Page 88 of Second Chance Baby

Par for the course, really.

But before I could even dwell on it for more than a few minutes, Hank Masterson was calling me to invite me—by myself—to his home for what ended up being an afternoon spent in his workshop. I found him in the space I hadn’t ever spent much time in, preparing some dark wood while a machine hummed and whirred.

I couldn’t quite identify what I was looking at, but that didn’t stop him from immediately tucking it aside after he’d run some kind of polish or gloss over the piece. “Bridget, how are you?”

His booming voice nearly made me retreat until I made myself stop wringing my hands as I stepped forward. “Hi, sir. I’m good, thank you. How are you?”

He waved a hand. “You’re family. Quit that ‘sir’ stuff.”

I almost questioned that impossibility before sense prevailed. This was all so new for me. I’d had so little experience with a family like this one.

Hell, I hadn’t even known my own father despite being blamed for his absence from my life.

“Yes, sir.” Closing my eyes, I shook my head. “Sorry. This is all new to me.”

“Understood. And I didn’t want you to be overwhelmed by the lot of us so I figured we could talk privately if that worked for you.”

“It does, sure. Thank you.”

His kindly smile as I opened my eyes made me suck in a jagged breath. When he smiled with his eye crinkles and dimples on full display, never mind his broad shoulders outlined in his denim shirt, he reminded me so much of Travis that my nerves dissipated. Hank had helped to create the incredible man I loved—the one who had nearly cried trying to talk to our nearly teenage daughter about periods and sex.

Not that he’d told me about that. No, sir, but Carrington had, squirming all the while. Not only had she been embarrassed, she’d also wanted me to make Travis feel better, since I’d already talked to her about it in my fumbling trying-to-be-an-adequate-mom way.

“What are you worrying over? I see it in your eyes,” he continued. “I’ve known you since you were a teen, for God’s sake. Call me Hank. Please.”

While he continued sawing and polishing the word for whatever his project was, I found myself telling him everything. I needed a sounding board, and what better of a one than a man focused on building something after he’d raised 5 kids of his own to adulthood?

Evidently, no one.

“So, I tried to talk to Carrington about girl issues because Travis was worried she was maybe messing around with a young boy in her class, and he’d wondered if I would help with the conversation, since what dad wants to talk about that stuff with their young daughter? Unless maybe you were okay with it, and if so, there’s a reason why everyone thinks you and JoAnn are the gold standard for parents.” After the flood of words, I took a deep breath and grabbed a bottle of water from the nearby mini-fridge. I drank greedily, grateful to wet my painfully dry throat. “I mean, my mom didn’t even tell me what changes would happen to me in puberty. Nothing. No advice about bras or body hair or hormones or anything, never mind what to expectwith my period or anything about sex or having a kid. Literally nothing.”

He nodded, brushing aside wood shavings off his piece. “So many don’t know what to say or how to say it. I left all of that to my wife, I admit it. But if she’d felt uncomfortable at any point, I would’ve jumped in. That’s the point of having a partner. Every single person has strengths and weaknesses. And if you have someone who loves you, that you also love and trust, you should lean on them if something seems too much for you.”

“Yeah, I wanted to make things easier for once. He’s had to handle so much all on his own, I wanted to lighten his load a little. I had no clue how to talk about that stuff with her, but I just fumbled my way through it.” I shrugged jerkily. “She seemed as weirded out as I was, so I just made sure she knew she could ask any questions she needed to. No matter how big or small or, well, weird.”

He turned his head, brushing back a lock of snowy white hair that fell across his forehead. “We all are fumbling. Every single one of us. Whether it’s with the first kid or the fifth, we all are trying to make it up as we go. I swear to you. None of us have it all figured out, no matter how it looks on the outside.” He turned over the wood piece and fitted another wood item made up of what looked like long slivers glued together in a fan-like shape on top of it. He pressed it down, imprinting the design into the wood before he started buffing a gloss over it. “I mean, look at you. We’ve seen your modeling shoots, and you look effortlessly beautiful and cool, as if you’ve never had a harried moment in your life. But that’s what you’re selling along with whatever makeup or clothes you have on. That sense of calm. Giving the ones who view your advertisements something to aspire to, right?”

I was so caught up in watching his studied movements, I didn’t really hear him. Then I laughed as it finally sank all theway in. “Me effortless? Never. But I suppose yeah, I do try to pretend I am. And honestly? I’m tired of pretending. I wrote a memoir,” I added suddenly. “Early on, obviously, since I’m still young, but I delved into my career a bit. Nothing but ugly truths in there. The project never sold to a publisher, and I couldn’t figure out why until I made myself reread it recently. Penn offered to put it out through his imprint, and I wanted to make sure it was worthy of him.”

Slowly, Hank nodded. “And?”

“I’d tried to be too surface, telling myself that I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. But I didn’t want to make myself uncomfortable, either, and then no one wanted to read it or pay for it. Because surface shit is everywhere in this world. Why pick up mine?”

“That’s a good point,” he said thoughtfully, sanding the edges of the wood, making a neat little pile of sawdust. The scent of the wood calmed me somehow, as did working some of the sandy flakes at the end of his cutting board between my fingers. “Now, you’re revising it, are you?”

“Yeah, I’ve been ripping it down to the studs. So much of it I trashed because, well, frankly, it was boring. There was no juice. No dirt and no depth. I’d put people to sleep if I kept it that sanitary and clean. Even the recent photo shoot with Travis, which I wrote about at the very end, I did more alluding to sex than talking about it. Just because I wanted to protect everyone.”

He threw back his head with a laugh. “Protect Travis? I know my boy, and I’d say he wouldn’t expect that. Nor would he want it.”

I had to smile. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s going to read it before I turn in the rewrite to Penn, and I’m going to make sure he gives me his honest feedback. We didn’t do enough of that the firsttime. We weren’t anywhere near honest enough, and it bit us in the ass in the end.”

“As it does. But don’t be ashamed for treading lightly because you were being too careful. Or kind. It’s damn hard to tell the full truth every minute. But it gets easier as you realize the person you love can take it. And not only can take it, is better and stronger for it. Travis can take all of what you dish out, Bridget, but if you don’t trust him to be able to, how can you get stronger together as a couple? That’s denying both of you something special.”

I nodded, gathering my hair over one shoulder when I wanted to fidget under his perceptive gaze. “I am so grateful for JoAnn and now for you too. I appreciate your guidance because I didn’t have parents like you two growing up. Heck, I can’t even find my mom now. I wanted to tell her Trav and I are finally getting hitched and the number’s out of service. My bad luck, I guess.”

“It wasn’t bad luck that your mom didn’t do her job for you. That was a choice she made. And yes, she probably didn’t have good role models, but even so, we all make choices every minute of every day. God knows you’ve beaten yourself up for yours enough, haven’t you?”

I nodded. “I think I always will. My sister is raising her girl on the spectrum all by herself. She didn’t run like I did.”

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