Apprentice Father Read online

  Clay waited until they reached the hall before standing to face his father. Though he kept his volume low, the hostility came through loud and clear. “The kids are already upset. They don’t need to hear this. Let’s go outside.”

  He assumed his father would object. Instead, the older man gave the apartment a quick, disapproving scan and retreated to the landing. Clay followed, shutting the door behind them with a firm click. He stood in front of it and folded his arms across his chest.

  “We’re wasting time.” The older man flicked an impatient hand toward the apartment. “Just pack up their things and we’ll go.”

  “No.”

  Disbelief robbed his father of speech for an instant. “What?”

  “I said no. I’m not sending the children to live with you.”

  “You can’t be serious. You’re not equipped to deal with two children.”

  “And you are?”

  “I raised two of my own.”

  “And you did such a superb job.” Sarcasm dripped off Clay’s words.

  The older man bristled. “Who are you to judge me?”

  “And who are you to judge me?” Clay countered, his voice taut.

  His father snorted. “I know what kind of life you lead, boy. Always on the move, living in tiny apartments not fit for a family, probably a girl in every port. A Godless life. That’s an inappropriate environment for children.”

  “You don’t know a thing about the life I lead.” Clay bit out the words, struggling to hold on to his temper.

  “I know enough. You’re nothing like Anne. She was a good girl who always did what she was supposed to do.”

  “Yeah. And she ended up dead. Thanks to you.”

  His father’s complexion went a shade sallower. “That’s a terrible thing to say!”

  “It’s the truth. If you hadn’t pressured her to stay in that farce of a marriage, she’d be alive today.”

  The last of the color drained from the older man’s face. “You always did have a smart mouth. I’m surprised you didn’t get into trouble in the Army.”

  “I did fine in the Army. I respected the authority there. And I’m doing fine now. I don’t need you. Nor do Josh and Emily. You did enough damage to your own children. I’m not letting you do the same to these two.”

  “And how are you going to stop me?”

  “I have them. You don’t.”

  “I’m their grandfather.”

  “I’m their uncle.”

  The older man glared at him, his fury daunting. But Clay didn’t flinch. And he didn’t move from the door.

  At last Clay’s father reached into his pocket and withdrew his car keys, ending the standoff. “I’m not finished with you yet, boy.”

  Though a tremor of fear ran through him, Clay did his best to appear impassive as he regarded the man in silence.

  Clearly frustrated, his father turned away. But as Clay watched him retreat toward his car, his shoulders stiff, he had a sinking feeling that while he might have won this battle, the war was just beginning.

  “Thank you for doing this, Cate. I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but I’m in over my head. Again. I knew you’d handle this better than I would.”

  Pulling her condo door shut behind her, Cate cast a worried look at Clay’s haggard face, noting the fine lines etched at the corners of his mouth, the faint shadows beneath his eyes. His compliment warmed her, but she wasn’t sure it was deserved. Not yet, anyway. She was good with children, but a visit from a near stranger who was threatening their shaky sense of security could wreak havoc with Emily and Josh, undoing all the good she and Clay had accomplished over the past six weeks. “It’s not a bother. How are the children?”

  “Quiet. Too quiet.” He glanced toward the car, distress carving deeper grooves on either side of his mouth.

  “We need to get them to talk about today. But first let’s just work on getting them to talk.”

  As they drove to the fast-food outlet, Cate did her best to engage the children in conversation. But despite her diligent efforts, the best she was able to get was monosyllable responses from Emily and silence from Josh. The two of them sat slumped in their car seats, holding hands. Emily stared out the window and Josh stuck his thumb in his mouth.

  Not good, Cate concluded as Clay pulled into a parking spot. And the man beside her wasn’t in much better shape. Anger shimmered off him, and the grim set of his lips was rigid as granite.

  “Sit tight, guys. Uncle Clay and I will unbuckle you.” Cate motioned for Clay to get out of the truck. Easing to the ground, she moved forward to speak to him over the hood, keeping her voice low. “I know you’re as upset as they are. But children pick up tension, and your anger is only going to make this worse. If you want to take five minutes alone and try to chill out a little, I can watch the kids.”

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Okay. Can you get them out of the truck?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

  Ten minutes later, when Clay slid into the booth where Cate and the children sat, he was loaded down with food and appeared far less tense, Cate noted with relief.

  During the meal, he did his best to engage the children in small talk, following her lead. He managed a joke or two, teased Emily about her milk mustache, and tousled Josh’s hair twice.

  But nothing worked. Both of the children picked at their food. Even their fries were hardly touched.

  After it was clear they’d eaten as much as they were going to, Cate and Clay gathered up the remains of the lunch. As Clay slipped back into the booth after disposing of the trash, arching an eyebrow in her direction, she laid her hands on the table, palms up. “Let’s all hold hands for a minute, okay?” Signaling to Clay, she wiggled the fingers of one hand in his direction and extended her other hand toward Emily, who sat beside her.

  Clay immediately enfolded her fingers in his. Despite the serious nature of this tête-à-tête, his strong, sure touch played havoc with her metabolism. But this wasn’t about her. Or them, she reminded herself. This was about helping the children. She needed to focus.

  And Emily’s hand creeping into hers helped her do that.

  Smiling down at the little girl, Cate gave her an encouraging squeeze. Josh had taken Clay’s hand, too, and the children also reached across the table and linked fingers. The four pairs of hands formed a lopsided circle on the Formica top.

  “That’s better, isn’t it? It always makes me happy to hold hands with people I love.” Cate said the last word without thinking, and her cheeks grew warm. Risking a quick peek in Clay’s direction, she couldn’t tell if the emotion in his eyes was residual anger—or something different but equally powerful.

  Fixing her gaze on the children, Cate focused on them. “It’s also easier to talk about things you’re worried about if you hold hands. Uncle Clay told me your grandfather came to visit today. Are you worried about that?”

  A sniffle preceded Emily’s answer. “Do we have to go with him?” Her question came out in a tremulous whisper.

  Though Cate was far better at dealing with situations like this than he was, Clay knew it wasn’t fair to let her handle the tough questions. So he stepped in, doing his best to imitate her gentle, encouraging inflection. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you don’t. I want you to stay with me. Would you like that?”

  “Yes. We don’t like him. He’s scary,” Emily responded.

  Clay could empathize, but he wanted to hear their version. “How come?”

  “He used to come and visit sometimes. But he wasn’t very nice. And he never smiled. He told me if I wasn’t a good girl, I’d go to hell.”

  “He said in hell, people burn. I don’t want to burn.” Josh’s words quavered as he added his recollections.

  Once more, Clay’s fury escalated. To instill fear into two innocent children too young to know the meaning of the word bad was no less than criminal. But Cate’s gentle warning squeeze of his fingers helped him stifle his ange
r as he struggled to maintain a placid expression.

  “You aren’t going to go to hell, Josh,” Clay assured him. “And you aren’t going to go to live with your grandfather, either, if I can help it.”

  “But what if he comes b-back?” Emily’s voice caught on the last word.

  Based on his father’s parting words, Clay suspected that was a probable scenario. But he didn’t plan to let the old man have the children. Period.

  “You live with me,” he told Josh and Emily in a firm tone. “And your grandfather lives far away. You don’t need to worry about him coming back very often. If he does, I’ll be here to keep you safe.”

  It was a promise Clay intended to keep, and he said it with sufficient conviction to ease the children’s tension.

  “We like it here with you,” Josh told him, and Emily bobbed her head. “It’s the bestest place we’ve ever lived.”

  Clay tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “It’s the bestest place I ever lived, too.”

  And that was no lie. Though he’d traveled all over the world, lived in exotic lands and in a dozen cities across the United States, he’d always been alone. Having these two children—and the warm, caring woman across from him—in his life had made even his tiny apartment feel like a real home.

  As they walked toward his truck a few minutes later holding hands, the children tucked between him and Cate, he vowed to do everything he could to restore to their lives the fragile peace and security they’d just begun to enjoy.

  But it wasn’t going to be easy, not with the looming threat from his father. And while he’d tried to reassure them, he knew the children were aware of the danger.

  Because that night, for the first time in weeks, Josh had an accident.

  Two weeks later, when Clay noted the caller ID on his office phone, his pulse ratcheted up. Cate had never called him at work before.

  Grabbing the receiver, he locked it against his ear.

  “Cate?” Despite his efforts to remain calm, alarm nipped at his voice.

  “A letter arrived for you today from a Des Moines law firm.”

  “Where are the kids?”

  “Inside, eating lunch. I’m on the landing.”

  “Okay. Go ahead and open it. No sense putting off bad news.”

  The sound of rustling paper came over the line, followed by silence that seemed to last forever. “It’s written in typical incomprehensible legalese,” Cate said at last. “But the gist is clear. Your father is appealing to the court for custody, claiming you’re an unfit guardian.”

  Clay uttered a word that made her gasp.

  “Sorry.” He expelled a frustrated breath. “I was afraid this was going to happen. But I guess I was hoping he’d let it go.”

  “There’s also some stuff in here about your lifestyle that’s not very…pretty.”

  “I can imagine.” Coiled anger stiffened his words. “My father always thought I led a wild, wanton life.”

  “Yeah. It kind of suggests that.”

  At her faint response, his stomach clenched. Tightening his grip on the phone, he massaged his temples with his free hand. “Cate, I don’t know what’s in there. But I can promise you it’s greatly exaggerated.”

  “They can make an issue of it, though, in court. If this gets that far.”

  Clay closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was drag the kids through a court battle. But he couldn’t let them fall into the hands of his father, either. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “I’m no legal expert, but the stuff in here sounds pretty serious. I think you’re going to need an attorney. I’m sure Mark would be willing to help you out.”

  Though he hadn’t had a chance to talk much to Cate’s brother at Easter dinner, the man had struck him as sharp and insightful. “Good idea. I’ll give him a call.” Sighing, he wiped a hand down his face and regarded the defective blueprint on his desk. Problems at work, problems at home. Could things get any more complicated?

  “Hey.” Cate’s gentle, sympathetic voice interrupted his pity party. “Things will work out.”

  “I wish I had your confidence.”

  In truth, what he wished was that she was sitting beside him now, their fingers entwined. Those few minutes a couple of weeks ago, as they’d held hands at the fast-food restaurant, had been an oasis of comfort and calm in the chaos that had become his life. And for a man who had always thought he operated best alone, that brief physical connection had been an eye-opening example of the power of sharing and unity.

  “When people are committed to doing the right thing, the Lord can work wonders, Clay.” Cate’s earnest encouragement came over the line, instilling a spark of hope. “And no matter what challenges come up, we’ll address them.”

  We’ll address them.

  Knowing Cate had taken on his fight as if it were her own did more to uplift his spirits than anything else. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  And as he hung up, Clay resolved that he would win the battle brewing with his father.

  No matter what it took.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, Mark set a yellow legal pad on the mahogany conference table in his office and took a seat opposite Clay. “I reviewed the document you couriered over. And I have a few questions.”

  “I figured you would.”

  “You may not like some of them.”

  “I don’t like any of this.”

  “It’s only going to get messier.” Mark picked up a pen and settled back in his chair. “Tell me about your father.”

  Clay gave a derisive snort. “He’s a joyless, authoritarian tyrant with a twisted view of Christianity who leaves misery in his wake.”

  Mark tapped his pen against the palm of his hand. “I’m picking up a lot of hate here.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t exactly harbor good feelings about the old man. And he’s ill-equipped to raise Josh and Emily.”

  “In your opinion.”

  Leaning forward, Clay gripped the edge of the table. “It’s not opinion. I lived with that man. I know what it’s like. I wouldn’t wish that kind of childhood on my worst enemy.”

  Mark regarded Clay with a dispassionate expression. “The court will consider facts, not feelings or conjecture. So let’s examine the facts.” He scanned the document Clay had received from his father’s attorney. “Your father claims you have no stable home in which to raise the children. Is that true?”

  “It depends on how you define stable.”

  “How long have you lived at your present address?”

  “About three months.”

  “Where did you live before that?”

  “Indianapolis.”

  “For how long?”

  “Eight months.”

  “And before that?”

  “Cleveland. For sixteen months.”

  “And your father lives in Des Moines. Does he have a house?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long has he lived there?”

  Clay gritted his teeth. “Forty years. Okay, I get your point.”

  “Good. But there’s more. Do you attend church on a regular basis?”

  “I do now.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I got the kids.”

  “How about your father?”

  “He’s gone every week for as long as I can remember. But that doesn’t mean he’s a good Christian.”

  “We’re only looking at facts, remember? What are your finances like?”

  “I do okay.”

  “Would you say you’re as well off as your father? Able to provide the children with as many material advantages as he can?”

  “I can give them everything they need.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Okay.” Clay’s breath hissed out through his teeth. “From a financial perspective, my father has the resources to give them a more cushy life. But he won’t.”

  “Prove it.”

  A cold
knot of fear twisted Clay’s stomach. “This isn’t looking good, is it?”

  “It’s not a lost cause. But I want you to know what you’re going to be up against if this goes before a judge. Let’s talk for a minute about your father’s claim that you lead a ‘wild’ life.”

  “That’s a bunch of…nonsense.” Clay changed his choice of noun at the last second.

  Mark eyed him. “You’re…how old, Clay?”

  “Thirty-four.”

  “And single.”

  “You make that sound like a sin.”

  “Depends on the reason. There are implications in this document that in terms of morality, you’re a bit on the…shall we say, liberal side. Not the best environment for children.”

  “I would never do anything to hurt the children. But I’m not into the commitment thing, either. And marriage is a big commitment.”

  “So is raising two kids.” A few beats of silence ticked by as Mark regarded him. “Is there anything in your life a private investigator could uncover that would hurt your case?”

  Clay stared at him. He’d never considered the possibility his father would hire someone to dig for dirt. But he wouldn’t put it past the old man. “I don’t think so. I was in the service for twelve years. I’ve been employed ever since. I’ve never had any trouble with the law.”

  “I know. I already checked all that out. Just like the other side will,” Mark added, forestalling Clay’s protest. “Let’s talk about the picture that’s emerging.”

  “I think I already have a pretty good idea.” Clay wondered if he looked as bleak as he felt.

  “Let me lay it out for you, anyway. Your father’s attorney will point to the rootless nature of your job and claim you’re a drifter of questionable moral character, with no solid religious affiliations and far fewer financial resources than the children’s grandfather. Your father, on the other hand, will be portrayed as a churchgoing pillar of the community, with a stable home, solid moral character, significant financial resources and experience in raising children and creating a home.”

  “Those may appear to be the facts, but they couldn’t be further from the truth.” Clay raked his fingers through his hair. “So where do we go from here?”