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Mike's eyes caught the hand-hold. His stern face lit up with a quick smile. Stacie went inside to bring
out the food and her son. She too, flashed a smile Tanya's way. Soon they were all eating lunch
together like old times. Baby Michael was now just Mikey. He said he remembered Tanya, that he
still had a few of the doodles she'd made for him of planes and trucks.
"He sure grew up fast," Braden commented.
"Yeah, they do." Tanya eyed the boy and his much younger sister. The Parkinsons were a happy
family. Her chest suddenly felt tight. Maybe she didn't want to move or worry that the man she
loved would get killed overseas, but she did want what they had here in this backyard. A family. A
family that loved each other and took care of each other. A family that had barbeques in the
backyard and didn't care if their house was old or new. This realization struck her hard. So much,
that after they'd eaten their pieces of cake and Mike and Stacie were inside cleaning up, Tanya leaned
over and said, "Braden, there's something I haven't told you."
"What is it?" By his face she knew that he thought it was something serious.
"I think it's better if I show you. Can we go to my place after this?"
"Yeah, sure."
After another hour of visiting, Tanya and Braden took their leave promising they'd all get together
again real soon. He walked her to her car and planted a warm kiss on her lips before she knew it was
even coming. She kissed him a second time, savoring the closeness. This might be the last time she
got to do so. When he found out what she'd been hiding, he'd either be mad or he'd forgive her.
"Follow me," she said.
"Anywhere." He backed to his car and she got in hers, second guessing this decision. It would affect
more than Braden and her. She had protected her secret from her family. Even her brother didn't
know.
She took 5th to Swan and kept below the speed limit so she wouldn't lose Braden. Lose Braden.
Tanya sighed. She turned into her neighborhood and drove two streets over to where her little house
stood. Maggie's minivan was parked in its usual spot. Braden parked at the curb.
Hand in hand, they went to the door and she led him inside. It smelled like Maggie had been
cooking again. Baking cookies. "Hey Maggie. I'm back."
"Oh hey girl." Maggie came out of the kitchen into the den. Her usual cheery face fell into a look of
dread. "Oh. Hey Braden." She sounded grim.
He didn't seem to notice. "Hi Maggie. Long time no see."
She nodded, her brown curls bobbing. "Well, let's see. I guess I better leave you two and get out of
here. There's a last pan of cookies in the oven, Tanya. Should be ready in about five minutes." She
bit her lip. "And Brady's napping on the couch in the den."
"Thanks Maggie. I really appreciate you looking after him for me on such short notice."
Maggie smiled and went to get her stuff. She called to her girls who were playing out back and then
she and her troop hurried out, leaving Tanya and Braden alone with their son. For the first time.
Braden looked puzzled. Tanya led him into the den and waved her hand at the little boy asleep on
the couch, his dark, curly hair a perfect match to his father's. "He has your eyes," she said, her voice
cracking with emotion. She went and sat beside her son and ran her fingers over his face. His skin
wasn't as light as Braden's or as dark as hers. He let out a soft moan and settled.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking up at Braden's face. "So very sorry."
Chapter Eight
Braden felt like he'd been hit by a semi. He could hardly breathe or think, much less move. His son.
He stared down at the little boy. Son. His son. His son, Brady. God, she'd named the boy after him.
And her damn brother hadn't told him. Even Tanya hadn't told him. She should have told him over
the phone when he called. Hell, she should have told him when she found out she was pregnant.
He swallowed and took a step back. She looked miserable, her face downcast, her shoulders
trembling.
And she should be miserable, he thought. Damn her for keeping his son from him, hiding the child like
some dark secret. He was a father, damn it, and she hadn't even given him a chance to be that.
Another step backwards. Another and another until he was in the kitchen looking at them with wide
eyes.
Tanya raised her face and shook her head. "You go on, now, Braden. Just go. You have every right
to hate me."
He reached to the side and caught hold of the wall's edge, steadying himself. Hate her? She thought
he hated her for this? Did he hate her? He didn't know. He didn't know what to think at all.
His eyes sought out the child, the curve of his round face, his legs all curled up and tucked in. His
body was so tiny. He guessed the boy was about five. Five would make him the result of what had
happened when Braden had rushed to Tanya's parents' house that night so long ago. He hadn't used
any protection then. He had really screwed up her life more than he knew.
"Just go," she said again, her voice soft, defeated. "I shouldn't have brought you here. I should have
had fun with you and cried every night after you left. That would have been easier than this."
Easier? He turned his back on them and walked away. Past the kitchen with its sweet melting
chocolate scent, past the little green couch in the front room and the vase of white roses on the
coffee table. By the front door he stopped and stared at the bookshelf, something there catching his
eye. It was a photograph of them together in the Parkinson's backyard. Two plates of cake in front
of them and Tanya smiling at him, looking happy. It wasn't in a frame. Just sitting there propped
against books as if it had been pulled out hastily and set there as a reminder.
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