Thick coastal fog greets me as I step out the front door and climb into my car. I’m not really certain where I want to go. The world around me is silent, no birds or planes in the early morning air, hardly any cars on the road, and even my tinnitus seems pleasantly muted as I drive the nearly deserted streets.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the morning hush. It’s pleasant to be able to drive in LA without interference, but it feels lonely, the emptiness of the streets. A week off the road and I still haven’t landed.

I’m surprised when I find myself parked in front of Chrissie’s lightless house. I must have steered the car here, but I didn’t do it consciously. I drove and I ended up here.

It’s too early for her to be awake. Definitely too early to knock on her door. I climb out of the car anyway.

I go to the front and try the knob and then realize I left last night without locking the door. I left them both in an unlocked house in LA. Fuck! What’s wrong with me?

I make a quick stop in Chrissie’s room to check on her. I stand beside the bed staring down at her. Sometimes just looking at her is a gift. She is in a square of light, her golden hair streaming across the pillow, falling over her cheek to frame both her face and the baby’s. They are both curled into each other.

In the kitchen I set a pot of coffee to brew and then go back to collect the newspapers I stepped over on her front stoop. Los Angeles Times. San Francisco Chronicle. USA Today. Being married to Jesse didn’t improve Chrissie’s reading material. There is still no Wall Street Journal or a New York Times in the collection. But then, those are the papers I prefer.

I pour a mug of coffee and settle in Chrissie’s family room to watch the morning stock programs. I’m halfway through Varney when I hear sounds from the back of the house.

I hit the remote to check the time. Barely after 7 a.m. After last night’s confrontation, I decide it is better to wait for Chrissie here.

I can hear her talking in soft tones, probably to the baby. The baby. That is something I have to work on, but not today. I’m already vulnerable enough. To be the person waiting for Chrissie is to be too vulnerable. That I’m back will tell her everything.

The speakers in her kitchen are suddenly switched on and the sound of Yo Yo Ma drowns out the low volume of Stuart Varney. She is in transit to the kitchen if she’s turned on music in here. I shut off the TV.

The music changes in an abrupt transition from Bach to Mumford & Sons. I’m rising from the chair when Chrissie enters the room. My motion causes her to jump. The expression on her face tells me she didn’t expect to find me here.

Her respiration comes quick and she swallows. “You scared me to death. First Krystal’s Mumford sandwiched like a predator drone into my Yo Yo Ma, and now you before noon.”

“It’s nearly noon in New York so you can set aside the shock of me.”

I go to the coffeemaker to pour her a cup as she places the baby into the bouncer on the counter. Chrissie takes a sip and follows me with her eyes as I settle a neutral distance away from her back on the other side of the island counter.

“It’s good.” She makes a tiny lift of the cup. “It’s better than mine.”

Make-do talk; not what I want but better than I deserve.

“I thought I should prepare a peace offering that could double as something you could throw at me since I deserve it. I would have cooked you breakfast, Chrissie, a more appropriate amount of items to throw given what an ass I was last night, but your kitchen is a disaster.”

She makes a slight smile. She is moving more cautiously today. The tone having been set by her, I follow suit.

“What did you mean by predator drone?” I ask.

Chrissie laughs and rolls her eyes.

“Krystal hates my classical music. Her friends think I’m cool for a mom. She’s afraid they’ll walk in, hear the music and realize I’m not. Every time my back is turned she reprograms the library. I can’t reprogram the library. How can she do it? And you wouldn’t believe the clothes she picks out for me to wear when I drop her off at school. It would irritate me if it didn’t remind me that she is a little girl. Not an easy thing to remember since when we discuss something she usually spins me in circles.”

“Don’t let her spin you. You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever known.”

She blushes a little and looks away. I let my gaze roam over her as she focuses her attention on the baby. Long golden hair only towel dried, fresh from a shower, her body hidden by a baggy white robe and she is still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

I set down my coffee cup. “Had some interesting moments with the girls yesterday. Kaley was openly hostile. I had a dose of spinning with the rabbits. Exactly what do your kids know, Chrissie?”

A flush spreads up her neck and over her face. “Living with Krystal is like living with the FBI. She probably has the house bugged and a more complete dossier on me than they do. I wasn’t going to tell the kids until I told you, but she took me to the rabbits two months ago. It was obvious they all somehow knew. The rabbits were a confrontation for the discussion, and after it definitely required discussion. I was truthful. Not detailed, but truthful. Krystal taking you to the rabbits was her confrontation with you. I don’t think that confrontation is over because you didn’t put the pieces together. She’ll be fine if you’re honest with her.”

Fuck. No wonder Kaley stared at me as if she hated me. And Krystal. I don’t know what to make of her behavior.

I pucker my lips for a moment to hold back my reaction. “Damn. I figured as much.”

Chrissie goes to the coffeemaker, refills her cup, and remains there with her back to me. “You can look at her, you know. It won’t hurt you to do that.”

I find her watching, expectant and slightly challenging.

I shift my gaze to Khloe. “I’m working on it,” is all I say.

“Well, I suppose that’s something.”

“Don’t be flip. If you’re angry, be angry.”

“I’m not angry. Not at all,” she says calmly.

“Like hell you’re not. You should be angry.”

“I won’t fight with you today. I’m not up for that side of you today.”

I let out a ragged breath. She’s right. I don’t even know why I’m trying to provoke her. It’s not why I’m here. Not why I came back.

There is so much shit to work through. So many questions. It is probably not the right time. But this one I can’t let wait for later, for a better time between us to ask it. It’s the worst of the ones that left the house with me last night.

“How do you know she’s mine?” I ask.

Chrissie’s eyes narrow. “Outside of the obvious proof? I don’t sleep around!”

“Oh fuck. That’s not what I mean. It’s a reasonable question, Chrissie. You were married to Jesse right up to the point of that night.”

She lets out a breath. “They typed her blood in the hospital. She’s type O. I’m A. Jesse was B-negative. I’m assuming you’re O-positive.”

O-positive. Not a DNA test, but I don’t need one with Chrissie. That’s enough confirmation for me. Something akin to pure relief floods my veins, shocking the hell out of me.

I move my gaze back to Khloe. I have a daughter. No doubt, not any, that this is my daughter. A leveling array of emotions surges upward out of nowhere.

Not what I expected.

Not by a long shot.

Holy fuck. After having royally fucked up three times in my life with Chrissie, I have a child with her.

Thoughts I’ve locked away scream for my unfiltered acceptance. Thoughts I’ve dismissed as moronic, unavoidable, male territorial instinct since, regardless of who Chrissie was married to, in my head she has always been mine.

No point not admitting the truth. Not now.

It’s always bugged me. She’s the woman I love. I never wanted her to have even a speck of anything significant with any other man. And it’s been lodged in my gut in a repulsively galling way that she had a child with Neil, who I despised. Three with Jesse, who I liked, but that didn’t make it better. And none with me.