Page 52 of Hearts Aweigh

A COUPLE HOURS AWAY FROM Spencer afforded Abby a respite. Dr. Grant was charming, funny, and an attentive date. But she’d been detached.

She laughed on cue, ate her meal with relish, and grinned like an idiot when he suggested they meet for a walk the next morning. Yet, she’d checked her watch every few minutes, marking the time until her two hours were up.

She used the key card Spencer had given her and entered the Imperial Suite. Daisy sat on the couch, and Maddie spun in a rapid circle beside her.

Abby walked over. “What’s going on?”

“A sugar rush,” Daisy said in a soft drawl. “We took her to have supper at the buffet, and I’m afraid she overdid it. I suspect Spencer doesn’t let her eat junk food often.”

“Dinner was yummy!” shouted Maddie. “I had two cupcakes.”

“One of which you snuck,” her grandmother reminded her. “Not to mention a slushie, a hot dog, a cookie—”

As Daisy listed the many sweet concoctions her granddaughter ate, Abby chuckled. “It’s nice to see her behaving like a normal child.”

“Isn’t it though?”

Spencer exited the office and joined them. He gaped at his little girl, who was spinning like a top. “Did I miss something?”

His mother crept from the couch with a guilty expression. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m a bit tired.” Without meeting his eyes, she addressed her son. “Spencer, if you have time tomorrow, there’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

Abby escaped to the kitchen to give them privacy. She took a glass from the cupboard and poured herself some lemonade from the pitcher on the middle island. Daisy exited, leaving Spencer alone with his daughter in the living room.

A whimper sounded. Maddie collapsed on the couch cushions and rubbed her belly in a slow circular motion.

“Madeleine”—Spencer knelt in front of her—“are you in pain?”

Abby rushed over. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“I have a tummyegg.” Maddie’s lower lip protruded.

“Oh no. Those tummyeggs are awful.” Abby crouched down and patted Maddie’s back as Spencer hovered. “Is it a big pain or a little one?”

“Kind of”—Maddie’s head tilted—“kind of in the middle.”

“Does it twinge like a mosquito poking you, or is it dull like an ache?”

The girl concentrated on the ceiling as she assessed her pain. “I don’t know.”

“I’m calling the doctor.” Spencer marched to the cabin phone and seized the receiver.

Abby straightened. “I doubt it’s necessary. Maddie ate a hot dog, a slushie, a cookie, and two cupcakes for dinner.”

“She what?” Spencer slammed the phone in the cradle.

“After running around in the Kids Kingdom all afternoon and then that dinner, she probably has an upset stomach. Let her rest awhile.” Abby wrapped her arms around Maddie, cuddled her close, then urged her to her feet. “We’ll go upstairs and get her changed into pj’s.”

Spencer glared at the door where his mother had exited. “The next time I see Daisy, we’re going to have a discussion about Madeleine’s dietary choices.”

Abby headed for the stairs. “While you’re planning your attack, look in my bag. You should find a box of peppermint tea, which helps with nausea.”

“Not eating her weight in processed sugary foods would help more.”

“Didn’t you ever overindulge when you were a kid?”

“Not once.”

“That’s sad.” Abby passed him. “Throwing up all over the floor after one of your friend’s birthday parties is a childhood rite of passage.”

She climbed the stairs, helped Maddie brush her teeth, and assisted the moaning child into her lacy pink pajamas. Abby had just settled her into bed when Spencer appeared at the door with a mug.

“Will this tea do any good?” he asked.

Abby was impressed he’d made it himself. She took it from him, tested the temperature of the cup with her fingers, and gave Maddie a sip.

Spencer laid a hand on his daughter’s forehead. “At least she doesn’t have a fever.” He pulled away and studied Maddie. “How are you?”

She gulped another sip of tea. “My twinges feel better.”

“Don’t ever eat that much junk food again.”

His stern voice came out too harsh. Abby smacked his arm before she could stop herself. Madeleine sank lower in the bed until the sheet covered her chin.

Spencer wished he could yank his tongue out of his head. Abby looked like she wouldn’t mind helping him, and his daughter cowered as if he were an ogre. He’d never get this parenting thing right.

After a silent prayer, he knelt on the floor by the bed. “I mean”—his voice was getting squeaky again—“I don’t want you to be sick. It …” He cast an alarmed look at Abby.

She must have taken pity on him. Abby smoothed her hand across Madeleine’s shoulder. “Your daddy’s really sad when you’re sick. He wants you to be happy and healthy.”

“Right.” Spencer adjusted her comforter. “I want you to be happy. Very, very happy.”

“And he loves you so much.” Abby gave him an encouraging nod.

“Yes. I”—the long unused words didn’t come naturally to him—“I l-love you. Very much.”

Madeleine’s smile appeared above the sheet, but it dissolved into a wince. “Oooooh. It twinges.”

Abby held up the mug. “Here. Drink another sip of tea.” She patted his daughter’s head until she finished the tea and tucked the blankets in tight around her.

“Are you leaving?” Tears welled in Madeleine’s eyes.

“Oh, no.” Abby grabbed a stack of books from the nightstand. “I’m deciding which story to read first.” She looked over at him. “You don’t have to stay, Mr. Masterson. I’ll take care of her.”

An argument surged in his throat, but he suppressed it. Abby was the expert. Perhaps Madeleine would rest easier if he wasn’t there. He begrudgingly rose to his feet and left the room. Behind him, Abby began a tale of a baby panda who learned to water-ski.

Spencer remained downstairs while Abby ministered to his daughter. He alternated between pacing the living room and staring blankly at his laptop screen. An occasional whimper drifted from above and threw his brain into confusion.

It was midnight when Abby finally returned to the lower level. She yawned and said, “Maddie’s asleep.”

She carried the empty mug to the kitchen without looking his way. He followed her to the sink and waited.

Abby washed the cup, left it upside down on a towel to dry, and folded her hands in front of her. “Did you need something?”

“I need answers.” He tapped his fingers on the marble countertop. “Why would Daisy feed my daughter two cupcakes?”

“She didn’t feed her two. She fed her one. Maddie snuck the other cupcake.” Abby laughed. “I was proud when I heard that.”

“Proud? For being sneaky?”

“Of course not. In a normal situation, I’d have a serious talk with the child. But Maddie never does anything wrong. She’s always so well-behaved, it’s a relief to see her acting like a regular five-year-old. Tonight, she’s learning the hard way that too much sugar is bad.”

“I don’t want her to learn the hard way. It’s my job to protect her.”

“That’s a normal parental desire, but unrealistic.” Abby stood straight, her hands still in the servile position. “Think of how many invaluable lessons you learned because you wouldn’t listen when someone tried to warn you.”

“Please don’t marry that woman.”

His mother’s voice floated unbidden through Spencer’s memory.

She’d tried to tell him the relationship with his ex-wife was doomed, but he’d ignored her.

What did Daisy know about happy marriages?

Perhaps she’d recognized the looming disaster because she knew about unhappy ones.

She’d been right. The wedding was a giant success, but everything that followed was a tragedy.

Everything except Madeleine.

And now she was sick upstairs because he hadn’t safeguarded her.

He threaded his fingers through his hair and left both hands on top of his head. Why was he so wretched at being a father? As he’d prepared for Madeleine to live with him, he’d bought a stack of self-help books, subscribed to online family psychology seminars, and even hired a parenting coach.

Perhaps it was the same as being a lawyer. Some people were naturally gifted. When it came to understanding children, he wasn’t. But Abby was. If he could only convince her to share that expertise with Madeleine on a permanent basis.

Abby eyed his distressed posture. Her mouth opened, but she halted. Took a step back. “If there’s nothing else, I’m exhausted.” Her high heels clicked against the kitchen tile. She walked to the couch and picked up her bag. “I’ll report for work at eight in the morning.”

Panic hit Spencer’s gut. What if Madeleine woke while Abby was gone? What if she was sick again? What if she cried?

“Wait!” He bellowed the word like an ill-tempered judge.

Abby jumped. She spun with wide eyes.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, but … but what do I do if Madeleine is sick again? What if she throws up or cries or …?”

Her face softened, and a hint of amusement appeared. “I expect she’ll sleep all night. But if she does wake up, I left extra tea bags in the kitchen. Give her a few more sips of peppermint tea, and she’ll be fine.”

Abby slipped her bag’s strap on her arm and headed for the door. A sense of dread that had nothing to do with his daughter ambushed him. He didn’t want her to leave. He dreaded the doubts and the bad memories and the loneliness. That last one was the worst. The ever-present loneliness.

“Wait.” Spencer whispered it this time.