The Single Dad's Patchwork Family. Claire Baxter
stunned silence, she said softly, ‘I’m sorry.’
His head twitched in acknowledgement. He’d never got used to accepting sympathy.
‘How did she…?’ Flapping a hand, she said, ‘No, of course you won’t want to talk about it.’
‘It’s okay.’ He paused while the waiter refilled their glasses.
He could talk about Larissa. Now. When he’d first moved from the city, he hadn’t been able to. Hadn’t been able to even think about her without breaking down. But that had changed. Living in Leo Bay had done that for him.
He still missed her; how could he not? They’d planned to spend a lifetime together. And he’d been happy married to her. He’d wanted the whole package—wife, kids and career.
Life had a way of ensuring a man didn’t get too cocky.
Yet there were men like Regan’s husband who had it all and threw it away. He felt a sudden surge of anger. He couldn’t understand a man like that. He’d never know how a father could desert his children.
Life hadn’t been easy for him after Larissa’s death, but he’d never once thought of leaving Phoebe to someone else’s care.
It had been one of his few strokes of genius when he’d decided to take a sabbatical and move out to the Eyre Peninsula beach shack that had been left to Larissa by her parents—along with a sizeable inheritance he would never touch. It would go to Phoebe when she became an adult.
Larissa had spent her childhood holidays at the shack and, though they’d never discussed it, he’d known instinctively that she’d been happy there.
From the moment he and Phoebe had arrived at the front door, he’d been filled with a sense of doing right. It was as if he could feel Larissa’s spirit all around him. As if she’d wanted them to live there. The comfort he’d taken from that odd sensation had helped to ease the pain.
It was a much more simple life he led now, away from the demands of city living and the world in general. Simple was good. It had helped him cope, helped him retain his sanity.
And then there was Phoebe. Watching his daughter grow and learn had gone a long way towards filling the hole in his battered heart.
Regan fidgeted with her napkin and he snapped back to the present. ‘Cancer,’ he said.
She made a sympathetic noise.
‘Breast cancer. Trouble was, she found out about it the same week we learned she was pregnant and, consequently, she refused treatment and kept the bad news to herself.’ He spoke matter-of-factly, but there’d been nothing straightforward about his emotions at the time he’d discovered her illness.
‘By the time I worked out there was something wrong and it wasn’t just the strain of pregnancy on her body that was making her sick, it was too late. It was a very aggressive disease.’
He stared at the tablecloth, tracing the white threads with his fingertip.
‘I can understand what she did,’ Regan said in a gentle voice.
He looked up. ‘Can you?’ He shook his head. ‘Must be a female thing. Larissa said it was her maternal instinct. I don’t believe you’d find many husbands who’d agree with that course of action.’
‘No, I don’t suppose so. A mother’s protectiveness starts early. Well before a baby’s born.’ She pulled a face. ‘A father’s protectiveness only kicks in after the baby’s born, if…if…’
‘If it kicks in at all,’ he finished for her, smiling at her horrified expression.
‘I’m so sorry. I wasn’t referring to your situation. I didn’t mean to imply you’re anything like my ex.’
‘No, I know.’ He took another drink of water while he gathered his thoughts. ‘She should have told me.’ He paused, frowning. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I worship Phoebe and I wouldn’t be without her. I wouldn’t allow anything to hurt her. Anything. But to have to watch your wife die…and all the time, to know that she’d had a choice.’
He shrugged. ‘She chose to die rather than live—’ His voice cracked and he shook his head. He’d thought he could talk about that time of his life. Seemed he was wrong. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, don’t apologise. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have asked in the first place.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m so sorry about what you went through.’
He saw the truth of her words in her clear blue eyes and it warmed him. She wasn’t the breezy businesswoman she pretended to be. He got the impression she had a sensitive soul.
He told her a little about his daughter while they ate, and she reciprocated by describing her two boys. Again, he wondered how her husband could have come to terms with leaving them, not to mention giving up someone as…unique as Regan. If Larissa had lived, he’d never have left her. He had no doubt about that.
Regan was telling him about her elder son’s obsession with all things Roman.
‘His father was from Rome originally and I suspect that Will has the wrong idea of the city—he thinks it’s still like ancient Rome, full of gladiators and people in togas. I’ve told him it’s not, but…’
‘Is that where he lives now?’
She looked up. ‘Jack? I have no idea where he is. Somewhere in Italy, I think.’
‘You don’t have any contact with him at all?’
She shook her head as she put down her cutlery. ‘When he left, he just disappeared. I tried all the places I thought he might have gone, but…’ She shrugged. ‘He didn’t want to be found, obviously. And he hasn’t been in touch since. For my part, I’m glad. In fact, I consider myself lucky that I didn’t have to go through a custody battle like my best friend Anna did. She had a terrible time, poor thing. At least I was spared that, but for the boys’ sake…’ Her face twisted.
‘I can’t say they miss him because they were too young when he left, but they talk to other children, so even in these days of unconventional families they know there’s something missing from their lives.’
After a moment, she looked at her watch and her eyebrows shot up. ‘It’s late. It’s time I headed home.’
‘You haven’t finished your meal.’
‘I’ve had enough. I still have work to do this evening. I have this contract to sort out—the one I mentioned earlier.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll call a taxi and see you home.’
‘No. No need. Stay and finish your meal. I have my car. It’s not far and…’ Her words trailed off and she looked less sure of herself.
He gave her an amused look. ‘And you don’t want me to know where you live?’
She winced. ‘It’s not you, it’s…me.’ She winced again at the cliché. ‘I don’t do this,’ she said, waving a hand at her half-empty plate.
‘Eat? I think we established that earlier.’
She made the gesture more expansive, encompassing the table and the two of them seated at it. ‘This. When I’m not working, I’m spending quality time with my children. I don’t have time for anything else.’
‘You don’t socialise with friends?’
She hesitated. ‘Well, yes, I do. But we’re not friends. We only met tonight and we’ll probably never see each other again.’
He looked away. He didn’t understand why he should be disappointed. Why, in one evening, she’d gone from a woman he’d admired on sight but had no intention of pursuing, to someone he was very keen to know better.
She was beautiful, but it wasn’t that. Or, he should say, it wasn’t only that. For