Free Maybe This Time by Joan Kilby Page A

box. Though he tried to block the memory of Holly, traces lingered like cobwebs in the dark corners of his mind. In the weeks before she’d died, she’d started climbing out of her crib. Emma had wanted to get her a child’s bed. She’d been after him to go look for one. He hated malls and had put her off, and put her off. In the end, he’d gone shopping with her—not for a bed but for a coffin.
    He pressed fingers to the inner corners of his eyes.
    “Will these do?” Emma entered and handed him a set of screwdrivers in a folding plastic case.
    He grunted, not trusting his voice, and kneeled to unscrew the faceplate. Carefully, he prodded the wires with a fingertip. “The connection is loose. If you can turn the power off, I’ll tighten these wires.”
    “I think the switchboard is in the residents’ garage. Tell me which switch to flip and I’ll do it.”
    “The main breaker. It should be labeled. I’ll go.” Anything to get out of this room so he could breathe. He was on his feet and heading out the door in seconds.
    “You’ll need the key to get into the garage.” She came after him and fished in her purse for a set of keys. “Are you okay?”
    “Fine.” He swallowed, hating that she’d seen him react to the baby things. It made him feel weak.
    He went to the garage, flipped the breaker then came back up, using her keys to get into the apartment. Tightening the wires took only a few minutes. He’d learned a few basic skills of the trade from his older brother Dan, an electrician. They came in handy when things needed fixing around the pub.
    As he worked, he could hear Emma in the kitchen, moving around, running water. It was almost like the old days, at their home. Doggedly he pushed those thoughts away, too, and turned on the flashlight Emma had set on the carpet by the outlet. Nostalgia was a trap that would be easy to fall into, but it didn’t make the bad stuff go away. The fighting and the tears, the words that could never be unsaid. Those memories were burned into his brain, too.
    He put the faceplate on and put away the screwdrivers. Then he went out to flip the breaker on and returned a few minutes later to the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee.
    Emma appeared in the foyer as he shut the door. “Do you want a cuppa? It’s decaf.”
    “No, I have to get to the pub.” Seeing the strain in the faint lines of her face he forgot about himself and his feelings. “Anything else I can do?”
    “No, that’s it.” She straightened her shoulders and smiled. Then she touched his arm. “I really appreciate this. Thanks.”
    “It’s nothing. Look, Em, I don’t agree with what you’re doing.” Her smile faded. “But I am going to support you and the baby.”
    “You don’t have to. I’ve decided I won’t name you as father on the birth certificate. That way Child Services won’t be able to come after you for support payment.”
    That took his breath away. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she wouldn’t name him as father. Knowing there would be a blank line where his name should appear...well, he didn’t like the idea one bit. Nor did he like the idea of the baby seeing that blank line when he or she grew up. It was almost as if Darcy didn’t exist. Or that he’d abandoned the child.
    “You can raise the baby any way you want,” he said. “It’s yours. I won’t interfere. But I will do the responsible thing for any child of mine.” She opened her mouth to protest and he raised a hand to stop her. “I’ll do it because I want to and because it’s right, not because Child Services tells me I have to.”
    “You can’t have it both ways, not being an active father and also getting to have a say in whether you’re named on the birth certificate.”
    She had him there. “Clearly you hold all the cards,” he said tightly. “You do what you think best.”
    “Darcy, I wish...” She spread her hands. “I don’t even know what I want to say. I’m sorry it has to be this