They are both talking at once, talking over each other, and Darby feels such trepidation. All of their worlds are burning, yet here are her daughter and her donor, chatting and laughing like they’ve known each other for years. Out of the ashes of this horror show they’re living, a connection has been made, one of joy and happiness. Maybe she’s been wrong to withhold the knowledge of this man from her child all these years. Maybe Scarlett does need a father figure. Darby’s rarely seen this level of enthusiasm from her daughter. It’s remarkable, actually.
“Come in, come in.” Park is beckoning to her. Scarlett has already disappeared inside like she owns the place. God, are they going to end up sharing some sort of custody? No. He has no parental rights. Though she can hardly stop Scarlett from hanging out here if she wants to. I’ll be at Dad’s, okay?
Damn it. She doesn’t want this. She’s never wanted this. They don’t need him.
The inside of the house is as lovely as the outside. They get a little tour of the downstairs. He offers drinks, and Scarlett follows him to the kitchen, offering to help. He looks over his shoulder at Darby, and she swears his smile grows wider. Look what we made, he is thinking.
Look what I made, she replies in her mind. She’s mine. I did this without you.
They settle in the living room, Scarlett still chattering like a jaybird, Bender responding with surprising enthusiasm. Darby takes a moment to breathe, taking a deep sip of her herbal tea and looking around, awkward and out of place. She shares two children with this handsome stranger. And handsome he is. She’d gotten a sense of it before, but up close, comfortable, in his element, the floppy hair and the light eyes and the breadth of his shoulders and that smile, God, that smile makes her remember just how long it’s been since she was last with someone.
She realizes he’s watching her, too. A strange pulse of desire shoots through her. Not cool.
She sets down the cup. “Mr. Bender—”
“Park. Really.”
“Park.” The word is hard on her tongue. “We should discuss next steps.”
He shrugs. “The police are all over this. They’ll find Peyton soon, I suspect. I’d…like to meet him. I know that might not be something you’re interested in pursuing, and I understand if you want me to keep my distance.”
Darby is on edge, and this gracious offer upsets her. “And if he’s a murderer? If there’s something inside him so broken that he’s actually done these things they claim?”
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot the past few days. If what they say is true—and I hope to God it’s not—I condemn what he’s done. But he’s still of my blood. You shouldn’t have to shoulder this alone.”
He reaches over and squeezes her knee, and Darby is flooded with confusion, and not a little gratitude. If what they say is true? “You don’t think he did this?”
“Innocent until proven guilty. I have a little experience with being falsely accused. If he didn’t do this, we will fight to keep him safe, and out of jail. If he is guilty, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Together. If you’ll let me stand by you, of course.”
Scarlett is beaming. This version of a father is exactly what she’s been dreaming of. Park Bender certainly knows how to be the knight-errant for them both, doesn’t he?
“We have to find him first,” Darby says, burying her nose in the tea.
“Find who?” A soft voice comes from the doorway to the living room. Olivia Bender is even more bruised than this morning. Her arm is in a sling, but she’s fashioned a vibrantly colored scarf to cover the standard hospital blue, and her hair has been freshly brushed.
Park jumps to his feet. “I thought you were asleep.” Is there the teensiest bit of accusation in that tone, or is Darby imagining things?
“I heard voices. Are you going to introduce me to our guests?”
Yes, there is an edge. Uh-oh.
“I’m Darby Flynn, and this is my daughter, Scarlett. My son is Peyton Flynn.”
Scarlett waves from the corner of the couch. “Hello, Mrs. Bender. Your home is so beautiful.”
“We thought we should get together, come up with a plan for how to deal with the media going forward,” Park says. Darby shoots a glance at Park. That’s news to her, but of course he has an ulterior motive for inviting them into his life. “I was going to wake you. Are you hungry? We can all have dinner. I’ll call for takeout. Pizza?” He smiles knowingly at Scarlett—apparently, she’s already managed to share her favorites with her father.
Olivia Bender says nothing, a parade of emotions jetting across her delicate and bruised face. She turns without acknowledging them and disappears back up the stairs.
Park laughs, but it’s uncomfortable now. “I should, um…”
Darby stands. “We need to be going anyway.”
Scarlett cries “Mom” in that crazy multisyllabic manner she’s picked up, and Park’s face breaks into another smile at the word.
“No, no, please. Stay. We’ll order pizza and talk. Let me just speak with her. I’ll be right back.”
He takes the steps two at a time.
“Isn’t he amazing?” Scarlett asks dreamily. “I’m so glad we’re going to stay for dinner. This is the coolest.”
The coolest. Right. Darby may be rusty in the relationship realm, but she’s pretty sure Olivia and Park Bender are about to be kaput.
40
THE WIFE
Olivia is very glad for the painkillers, because while they aren’t really fixing the pain in her collarbone, they’re dulling the agony of seeing that woman and her pretty kid sitting downstairs in her living room, drinking tea out of her good wedding china cups—What the hell, Park? Why are you trying to impress her? How have they even ended up here? And why is her husband sitting there glowing, surrounded by his new family, looking at his wife as if she were the interloper to their newfound happiness?
Olivia can’t take this. It’s an affront. She knows there’s no getting around Park meeting his biologicals, but to invite them over for tea, to invite them into their house, without checking with her first? It’s the final slap in the face, and she is done with this nonsense. She’s so out of here.
She grabs her Tumi carry-on from behind the closet door—thank goodness it’s so light, she can manage it one-handed. She gathers clothes—flowing pants that won’t be hard to pull up by herself, a long skirt, two button-down tops, tanks, and a cardigan. Bras and undies, and on a whim, she grabs her swimsuit from the bottom drawer. That’s what she’s going to do. She knows exactly where she’s going. The crazy cat lady has given her the greatest possible gift—an escape hatch. How Annika knew Olivia would need it, she has no idea, but thank God for the kindness of semi-strangers.
Back to the closet for a cover-up, five minutes in the anemically sterile bathroom gathering necessities, and she’s almost ready.
She goes back into the closet and wrestles open the small stepladder that allows her to get to the top shelf, where her tall boots are stored. There is a jewelry safe on the shelf, locked with a passcode. Balancing carefully, she inputs the code and opens the door. There’s something she doesn’t want to leave behind, just in case.