Love & Learn Read online

  But it had never occurred to him that she might be pregnant.

  Why hadn’t she told him?

  Well, he knew why.

  And to be honest, he hadn’t missed her. A mutual acquaintance he’d met at a book signing had told him that she’d remarried and moved to LA, and he had smiled and said that he wished her all the best.

  And then he’d forgotten all about her.

  The one good thing about their marriage had been that it had taught him that he just wasn’t meant to be with other people, and he had stuck to that principle ever since. Living alone worked so much better for him, that’s all. To not have any other commitments, besides his craft. He’d never be able to put his work aside for another human being, that had always been what he’d told himself.

  And now, there was a daughter? Who expected him to parent her?

  The idea was absurd. He didn’t know the first thing about parenting. Could barely remember his own childhood, or at least was having trouble distinguishing his actual childhood memories from those he had created for the main characters in his novels.

  Well, at least, at 16, she wouldn’t need much care and attention. He could easily give her a roof over her head. Find a good school for her, and then, she’d be going off to college in a few years. Hiring a nanny to care for a teenager felt a bit stupid, but he could get a housekeeper to take care of meals and things. A maternal woman who could give the girl whatever she needed to get over the loss of her mother.

  Yes, that was a good idea.

  He certainly had no idea how to comfort a grieving teenage girl.

  Having made the decision, he pulled his keys out of his pocket and let himself into the apartment. Leaving his suitcase on the doormat, he walked straight into the dark living room and over to the bar cabinet. With a glass of bourbon in his hand, he slumped down onto the couch and stared out the window at the dark sky. He desperately wanted to go to bed, but he couldn’t allow himself to go to sleep now. The social worker would be here in a couple of hours. With his daughter.

  He winced and took a sip of his drink. The brown liquid burned all the way down into his empty stomach and made him feel a bit nauseous. There was a strange smell in the apartment. He was used to the air being a bit stale when he got back from his more extended trips, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t even a particularly bad smell. Rather more appealing. Feminine, almost. Sweet.

  He couldn’t think where it had come from. He never brought women to his apartment. Hotel rooms were much better suited for such matters.

  Thinking of hotel rooms once again brought back memories from his last night in New York before the trip.

  He took another sip and leaned back against the couch. Too bad he hadn’t gotten that girl’s phone number, because he could have used her services again. She had really loosened him up, and right now, he was as tense as he’d ever been.

  Pushed into a corner, in a way he’d never been before.

  He didn’t want to have a daughter. He didn’t want the responsibilities of another person in his life.

  He was not that kind of a man.

  With an annoyed sigh, he downed the contents of his glass. He considered getting a refill but didn’t want to smell of alcohol when the social worker showed up. Better not.

  Although, if he wanted to get out of this mess, that might be a good way.

  He put the glass on the table and leaned back, staring out the window at the sky that appeared to be a couple of shades lighter than when he got back. He was so tired, but there was no point in going to bed. He’d never be able to get to sleep now, anyway. Too many things on his mind.

  The next thing he knew, someone rang the doorbell.

  16

  Lizzie

  Lizzie had awoken early, even though it was a Saturday. She’d made a long list of apartments that she wanted to look at and needed to get an early start. She had showered and gotten dressed in one of her nice office outfits. She’d pulled her hair back into a neat bun at the nape of her neck and made up her face so that it looked as though she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all. She looked neat, put together, like someone who had her life completely under control. Like a woman you’d want as a tenant.

  Just as she stepped out into the hallway, on her way to the kitchen for some breakfast, someone rang the doorbell. She froze. In all the time she’d been staying in the apartment that had never happened before, and she didn’t know what to do.

  Then she calmed down. It was fine. Whoever was ringing the bell was outside the building, down in the street. They’d never know she was up here unless she answered. It was fine. She hadn’t been caught.

  The doorbell rang again. More insistent, this time. And then Lizzie froze again. Because right there by the door stood a large suitcase. Almost at the same time as she spotted the suitcase, she heard someone moving in the living room. Someone muttered, “Alright, alright,” and got up from the couch. It was a leather couch, and it made that creaking noise when you got in or out. Lizzie panicked. Was he back? How could he be back? He wasn’t supposed to …

  Her frenzied thoughts were interrupted when a dark form appeared in the living room doorway. Tall and imposing and very, very intimidating.

  She stood completely still as he walked over to the door and pressed the button.

  “Yes,” he grunted with a voice that sounded like gravel.

  “Mr. Brown,” said a woman’s voice from the small speaker. “I’m Ellen Fish, from the Los Angeles County Child Protection Services.”

  He didn’t reply. Just pressed the button that unlocked the front door downstairs. Then he turned and lumbered into the kitchen while rubbing one hand over his face and groaning.

  As soon as he’d disappeared, Lizzie broke out of her paralysis and ducked back into the bedroom she’d just come out of. Her heart was beating so fast; she could barely breathe. The realization of how much trouble she was in was slowly dawning on her. What was she going to do now? Was there anything she could do?

  Her eyes darted around the room. She hadn’t exactly made herself at home, but her things where strewn around the room, and her work clothes hung neatly on hangers in the sizeable walk-in closet. She hurried into the bathroom and started gathering all her things into her washbag, careful not to make a noise. She could hear him bustling in the kitchen, and then the beeping from the coffee machine. She hadn’t been caught yet. He still had no idea she was here.

  Was it possible that she could get her things together and then hide out somewhere, in the unused second bedroom, for instance, until he either went out somewhere or went to sleep? It didn’t seem possible that she could be so lucky, but she would have to try. He would call the police if he found her here, and if she got arrested, she’d be stuck in jail. No one would come to bail her out, and she wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in court. She’d been squatting in his apartment for six weeks. That was a criminal offense!

  There was a knock on the door, and she held her breath as Henry walked back out into the hallway again, to let the woman in.

  “Good morning, Mr. Brown,” she heard the same woman say. A social worker? From Los Angeles? This early on a weekend?

  Whatever this was about, it couldn’t be good news.

  Lizzie tiptoed into the walk-in and started pulling her work clothes from Henry’s hangers, folding them neatly and placing them in her duffel bags.

  One last glance around the bedroom, but she couldn’t see anything else that belonged to her. The bed was unmade, like it had been when she got here, with the same sheets, freshly laundered a couple of days ago. She didn’t think he’d notice anything strange in here. As long as he didn’t discover her.

  With her duffel bags over one shoulder, she moved back to the bedroom door and out into the hallway. Voices came from the living room. The woman who’d rung the door, and then a young girl. Henry muttered something, but Lizzie couldn’t make out the words.

  Over by the front door, next to Henry’s suitcase, stood another suitcase. Th
is one was hot pink, covered in stickers. Next to it was a black stroller, with a light blue fleece blanket spilling over on one side. Lizzie considered just bolting for the door. Maybe the element of surprise would help her get away before all those people in the living room understood what was going on. But she would never make it out of the apartment with all that stuff barricading the door.

  “Danny is staying with me!” the young girl shouted, and a whimper rose from the stroller. Lizzie hurried across the hallway and into the second bedroom, pulling the door closed behind her just as a slim teenage girl stormed out into the hallway.

  The girl leaned over the stroller and picked up a small child. “It’s alright, Danny,” she said comfortingly. “I’m here.”

  Lizzie put her bags down but couldn’t move away from the door. Through the narrow crack, she saw the girl walk back into the living room. “Aunt Heather is a bitch,” she proclaimed loudly. “She’s not getting Danny.” There was a pause. “Over my dead body.”

  17

  Henry

  This was a nightmare.

  Henry’s head was pounding, and his tongue felt like twice its normal size. He tried to take a sip of his coffee, but it was too hot, and his giant tongue now felt scorched. The social worker was glaring at him, sizing him up and not making any secret of the fact that he was coming up short. She had smelled the bourbon on him as soon as he’d opened the door, he was sure of that. How could he have fallen asleep?

  “Er … would you like some coffee,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  The social worker shook her head as if he’d offered her heroin on a platter made from some endangered animal. “No, thank you,” she said without as much as a trace of gratitude in her voice. “But perhaps some orange juice or something for the baby. He seems to be running a fever, and the corner store hadn’t opened yet when we arrived.”

  Henry stared at the baby in his daughter’s arms. Then he made a helpless gesture. “I’m sorry. I just got back from Europe a couple of hours ago. I haven’t been home for months. There’s no food in the house.”

  The social worker’s disapproval intensified. “Mrs. Montana’s will named you as Julia’s father. That makes you the girl’s closest living relative. Her grandparents have passed away, and Mrs. Montana was an only child. The courts would probably give you custody, should you apply for that, but it is not an automatic process. The child’s best interest must always take precedent.” The emphasis on the word probably was apparent. Henry shared her doubts, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. He was too busy stealing glances at the girl.

  She looked nothing like her mother, as she stood there, in-expertly rocking the baby that was wrapped in a thin fleece blanket with little blue trains on it. Her mother had been a short and curvy blue-eyed blonde, but this girl was tall and slim, with shoulder-length dark-brown hair and intense brown eyes that looked eerily familiar. “Danny is my closest living relative,” she said, spearing Henry with an angry stare. “He is my only family now. I’m not going anywhere if he can’t come with me.”

  The social worker looked tired, as if they’d had this discussion many times already. “Mr. Montana’s sister has offered to take her nephew, but she is not willing to care for Julia at the moment. There is … some animosity.”

  “Aunt Heather is a bitch,” Julia said.

  “Yes …” Henry said. “You mentioned that.”

  He had no idea what to do. When he first spotted the baby, he had panicked, thinking it was Julia’s baby. Finding out that it was his daughter’s half-brother had been a relief, but only for a moment. Because the tall teenager who was staring at him with hatred in those familiar eyes—that he just now realized looked just like his mother’s! —refused to come and live with him if he didn’t also take her brother.

  And perhaps he could have found some way to deal with a teenage daughter, but there was no way he could wrap his head around caring for a baby that he had no connection to, whatsoever.

  Part of him wanted to say no. No, he would not be prepared to raise his ex-wife’s baby, just to please a daughter that had appeared out of the blue. But when he looked into her face and saw so much of himself in her, the idea of her turning around and walking out that door again made him sick.

  He didn’t want kids. Had never wanted them. But finding out that he had a daughter, that she was here and pleading with him to help her … How could he refuse when she looked at him like that?

  “Well,” he said, turning to the social worker. “I guess I could take them both …” He’d hire a nanny. Sort something out. He wouldn’t have to care for the child himself. And when Julia moved out, there was always boarding school for the little guy. It had been hell when he was a boy, but that was in another country, in another millennium. Surely, times must have changed in that world as well. It could all be sorted, somehow. He had enough money to support two children, that was certainly not an issue.

  “It’s not that simple, Mr. Brown,” the social worker said. “As I said, you are Julia’s biological father, but I understand that this comes as something of a surprise to you. You have had no contact with the child before today.”

  He shook his head numbly.

  The social worker continued. “And as for the boy, there is no connection at all, biological or otherwise. I struggle to see how any court would grant you custody of this child.” She looked around the room. “Although this is a very nice apartment, it is not exactly what we would be looking for when we try to find a suitable home for a child that has lost both its parents. This boy—and his sister—are going to need two responsible and reliable parents that are prepared to do everything it takes to help these children through their grief. I fail to see …”

  The baby’s whimpers had slowly accelerated into a wail, and Julia’s rocking had increased in pace until she was almost shaking him. It looked wrong, but Henry certainly wasn’t about to take the baby from her. He wouldn’t have the first clue what to do with it.

  “Well, she is my daughter,” he said, raising his voice to make himself heard over the baby’s screams. “She should stay with me.”

  The social worker sighed. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Brown. The court is not going to award custody of an orphaned baby to a single man with no parenting experience. The judge will probably allow Julia to decide for herself, but the baby …”

  “Danny is staying with me!” Julia’s hysterical voice was even more jarring than the baby’s screams. Henry’s head felt as if it was about to explode. He had no idea what to do.

  The only thing he knew was that he couldn’t let his daughter leave, before getting a chance to get to know her.

  18

  Lizzie

  Lizzie had heard most of what had been said. They had been speaking loudly, and when the baby started crying, they had raised their voices even more. It was heartbreaking to hear the baby so distraught. Why didn’t they soothe the child, give it something to eat or change its diaper, or whatever the problem was? It grated on her nerves, and she couldn’t have pulled herself away from the bedroom door if she’d tried.

  Staying out of sight until she’d get a chance to sneak out of the apartment was her only chance; she knew that. But coming up with a plan for what to do once she’d managed to leave the apartment was impossible. Especially when the sound of that baby crying made her whole body vibrate. She pressed her forehead against the door frame and squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears. This was bringing back memories from the worst time of her life. As soon as she’d heard the social worker introducing herself, she had started to panic, and now she was seriously distressed. Social workers were always bad news.

  They had come knocking when Lizzie was little as well, but her mom had only been drinking off and on at that time, and in the end, Lizzie had been allowed to stay with her mother. It hadn’t been too bad. She was left alone now and then, and there had been some unpleasant times when her mother had brought home men who were drunk and turned aggressive, but she’d been
fine.

  But her mother had started drinking more and more, and there had been some pills and other drugs as well, as Lizzie got older. And her mother had had two more children, that had both been taken into care.

  A little boy, when Lizzie had been eight. And a little girl when she’d been eleven or so.

  Her baby brother had been the most adorable thing. Her mother had sobered up long enough to name him Teddy and buy some cute little outfits, but it had been Lizzie that had sat with him, held his bottle, changed his diapers, most of the time. Her mother tired quickly, but Lizzie had been happy to help. A neighbor had shown her how to care for the child, and she’d soaked up every word, eager to do it right. She’d never had many toys, and the baby had been a perfect little doll, much better than anything that could be bought in a toy store. He’d had the prettiest blue eyes and soft down across his big round head instead of hair. The belly button had been gross for the first few weeks, and it had only just healed up when the social worker came.

  She’d had the police with her.

  Lizzie didn’t understand at the time. She’d been doing a good job taking care of him, even if her mom was out most nights. She didn’t mind if he woke her up. She loved her little brother with a fierce heat in her chest and would do anything for him.

  But the social worker wouldn’t listen, and her little brother had disappeared.

  Three years later, her mother had brought home a little sister.

  She’d been older by then, and even if she’d just been a kid, she’d been able to tell that there was something wrong with the baby. Her mom had been doing drugs all through the pregnancy, and that might have had something to do with it.

  Her little sister cried all the time. And she didn’t want to eat, didn’t want to sleep. Didn’t want to be held.