Joan Kilby - Spencer's Child

“Mom, when’s dinner?”

Meg gave a start. Drops of cool wine spilled over her fingers. “Davis! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I wasn’t sneaking, I was just walking,” Davis said with an expression of bewildered hurt. “Is it dinnertime yet?”

“Almost,” Patrick said. “How about setting some plates on the table, champ? That way dinner will happen a lot quicker.”

“Okay.” On his way to the cupboard, Davis paused at the recycling bin to pick up a plastic yogurt lid. Forgetting about the plates, he wandered around the kitchen, swooping the lid through the air. “Bweep. Bweep. Bweep. Bweep.”

“Davis,” Meg said. “The table.”

“I’m a UFO. Bweep. Bweep. Bweep.”

Meg exchanged a glance with Patrick. Some days were better than others. Unfortunately Davis’s bad days often seemed to coincide with hers. She got up and pulled a stack of plates out of the cupboard. “Earth to Davis,” she said in her best automaton voice. “Transport circular space stations to planet Table.”

“Bweep. Bweep. Bweep.” Davis took the plates.

They got through dinner. Then Davis’s bath and bedtime story and the ritual arranging of his toys around the edge of his bed. Then the bedtime song. Twice. When he was finally tucked in, Meg remembered they hadn’t played catch. Well, she wasn’t foolish enough to mention it now.

She returned to the kitchen and gratefully accepted a cup of decaf from Patrick.

“So, where were we?” Patrick sat opposite Meg at the table and added a spoonful of sugar crystals to his coffee.

Meg ran a thumb around the rim of her cup. “My supervisor is Spencer Valiella—Davis’s father.”

Patrick ceased stirring his coffee. “No!”

“Yes.” She didn’t need to explain the complications. She’d told Patrick the whole story years ago, ruining his best silk shirt with her tears in the process. But she hadn’t cried over Spencer in years. And she refused to start again now.

“So how do you feel about this?” Patrick asked.

Meg sipped her coffee. “Confused. Worried. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You’re going to tell the man,” Patrick said firmly. “Right away, before you start lying about it.”

“I’ve been lying by omission for years.”

“And feeling guilty about it, right?”

She couldn’t deny it. “Spencer’s got his own life. How’s he going to feel if he suddenly finds out he’s got a kid?”

“Good question. Tell him and find out. For all you know, he might be thrilled.” Patrick paused. “Do you still love him?”

“I haven’t seen him in seven years. In all that time he’s never so much as sent me a postcard.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Meg ran a hand down her hair and pulled up a fistful of ends for inspection. The chemistry between her and Spencer had to do with lust, not love. “No, of course I don’t love him.”

“Hmm.” Patrick sounded unconvinced.

She made a face. “He’s probably already planning where he’ll be going after he leaves here. A son would be an inconvenience.”

“You’re not giving him credit.”

“Okay, I agree Spencer has a right to know. But I have a right to protect my child from hurt. Do you have any idea what it would do to Davis to meet his father only to have him leave again? As he will.”

“You can’t be sure of that. Anyway, a part-time father is better than none.”

“The last thing I need is him popping in and out of my life every six months.”

“You’re not over him.”

“I don’t know,” Meg wailed, and propped her head in her hands. “Everything’s finally coming together for me. Davis is about to start school and he’s got more than enough to adjust to right now. You know how hard transitions are for him.”

Patrick wagged a finger at her. “You’re rationalizing . This Spencer character should be paying support, if nothing else.”

Meg gazed wearily at her friend. “I know he would if I asked. But I made the decision to have Davis. Nobody else. I can do it on my own. And get my degree.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me, darling. I’m not your mother.” Patrick lifted his cup with slender fingers and drank.

“The problem will be keeping the two of them apart,” Meg went on. “I’m dropping Davis off at my dad’s on Saturday while Spencer and I go kayaking. One look at Davis and Spencer will know he’s—” Meg froze, her head tilted toward the hallway. “Did you hear something?”

Patrick put his cup down quietly. “No.”

She got up and tiptoed into the hall. Crouched behind the door was Davis. Meg went cold all over. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“I don’t know.”

She took him by the hand and tugged him gently to his feet. It was hard to be cross when she knew the medication made him wakeful, but she felt sick thinking about what he might have heard. “You’ve got to get used to early nights, honey. When school starts, we’ll have to be up early.”

“Can I stay up for a while?”

“No.” She led him back down the hall to his bedroom. “Did you hear what Patrick and I were talking about?” She hoped her interest sounded casual.

“Kayaking. Can I come? Please?” Davis tugged on her hand. “I’ve always wanted to go kayaking.”

Relief made her knees weak. He must not have heard the whole conversation. “This Saturday Grandpa’s taking you golfing with him. Remember I told you about it in the car?”

“Oh, yeah,” Davis said happily as he climbed back into bed. “I like Grandpa. He lets me keep the tees.”

“Good night, honey.” Meg placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Can I have my song?”

“You had it already.”

“Can I have another one?”

“No. Good night. And stay in bed.”

DAVIS WATCHED HIS MOM close the door. His eyes remained open, adjusting to the darkness. Mom had said the guy she was going kayaking with was named Spencer. His dad was named Spencer. But if this man was his dad, Mom would have told him. Grown-ups acted real dumb sometimes. And sometimes they lied. But not Mom. She never lied to him. And she wouldn’t keep something that big a secret.

Gradually Davis’s eyes drifted shut despite his best efforts to keep them open. Images floated through his head. There was water all around, and islands, like when he and Mom went on the ferry. Only he wasn’t looking down at the water from above. He was in a kayak. A two-seater. A man sat behind him, paddling. Davis couldn’t see the man’s face, but somehow he knew it was his dad. Drops flew off the paddle blades as they rose and fell, splashing on Davis’s cheeks. His father’s strong strokes were taking them toward the tall black fins of the killer whales. Davis drifted deeper toward unconsciousness. Just before he went under, he saw Tommy’s face floating mysteriously above the kayak. Davis smiled at him. See, Tommy, I do too have a dad.

SPENCER PAUSED outside Doc’s room in the cardiac unit. Now that he was here he almost didn’t want to go in and see his mentor diminished. One fallen idol was bad enough.

But when he’d come by the other day, Doc had been asleep. So Spencer put on a smile and strode into the room. “Hey, Doc.”

Angus Campbell sat propped up in bed with his knees bent, as though his six-four frame was too long for the mattress. Doc had been bald as long as Spencer had known him and his weathered face was deeply lined, but he had the vitality of a man half his age.

“Spencer, m’boy! You came.” Despite Doc’s enthusiastic greeting, the right side of his face sagged and the faint Scottish burr of his native Glasgow was slurred.