Daddy's Home. Debra Kastner
telling her.
She’d assumed from his actions that he’d played his faith false, that he’d given up on God and was taking his own way with things.
Abandoning his family was hardly the act of a man walking with his Maker. But now he was telling her, in so many words, that his faith was still intact. That he believed God was in control. That he believed prayer would help this wretched situation. That God was here.
She barely restrained the bitter laugh that desperately wanted to escape her lips. Irony seethed through her. How had he kept his faith in God when hers so easily disappeared?
He smiled, almost shyly, as if his revelation had taken great effort. It probably had, though there was a time when there had been nothing they couldn’t share between them.
In so many ways, she wanted to close her eyes, embrace his belief, wipe the slate clean and start all over again. To return to the time in her life when she believed, and when her belief had given her hope.
But that was naiveté. She wasn’t a child, to believe in miracles. To believe in a close, personal God who would help her through life’s problems. Her faith was ebbing and flowing like waves on rocks.
She wasn’t even sure she believed in God, at least in a personal God who watched over His flock like a shepherd watching over His sheep.
She couldn’t—and didn’t—pay Him more than lip service, and at this point she was hardly doing that. Although she hadn’t denied her faith outright, she hadn’t set foot in a church in months.
The subject humiliated and frustrated her. All those years she considered her faith strong, yet it wilted with the first attack of trial.
Some Christian she was. Or maybe she never had been. She was too confused to know.
How could she believe in a God who would allow Christopher to get away with what he’d done?
And Jenny—what about Jenny? If God was there, why hadn’t He helped her? Why hadn’t He healed her? He’d forced Jasmine to stand helpless and watch her sister die, her head crammed full of medical knowledge and unable to do a thing to save her.
“Would you pray with me?” he asked when she didn’t answer.
Prayer. Gram suggested it before, and now Christopher was bringing up the issue. Her heart clenched. It wasn’t as if she never tried.
She had. Last night on her knees beside her bed. But the words wouldn’t come, and the space between her and the heavenly realm seemed unbridgeable. God wasn’t listening. Or He had cut her off. As she had once cut off Christopher.
She shook her head. “We’re in a public restaurant, Christopher. Let’s just get down to business.”
She cringed inside as she said the words. It wasn’t business. It was a baby’s life they were talking about.
He looked vaguely astonished, but he didn’t argue. Instead, his gentle smile tipped the corner of his lips as he reached for her hand, which she quickly snatched from his grasp.
Shrugging, he plunged into the reason they were meeting. “You know what I want. I want to see Sammy. I want to—”
“Take him away from me?” she snapped, heedless of the fact that she hadn’t given him a chance to finish his sentence. Suddenly she felt completely unsure of herself as Sammy’s guardian, of her ability to provide what he needed. Without thinking, she took her insecurity out on the man sitting across from her. “I don’t think so, Christopher.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she gestured for him to stop.
“You need to understand something,” she continued, her voice crackling with intensity. “You weren’t around when Sammy was born. You didn’t walk him up and down the hall at all hours of the night because he had colic and didn’t want to sleep. You haven’t changed him, fed him or bathed him.”
“I haven’t even—”
She pinned him with a glare. “I have. I was the one there for Sammy. And I am going to be the one to raise him.”
“But I want—” His voice closed around the words and he coughed. “I want to do all those things. I want to be there for the boy. My…” He hesitated. “My son.”
He looked petulant, and his eyes pleaded for her mercy.
Why, oh why did his mere physical presence affect her so? He once used those very same big bluegray eyes to get his own way with her when they argued over which movie to see or where to go for dinner.
This wasn’t one of those times. Nor was it a debatable issue.
“Let me explain something to you,” she said, her voice splintering with restrained anger. “I very frankly don’t give a snip what your story is. I don’t even want to hear it, though I’m sure you’ve spent many hours rehearsing for my benefit.”
His scowl darkened and he grunted in protest.
“No, really. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you say matters. What matters is that I’ve bonded with this baby, and nothing is going to convince me to give him away. Most especially to you.”
With a sharp intake of breath, he sat back in his seat and pounded a fist on the tabletop, making the silverware rattle.
Water from her cup splashed onto the surface of the table, and she quickly wiped it with the edge of her napkin, her face flaming with anger and embarrassment. She hazarded a glance at the neighboring booths, wondering if anyone had noticed his outburst.
“Even before you’ve heard what really happened?” he asked through clenched teeth, his chest rising and falling with the exertion of each angry breath.
She lifted one sardonic brow. “Astonish me. You were abducted by aliens. You’ve been in a coma. You had amnesia. What, Christopher? What’s your story?” As much as she tried to keep her voice low, it lifted with each word to a higher crescendo until she’d reached well beyond shrill and piercing.
Now she was the one causing the scene, and it was his fault. She didn’t care how irrational and childish the thought was. She clamped her jaw shut and glared defiantly at Christopher, and then at the patrons staring at her. Life had freeze-framed, with everyone’s attention on her.
She blew out a frustrated breath, furious that he had provoked her to make a display of herself.
“Jazz,” he began, reaching out with both hands in a conciliatory gesture.
She threw her napkin down on the table and stood. “I thought this meeting was a good idea when you first suggested it,” she said slowly, articulating each syllable in a low, precise tone. “I was mistaken.”
She looked blindly out the window, then back to Christopher. “I love Sammy, and he’s staying with me. End of subject.” She met his gaze briefly, willing her strength to hold out until she could flee from his presence. “Goodbye, Christopher.”
She turned and walked away from him, holding her chin high and staying steadfastly determined not to look at the patrons she felt were staring at her.
Christopher could pick up the tab on the check. It served him right. Her blood boiling, she wished momentarily that she’d ordered a full-course steak dinner instead of just hot tea.
When she exited the café, she pulled in a deep breath of mountain air, closing her eyes as fresh, cool oxygen flooded her lungs. If only she could dissipate the heat in her brain as easily.
Walking away from Christopher was the hardest thing she’d ever done. He was suffering in his own way, she realized, and her presence affected him as much as his did her.
All the more reason for them to stay away from each other, she decided, fortifying her decision with every justification available to her.
Her heart said a father should be with his son. Her mind said Christopher