“Just a way to see if you’re genetically linked to someone else,” she replied.
He wrinkled his nose. “What?”
She’d known that explanation would be indecipherable to him, which was why she’d used it. “Never mind.”
Aiyana seemed thoughtful. “Which way do you want it to go?”
Natasha wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Given Ace’s behavior the past twelve months, it would be nice to know she wouldn’t have to deal with him indefinitely. If he wasn’t Lucas’s father, she could send him a check each month for the next three years and be done with him. If he got too difficult, she might even take him back to court to get rid of the spousal support—make him work for his own living. The thought of that brought a certain amount of relief, especially because she believed Mack would be a good father. He took care of those he loved, and she’d already seen how interested he was in Lucas, had watched them interact in a positive, healthy way.
But she didn’t want to switch fathers on her child if she didn’t have to. Even if that didn’t cause Lucas to struggle now, it could leave a nasty scar, especially if Ace bugged out as if he’d never really meant a thing.
“That’s hard to say.”
“Who’s the better person?” Aiyana asked.
“There’s nothing wrong with either one of them,” she replied, just in case her son could understand even a portion of what they were talking about. But she knew in her heart there was really only one answer to that question: Mack.
* * *
Mack expected Natasha to be somewhat depressed when she got home. She was taking a big step down, going from being a pediatrician with her own practice to working as a school nurse, but he was surprised to see a smile on her face when she walked through the door.
“Your meeting must’ve gone well,” he said, turning away from the frame he was tearing out so that he could replace the broken window.
She stopped, obviously taken aback by the demolition. “What are you doing?”
“The landlord dropped by. He said he ordered the window right after you leased the place and stuck it in the garage for safekeeping until he could get over here to install it.”
Lucas, excited by what Mack was doing, hurried over to play with the tools strewn at his feet.
“Where in the garage?” she asked. “I didn’t see it when I parked in there.”
Using the claw part of the hammer, Mack pried out the sill of the old window, which had so much dry rot it was turning to sawdust anyway. “It was wrapped up in padding and cardboard behind the trash cans.”
“So where is my landlord?” she asked. “Why isn’t he installing it?”
“He’s got to be eighty years old, didn’t look strong enough to lift it, let alone put it in. So I said I’d do it.”
“And he let you, even though he doesn’t know you? He doesn’t care that you’re tearing out part of the wall?”
“I have to tear it out. Wood’s bad.” He stopped working long enough to look over at her. “So? How’d it go at the school?”
She put her purse on the counter. “Really well. I like the woman I’m working for. And I’m excited to have the chance to make a difference in the lives of kids who really need the time, energy and love I’m willing to invest. Because I was an outcast growing up, too, so different from all the other little girls at school who were clean and well cared for, I’m thinking I should be able to understand a little of what these poor, broken kids have endured.”
He remembered how angry she’d been at the world when she and her mother moved in. At sixteen, she’d used more profanity than they did—and with five brothers growing up mostly without parents, their language had never been good. Dylan was constantly trying to get Natasha to quit swearing—he’d tell her that the way she talked didn’t sound like a young lady—but she’d just tell him to fuck off. It used to make them all laugh, but Mack secretly admired how tough she was for being so small and vulnerable and how hard she worked around the house and the auto body shop. She was determined to earn her place in the world and pay them back for their “charity.” But she refused to allow them to tell her what to do otherwise. She wouldn’t alter the language she used, the clothes she wore or the friends she hung out with.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked.
He wiped the nostalgic expression off his face. “No reason.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Tell me.”
“I was remembering what you used to be like.”
“Don’t remind me. I had a huge chip on my shoulder. I know.”
They all did, he thought, as he grabbed Lucas by the back of his shirt to stop him from carting away the hammer he’d put down. “I admired you,” he admitted.
“Because you didn’t know me when I was the little girl no one wanted to sit next to. Consider yourself lucky that you didn’t come into my life until I was old enough to get the lice out of my hair.”
“What’s lice, Mommy?” Lucas asked, picking up Mack’s new screwdriver.
“I hope you never have to find out,” she told him. “Or if you do, that I’ll catch it here at home, and you won’t be embarrassed at school the way I was.”
That her mother hadn’t taken proper care of her had always made Mack angry. He wished he would’ve been around to protect her sooner. “You’re right—I didn’t know the little girl whose mother would routinely forget her at school, or send her to class without even combing her hair. By the time I met you, you had most things figured out.” He hid a smile. By then, she’d been determined not to need anyone, was willing to take on the whole world by herself if she had to. He’d never forget her getting into a fight with a boy at school—one that turned physical—because that boy said something about “the dirty Amos brothers” she lived with. Their reputations weren’t any better than hers. Plenty of people had gossiped about them, tried to insinuate that she was sleeping with them all, but he and his brothers had looked out for each other, done what they could for Natasha, too, and somehow they’d gotten through those difficult times, some of which he actually remembered fondly. Not too many kids messed with him; they knew better than to rile up the Amoses. And Natasha had proved herself one of them that day.
“I was so angry,” she said. “Sometimes I’m still angry—and have to talk myself down. Since my mother isn’t capable of living a productive life, it’s a waste of time to expect more than she can deliver. Once I realized I would never have the mother I wanted, or the father, either, I’ve done a lot better.”