Page 57 of The Christmas Eve Delivery

“How soon before the child is due? The initial letter was a courtesy. You can serve her with a court order, but again, that’s not going to do any good until the baby is here.”

I shrugged. I had no clue when Lydia was due. “She was pretty big,” I said. I held my hands in front of my torso, indicating how big her belly was.

“Sorry. I can’t be more helpful at this point in time. Maybe she isn’t coming after you because you are not the cause of the situation,” Briggs suggested.

“You mean she no longer blames me for knocking her up? I seriously doubt that. She made it very clear that she thought I was the father.”

“Maybe that’s her game plan. Convince the last few men she slept with that they are the father until one of them bites and accepts responsibility.”

I laced my fingers together and rested my hands on top of my head as I thought. Lydia had been fairly straightforward, telling me that I was the father.

And I had gleefully stepped into that role. I had been that sucker for her.

How many other guys was she playing this game with?

“Thanks for stopping by,” I said. “I appreciate the update.”

“No worries,” Briggs said as he stood up. “I won’t even bill you for the time.”

He smirked and chuckled at his own joke as he stepped out of the office. I sat there for some time, contemplating my situation.

“Sarah, what’s my calendar look like?” I yelled.

Moments later, she appeared in the open door to my office. “You called?”

“How’s my meeting schedule? Is it clear?”

“You don’t have anything for another week,” she said.

“Book me a flight to Albany. First thing in the morning, and get a rental car. I’m headed back to Brookdale.”

“For how long?” she asked.

“Make sure you get me a return flight for the same day. I’m not packing a bag. I don’t plan on staying.”

This time, as I made the drive from Albany farther north toward Brookdale, I didn’t pay attention to the fall colored leaves on the trees. I didn’t care. I wanted to get to town and find out what Lydia thought she was doing. I drove straight to the inn and took the front stairs two at a time before I barged into the lobby. Just as expected, I found Lydia cleaning up after the morning’s breakfast setup.

“Welcome to the…” she started, a fake smile on her face until she realized who she was talking to. Her expression darkened as her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed together. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

There was a quaver of anger, or was it fear, in her voice.

“Lydia, I need to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you. You can turn around and go back to the city,” she snapped.

“I’ll leave” —I pulled a copy of the lawyer’s letter from my pocket and held it out to her— “as soon as you sign this.”

She took a few stomping steps toward me, snatched the letter out of my hand, crumpled it up, and threw it directly in my face.

“No. Fuck you, and fuck your letter,” she said.

I hadn’t thought Lydia was capable of such vehemence.

“Then don’t expect to get a penny of child support out of me,” I said.

“I never asked you for any kind of child support,” she yelled. But tears streamed down her face. “All I wanted was for us to be happy. But that’s not going to be possible because you lied about who you are, Miles, or should I call you JM?”

“You’re never going to be happy, Lydia, because you have a silly notion that you can restore old buildings that are already falling down on their own. You are too obsessed and blind to see what’s going on all around you.” I brought my arms out wide, gesturing at the dilapidated old inn. “This place is never going to be restored enough to be the kind of place you dream it can be. It was probably never that nice to begin with. All you’re doing is polishing a turd, Lydia. All that gets you is shiny shit.”

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