Geri Krotow - Navy Rules

“Slow down, Maeve,” Winnie admonished while she cleared the table and took the plates to the sink. She looked through her garden window and sighed. The clouds were just as gray and the trees bent—almost as though they were doing yoga. The windstorm promised to continue all night.

The first time she heard a rapping out front, she thought it might be a branch. But the second time, Sam barked and she realized someone was at the door. She looked at the clock. They weren’t used to visitors this late on a school night.

“Keep an eye on her, Krista.” She glanced at the scene of domestic tranquility. Krista was helping Maeve make plastic pies and cakes in her toy microwave.

“I am, Mom.” Krista’s tone had changed overnight into that of a know-it-all teenager, and Winnie didn’t like it one bit. She missed her easygoing daughter, who’d delighted in the simple things like baking cookies and fitting a jigsaw puzzle together.

Sam trotted to the door with her, but instead of his usual bark he stood still and wagged his tail. He gazed at the door with a look of expectation.

Winnie peered through the beveled glass and recognized the shape of a man. A man who immediately made her stomach tense.

She opened the door to a rush of wind—and Max.

“May I come in?” It wasn’t really a question, since he’d already walked into her foyer and shut the door behind him. He wore a hoodie, and his T-shirt underneath was sweat-stained. His hair was damp and his eyes—oh, his eyes.

“Sam.” She started to command Sam to remain in place but she didn’t have to. He’d sat down and waited patiently for Max to acknowledge him with a pat.

“Come on in, I’ll make us some tea.” Winnie spun on her heel and headed toward the kitchen in her stockinged feet. But Max was quicker.

His hand wrapped around her wrist. “Not yet. We need to talk.”

Winnie looked down at her arm, and at his hand. In spite of her heightened anxiety, his touch elicited a warm throb of excitement. She dared to look up at Max’s face.

His eyes blazed and his mouth was set in a straight line. The years seemed to fall away as she looked into his eyes.

“Of all people, you were one I thought I could trust.”

She eased her body around to face him and leaned her back against the wall. She couldn’t trust her legs. She willed herself to meet his eyes and to answer him truthfully. No matter what he asked.

“And now?”

“Where are the girls, Winnie?” He stared at her but not at her. He was obviously distracted by his inner demons.

“In the family room. But don’t you think we should talk about this first?”

He gave her a look of derision and released her wrist. But he didn’t move. She felt the nearness of his body, the scent that was uniquely Max. She remembered him like this from before, the night they’d made love.

And made a baby.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me before I walk into that room, Winnie?”

She swallowed. “Apparently I don’t have to.”

He leaned in and she thought, maybe some part of her hoped, that he was going to kiss her. Erase the years, the trauma, all of it. With a kiss.

“What you’ve done is unforgivable, Winnie.”

Shivers shot down her neck and spine as his breath swept across her ear, but the desire she’d felt fled as quickly as it had come.

He’d hate her forever.

* * *

MAX PUSHED BACK FROM the wall and strode down the hall, pausing at the entry to the family room. She heard the girls’ voices in their singsong play and Maeve’s giggles, which she saved for her time with Krista.

It was impossible to take her gaze off Max’s profile. Max, the warrior, who stood on the threshold of his new life. Once he walked into that room and got a full look at Maeve, he’d know the truth.

That he was a father.

From her own experience, Winnie understood that when you became a parent, any previous presuppositions, ideas, intentions, were irrelevant. All that had mattered to her was her child. Max would be no different. It wasn’t in him to do anything halfway, regardless of what she’d said to Robyn.

“Maeve, do you want to wash the dishes now?” Krista asked.

“Wheeee!” Maeve’s accompanying giggle was infectious. Winnie usually laughed along with her baby girl, but all she could do now was watch the rise and fall of Max’s chest. The way his nostrils flared and his hands rested on his hips. He was still in sweats and there was mud on his running shoes, as though he’d run here on foot from the Air Station gym, the soreness of his shrapnel-ridden body be damned.

The girls’ chatter died at the same moment Winnie saw Max’s lips move.

“Hello,” he said.

Silence. Plastic falling on the play kitchen counter. Then Krista’s voice.

“Uncle Max?”

She remembered him. She’d called her godfather “Uncle” from when she was a baby. But she hadn’t seen him since she was seven, since Tom died. Winnie had wondered if Krista had forgotten him and Winnie never brought him up. She made it a rule not to bring up specifics about the time of the accident. If Krista wanted to talk, she did, and she asked questions as she needed to.

Their talks about Tom were daily and loving. But Max and the time right after the crash had never been discussed. Winnie figured the questions might eventually come, when Krista was older and mature enough to wonder about those days and months, to peel back the layers of memory and take a more detached look at the heartbroken little girl she’d been when her daddy died.

“Yeah, it’s me, Uncle Max. Are you going to give me a hug?”

Winnie walked up to the threshold and did her best to smile at the girls.

“You recognized your Uncle Max! Do you remember him?”

“Of course, Mom. I just said hello to him, didn’t I?” Krista muttered in teenage bemusement as she stepped forward and offered Max a hug. He embraced her, his eyes closed and his face impassive. He opened his eyes and held Krista by the shoulders as he studied her.

“You’ve grown a yard or two, Krista!” He smiled and Krista’s face lit up while a blush crept over her cheeks. Other than her uncles and grandfather, she didn’t get a whole lot of male attention. A bittersweet pang of regret hit Winnie as she thought about how much Tom would have loved Krista, how he would’ve been the one to light up her face like a Christmas tree.

“Thanks, Uncle Max.”

“And who’s this?” Max kept his hands on her shoulders as he looked past Krista toward Maeve, who kept playing with her plastic fruits and vegetables, oblivious.

“My sister, Maeve. Mom says she’s our miracle baby.”

“She sure is.” Max walked farther into the room and knelt down in front of Maeve. Maeve paused, her thumb in her mouth and a plastic bunch of broccoli in her other hand. She stared at Max unblinking, as if she’d never seen a man before.

She’s never seen her father before.

Winnie’s throat constricted and she swallowed. This wasn’t about her, it was about Max and Maeve. About Maeve meeting her father.

Her daddy.

“Hi, honey. How are you?” Max’s voice was gentle in spite of its deep timbre. He was patient as he waited for Maeve to respond, and Winnie held her breath. She was acutely aware of Krista’s sharp gaze on the pair, as well. Winnie stood still as Krista met her glance. Krista finally knew who Maeve’s father was.

Maeve lifted up the plastic broccoli and Winnie’s pride welled. Maeve was such a sweetie—she was going to give her toy to Max, a man she’d never met. But somewhere deep down, she must’ve known Max was her father.

“Noooo!” Maeve hurled the broccoli at Max, who didn’t move. It hit him in the nose and he didn’t wince, but from having been on the receiving end herself, Winnie knew it hurt.