Kathy Reichs - Monday Mourning

Grabbing my bathrobe, I stumbled to the security panel. The monitor showed Ryan wearing a Santa hat with Le Père Noël embroidered on the fur.

I did a two-handed hair-tuck, smiling like Claudel’s happy-face Skivvies.

Onscreen, the outer door opened and a young woman entered the foyer. Black corkscrew curls. Tall. Earrings the size of croquet hoops.

Ryan hugged the woman to his side. She tugged off his Santa hat.

My hand froze halfway to the buzzer. My smile crumbled.

The prom queen.

An iceberg congealed in my chest.

The prom queen turned. Café-au-lait skin. An expression that suggested she’d rather be elsewhere. Tikrit. Kabul. Anywhere but that foyer.

Ryan smiled and squeezed her again. The woman wriggled free and handed him his hat.

Lord God in heaven! Was the egotistical sonovabitch planning to make introductions?

I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. Ratty pink terry cloth. Parboiled face. Hair looking like something that fed on plankton.

“OK, buster.” I jabbed the button. “Bring her on.”

Ryan was alone when I opened the door. The hall behind him was empty.

He’d hidden his teenybopper. Fine. Better.

“Yes?” Glacial.

Grinning, Ryan looked me up and down.

“Entertaining DiCaprio?”

I didn’t smile.

Ryan studied my face.

“It’s funny about eyebrows. You never really notice them until they go awry.”

Ryan reached out to touch my forehead. I pulled back.

“Or go away.”

“You’re here to critique my brows?”

“What brows?”

Not even the hint of a smile.

Ryan crossed his arms. “I’d like to talk.”

“It’s not a good time.”

“You look beautiful.”

I bit back a retort that included the word “bimbo.”

“Sultry.”

My AWOL brows crimped.

“Smoldering.”

The crimp dived into a full-blown frown.

“If I promise no more fire jokes, can I come back in ten? More than enough time to get yourself beautiful.”

I started to refuse.

“Please?” Lapis-lazuli sincerity.

My libido sat up. I sent it flying into tomorrow.

“Sure, Ryan. Why not?”

Coffee. Jeans and sweater. Teeth. Fresh bandages.

Hair? Makeup?

Screw it.

Fifteen minutes later the bell chirped again.

When I opened the door, she was with him.

I stiffened.

Ryan’s eyes locked onto mine. “I’d like you to meet Lily.”

“Ryan,” I said. “Don’t.”

“My daughter.”

My lips parted as my mind processed the meaning of those words.

“Lily, this is Tempe.”

Lily shifted her feet.

“Hi.” Mumbled.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lily.”

Daughter? Ohmygod.

I looked a question at Ryan.

“Lily lives in Halifax.”

I turned back to Lily.

“Nova Scotia?” Moron! Of course, Nova Scotia.

“Yes.” Lily took in my frizzled hair and blisters, but said nothing.

“Lily’s been in Montreal since the third,” Ryan said.

The day I testified at the Pétit trial.

“Lily and I have been getting to know each other over the past few months.”

Lily shrugged one shoulder, adjusted the strap of her purse.

“I feel the women in my life should also get to know each other.”

The women in his life?

“I’m delighted, Lily.” Jesus! I sounded like a cliché thesaurus.

Lily’s eyes slid to Ryan. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Sorry about that phone call. I—I shouldn’t have said you were dumb.”

The woman at Ryan’s place last Thursday had been Lily.

“I understand.” I smiled. “Sharing your father must be very hard.”

Another shoulder shrug, then Lily turned to Ryan. “Can I go now?”

Ryan nodded. “Got your key?”

Lily patted her purse, turned, and walked down the hall.

“Come in.” I stepped back and opened the door wide. “Dad.”

Ryan followed me to the living room, shrugged off his jacket, and dropped onto the couch.

“This is awkward,” I said, curling into an armchair.

“Yes, it is,” Ryan said.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“Nor did I. Until August.”

The unscheduled trip from Charlotte to Halifax.

“The problem wasn’t your niece.”

“It started out with my niece. After the overdose, I flew to Nova Scotia to help my sister get Danielle into a drug rehab program. One of the nurse’s aides turned out to be a woman I’d known as an undergrad.”

“A student at St. Francis Xavier?”

Ryan shook his head no. “I was. She wasn’t. I was on a wild ride my first two years at St. F-X. Lutetia was a regular at some of my haunts, hung with a rowdy group of young ladies. Called themselves the Holy Sisters of Negotiable Love.”

I tucked my feet under my bum.

“You know the story. My wild ride ended with a severed artery, a bump in the hospital, and a fresh perspective on the college experience. Lutetia and I went our separate ways. I saw her once, maybe five years after graduation, when I returned to Nova Scotia to visit my folks. Lutetia and I ended up”—Ryan hesitated—“sharing one last religious experience. I returned to Montreal, Lutetia went home to the Bahamas, and we lost track of each other.”

“Lily is Lutetia’s daughter,” I guessed.

Nod.

“Lutetia never told you she was pregnant?”

“She was afraid somehow I’d force her to remain in Canada.”

“Did she marry?”

“In the Abacos. Marriage broke up when Lily was twelve. Lutetia moved them both to Halifax.”

Birdie wandered in and rubbed my leg. I reached down and absently scratched his head.

“Why tell you now?”

“Lily had started asking about her biological father. She’d also started pulling some of the same stunts as Danielle. When I showed up…” Ryan spread his hands.

“You weren’t expecting Lily in Montreal?”

“I opened my door and there she was. The little idiot had hitchhiked.”

Birdie nudged me again. I stroked him, feeling, what? Relieved that the prom queen wasn’t a love interest? Disappointed that Ryan hadn’t confided in me?

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Things have been pretty strained between us, Tempe.” Ryan grin. “Probably my fault. I’ve been under some pressure lately. Lily. The meth operation.”

Ryan patted his shirt pocket, remembered my no-smoking ban, dropped his hands to his lap.

“But mostly, I was holding off until I was sure.”

“You asked for proof of paternity?”

Ryan nodded.

“How did Lily respond to that?”

“The kid went ballistic, really started acting out.”

The relapse into smoking. The haggard look. Ryan had been under more stress lately than I had.

“I got the DNA report last week.”

I waited.

“Lily is my daughter.”

“That’s wonderful, Ryan.”

“It is. But the kid’s a pistol, and I’m clueless concerning fatherhood.”

“What have you worked out so far?”

“Lutetia’s largely gotten Lily’s head straight. Lily loves her mother and will continue to live with her. If she decides she wants another parent in her life, I’ll be there for her, whatever it takes.”

I crossed to the couch and sat beside Ryan. He looked at me, eyes boylike. I took his hand.

“You’ll be a wonderful father.”

“I’ll need a lot of help.”

“You’ve got it, cowboy.”

I put my face to Ryan’s, felt his rough stubble on my cheek.

Ryan held me a moment, then set me at arm’s length, and got up.

“Stay here.”

I waited, unsure what was happening. The front door opened, seconds passed. The door closed. I heard rattling. A tinkling bell.