Almost a Family (5 page)

"I knew he'd be late," Virginia's father said, a deep frown creasing his weathered face.

"Edward," Virginia's mother chided, laying a hand on his arm.

Virginia ground her teeth and silently agreed with her father—Bailey was nothing if not unreliable. When the gate attendant announced the final boarding, she gripped the handle of her tapestry carry-on bag and reluctantly rose to her feet. "We'd better go," she said in her strongest voice.

"Let me get that, honey," her dad said, reaching for her bag. He squeezed her shoulders and gave her a smile. "Everything's going to be just fine, you'll see."

She nodded and straightened her shoulders, turning to signal Detective Lance. The salt-and-pepper-haired man was already on his feet, looking grave and protective in his navy suit. He settled a hat on his head with both hands, then stopped to stare at something down the concourse.

Virginia heard Bailey before she saw him. "Ginny!" he yelled. "Wait—I'm coming!"

She shook her head in grudging relief. Bailey rounded the corner in a flurry of flying arms and legs, the bag slung over his shoulder bouncing against his hip. Virginia blinked in astonishment at his appearance. Was this the same man she'd seen the previous night?

His hair had been neatly shorn into short, thick layers, his jaw cleanly shaven. He wore dark jeans and boots with a white dress shirt and—wonder of wonders—a tie of muted colors that complemented the charcoal-gray sport coat covering his wide shoulders. Her throat went dry at his transformation from plain good-looking to downright gorgeous.

Then he grinned and vaulted from gorgeous to drop dead devastating.

"I made it," he announced. "Hello, Peg... Edward." He inclined his head, then extended his hand to Virginia's father.

Edward Catron considered the hand offered to him for several seconds before he clasped it in what appeared to be an iron grip, considering the flash of pain on Bailey's face.

"Bailey," her father acknowledged.

Her mother gave Bailey a tentative smile when he squeezed her hand in greeting. Detective Lance had just finished reintroducing himself when the harried gate attendant rushed over to hustle them onto the plane.

At the doorway the head flight attendant met Virginia with a warm smile. "Your parents mentioned the purpose of your trip to one of the gate crew. We've arranged for you and your husband to sit in first class."

Before Virginia could react, the captain appeared and extended his own congratulations, again addressing them as a married couple. Avoiding Bailey's gaze, Virginia smiled and nodded her way through the uncomfortable misunderstanding, immensely relieved when they were shown to their seats.

"How about that?" Bailey said cheerfully while the plane taxied to take off. "We're celebrities."

Rather than putting her at ease, though, Bailey's carefree smile left her unsettled. Despite the new clothes and tame hair, the gravity of the situation still had not sunk into his irresponsible head. Suddenly the shock, the worry, and the fear of the last fifteen hours rose in Virginia's chest like a suffocating bile. She gagged, jamming her hand to her mouth as she dropped her chin and closed her eyes.

"Ginny?"

She lurched forward as the plane became airborne. Her stomach dipped precariously, then she felt his hand at the small of her back.

"Here's an airsick bag. Are you okay?"

She started to nod agreeably, as she had a hundred times since she'd heard the news, then changed her mind. "No," she gasped, grabbing the bag. She heaved her meager breakfast into it, then sat back, purged and weak, only to find Bailey and the attendant hovering over her.

"Are you all right, ma'am?"

Bailey requested a wet cloth, concern evident in his voice, but he didn't push Virginia to talk. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on taking deep, even breaths. Suddenly a cool, soothing cloth was applied to her forehead by gentle and disturbingly familiar hands. "Can't blame you, Ginny," he murmured. "I felt a little queasy myself this morning. After all, this is a pretty big day for us."

Us.
The word reverberated through her fuzzy brain, and a lump of hurt and anger formed in her throat. They should have been able to present a strong, united, happily married front for their son today, but Bailey hadn't loved her enough to stick it out. Deep down, she knew she shouldn't blame him for feelings he hadn't been able to manufacture, but his rejection of her had hurt badly, and if truth be known, it still did.

She opened her eyes, reached up to take the cloth from his hand, and slowly wiped her mouth. "There is no
us
, Bailey," she whispered hoarsely.

He searched her face for a moment, and she hoped her newfound resolve was evident. Her life seemed to be in a state of free fall, and she had to regain some measure of control. Her breathing became shallow as the silence between them ballooned.

After a full minute he reached forward to cover her hand with his, then wet his lips. "There could be an us." He angled his head, his eyes disarmingly hopeful.

Tiny hairs sprang up on the back of her neck as his words sank in, then a slow burn started in her chest. Bailey Kallihan had more nerve than ten men to think he could erase years of hurt with a charming smile and a soft touch. She must look like a fool if she seemed that desperate.

Humiliation bloomed and spread to the ends of her tingling fingers as she carefully extracted her hand from his. She struggled to keep her voice even as she gripped the cloth so hard, water dripped onto her shirt. "Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Bailey—if our son had not been found, I would have had no reason, and no desire, to see you again." He shrank back from her a few inches, and she felt a bite of satisfaction, a dimension of control returning. "I love my child enough to make the best of this situation, but don't try to turn this into something it's not."

Bailey shrugged. "Okay, I didn't mean to—"

"Yes, you did mean to," she cut in, then held up her hand to bring the subject to a halt. She closed her eyes and sighed. "I called an attorney this morning, Bailey, and we've got a lot to discuss before we land, so let's just get through this, okay?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Sure."

Another flight attendant stopped to take their drink order and Virginia gratefully accepted a glass of ginger ale. She longed for the mild sedative her mother had offered her earlier. Her stomach pitched and rolled with a myriad of emotions she tried to pin down. In only a few hours she'd be face-to-face with her son... her
son.
She worried her bottom lip and dug her fingernails into her palm.

"What things?" he asked, jarring her out of her racing thoughts.

"What?"

He pushed his hair back from his forehead, looking frustrated. "What things do we have to discuss?"

"Oh." She straightened in her seat. "Well... the custody arrangement."

His brow furrowed. "What's to discuss? We'll both have custody—he can stay with me on the weekends."

"Stay with you? You mean on your couch in an apartment above a bar?"

He flushed angrily. "We'll stay at Rita's so he can get to know his cousin."

Virginia had two panicky visions—her son alone with her in a stifling town home, and her son with Bailey's rowdy family on a farm; it didn't take a child psychologist to guess where the boy would prefer to spend time. "I work during the week, I'd like to spend weekends with him too."

"Can't you cut back on your hours?"

Anger flamed through her, but she fought to keep her voice calm. "I arranged for a month of leave, which should take me up to the start of school, but after that I'll be back to working at least forty-five hours a week. Raising a child is expensive, Bailey."

"I'll help," he declared hotly.

She averted her eyes so he couldn't read her doubts. Ever the good-intentioned, Bailey's fault lay in his follow-through. His idea of savings used to be buying old cars, hoping they'd appreciate in value. He'd let her down before in a big way—she wasn't about to sacrifice a portion of her income on the basis of a verbal promise. "I'm not cutting my hours. He can stay with you at Rita's every other weekend."

"Wait a minute!" Passengers around them turned to stare. He leaned toward her and lowered his voice, his eyes still flashing. "Four or five days a month isn't enough. He's my son too, and I want to get to know him just as much as you do."

"Well," she said coolly, "we seem to be at an impasse."

His eyes narrowed, then his face relaxed as if a solution had occurred to him. "Not necessarily."

She angled her head toward him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"In the beginning we can both spend time with him... we can all do things together."

Virginia frowned, wary.

"It's only fair to Bailey, Jr.," he asserted, "that he get to know both of us. We both want to spend time with him, and we can't split him down the middle." He flashed her a charming smile. "You can't convince me you've grown
that
tough, Ginny."

Her stomach contracted at his reminder that he used to know her well, that he used to know her intimately. "What about holidays and school vacations?"

He shrugged. "We'll work it out when the time comes."

"I think we need to get this down on paper," she insisted.

"Ginny, for God's sake, you make this sound like some kind of business deal. You used to be easygoing and spontaneous—now you want every detail planned out. What's happened to you?"

His words stung, but she wasn't about to let him know. "What happened to me? I grew up, Bailey, which is something you might think about doing someday. Living life shooting from the hip is amusing for a man in his twenties, but not very flattering for a man in his thirties."

As she watched raw emotion play across his handsome face, Virginia almost felt sorry for her ex-husband. But she knew him, and knew that he had to be forced to face the truth. It was too late for them, but he needed to extend himself beyond his hedonistic lifestyle for their son.

Bailey dropped his eyes and swished a stirrer in the whiskey sour he cradled in one hand. "I guess I deserve that," he said, his voice resigned. Then he set his drink down and twisted in his seat to face her. "But, Ginny, you have to believe me when I say I'm going to settle down and be a good father to Bailey, Jr. I want to be there for him." He gave her a sad smile. "I want to be there for you too, but I understand how you feel about me."

Her stomach pivoted again, but this time it had nothing to do with the altitude or her anxiety over meeting her son.

"Could you put up with me being around long enough to allow our son to adjust?"

Warning bells screamed in Virginia's head. Spending time with Bailey sounded too much like playing house. He might charm her into letting her guard down long enough for him to get his hooks into her heart again.

"Only," she said in a threatening tone, "if you give me your word we can be adult about this and keep things on a strictly platonic level."

He laid a hand over his heart. "I give you my word."

But Virginia's chest tightened in dreaded premonition. When had Bailey Kallihan
ever
lived up to his word?

* * *

As soon as he stepped into the gate area, Bailey spotted a small but conspicuous group of police officers and other official-looking people. Detective Lance took the lead, first introducing himself to a fellow officer, then presenting Virginia, Bailey, and her parents.

A kindly gentleman in a maroon jacket clasped Ginny's hand warmly, his eyes shining. "I'm Kendall Maybry, from the children's services bureau. It's a real pleasure, Mrs. Kallihan," he said. The title sent a tiny shock wave through Bailey, and he was remotely pleased that Ginny didn't correct the error.

After a few minutes of awkward pleasantries, Bailey asked, "Mr. Maybry, where is our son?" He knew he was probably breaking protocol, but he wasn't sure if protocol existed for such a situation.

"He's been living at a children's shelter since the death of his mo—" The man broke off, embarrassed, and offered Ginny an apologetic smile. "I mean, since the death of the woman who... took care of him. This is Ms. Andrews—she's been counseling Chad through this ordeal."

"Chad?" he and Ginny asked in unison.

"The boy goes by the name Chad Green," Ms. Andrews said, shaking their hands in turn.

The news hit Bailey like a knee to his stomach. Of course the woman who'd kidnapped him hadn't known the child's real name, and wouldn't have used it if she had. The one link he had with his son had been stripped away.

"Are you the one who told him about us, Ms. Andrews?" Ginny asked, gripping her purse tighter and tighter. Bailey's heart constricted at her pinched, expectant expression.

"Yes."

"What was his reaction?"

Ms. Andrews hesitated only a few seconds, but long enough for dread to wash over Bailey. "Well... as you can imagine, it was quite a shock for him, but we can talk about it on the way to the shelter. Shall we?" She swept her arm toward an exit, and the group moved forward as a unit.

Minutes later Bailey helped Ginny climb into a minivan with Mr. Maybry, Ms. Andrews, and Ginny's parents. He settled into the space beside Ginny, experiencing a twinge of pleasure at the sensation of her leg pressed against the length of his. Seeking diversion from the sudden rush, he blurted out, "Tell us what's going on with our son. Is he okay?"

The counselor turned in her seat to face them. "Physically, he's fine, just an ordinary, healthy eight-year-old."

Bailey felt a small amount of relief.

"But," the woman continued, "he's understandably upset about leaving the area he grew up in to live with parents who are strangers to him."

"The woman who"—Ginny swallowed audibly—"who took our son—Detective Lance told me she didn't mistreat him. Is that true?"

The woman smiled encouragingly. "As far as we know, yes. Neighbors say that Lois Green was a person who sometimes acted a little strange, but was very protective where Chad was concerned."

Bailey bit the end of his tongue. It wasn't fair to Ginny that another woman had been allowed to be protective of their child. But considering all the alternatives their son could have been exposed to, it wasn't the worst scenario by far.