Kathryn …
xxx
I figured that Tom's visit would be the end of it, but I should have known better.
A couple of days later, the door buzzed again.
And again… Again… And yet again...
I ignored it until I hear a distinct wail, which gets louder as I go to the door.
Outside, I find Tom kneeling on the porch, trying to comfort Miral, who is screaming for all she's worth. I open the door and nearly step on a large bag … a diaper bag, I hope, considering it's sporting pink bunnies.
"There you are," Tom says over the din, and to my shock, he gets up and hands me the baby. "Here, take her while I grab this stuff."
I'm not exactly an expert on babies, but I take her, gingerly holding her out. She's shocked to see an unfamiliar person and quiets down immediately, giving me a "Who are you?" look.
"You have the touch," Tom teases as he puts the bags inside. He takes Miral and hands me a flower: a lily this time.
"Er, hello," I say.
"Hi. I wanted to take you to lunch, but I didn't have a sitter. So Miral and I brought lunch." He points toward a large shopping bag.
I'm glaring at him, but he ignores me. "You know, she's going to start screaming again if she doesn't eat soon."
OK then … I lead them to the kitchen. Thankfully, he says nothing about the mess on the table as I clear off a space for food. Fortunately, Mom kept a baby seat from when Phoebe's kids were little, so I send him to retrieve it from the back porch.
No matter how I feel, it's hard not to enjoy a baby, especially given that this one is my goddaughter and namesake. When her tummy is full, Miral is quite a sociable child; her little forehead ridges wrinkle when she smiles, and she has a cute little chuckle.
"You know, I didn't hear about the divorce until after," I begin. Might as well get this apology out of the way.
"Well, things fell apart really fast after I declined the commission. Most people didn't know," he says.
"I take it you won the custody decision?"
"By default. The Hartnell's a small exploratory ship; no non-Starfleet spouses; no childcare available for kids under 5. So without me to split childcare ..."
"And she locked herself into a tour before she realized this ... or, let me guess, even talked to you."
"Yep, three years on a ship that's exploring the Gamma Quadrant, though I understand she can request a transfer after 18 months. She could have resigned, but there aren't many warp cores in the private sector. And it turns out a ship is the one place she feels most at home."
He shrugged. "In one sense, it's OK. When we thought we'd be raising her on Voyager … I made my peace with the possibility I could become a single dad. I just didn't expect it to involve a divorce."
I don't even know what to say, so I just shake my head. Tom shrugs again. "We manage to stay civil. I send her images and anything pertinent. She calls a couple times a week to talk to Miral, though right now, it's not much of a conversation.
"And I keep in touch with my lawyer, since we'll eventually have sticky visitation and custody issues. But right now, all's well."
I smile, half to myself, at that last sentence, but he notices. "You talk to any of the crew … besides me?" he asks casually.
"No. I haven't been up to it."
"Folks are worried about you," he points out.
"I'm not looking for pity," I say sharply. "And I don't want to hear that question."
"Oh, let me guess: 'What are you going to do?' or the variation, 'What are you doing?'"
I look at him in surprise.
"Yeah, me, too," he says. "To tell you the truth, I don't talk to many folks, either. I've had to distance myself from Harry.
"From Harry?" The idea shocks me.
"Yeah, he loves to ask that question … he's starting to sound like my father. I mean, isn't it enough to take care of my baby and get my head straightened out? It's not like we're in a damn competition."
"I don't know," I sigh. "It seems like my entire life has been a competition. One that I've miserably failed."
"I certainly don't see you as a failure," he says quietly, and I wish I could believe him. "Look," he continues, "you just got back from hell, more so than the rest of us. Is there some law that says you can't rest for a while … that you can't just be?"
"Just be?"
"Yeah … take a nap, read a book, watch the sunset. Take up knitting. Maybe some traveling. Do things you always wished you had time to do," he said with a grin.
"I already do some of that," I admit. "Not knitting, though. Traveling … I don't feel like setting off alone."
"Well, Oregon has some beautiful country," he says. "And you wouldn't be alone."
XXX
I'm not sure why I let Tom talk me into coming to Portland, but here I am.
Check that: I do know why. It's been nice to have his company; even nicer that he doesn't interrogate me. I also suspect that if I didn't come out, he'd continue to show up at my door. Hauling a baby cross-continent has to be hard on both of them.
He grins ear-to-ear when he sees me at the transporter stop. His bear hug feels good, and I return it.
"Glad you suggested a fleece jacket," I say as we walk to the transit station. He just laughs. "My sisters keep telling me it will warm up, but we're not there yet. I have to keep the house a bit warmer for Miral, though she handles the climate pretty well."
"Is that a baseball hat?" I ask. Between the hat and the bulky sweater he's wearing, I almost didn't recognize him.
"Yep, the Portland Pines. Seems folks out here got into baseball during the war. Kathleen's husband, Paul, is a big fan. The season's starting soon; we're going to some games."
XXX
I immediately like the neighborhood; lots of older architecture … lots of trees. And Tom's house is exactly as I expected. It's small, painted a soft yellow, with a short front porch and a low wooden fence around the yard.
"You know anything about gardening?" he asks. "Part of the lease is to keep up the yard and garden, but I've never planted flowers."
"Well, the last thing I planted was tomatoes," I say.
Inside, it's slightly cluttered, but comfortable, with an eclectic assortment of furniture. "Did it come furnished?" I ask after the sitter, actually Kathleen's stepdaughter, went home.
"Nope, Mom sent most of it, along with dishes and other stuff. I guess she cleaned out the house when she left the old man. "
I decide not to comment. Owen's family has a very different view of him than I do.
"Had lunch yet?" I shake my head. "I can fix something; any preferences?" he asks as he sits Miral in her high chair.
"As long as it's not leola root, I'm game."
"Well, I promise there's none of that in the house," he teases. "How about quesadillas?"
Afterward, I clear the dishes while Tom puts the baby down for a nap. "Make yourself at home," he says. "I've programmed that coffee blend you like into the replicator."
"You didn't have to do that," I say.
"Hey, you're my first guest," he says as he disappears into the bedroom. "I reserve the right to spoil you."
So, I unpack my things and take a PADD out to the living room. I sit on the couch, which is quite comfortable, and try to read …
A couple of hours later, I wake up with a start. The house is quiet, though I hear a low noise from somewhere.
"Down here," Tom answers my call. I finally find him in the basement, accompanied by Miral, who's gurgling from her playpen.
"A hololab?"
"Yeah, my one splurge," he says sheepishly, and I note that the program looks familiar. "Oh, come on, Captain Proton?"
"The one and only," he says, grinning. "Actually, I made a new version for Moira's boys. No damsels in distress, and a less-sexy queen," he says to my raised eyebrow. "The boys loved it. Moira wants to show it to some friends in the publishing industry, so I'm making a spec version."
I'm happy for him, but on the other hand, this points up just how unfocused I am. Tom notices and gently swats my arm.
"You know, I'm not holding my breath on this. If it does sell, great, if not, hey, it's a hobby. At least it keeps Harry off my back."
I chuckle at this as he shuts off the projector. "Moira tells me that opportunity will come along when you least expect it. Maybe there's something around the corner for both of us."
"Hope so," I allow. "Guess we just have to figure out which corner, eh?"
