Sam placed his hands on the table and slowly curled them into fists. “A gift or a loan wouldn’t violate the letter of the law,” he said finally, his voice expressionless. “But it violates the spirit of the law.”
Angie didn’t care about splitting hairs. She cared about keeping the girls. “Sam. In the name of heaven, think about this. Think about what’s best for Lucy and Daisy.”
Sam raised his head. “Laura gave me her daughters because she believed I would be a good and decent father. I would raise them and care for them and love them.” Tilting his head back, he stared at the ceiling. “The court defined what makes a good and decent father. The definition is that a good and decent father would fix his daughter’s crippled foot within a year’s time.”
“Oh Sam.” The whispered words floated on a breath of despair. She knew how his mind worked, and what he was thinking.
“I agreed that definition was reasonable. I still do.” Lowering his head, he examined the faces staring back at him. “If I can’t pay for Daisy’s operation myself . . . if I can’t or won’t do whatever is necessary to fix Daisy’s foot . . . then I deserve to lose my daughters. Then they deserve better than me.”
“Sam,” Molly said after a minute, “you are full of horse manure.”
A strained smile softened his expression for an instant. “Maybe. But if I were going to borrow money for Daisy’s surgery, I would have done it last October. I would have spared her another year of embarrassment and ridicule.”
“Damn it, Sam.” White-faced and shaking, Angie pushed to her feet. “I agree with Molly,” she snapped. “You’re going to end up throwing away two little girls who need you. And why? Because of some noble-sounding notion about the spirit of the law? That’s not the reason. This is about pride. You’re setting pride above your daughters!”
He came to his feet in anger. “Stop right there. You’re going too far, Angie.”
“You’re trying to prove something to yourself that no one cares about but you! Do you want to know something? What hurt the most was that you didn’t come back for me. You left Chicago and you never looked back.”
“I looked back a hundred times and you weren’t there.”
“In ten years you never came back for me. And I’ll tell you why. Because nothing changed, Sam. You heard my father say that you’d never be successful, that you’d never amount to anything, and you believed him! You never asked if I believed him. You just walked away. And now you’re going to walk away from our daughters for the same damned worthless reason! Because if you aren’t successful enough to pay every penny of that doctor’s fee, then you don’t deserve your daughters. Like you didn’t deserve a wife.” Tears choked her. “And that’s crazy wrong thinking!”
Molly turned to Can. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Can blinked. “It’s after midnight. Besides, this is our house. If they need some privacy, they can go to their own house.”
“We’d wake the girls,” Angie snapped.
“Stay where you are.” Sam spoke to Molly and Can, but he didn’t move his hard gaze from Angie’s flushed face. “We’re finished here.”
Trembling in anger and disbelief, Angie stared at his intractable expression. Then she dusted her hands together with a slapping sound. “Yes. We’re finished.”
Lifting her skirts, she marched across Molly’s kitchen and out the door, slamming it behind her.
If his stupid pride cost him the girls, she would never forgive him. Never.
Anger, despair, and frustration kept her awake that night. Finally, near dawn she stopped fighting Sam’s decision and focused her tired mind on trying to understand. The thing was, she did understand and a small part of her admired him. But she couldn’t agree. However, one thing was utterly clear. Her opinion didn’t matter.
Sam skipped breakfast rather than put himself and Angie through the charade of pretending before the girls that everything was all right. While he dismantled the bandstand, he reviewed what they had said to each other last night.
Once again Angie had chosen not to support him. She’d chosen to walk away rather than stand beside him and trust that he would do the right thing. That was what hurt most.
After a while he realized someone worked beside him. Straightening, he pushed back his hat as the sun shot over the peaks and lit the street.
“The guest of honor isn’t supposed to do the cleanup,” he said to Can. Irritation tightened his chest and made his shoulders flex. “Before you say anything, I still don’t want your money.” He narrowed his eyes. “And I don’t want any advice.”