Adam wasn’t sure if that reminder was reassuring or unsettling. He was comfortable being alone, for the most part. He’d been on his own since he was seventeen.
He’d had pals in the army, and he considered Trevor and Walt good friends now. But by keeping a part of himself separate—the part that had grown up on his own and was comfortable being alone now—he always felt free to move on when the time was right. Handshakes all around, maybe a beer and a few laughs, and then on his way with vague promises to call next time he was in town.
He already owed Trevor for giving him a job. A home. A purpose when he’d desperately needed one. He was reluctant to go further into his debt. Or Walt’s.
Still, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to consult a lawyer about how to deal with his financial obligations, whether through support payments or a savings account, whichever Joanna felt best. He didn’t have much, but if anything happened to him, he would make sure Simon was his legal beneficiary. He was willing to take whatever official steps were necessary to make those arrangements. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to step into the unfamiliar—and, frankly, terrifying—role of active father, but he would fulfill his legal and moral responsibilities to the child he’d created.
“If I ask for your professional advice, I will pay you for your time,” he said to Walt, motioning with his still untasted drink. “I’m not asking for any freebies.”
Walt took another sip before answering. Squarely built and ruddy complexioned, with salt-and-pepper hair cut close to his scalp, Walt was in his late thirties and looked like the tough ex-marine that he was. He carried himself with a confidence that made others have to take a second or third look to realize that his left arm was a prosthetic. He’d lost that limb below the elbow in a firefight from which he’d emerged as a decorated war hero. Somehow he’d still retained a dry humor and a strong sense of honor.
“Okay,” he said, “deal. Will you at least let me offer a veteran’s discount?”
Adam gave a weary chuckle. “Hell, yeah. I’m proud, not stupid.”
The other men laughed, and then Trevor suggested they sit in the comfortable club chairs at one end of the long office. They finished their drinks while Adam gave Walt a quick rundown of the situation, being as discreet as possible for Joanna’s sake.
“So, anyway,” he concluded, “I’ll want to make everything legal for the boy if, you know, something ever happens to me.”
Walt raised an eyebrow. “The boy?”
“Simon.” Had he been avoiding the name to keep his emotional distance? Because, if so, it wasn’t working.
Call him by name, call him the boy, the kid, whatever, Adam still had a strong reaction to his son. He was grimly aware that one of those instinctive responses was to bolt. And while he would be running from the emotional pitfalls of fatherhood, he suspected he was almost as wary of the boy’s too-intriguing mother. A woman who’d called him a stranger and then blown his mind with a kiss, leaving him confused and reeling. How was he supposed to deal with any of this?
Walt scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Before you do anything official, I would strongly recommend paternity testing. It’s a simple procedure.”
“I don’t know that I need a paternity test. Unless it makes everything more legal for Simon.”
“Seriously? You have no doubt that this is your child?”
Adam shrugged. “Trevor can tell you he looks just like me. And...well, I don’t think Joanna would lie.”
“Do you really know her well enough to be sure about that? You said you knew her for, what, a couple of days?”
He understood his friends’ concern, but on this point he thought he could be confident. “Long enough to be pretty sure I’m the boy’s father.”
“We had dinner with Joanna last night,” Trevor commented, the first time he’d spoken in a while. “She’s a professor—a psychologist—so I doubt she needs the money. She seemed sincere about her surprise at finding Adam working here. There’s no reason to suspect she has an ulterior motive.”
The lawyer grunted. “In my experience, most everyone has an ulterior motive,” he muttered.
Adam set his glass on a table with a thump. “She hasn’t asked me for anything, and she’s made it pretty clear she has no intention of doing so. If I need any legal assistance, it’s strictly for the boy—for Simon’s sake—not because I have any reservations about Joanna.”
Seeing that his friends were both studying him, he realized he’d spoken more forcefully than he’d intended. Still, he’d meant every word. Whatever happened during the next week, he wanted to be clear that he trusted Joanna, at least as far as the boy’s welfare was concerned.
Walt nodded. “So, my advice is for you to arrange DNA testing—just to make everything official—and talk with Joanna about what she considers fair regarding the boy’s support. If she won’t name a figure, then you should be prepared to make your own offer. Insurance and other medical responsibilities, college planning, estate decisions including guardianship in case of tragedy—all of that will need to be discussed, with contracts drawn up to protect all parties involved. And if you’re interested in visitation rights, you’ll need to come to an agreement about that, too. I’m telling you, Adam, I’ve seen these situations get ugly fast, and it’s always the kids who suffer in t
he long run.”
“Simon won’t suffer because of me. I’ll make sure of that.” The boy deserved a better childhood than Adam had endured. Even if Adam had to remove himself from the picture to make that happen. “As for visitation, I’m not convinced that’ll be an issue. Joanna is starting a new job soon that will take them to Seattle. I can’t just leave my job for regular visits there, and it would hardly be fair to the kid to have to fly from one coast to another just to spend time with a father who wasn’t even in his life for his first five years.”
“Through no fault of your own,” Trevor pointed out. “If you’d known of his existence, the situation would have been very different.”
Adam squeezed the back of his neck, wondering again what he would have done if he’d heard about Joanna’s pregnancy while in Afghanistan. Or if she’d found him in the hospital, working desperately to regain full use of his right arm, still jumpy and surly from what he’d been through. Would he have stepped up then, or would he have relinquished all rights and sent her away, leaving him to concentrate on his own recovery? He had to admit he’d been angry and self-focused then, before he’d been sure he wouldn’t lose the arm, before he’d found a new purpose here at Wind Shadow.
Was he any more equipped for fatherhood now?
“Surely you want to get to know your son,” Walt commented, looking surprised that it was even a consideration. “To let him get to know you.”