Laura Abbot - The Wrong Man

He brushed a hand through his hair. “Damned if I know.”

“Dinner? Pizza? I practically raised you, boy. I think you do know.” She sank into the chair across from him.

“I wasn’t aware Lib taught in Whitefish.”

“You could’ve asked me. But you made it clear a long time ago that she was off-limits in our conversations.”

“When I left for Billings, I never intended to return. I was happy with Ashley.” His voice sounded tortured.

“I know you were. But you were running, too. When you do that, the past has a way of circling and nipping you in the behind.”

He stared into the depths of his coffee. “Tell me about it.”

“So how come the meeting tonight?”

He sighed. “Kylie.” Weezer waited for him to continue. “It’s the most excited she’s been since I decided to move here. I don’t know, the bit about the pizza just popped out of my mouth.”

“You’re sure this is only about Kylie?”

Trent slumped back in his chair. “No.”

“I see.” Weezer stalled by taking a sip from her cup. “Be very careful, son. You and Kylie don’t need any more hurt and disappointment.”

“Neither does Lib.”

“Good. I hope you remember that.”

“It’ll be just this once.”

Just this once? Weezer doubted it. Even when he was a youngster, Trent’s expressions had been transparent. And right now what she saw on his face was longing, pure and simple.

LIBBY RESISTED changing her clothes. She didn’t want to give Trent the impression that anything special was going on. In fact, part of her didn’t want him to step foot in her home. After their divorce, she had sold or given away the few belongings they’d owned jointly and had haunted antique shops and estate sales, gradually accumulating enough to furnish her modest house. She loved the wood grain of her oak coffee table, the high back of the armchair, the prints of native flora on the wall, the faded Persian rug she’d bid too much for at an auction. The place wasn’t fancy, but it was hers. Her sanctuary.

Trent’s presence here would feel invasive.

Furthermore, she was having difficulty picturing Trent as a single father. He’d never shown the slightest interest in parenthood. Instead, he’d always laughed and said, “Hell, Lib, I’d be a lousy father.” His rationalization was that since his own father had walked out on him when he was four, he’d had no role model. He’d then go on to say by way of justification, “A baby deserves a daddy who knows a little something.”

Hindsight suggested he’d been right.

Oh, why had she ever agreed to let them come?

Yet even as she asked the question, she continued laying her silverware and colorful plates on the sunshine-yellow tablecloth.

How could she have let Kylie tug at her heartstrings like that? Was it because she was Trent’s daughter—the child they’d never had together? Or was it because Libby was motherless, too, and identified with the little girl. Seeing Kylie reminded her so powerfully of the day she herself had come home from school to the news her mother would never return from the hospital.

Libby needed to be on her guard to keep this relationship professional. She was a teacher extending kindness to an emotionally needy student. Her previous relationship with the girl’s father was irrelevant.

Just get through this evening.

Precisely at six, she heard a vehicle pull into the driveway, then doors slam. She stood, smoothing her skirt, willing indifference. “Hello,” she said holding the door open. “Smells good,” she mumbled as Trent stepped by her with the pizza box, trailing a scent of tomato sauce and oregano. “Let me take your coats.”

Kylie quickly shrugged out of hers, then Trent handed Libby his parka. “I imagine you’re eager to meet Mona,” Libby said as she hung their coats in the hall closet.

“I can’t wait!” Kylie cried, bouncing on her toes.

“Cats aren’t as friendly right away as dogs are, you know. It takes them a while to warm up to strangers.”

“Weezer told me that. She said I have to be patient. Let Mona come to me.”

“That’s good advice.”

Libby was marginally okay so long as she was dealing with Kylie, but then she made the mistake of glancing up. Trent stood silhouetted against the fireplace, looking far too handsome in formfitting jeans and a Black Watch plaid flannel shirt and a yellow turtleneck. He held up the box. “The pizza?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Here, let me take it.” Kylie had already climbed into the big chair and sat, a forefinger to her lips, quietly awaiting the elusive Mona. Trent followed Libby into the kitchen. “Nice place,” he murmured.

“It’s home,” she said, setting the box on the counter near the oven. “Should we heat this up yet?”

“Kylie won’t eat a thing until she meets Mona. Let’s wait a few minutes.”

“Uh, would you like a beer? Wine? Scotch?” This was nuts! Libby knew he never drank anything but beer.

“Beer will be fine.”

As a teacher, she didn’t think it was appropriate to drink in front of Kylie, so after handing him a beer, she selected a soda for herself.

He nodded at the pop can. “You’re not joining me?”

Not now. Not ever. “No.” She peered around him into the living room. “Look.”

They both moved to the doorway. He was standing too close, his body only inches from hers.

“God, she looks so happy,” he said huskily.

Kylie sat, dwarfed by the big chair, while a contented Mona kneaded the girl’s chest with her paws. Oblivious to her audience, Kylie was whispering something in the cat’s ear.

Trent raised his beer bottle and nodded at Libby. “Thanks. I hope this visit isn’t too awkward for you.”

Too awkward? It was nothing short of bizarre. “I’m doing this for Kylie.”

“I know.”

“Daddy, isn’t Mona pretty?”

“She sure is.”

“We’re getting acquainted. You guys can go back to the kitchen.”

Trent grinned down at Libby. “Sounds like we’ve been dismissed.”

“Suits me. I need to preheat the oven anyway.”

In the kitchen, Trent pulled one of the chairs out from the table and straddled it, leaning his arms across the back. Just as he used to do. Libby bit her lip at that last thought. She didn’t welcome these reminders. Instead, she needed to focus on getting through the evening. “What brought you back to Whitefish?”

Fortunately his explanation about going into business with Chad Larraby permitted her to warm the pizza and toss the salad she’d made earlier, keeping her so busy she almost succeeded in ignoring the way his voice brightened with enthusiasm and his eyes following her every move. When he finished with an explanation of their upcoming season’s advertising campaign, he asked her about herself.

She gave him the short version. She’d gotten her first job in Polson, where they’d lived at the time of the divorce, and completed her master’s degree in the summers. She’d moved to Whitefish three years ago.

There was nothing easy about the conversation. She walked around the kitchen, making busywork. Fixing glasses of ice water, grating the Parmesan cheese, digging out a platter for the pizza, anything to delay sitting down across the table from her ex-husband. But there was one question that had to be faced. “Have you told Kylie we were married?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “No. It’s too early.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes displayed anguish. “She’s had so much to deal with. Ashley’s death—and the move. She likes you. I don’t want to do anything right now to rock her boat.”

“She’ll have to know sometime.”

“Please, Lib, just not yet. Let her settle in first.”