Monday Mourning

”

“Lily is Lutetia’s daughter,” I guessed.

Nod.

“Lutetia never told you she was pregnant?”

“She was afraid somehow I’d force her to remain in Canada.”

“Did she marry?”

“In the Abacos. Marriage broke up when Lily was twelve. Lutetia moved them both to Halifax.”

Birdie wandered in and rubbed my leg. I reached down and absently scratched his head.

“Why tell you now?”

“Lily had started asking about her biological father. She’d also started pulling some of the same stunts as Danielle. When I showed up…” Ryan spread his hands.

“You weren’t expecting Lily in Montreal?”

“I opened my door and there she was. The little idiot had hitchhiked.”

Birdie nudged me again. I stroked him, feeling, what? Relieved that the prom queen wasn’t a love interest? Disappointed that Ryan hadn’t confided in me?

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Things have been pretty strained between us, Tempe.” Ryan grin. “Probably my fault. I’ve been under some pressure lately. Lily. The meth operation.”

Ryan patted his shirt pocket, remembered my no-smoking ban, dropped his hands to his lap.

“But mostly, I was holding off until I was sure.”

“You asked for proof of paternity?”

Ryan nodded.

“How did Lily respond to that?”

“The kid went ballistic, really started acting out.”

The relapse into smoking. The haggard look. Ryan had been under more stress lately than I had.

“I got the DNA report last week.”

I waited.

“Lily is my daughter.”

“That’s wonderful, Ryan.”

“It is. But the kid’s a pistol, and I’m clueless concerning fatherhood.

“What have you worked out so far?”

“Lutetia’s largely gotten Lily’s head straight. Lily loves her mother and will continue to live with her. If she decides she wants another parent in her life, I’ll be there for her, whatever it takes.”

I crossed to the couch and sat beside Ryan. He looked at me, eyes boylike. I took his hand.

“You’ll be a wonderful father.”

“I’ll need a lot of help.”

“You’ve got it, cowboy.”

I put my face to Ryan’s, felt his rough stubble on my cheek.

Ryan held me a moment, then set me at arm’s length, and got up.

“Stay here.”

I waited, unsure what was happening. The front door opened, seconds passed. The door closed. I heard rattling. A tinkling bell.

Ryan reappeared wearing the Santa hat and carrying a cage the size of a gym. Inside, a cockatiel clung to an undulating swing.

Ryan placed the cage on my coffee table, dropped next to me on the couch, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.