How the hell did she end up the bad guy? Shannon stood in the doorway to Brenna’s room, being given the cold shoulder, the same reaction she’d come across moments before in the boys’ room. They were not taking this well. Her “I’m serious this time—no one steps one foot on Mr. Dean’s property without major consequences” speech was met with pouts, stomps, and lots of whining. Oh, if only she were allowed to indulge in a good tantrum herself.
When her whispered “love you” was answered with silence, she started glumly down the hall to the kitchen. It was for the best. Dean wasn’t the man she thought she knew. But then the joke was on her. She really never knew who he was. Who treats a neighbor’s triplets like they meant more to him than the world, but wouldn’t claim and help support a child of their own? Someone with no heart, that’s who.
Shannon yanked open the fridge and studied the contents. It was baking time. She took out the carton of eggs and tub of margarine, almost forgetting herself and slamming the eggs to the counter. He made her angrier still, for affecting her like this. Get out of my head, you jerk! Get out of my heart.
Taking a shaky breath, Shannon moved to the pantry, gripping the door tightly as she searched for more ingredients to throw together. A single tear tracked down her cheek and she dashed it away with an angry swipe. No, he’s not worth this. He doesn’t deserve to be cried over. How many tearful nights had the mother of his child spent worrying over how she was going to afford to raise her baby?
Brownies or banana bread? Both. She’d have made something else too, if she’d had anything left in the pantry. It was time for a Costco run. Shannon emerged from the pantry, a box in each hand. She bumped the door shut with her butt. Sniffling, she dropped them off on the counter and dropped to her knees to dig out the hand mixer.
She measured out the ingredients for the brownies and turned the mixer on low, hoping she wasn’t bothering her little sleepers. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, her chest ached. She wanted to howl, to just belt out a scream so loud it would wake the dead. Her head and her heart were at war over the infuriating man next door. Her head was telling her how foolish she was to let a man into her life, her heart. Men couldn’t be trusted. They couldn’t be relied upon.
But this one can, her heart cried. This one is special.
She hadn’t given him a chance to explain. She frowned, pouring the smooth batter into the non-stick pan, her back straightening just a little. There again, her head and heart were in disagreement. Her head was claiming there was nothing that explained this beyond lack of character. Her heart tried to tell her that the man she knew would not abandon a child, any child, without good reason. Did he have a good reason?
The brownie pan went into the oven, the timer set and the bowl washed out for the banana bread. Shannon used a wooden spoon this time, stirring for all she was worth and hoping she didn’t snap the spoon in her distress. She’d done that the night she’d baked after learning about her mother’s upcoming nuptials. Wooden utensils probably weren’t the best implements for a stress baker like herself.
Shannon set the bread pan on the counter to wait its turn in the oven. She briefly considered taking a glass of wine in for a good soak (and a cry, if she were being truthful) in the tub, but worried she wouldn’t hear the timer. She poured the wine and carried the glass to her little roll top desk and her laptop.
She sank into the computer chair and took a large swallow of cabernet. What sucked, what really sucked, was that Dean was the one she had come to lean on during these moments when she just needed to talk, needed to cry … just needed someone. Who did she talk to when what she needed to talk about was him? And why, damn it, was he still the very first person she thought of?
Shannon groaned, setting her glass down and rubbing her aching temples with her fingertips. She still needed to explain things to Talia. Poor woman. She’d burst in like a madwoman to get the kids the night before, saying only that she’d talk to her later. Talia had called today. Dean had called too. She’d taken the phone off the hook. She wasn’t accepting phone calls today. The kids were calling her “Mean Mommy.”
Maybe her mom was on Skype. It wasn’t their usual night, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be online and surfing, shopping, or whatever it was women with actual free time did on the internet. Shannon took another slug of wine and opened up her browser. She had mail. The next sip of wine went down the wrong way and left her in a fit of coughing when she saw who the email was from. Vince Bainbridge.
Her fingers hovered over the keys. The urge to delete the email without reading it was almost impossible to ignore. Her heart and head were in agreement on this one: “Threat, threat!” They screamed as one. She stared at the screen, working up the courage to open the email. Shaky fingers scrabbled for the wine glass and she drained the contents. Here goes nothing.
Shannon,
The internet is a pretty small world. It was easier to find your email than I thought it would be.
I know this is too little too late, but I owe you all kinds of apologies. I was an immature kid who had no business getting married and bringing children into the world when I was too selfish to even take care of myself. Yeah, I know you sacrificed your own college career to become my wife and take care of me. And I thanked you by walking out when you needed me most.
Dad called me the other night. Said he saw the triplets. Said you’ve got a new guy. Told me to get my ass home. He’s right. I need to come home. I need to own up to my mistakes. I want to meet my kids. I want to say sorry—in person. It’s time, Shannon. I’m in upstate New York and plan to drive up for a quick visit. I’ll be there in a few days. I can’t wait to see you again.
Your reformed-deadbeat-ex-husband, Vince.
Shannon slammed the cover of her laptop, snatched a pillow off the couch, and ran out to the porch. Throwing herself full out on the porch glider, she stuffed her face in the pillow and screamed until her throat was raw and every ounce of emotion drained from her body. Then she went back inside to eat her way through a pan of brownies while her banana bread baked.