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“I’ll see you then.” Dylan opened his eyes. “Good night, Mackenzie.”
“Good night.” Mackenzie touched the end button and slowly slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor. She wrapped her arms tightly around her legs and rested her forehead on her knees. From the moment she had held Hope in her arms at the hospital, she had felt, like a splinter under her skin, this day would eventually come. And now that it had, she felt undeniably shell-shocked and strangely...relieved.
But with the relief came another strain of uncertainty. She prayed for Hope’s sake that Dylan wouldn’t reject her. But what if Dylan decided that he wanted to play a larger role in Hope’s life? She had raised Hope on her own for ten years. It had always been Mackenzie and Hope against the world. And she knew she was being selfish, but she liked it that way.
When Dylan ended the call, he started to straighten up the condo to keep his body busy and his mind occupied. He moved restlessly from room to room, cleaning surfaces and pounding pillows into submission. He wound up back in the kitchen and began to unload the dishwasher even though the housekeeper would be there in the morning. One by one, he put the glasses in the cabinet, setting them down hard and then shutting the cabinet doors a little bit more firmly than he normally would. Finished with the chore, Dylan tried to push the dishwasher drawer back in, but it caught.
“Dammit!” Dylan rattled it back into place and then with a hard shove, slammed it forward. He lifted up the dishwasher door and shut it, hard. Stony faced, he leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. Still frustrated and restless, Dylan headed down to the beach and once his feet hit the sand, he started to run. He was grateful for the cover of the night. He was grateful that there were only a few souls on the beach with him. He started to run faster, his feet pounding on the hard-packed sand. Pushing his body harder, pushing himself to go faster and farther than he had ever gone before. His lungs burned, but he didn’t let up. His leg muscles burned, but he didn’t let up. He didn’t let up until his leg muscles gave way and he stumbled. His hands took the brunt of his body weight as he fell forward into the sand. Fighting to catch his breath, he sat back, and dropped his head down to his knees. He pressed his sandy fingers into his eyes and then pinched the side of his nose to stop tears from forming.
He’d never wanted to be a father and he’d worked damn hard to make sure it never happened. That he never had a slipup. He had been vigilant all of his sexual life to make sure that he never got anyone pregnant. Even if he had been dating someone for a while, even if he saw them take the pill every day, he always wore a condom. But the one time he didn’t—the one time he didn’t—he’d gotten caught. And now, he had to face the one fear he had never intended to face: Was being a bad father genetic?
* * *
“I’m here.” Mackenzie pulled into a parking spot a couple of doors down from Dylan’s condo. She was on speakerphone with Rayna and Charlie.
“Mackenzie—you’ve got this,” Charlie said.
“And don’t forget—” Rayna began.
“Rayna,” Mackenzie interrupted her. “Please, please, please don’t give me another spiritual affirmation. I just can’t take it right now.”
After a pause, Rayna said in her “let’s meditate” voice, “I was just going to say—don’t forget that we’re always here for you, anytime, no matter what.”
“Oh. Sorry. Thank you,” Mackenzie said. “I’ll be by to pick up Hope after I’m done.”
Mackenzie hung up with her friends and then got out of the car. She stood by her car for several minutes, staring at Dylan’s condo, before she forced herself to get the show on the road. Stalling wouldn’t help. She needed to face this conversation with Dylan head-on and get it out of the way.
Mackenzie took a deep breath in and knocked on the door. This time, unlike the last time she stood in this spot, Dylan opened the door seconds after she knocked.
“Come on in.” Dylan stepped back and opened the door wider.
Mackenzie walked, with crossed arms, through the door and into Dylan’s world. She noticed, more so than she had the first time she was here, how neat and organized Dylan’s home was. His home was sleek, expensive and masculine: the ultimate bachelor pad. It was a sharp contrast to her 1930s Spanish-style Balboa Park rental with an interior decor that was cobbled together with flea-market finds and garage-sale bargains. The lives they lived, the lives they had built for themselves, couldn’t be more different.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Dylan stood several feet away from her, hands hidden in his front pockets. He looked different today. The boyish spark was gone from his eyes. The features of his face were hardened, his mouth unsmiling. Today, he seemed more like a man to her than he ever had before.
“No. Thank you.” Mackenzie shook her head, wishing she were already on the back end of this conversation.
“Let’s talk in the den.” Dylan slipped his left hand out of his pocket and gestured for her to walk in front of him. “After you.”
Mackenzie waited for Dylan to sit down before she said, “I’m not sure where to begin...”
“Why don’t we start with an answer to my question.” Dylan was determined not to let this conversation spiral out of control. He had always been known for his cool head and he wanted to keep it that way.
“I think you’ve already figured out the answer to your question, Dylan. But if you need to hear me say it, then I’ll say it,” Mackenzie said in a measured, even voice. “Hope is your daughter.”
Instead of responding right away, Dylan stood up and walked over to the large window that overlooked the ocean. He stared out at the waves and rubbed his hand hard over his freshly shaven jawline. With a shake of his head, he turned his back to the window.
“I’m just trying to wrap my mind around this, Mackenzie. It’s not every day that my friend’s sister turns up with my kid.”
“I understand.” Mackenzie wished that she could stop the sick feeling of nerves brewing in her stomach.
“How long have you known that she’s mine, Mackenzie?” Dylan asked pointedly. “Have you always known...or did you think that she was your ex-boyfriend’s child?”
Mackenzie’s stomach gurgled loudly. Embarrassed, she pressed her hands tightly into her belly. “I’ve always known.”
“How?” Dylan asked quietly, his face pale. “How did you know?”
“You were the only one I’d slept with in months, Dylan. It couldn’t’ve been anyone else but you.”
Dylan leaned back against the window; he felt off balance. “That’s not what I expected you to say.”
“It’s the truth....” Mackenzie said.
Dylan didn’t respond; he didn’t move. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he didn’t.
“I have a question for you.” Mackenzie turned her body toward him. “What made you think she was yours?”
“The bump...on her ear. It matches mine.”
“Oh...” Mackenzie said faintly. Dylan had always worn his hair long when they were kids—she never noticed that birthmark before.
“And then there was this.” Dylan retrieved the photo album, opened it and held it out for Mackenzie to take.
“Look familiar?” Dylan pointed to the picture of his aunt Gerri.
Mackenzie nodded, stared closely at the picture.
“Who needs a DNA test, right?” Dylan nodded toward the picture.
Mackenzie stared at the old black-and-white photograph. “This little girl...she’s the spitting image of Hope.” Mackenzie looked up. “Who is she?”
“That’s my aunt Gerri when she was nine.”
“I remember your aunt Gerri. We went to their horse farm a couple of times. She played the organ for us.”
Dylan’s jaw set. “Hope should be able to remember my aunt Gerri, too. Uncle Bill’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had. He deserved the chance to know my daughter.”
Dylan’s well-crafted barb hit its intended mark. And it hurt. Because Mackenzie knew that he was right. Silently, she carefully closed the photo album and handed it back to Dylan.
Dylan put the photo album on the coffee table and sunk down on the couch a cushion away from Mackenzie. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his legs and cradled his head in his hands.
“So...” Dylan said quietly. “We both know she’s mine. The next question I’d like answered is...why did you know ten years ago and I’m only finding out now?”
Mackenzie leaned away from Dylan. “I found out I was pregnant really early on. I’m regular...like clockwork. So when I didn’t get my period after the wedding...I knew.”
“And you didn’t think it was important to share this information with me, because...?”
“I was going to tell you. It never occurred to me not to tell you.”
“But you didn’t...” Dylan lifted his head, looked at her. “Why not?”
“Jett told me that you were back with Christa...”
“Jett knew?”
“No. Not back then. And not until long after the two of you had already lost touch.”
Dylan nodded and Mackenzie continued her story.
“After I found out that your engagement was back on, I thought it was the best thing for both of us if I didn’t tell you...”
“No.” Dylan shook his head. “You should have told me. I had the right to know.”
“You forget, Dylan. I knew how much you loved Christa. That’s all you talked about the night Jett got married. And you and I both know what would’ve happened if she found out you’d gotten someone pregnant at the wedding! She would’ve broken off the engagement and you would have lost the love of your life because of me! I couldn’t see any reason to screw up your life, Dylan...not when I didn’t even know if I wanted to keep the baby.”
“I didn’t marry Christa,” Dylan challenged her. “But, you did keep the baby.”
“Yes. I did. I thought about adoption. I thought about...abortion. In the end, I decided to keep her.”
Dylan stabbed his leg with his finger. “That’s a decision we should have made together.”
“I admit that I may have called it wrong...”
“Called it wrong...?” he repeated incredulously.
“But I was young and I thought I was doing the right thing for all of us.” Mackenzie touched her finger to her chest. “I got Hope and you got to marry the woman you loved.”
“I didn’t even know what love was back then...” Dylan shook his head. “At least now I know why you were so anxious to get rid of me at the barn the other day. You didn’t want me to meet my own daughter.”
“Not like that I didn’t.” Mackenzie set the record straight. “I didn’t want that for Hope...and I didn’t want that for you.”
In a rough voice, Dylan asked, “Were you ever going to tell me, Mackenzie? Or were you just going to let me go the rest of my life not knowing?”
“No.” Mackenzie clasped her hands together. “I was going to tell you. I had decided to start looking for you this year...”
Dylan’s eyes were glassy with emotion. “You’re telling me...that if we hadn’t run into each other at Ian’s party, you were going to track me down? Why? Why now?”
Mackenzie took a deep breath in and when she let it out, her shoulders sagged.
“It’s what Hope wanted. When we were filling out her Make-A-Wish application, she wrote—I wish I could meet my dad.”
“Wait a minute...” What she had just said didn’t sink into his head right away. “Make-A-Wish? Isn’t that for sick kids?”
“Yes.” Mackenzie waited for Dylan to ask the next logical question.
“Are you trying to tell me that Hope is sick?”
“Hope has been battling leukemia for the last two years.” Mackenzie managed to say those words without tearing up.
As Dylan often did, he went silent. He stared at her for a long time with puzzled, narrowed eyes.
“Do you need a drink?” he finally asked. “I need a drink.”
Dylan stood up suddenly and walked toward the kitchen. He stopped when he realized that she was still sitting on the couch. “Are you coming?”
Wordlessly, Mackenzie stood up on shaky legs and followed Dylan into the kitchen.
“Can I interest you in a cold malt beverage?” Dylan pulled a bottle of beer from the side door.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Why not, indeed,” Dylan said cryptically as he popped the tops off the beers and handed her one. “We’re both consenting adults here.”
“Thank you,” Mackenzie said. She brought the bottle up to her mouth but Dylan stopped her.
“What should we toast to?” He held out his bottle to her.
“Anything you’d like,” Mackenzie said tiredly. She was exhausted. She was exhausted all the time, and had been for years. The stress of Hope’s illness and the stress of trying to run a business had been catching up with her for a long time. And now she had a sinking feeling that dealing with Dylan was only going to add to her exhaustion.
Dylan tapped her bottle with his. “To Hope.”
“To Hope,” Mackenzie seconded.
“Could you go for some fresh air?” Dylan asked.
Mackenzie nodded and Dylan opened the French door leading out to the deck. “After you.”
Mackenzie stepped onto the large deck and was immediately drawn to the edge of the railing that overlooked the beach. She stared at the sun setting over the small, rolling waves and tried to relax her shoulders. Dylan, who used to be so simple to read, wasn’t so easy for her to read tonight. She had no idea what type of emotional shift she might encounter. Next to her, but not too close, Dylan rested his forearms on the railing, bottle loosely held in one hand.
“So...” Dylan said in a calm, almost contemplative tone. “Hope has cancer.”
“Yes...” Mackenzie nodded. “She has acute lymphoblastic leukemia. ALL. She was diagnosed when she was eight.”
“Leukemia. What is that? Blood cancer?”
Mackenzie nodded. “At first I just thought that she was pushing herself too hard between school and the barn. She was tired all the time, losing weight. She just wasn’t herself. When she started to complain about an ache in her bones and a sore throat...” Mackenzie lifted one shoulder. “I thought she was coming down with the flu. I mean...who would immediately jump to cancer?”
Dylan sat down in one of the chairs encircling a fire pit. Mackenzie joined him.
“I remember being really stressed out that day...the day we found out. I had to rearrange my entire morning so I could get Hope to the doctor. Traffic was ridiculous, I was on the phone with the bakery...on the phone with clients...I remember thinking that it was the worst possible time for Hope to be catching something on top of everything else.” Mackenzie pushed strands of hair out of her face. “And all I could do was start adding things to do to my already gigantic to-do list—stop by the pharmacy, arrange for someone to stay with Hope...blah, blah, blah...”
Mackenzie stopped to take a swig from her beer. She shook her head as she swallowed the liquid down. “I had no idea how frivolous everything I’d just been obsessing over was about to become.”
Dylan listened intently, while Mackenzie talked. “The doctor sent us to the hospital, tests were run and she was diagnosed that day. And just like that...literally in what seemed like the blink of an eye...our world imploded. No parent is ever prepared to hear the words your child has cancer.” Mackenzie rubbed fresh tears out of her eyes. “But even more than that, I’ll never forget the look on Hope’s face when she asked me—ʽDid she just say that I have cancer?’ I’ve never been that scared in my life. Hope was admitted to the hospital, and ever since then, our lives just became this never-ending revolving door of chemo and steroids and tests and checkups and hospital stays...”
When Mackenzie realized that she was the only one talking and that she had said much more than she had ever intended, she stopped herself from blurting out more by taking a swig of her now-tepid beer. She picked at the label on the bottle, wishing that Dylan would do something other than sit in his designer lounge chair and stare at her.
“I don’t know why I just told you all of that,” Mackenzie said to fill the silence.
