1022 Evergreen Place - Debbie Macomber [60]
Charlotte knew Ben had been hoping David would do the right thing, the responsible thing, and support his child. That hadn’t happened and probably wouldn’t. Instead, David had obstinately insisted Noelle wasn’t his child, even after admitting it earlier. But he could no longer deny his paternity, since a DNA test had proven it conclusively.
They’d spoken with David on Saturday. Now he’d started claiming that DNA testing wasn’t infallible and that Mary Jo was some kind of fraud. Or—and he’d also claimed this—she was promiscuous, although he’d put it more crudely.
Ben wasn’t having any of that and neither was Charlotte. He’d urged Mary Jo to file a paternity suit. For David to acknowledge his responsibility and accept it would be the honorable course of action, but as Charlotte had learned, David Rhodes was not an honorable man. “Maybe it would be a good idea to discuss this with Olivia,” Ben said after several minutes.
“She deals with similar cases every day in court, or she did,” Charlotte amended, “when she was working.”
“The problem is…” Ben let the rest of his thought fade.
Charlotte knew better than to prompt him. Ben often broke off in the middle of a sentence while he considered a dilemma or mulled over a solution.
“The problem is,” he began a second time, “I don’t know if Mary Jo is willing to take our advice.”
Charlotte was knitting at a frantic pace, ignoring any errors she might be making. The poor girl had arrived at the house late Saturday afternoon, so upset she’d hardly been able to speak; they got the story out of her in bits and pieces. From what Charlotte recalled of the conversation, David had confronted Mary Jo and more or less threatened her if she pursued child support.
Charlotte was outraged whenever she thought about it. She didn’t say anything because it would only upset Ben, and he’d already endured about all he could from his youngest son.
“I was thinking I’d make up a batch of that soup you like. The one with the meatballs and fresh spinach.” For the life of her, she couldn’t remember the name of it.
“Italian wedding soup,” Ben said.
“Yes, that’s the one. I bet Olivia would enjoy it, too. I’ll make a big pot and we’ll bring it over tomorrow afternoon for lunch.” She’d spend the morning baking a loaf of oatmeal molasses bread and would add that to her basket.
Ben reached across the space between their two chairs and took her hand. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“Why are you thanking me, Ben Rhodes?”
He answered her with the sweetest of smiles. “For your love and patience.”
“I vowed to love you, and I do, and as for the patience part, you don’t need to thank me for that. You’re a good man, and a good father, too.”
He shook his head. “I don’t feel like one.”
“Nonsense. We can’t take on the faults of our children. As adults, we all make our own decisions and live our own lives.”
“That’s true,” Ben agreed. “But it’s still hard to see our children acting badly.”
Charlotte couldn’t argue with that.
The following afternoon, Ben drove Charlotte out to Lighthouse Road. As they walked to the back door, she studied the small vegetable garden and the strawberry patch, dotted with succulent red berries. She’d pick some later and make Olivia that freezer jam she liked.
“Anyone home?” Charlotte called out as they entered the house.
“Mom?” Olivia’s voice came from the spare bedroom. “Oh, is it lunchtime already?” She hurried into the kitchen with a measuring tape around her neck and a pair of scissors in one hand. She must be working on a quilt. Ever since Olivia had started to recover, she’d been designing and sewing quilts for her grandchildren. They were lovely, too. It was