Kept Page 3

  Not Adrienne. And still not Mark. “Who is this?”

  “I’m… I really need to speak to Miska.”

  “I screen her calls, so if you’d like to speak with her, you’ll need to tell me who you are.”

  “I see.” The man sighed, ultimate weariness in the sound. “Tell her it’s her father.”

  Her knees buckled. Miska grabbed a bar stool and pulled herself onto it. “Excuse me?”

  “My name’s Jack Tomlinson. I—I haven’t spoken to her in years. But if you’d tell her—”

  “You’re Jack Tomlinson.”

  “Yes. It’s very important I speak to her.”

  Her dad was looking for her. She squeezed the center of her shirt. Was this for real? “How do I know it’s you?”

  “How do you know?”

  “Tell me something about her.” She held her breath. The last time she’d seen him, she’d just turned two. She had no memory of him. None. Did he really have memories of her?

  “I—” He cleared his throat again. “She has curly, black hair.”

  “Something else. Her brother…”

  “Brothers. Wade and Zane are fourteen months older. They’re blond.”

  Was that all he could say about them? Birth order? Appearance? “Wouldn’t a father know stuff about his own kids?”

  Silence hung on the other end.

  “Come on, Jack. What kind of a man doesn’t know anything about his kids?”

  “A man with a whole lot of regrets.”

  Oh, please. She rubbed her fingers across her eyebrows. “What was my—” she gritted her teeth “—Miska’s mother’s name?”

  “Claire Friel.”

  “Why did you leave her?”

  His voice quavered. “Because I was a young, stupid fool.”

  Just like Mom had said. She moved the phone away and drew in a shuddering breath.

  “Miska?” she heard faintly.

  She raised the phone to her ear. “What does my name mean?”

  “Mariska means ‘of the sea.’”

  It was him. She closed her eyes. “Or bitter.”

  “To me it meant the first. The bitter would be up to you.”

  “Easy for you to say, the man who didn’t stick around. Who left his kids to fend for themselves, left them to watch their mother fill his place over and over.”

  “Miska—”

  “Don’t tell me I shouldn’t be bitter.”

  He sighed.

  “Why are you calling me?”

  “Because I’m hoping you’ll give your foolish father another chance.”

  “To do what?”

  “To get to know his daughter.”

  His words rattled around the room. Her dad wanted to know her?

  “Miska, I’m fifty-five. I’ve had three decades to think about the women I left. And too late I’m realizing what an awful—” His voice caught. “I’ve wasted a lot of time. I’ve hurt a lot of people. And I don’t know how much time I have left—”

  Her stomach seized. “Are you dying?”

  “No.” He chuckled. “Sorry. Not yet. But I’m pretty sure middle age is past. I’ve got joints that tell me when storms are coming.”

  “It’s been twenty-eight years.”

  “I know.”

  “Twenty-eight years! How can you walk away—” She clenched her fist. She’d never had a dad, didn’t remember the loss of him. So where was all this anguish coming from?

  “I’m sorry, Miska.”

  She stared at the floor.

  “I can never make up for what I did. But I’d like to get to know who you are now. If it’s not too late, I’d like to spend time with my daughter.”

  It had been a lonely four years since Mom died. She’d felt like an orphan, even though Jack had been alive somewhere. Now here he was. Asking to see her.

  Did she want to see him?

  Of course she did. She nodded. Yes, yes, yes.

  “Miska?”

  She laughed, realizing he couldn’t see her nod. “I’d like that.”

  His relief gushed out. “Thank you.”

  She fought back the urge to thank him. “Just promise you won’t disappear for another twenty-some years.”

  “As much as I can, I promise.”

  *****

  Afternoon light deepened the hollows of her half-sister’s cheeks. Adrienne eased her drink onto Miska’s kitchen island and stared at her. “He what?”

  “I know. It sounds crazy, but he wants to get together. He wants to be a dad. Finally.”

  Adrienne’s brown eyes darkened. “Who cares what he wants? Like coming back after all these years makes it okay.”

  This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. “Of course it doesn’t. You can’t make up for twenty-eight years of neglect—”

  “Thirty-one years!” Adrienne jumped up from Miska’s barstool and marched to the window where marshmallow clouds hovered over the lake. Her chest heaved as if she’d sprinted there. “Do you know what my only memory of him is? The only rotten thing?”

  “Hey, he left us both—”

  “It’s my mom chasing him through the house, hanging onto him, screaming for him to stay, trying to pull his suitcase out of his hand. Then he turned and shoved her. She fell and broke her wrist—had surgery and pins—and he never, never showed up again.”

  Miska eased onto a stool. Maybe not having memories was a good thing. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. He’s scum.” Adrienne swore and looked around the room.

  What was she looking for? Jack? Something to throw? “Calm down. He’s not here.”

  “He’s lucky he’s not here. I can’t believe he had the nerve to call you.” Her gaze zeroed in on Miska. “What’d you tell him?”

  Oh no. How had she ever thought her sister would be okay with this? “I told him I’d like to meet him.”

  Adrienne stalked her way. “Are you insane? Do you know why he called?”

  “I’d like to think it’s because I’m his daughter—”

  “You have money, Miska. He wants money.”

  Her inheritance was in her condo. Wade’s and Zane’s inheritance—there probably wasn’t much of that left. “No, he doesn’t. He didn’t say a word—”

  “Not yet.”

  “If you could have heard him—”

  “Miska, wake up!”

  She jerked at Adrienne’s volume.

  “He’s never cared about any of us. Never! So why now? Why all of a sudden?”

  “People change.”

  “Not without reason. He’ll ask for money, then he’ll vanish again. You won’t hear from him until—”

  “Stop it!” Miska’s feet hit the floor, her hands in fists. “Stop trying to ruin this!”

  “I’m trying to protect you. He’s a lousy, despicable man who couldn’t keep his pants on—”

  “And now he wants to make up for it. What’s wrong with that? Just because he hasn’t called you yet—”

  “He did call me! I told him when his first wife got over her pill addictions, we could talk.”

  Miska swallowed.

  “I told him if he ever came near me, I’d beat him within an inch of his life, then castrate him while he was down. Do the women of the world a favor.”

  There was the Adrienne she knew and loved anyway. “I didn’t realize you felt that strongly.”

  “Well, I do. He doesn’t deserve another chance. Not with a single one of us.”

  What if she wanted to give him one?

  “My mom used to watch you and Wade and Zane and your mom. We’d take the long way everywhere, right past your house just in case his car was there.”

  “Adrienne, he left when I was two.”

  “I’m not saying it made sense. But she was always watching for him, always hoping. And when she didn’t see him, she’d pop pills.” She scowled at the stool between them. “It’s a sorry way to grow up.”

  “You think I don’t know that? You think my mom didn’
t have her own issues? I get that what he did is despicable. I do. But if you could have heard him on the phone—”

  “I did hear him. He’s a joke of a human being now just like he’s always been. I’m not giving him a minute of my time. Don’t you either.”

  “Maybe I want to spend time with him.”

  Adrienne glared down her nose. “Then I don’t want to spend time with you.”

  What?

  Long, brown hair whipping against her neck, her sister marched to the couch, stilettos attacking the floor, and snatched her lime green messenger bag.

  “Adrienne, wait.”

  Adrienne stared at the bag, her look morphing into one of pure revulsion. “What?”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. I hate him, and I won’t spend time with anyone who patronizes him.”

  “But we’ve been friends a long time—”

  “More than that—family. Yet you seem ready to throw us away for a man who threw you away when you were in diapers. Why is that?”

  “He’s our father, Adrienne.”

  Her jaw ticked. “No, he’s a paternal ancestor who put as much into my life as my ten-times great-grandfather. I owe him nothing. Neither do you.”

  “You’re being extreme.”

  “You think so?” Adrienne took a step closer, a good two inches taller in her heels. “You can look back over your mom’s life and not hold him responsible?” She shook her head. “What would Claire say if she knew?”

  Miska held still beneath Adrienne’s hardened gaze. “She’d at least talk to him. Face to face.”

  “Fine. Talk to him. Tell him what a pathetic man he is, then leave him. It’d serve him right.” She hefted the bag’s strap onto her shoulder. “But don’t give him a second more. Or we’re through.”

  Chapter Three

  The squeak of the condo door broke Dillan’s concentration. He stuck a finger in his commentary, sat up on the couch, and looked down the hallway to the entrance.

  Garrett closed the door and yanked off his yellow, paisley tie.

  “Hey, Gare.”

  “Dillanator. Whatcha reading?”

  “Something for youth group.”

  “Still working?” Garrett headed to the master bedroom off the side of the living room. “Dude, it’s after six.”

  Dillan glanced at the microwave clock as his brother closed his door. Huh. So it was.

  It had been a long, slow day, full of unpacking and reading and note taking. He set the book aside and turned on the TV. On SportsCenter, three former athletes dissected the NBA playoffs, then showed highlights from the afternoon’s Cubs game.

  Garrett’s voice came from the kitchen. “How long till football starts?”

  “Too long.” Dillan stretched across the couch, feet hanging over the ratty armrest, hands tucked behind his head. “Is this where I ask how your day went?”

  “If you like living beneath a bridge.”

  Dillan chuckled.

  “So what’d you make me for dinner?”

  “Dinner?”

  “You’re here all day.”

  “Uh, working.”

  “You’ve got no commute. Dude, that’s got to be worth a meal.”

  Dillan pointed down the hallway. “I commute. Bedroom two to bedroom three. Then I double my commute going to the kitchen for lunch.”

  “Don’t hurt yourself.” Garrett’s eyes landed on Dillan’s knees. “Too late. What happened?”

  “Nothing.” He fingered a scab. “Went running.”

  Garrett snickered as he opened the dishwasher.

  “Aren’t you Mr. Clean, working in the kitchen.”

  “Someone’s got to clean your mess.” Garrett turned the faucet on. Water splashed, and he wiped his chin on the shoulder of the Chicago Bears jersey he’d changed into. “Would it kill you to put stuff in the dishwasher?”

  “Since when do you care how the place looks? Or are you trying to keep Tracy in the dark until after the wedding?”

  “I happen to like a clean house.”

  He remembered Garrett’s room in high school, the last time they’d lived under the same roof. Dillan shot him a look.

  “People change, Dill.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth before he regretted them.

  Garrett focused on the skillet and spatula in the sink, jaw tight. He scrubbed the pan and stashed it in the dishwasher.

  Nice one, Dillan. He hadn’t meant anything by it, but there was too much history for him to blame his brother for taking it the wrong way.

  Garrett wiped off the stovetop.

  Dillan stood. Glanced back at the TV, then out the windows at the glittering lake. What could he say—

  “You eaten?” Garrett asked.

  “No. You got something in mind?”

  “Tracy said dinner’s on her tonight. In honor of us being moved in.”

  “She’s cooking?”

  “Buying. Chinese.”

  “Nice.”

  “Yep. She should be here soon.” Garrett closed the dishwasher and dried his hands. His eyes focused somewhere south of Dillan’s waist. “What happened to your hands?”

  Dillan fisted them. “I told you. Nothing.”

  Garrett laughed, and all was right between them again. “Dude. You wiped out good. Wish I’d seen that.”

  “Just replay any other wipeout, and you’re there.”

  Garrett chuckled, then cocked his head toward the front door.

  A faint female voice sounded.

  “Yes. Food.”

  So it began, third-wheel time with his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law. He stuck his hands in his pockets.

  Garrett flung the door open and looked the wrong way, toward Miska’s door beside theirs. He straightened, smiled, and stepped into the hallway.

  Umm… Who was out there? Miska?

  A new, deeper female voice reached him before the door fell shut. Great.

  He followed Garrett out of the condo.

  Miska and another woman stood beside her door, Miska listening while the other woman, eyes hard and jaw tense, smiled at Garrett.

  He was deep into some story already, hands in the air, chin up, mouth curved in a grin that—

  Garrett was flirting?

  Dillan looked back at the new woman. She’d locked eyes onto him. “Who’s this?” she asked.

  Garrett back-handed his arm. “My big brother, Dillan. Literally.”

  He held his hand out, not wanting to but not knowing what else to do. “Hi.”

  She took it, shook hard. “I’m Adrienne.”

  “Miska’s older sister,” Garrett added as if they went way back.

  Adrienne sent him that tight smile. She was on edge over something. Miska too. He could see it in the way she stood, her eyes empty of the life they’d had that morning. The awkward moment he and Garrett had just experienced was nothing compared to whatever had happened between these two.

  “They’re clearly related, aren’t they?” Garrett asked as if they weren’t standing right there.

  “Weird how that works.” Miska’s beauty was all soft and natural while Adrienne’s paler looks had a jagged edge to them. While they resembled each other, there was a definite difference. “You must each look like a different parent.”

  Miska spoke. “We have the same—”

  “Different moms.” Adrienne tossed her head.

  Garrett wrapped his arms across his chest. “Did you grow up together?”

  “Same town.” Miska glanced at Dillan. “How are your hands and knees?”

  Garrett shifted, his upper body leaning back and his head tilting as if to say oh, really?

  “Fine.” He opened his palms, dropped his hands to his side. He didn’t need to see the damage again. “I’ll be good in a day or two.”

  Garrett winked at Adrienne. “Until the next wipeout.”

  She laughed.

  He asked her w
hat she did, and while she told him about the publisher she acquired for, Dillan leaned against the doorjamb. There had to be some way to get Garrett back inside before he flirted himself out of a fiancée.

  Miska shifted too. “You were home today, weren’t you?”

  “I’m working here until I move out. What about you?”

  Her warm brown eyes met his. “I work from home.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I freelance for a few publishers.”

  “Freelance?”

  “Edit. Adult fiction.”

  “Same one as your sister?”

  “Her house is one of them.”

  Miska looked back at Garrett who was telling Adrienne about the law firm he worked at while running his thumb up and down the edge of his bicep.

  Hopefully that wasn’t intentional.

  Miska shifted again, yanking Dillan’s gaze back to her. She was so beautiful, so female. So immoral, he reminded himself.

  “What’s chasing you away in a few months?” she asked.

  “Garrett’s wedding. I’m living here until then.”

  “Some brotherly bonding?”

  “Something like that.”

  She nodded. Looked back at Garrett and Adrienne who were even deeper in conversation.

  Oh, the dreaded awkward silence. Dillan cleared his throat. “So how do you keep from talking to the walls?”

  “Getting lonely in there?”

  He hadn’t meant it that way. “I’m used to working around people. In there all I hear are sirens and horns.”

  “You’ll get used to it, but you have to find ways to get out. You know, go to a club, find something going on in town, get outside and walk through the crowds.”

  Go clubbing? No, thanks. He wasn’t looking for anyone remotely like her.

  Adrienne and Garrett interrupted them with a laugh. Adrienne leaned in to Garrett, her fingers slipping across his wrist.

  Dillan frowned. Come on, man.

  Out of sight in the floor’s lobby, an elevator dinged.

  Garrett turned toward the sound, the move taking him out of Adrienne’s reach. “Maybe that’s dinner.”

  Dillan hoped.

  Tracy rounded the corner, two bulging, brown paper bags in her arms, oversized, pink purse dangling from her elbow.

  Garrett’s face brightened as he walked to her. “Hey, my little fortune cookie.”

  Dillan held back the urge to shake his head. Seriously?