get back to these sweaters, or I’ll never get this done.”

Gram settled herself on the rocking chair in the corner of the baby’s room and adjusted Sammy on her lap. “We’ll be fine, dear. Just don’t be too long. I think he’s hungry.”

“I’m not surprised. That baby eats more than most kids twice his size,” she commented as she moved into the opposite bedroom. “There’s a bottle ready in the fridge if he gets too restless.”

She eyed the open closet defensively. Jenny’s clothes—blouses crammed haphazardly onto hangers, blue jeans rolled and stuffed on the shelf top above, the one dress she owned to wear for special occasions—beckoned to her.

She’d already put off this unpleasant task too long. The time had come for her to finish packing Jenny’s things away and to sell the bungalow.

She reached up to the shelf above her head and tugged on a pile of jeans, which came fluttering down on top of her. Something solid hit her head, making a loud, clapping noise and stinging her skin where it slapped. She instinctively threw her arms over her to protect herself from being beaned with further projectiles, but none were forthcoming. It was just one book.