Free Up at Butternut Lake: A Novel by Mary McNear Page A

Walker thought. It already sounded like a foreign concept to him. He didn’t think he would ever have peace of mind again.
    Caitlin stood up. She’d obviously accepted the fact that he was either unable, or unwilling, to say anything more.
    “My lawyer will be in touch with you,” she said, starting to leave. Walker almost let her. But something occurred to him.
    “Caitlin,” he said. His brain was working again.
    She turned back from the door.
    “Where do I fit in all this, other than helping you financially? Which I’ll do, obviously. But what would my relationship with our child be?”
    She hesitated. “I guess that depends.”
    “On what?”
    “On you,” she said. “On what kind of relationship you want to have with our child. You don’t have to have any relationship with him or her if you don’t want to. I’m not going to force you to be someone you’re not.”
    “What is that supposed to mean?”
    She sighed, a little sadly, he thought, and sat back down on the chair. “It means I don’t exactly think you’re father material, Walker. At least not yet.”
    He thought about it. “No, you’re right,” he admitted. My life is pretty . . . commitment adverse, I guess you’d say. I haven’t given any real thought to marriage before. Or fatherhood, for that matter.” Liar, he told himself. You’ve given plenty of thought to both of them. And you’ve decided you didn’t want any part of either one of them.
    “And that’s fine,” Caitlin said. “I’m not asking you to change overnight. Or change at all. You don’t have to be a part of this. Not if you don’t want to be. I mean, beyond providing financial support, that is.”
    Walker didn’t say anything. He was thinking about his own childhood. And about his own relationship with his father.
    His parents had gotten divorced when he was seven. For a while, his father had seen Walker and his older brother, Reid, every weekend. Then, gradually, the visits had tapered off. It hadn’t helped that his parents fought as much when they were divorced as they had when they were married. It also hadn’t helped that Walker’s father got remarried to a woman who resented the time he spent with his sons. When she and Walker’s father had a daughter of their own, she resented it even more.
    By the time Walker entered adolescence, his father had more or less dropped out of his life. He sent the occasional birthday card or Christmas present. He sent alimony and child support payments, too, but eventually those became less frequent as well. When Walker’s mother took him to court to enforce those payments, the deal was pretty well sealed. Their father started sending the checks again, but he didn’t send anything else.
    Walker had seen him one more time, though. It was at a Minnesota Twins baseball game several years ago. Walker had recognized him, and when he’d approached him, his father had been friendly enough. They’d had a brief, awkward conversation, but they’d had almost nothing to say to each other.
    “No,” Walker said, suddenly. His voice sounded loud in the quiet room.
    “No, what?” Caitlin asked, surprised.
    “No, I don’t want to be that kind of father.”
    “What kind of father?” She frowned.
    “I don’t want to be a stranger to my own child. To our own child,” he corrected himself. “That’s the kind of dad my dad was. I was the kid on the Little League team checking the bleachers every sixty seconds to see if he was there yet.” He paused. “He was never there yet. He was never there at all. If I’m going to do this, I want to be there, Caitlin. I want to be in the bleachers for that Little League game.”
    “It might be a girl, you know,” Caitlin said. “In which case, it might not be a Little League game. It might be a soccer game, or a volleyball game.” But the hint of a smile played around her lips.
    “It doesn’t matter,” Walker said. “I want to be there.”
    “You can be there,” Caitlin