Two days before my wife told me she was seven weeks pregnant, a fertility doctor in Dayton told me that fathering a child naturally was about as close to impossible as medicine would let her say.
Chapter 3
Mom moved first.
She rushed to the television and yanked the plug from the wall.
“This is fake.”
Nobody answered.
She turned toward me.
“Nolan made this. I don’t know what kind of sick—”
Dad stood.
“Carol.”
She stopped.
“I watched it five weeks ago.”
Her face emptied.
“Grant—”
“My camera. My house. My kitchen.”
Becca grabbed my arm.
“Nolan, please.”
I removed her hand gently.
“I can explain.”
“Okay.”
“Not here.”
I took the envelope from inside my jacket.
She stared at it.
“What is that?”
“Divorce petition. Filed Monday.”
Her knees seemed to weaken.
I handed her the prenup.
Clause nine was highlighted.
Then my medical report.
“Read the date.”
She did.
I watched her understand.
“I got those results two days before you told me you were pregnant.”
Her mouth opened.
“You knew?”
“I knew something wasn’t right.”
“The baby could still be yours.”
“Maybe.”
Hope flashed across her face.
Then I said, “But you told Mom it was Colton’s.”
She sat down.
Ray stepped forward.
“Rebecca.”
She wouldn’t look at him.
“Look at me.”
Nothing.
“Is that his baby?”
Becca started crying.
Pam walked outside.
Colton finally spoke.
“This recording crap is illegal.”
Dad turned toward him.
“It’s my house.”
“You can’t just record people.”
“You knew the cameras were there.”
“Dad—”
“You were sitting in my chair, in my house, laughing about your brother raising your child.”
Colton threw up his hands.
“Nolan was never home!”
The room shifted.
He kept going.
“He was in Dayton four days a week. She was lonely.”
“Stop,” Becca whispered.
“Somebody had to be there for her.”
I wanted to hit him.
More than I’ve ever wanted to hit anyone.
But Dad had asked me not to.
And Colton was doing more damage with every sentence.
I turned to Becca’s broker, Diane.
“The Maple Ridge house. Is that one of Becca’s listings?”
Diane’s expression hardened.
“Yes.”
“Vacant?”
“Yes.”
“Owners in Arizona?”
She looked at Becca.
“Yes.”
“Both their cars were there nine weekday afternoons.”
Diane went completely still.
“Rebecca, bring your lockbox key to my office Monday morning.”
Becca covered her face.
Dad walked toward Colton.
“Keys.”
“What?”
“Company car.”
Colton laughed.
Dad held out his hand.
Outside, a tow truck backed into the driveway.
One of our porters stepped out.
Colton looked at Mom.
“Mom?”
That one word said everything.
Dad’s face tightened.
“Keys.”
“You can’t fire me over this.”
“I can fire you for poor performance. I can fire you for abusing company property. I can fire you because I’m tired of paying a grown man’s bills.”
“Grant,” Mom said.
“Stay out of it.”
“That’s your son.”
Dad looked at her.
“So is Nolan.”
Nobody spoke.
“You picked one a long time ago, Carol.”
Colton dropped the keys into Dad’s palm.
“Your employment ends today. The condo locks change Monday at noon. Your things will be placed in storage. I’ll pay the first month.”
“Dad—”
“That’s the last bill of yours I’ll ever pay.”
He picked up the enormous teddy bear.
He pushed it into Colton’s arms.
“And take this.”
Colton stared at him.
“You bought it for the baby.”
Dad’s voice stayed quiet.
“You’re not the uncle, son.”
He stepped back.
“Congratulations. You’re the father.”
One of Colton’s friends put down his drink and left.
Mom turned toward the guests.
Whatever else she was, she understood an audience.
“That baby is still a Wells.”
Nobody responded.
She looked at Dad.
“Grant, that is your grandchild. You’d punish an innocent baby because you’re angry at me?”
Dad’s expression softened.
Not toward her.
Toward the idea of the child.
“That baby will have a grandfather.”
Mom blinked.
“If Colton is the father, I’ll make sure the child has what it needs. What I won’t do is help you build another lie around it.”
She shook her head.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
Then Dad said, “Sixty-one thousand dollars.”
Mom went pale.
“What?”
“Company money.”
Mrs. Dobbins from Mom’s church stared at her.
Dad continued.
“Payments to Colton. His credit cards. The lake cabin. Kim found all of it.”
“Grant, I can explain.”
“No.”
He looked toward the back wall.
The man with the gift bag stepped forward.
“Carol Wells?”
Mom answered automatically.
“Yes?”
He handed her an envelope.
“You’ve been served.”
She looked down.
Divorce papers.
Her mascara began to run.
Then she looked at Dad the way she’d looked at him for thirty-four years whenever something went wrong.
Waiting for him to fix it.
He didn’t.
“You wanted sixty people to watch somebody cry today,” Dad said.
He glanced around the room.
“Carol, look around.”
