Apparently that old saying about some things never changing was true, because he wanted her again, and it didn’t seem to make a whole hell of a lot of difference that she’d kept his daughter from him. He didn’t even like Georgeanne, but he wanted her. He wanted to touch her all over. Which he figured made him one sick bastard.
As he drove around the south end of Lake Union toward the western shore, he endeavored to push the memory of Georgeanne in her light green robe from his mind. He stole glances at the picture of Lexie propped up on the dashboard, and once he’d pulled the Range Rover into his parking spot, he grabbed the photograph and headed to the end of the dock where his nineteen-hundred-square-foot, two-story houseboat was moored.
Two years ago he’d bought the fifty-year-old houseboat and had hired a Seattle architect and an interior designer to redesign it from the floats up. When the job was finished, he owned a three-bedroom floating home with a gabled roof, several balconies, and wraparound windows. Until two hours ago, the houseboat had fit him perfectly. Now, as he shoved his key in the heavy wood door and pushed it open, he wasn’t so sure that it was the right place for a child.
The soles of John’s loafers squeaked on the newly polished hardwood floor of the entry, then fell silent as he walked across plush rugs. He set the photograph of Lexie on an oak coffee table, which, like the floors, had been polished the day before by the cleaning service he employed. One of the three telephones sitting on a desk in the dining room rang and, after three rings, was picked up by one of three answering machines. John stilled, but when he heard his agent’s voice reminding him of his flight schedule for the following day, he turned his attention once again to the events of the past two hours. He moved toward a set of French doors and gazed out at the deck beyond.
“Are you sure the child is yours?” his attorney asked.
“Yeah.” He glanced into the living room at the photograph of Lexie sitting on the coffee table. He’d told Georgeanne that he’d wait until Friday to contact an attorney, but he didn’t see any point in waiting. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“This is a pretty big shock.”
He had to know where he stood legally. “Tell me about it.”
“And you don’t think she’s willing to let you see the girl again?”
“Nope. She was real clear about that.” John picked up a rock paperweight, tossed it in the air, then caught it in his palm. “I don’t want to take my daughter away from her mother. I don’t want to hurt Lexie, but I want to see her. I want to get to know her, and I want her to know me.”
There was a long pause before Richard said, “I specialize in business law, John. The only thing I can do is give you the name of a good family attorney.”
“That’s why I called you. I want someone good.”
“Then you want Kirk Schwartz. He specializes in child custody, and he’s good. Real good.”
“Mommy, Amy gots a Pizza Hut Skipper just like mine, and we played like both our Skippers work at the Pizza Hut, and we fight over Todd.”
“Hmm.” Georgeanne turned the handle of her Francis I fork, wrapping spaghetti around the tines. She twirled the pasta around and around as she stared at the narrow basket of French bread in the center of the table. Like a survivor of a bloody battle, she was exhausted, yet restless at the same time.
“And we made clothes for our Skippers out of Kleenex, and mine was a princess, so I drove in the empty box like it was a car. But I wouldn’t let Todd drive ‘cause he gots a ticket and likes Amy’s Skipper more than mine.”
“Hmm.” Again and again Georgeanne replayed what had happened that morning. She tried to remember what John had said and the way he’d said it. She tried to recall her response, but she couldn’t remember everything. She was tired, and confused, and afraid.
“Barbie was our mom and Ken was our dad and we went to Fun Forest and had a picnic by where the big fountain is. And I had magic shoes and could fly up higher than that one big building. I flew to the roof-”
Seven years ago she’d made the right decision. She was sure she had.
“-but Ken got drunk and Barbie had to drive him home.”
Georgeanne looked up at her daughter as Lexie sucked a saucy noodle between her lips. Her face was clean of cosmetics and her dark blue eyes shined with the excitement of her story. “What? What are you talking about?” Georgeanne asked.
Lexie licked the corners of her mouth, then swallowed. “Amy says her daddy drinks beer at the Seahawks and that her mommy gots to drive him home. He needs a ticket,” Lexie announced before she twirled more spaghetti with her fork. “Amy says that he walks around in his underwear and scratches his bum.”
Georgeanne frowned. “So do you,” she reminded her daughter.
“Yeah, but he’s big and I’m just a little kid.” Lexie shrugged and took a bite of pasta. One noodle slipped down her chin, and she pulled in her cheeks and sucked it between her lips.
“Have you been asking Amy about her daddy lately?” Georgeanne inquired cautiously. From time to time Lexie asked questions about daddies and daughters, and Georgeanne would try to answer. But since Georgeanne had been raised almost solely by her grandmother, she didn’t really have the answers.
“No,” Lexie replied around a mouthful of food. “She just tells me stuff.”
“Please don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Lexie’s eyes narrowed; she reached for her milk and raised it to her lips. After she’d set her glass back on the table she said, “Well, don’t ask me questions when I’m chewin‘.”
“Oh, sorry.” Georgeanne laid her fork on the plate and placed her hands on the beige linen tablecloth. Her thoughts returned to John. She hadn’t lied to him about the reason she’d kept Lexie’s birth from him. She really hadn’t thought he’d want to know or that he would have cared. But whether he would have cared or not hadn’t been her main motivation. Her primary reason had been much more selfish. Seven years ago she’d been alone and lonely. Then she’d had Lexie and suddenly she wasn’t alone any longer. Lexie filled the hollow places in Georgeanne’s heart. She had a daughter who loved her unconditionally. Georgeanne wanted to keep that love all for herself. She was selfish and greedy, but she didn’t care. She was both mommy and daddy. She was enough. “We haven’t had a pink tea for a while. I’m working at home tomorrow. Do you want to have a tea?”
Lexie’s smile lifted the milk mustache at the corners of her mouth, and she nodded vigorously, flipping her ponytail up and down.
Georgeanne returned her daughter’s smile as she brushed at crumbs with her little finger. Seven years ago she’d pointed her flimsy mule shoes toward the future, and she rarely looked back. She’d done pretty well for herself and Lexie. She co-owned a successful business, paid mortgage on her own home, and just last month she’d bought a new car. Lexie was healthy and happy. She didn’t need a daddy. She didn’t need John.
“When you’re finished, go see if your pink chiffon dress still fits you,” Georgeanne said as she picked up her plate and carried it to the sink. She’d never known her daddy and she’d survived. She’d never known what it was like to curl up on her father’s lap and hear his heart beating beneath her ear. She’d never known the security of her daddy’s arms or the reassuring timbre of his voice. She’d never known and she’d done just fine.
Georgeanne looked out the window above the sink and stared into the backyard. She’d never known, but many times she’d tried to imagine.
She remembered peeking through fences to watch the neighbors barbecue chicken on burn barrels cut lengthwise. She remembered riding her blue Schwinn with the silver banana seat down to Jack Leonard’s gas station to watch him change tires, fascinated by the big, filthy hands he always wiped on a greasy towel hanging
