Green eyes glowed, and he wished that she could see how much she looked like her mother then. “What would it say?”
“That’s for you to decide. You design it the way you want it, all right?”
“Just you and me?”
“You’re Daddy’s special girl, aren’t you?”
She ducked her chin and nodded shyly.
“Just you and me, sport.” He hugged her, relishing the feel of her thin arms creeping around his neck to give him a squeeze.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too. I always will.”
She leaned back. “I guess Betsey can help then.”
He smiled. “That’s my girl.”
Malcolm emerged from the car and paused, trying to remember how much time had elapsed since his last visit to this house that was once home. At least two years, he thought, for his oldest granddaughter’s birthday party. How could it be? When once this had been his refuge, his treasure, how had it all come apart?
Vic had vanished only three weeks after David’s death, and since she hadn’t been a minor, her case was low priority with the authorities. He’d hired a private detective, with no better luck.
Cleo had retreated into her own world and barely spoken. Only the need to keep a roof over the heads of his remaining child and the wife who didn’t want him anymore sent him to the office every day, searching for something, anything, to distract from watching his family crumble.
Malcolm stared at the house he’d left five years ago, his chest tight again. So much love twisted into such pain. He’d always felt smug that what he and Cleo had together could endure any threat the world could present.
He’d never imagined the danger coming from within.
A lump rose in his throat at the thought of it. The one true love of his life, begging him to save her by leaving her.
So he had, and finally, he’d gotten over her. She’d gone on without him.
And now they must deal together again for the sake of the child who had destroyed their dream.
He straightened and moved up the sidewalk, his gaze fixed on the front door, his stomach twisting into knots.
But when he knocked, there was no answer. Another try, but still no one arrived.
Malcolm gripped the doorknob and twisted. This might not be his house now, but it was still his family inside. The unlocked door gave way, and he stepped in.
“Victoria? Vic?” he called out.
Above, he heard splashes from the bath. He hastened his steps toward the staircase to his right. “Victoria?” He glanced upward.
And saw her, huddled on the floor against one wall.
“Vic—I mean, Ria.”
She turned slowly. Stared with her mother’s green eyes, though hers seemed ancient. Defeated.
He didn’t know what to say, so he simply opened his arms.
“Daddy.” Her voice was older, too. Weighed down by hopelessness.
“Come here, sweetheart.” He held his breath, waiting.
Her gaze wavered then. At last, with painful slowness, she rose. Halted.
Then ran down the stairs into his embrace.
Malcolm felt the sharp bones of her frame and hoped he wouldn’t betray his shock at her appearance. The last time he’d seen Vic—Ria, she’d been a wreck, but a well-fed wreck, at least. They’d all been under unbearable strain and she’d aged overnight as had they all, but her body had held the rounded curves of a young adult woman.
This bag of bones in his arms felt as though she’d crumble into dust if he held her too tightly.
Yet the years before adolescent hell rushed back to him with the force of a freight train. The little girl who’d followed him everywhere, who’d tried so hard to be just like him, who’d learned to hammer nails with her tongue sticking from one side of her mouth in fierce concentration…it was that little girl Malcolm hugged to him, not the stranger she had become.
A wave of protectiveness for this lost child of his swept over him. They would begin again.
Ria trembled, and a sob erupted from her throat.
Malcolm tightened his arms around her, one hand stroking her choppy black hair. “Hey, there, Vic.” He called her the old name of her childhood. “It’s all right now. You’re home. Everything’s gonna be fine.” She burrowed closer, and he blinked to clear his eyes.
Then he looked up.
And felt his heart literally stop.
Oh, God. Cleo was right. The boy could be David, come to life.
He stood at the top of the stairs, frozen, his black hair wet and spiking, his T-shirt damp as though he hadn’t quite dried off.
It was all Malcolm could do to remain still and not charge the stairs to sweep him up in his arms.
Vic must have sensed the change in him because she straightened and swiped at her eyes.
“Who is that man, Mom? Did he make you cry?”
Malcolm wanted to laugh at the boy’s glare. Or weep. Shout. He squeezed her shoulder, then took the stairs two at a time until he neared the top, putting his head at the boy’s level. “I’m your grandfather, Benjy. And I’m very glad you’re here.”
The boy studied him out of eyes Malcolm saw in the mirror every morning. Something slow and sweet rolled over in his chest.
“Lola has a dog named Tyrone,” the boy said.
Malcolm grinned. “That old guy is still around?”
Benjy nodded. “Aunt Cammie and Lola are taking me and Tyrone to the park. If you won’t make my mom upset any more, you can go, too.”
“I wouldn’t like to make your mom sad. She’s my little girl, and I love her.” Malcolm wanted to believe that the Fates had given them a second chance.
The boy’s dark head cocked slightly, and Malcolm’s hands itched to touch him. But he’d have to earn that first embrace.
He’d do it, by God.
“My mom’s not a little girl.”
“No, but she used to be your size.”
Benjy was clearly skeptical.
“No kidding. She helped me build a tree house when she wasn’t much older than you.”
The eyes widened. “Where is it?”
“It was in the backyard.” He pressed his advantage. “Want to go see if it’s still there?”
The boy nodded, peering past Malcolm for approval.
Malcolm turned. His daughter, eyes swollen and red, frame filled with exhaustion, nodded back.
He smiled his thanks to her and held out his hands. “Well, no time like the present.”
“I don’t got my shoes on.”
An age-old habit became useful once more. “How about a ride on my shoulders? Your mom liked that.”
Benjy seemed delighted but wary. “I don’t know how.”
Malcolm’s throat clogged. What else had this child missed out on? “Piece of cake.” He shrugged off his suit coat and climbed to the top step to be on stable ground, then squatted. This wasn’t the hug he wanted to claim, but it was a start. “Turn around, cowboy.” He lifted the child and blessed every workout he’d ever done. Lifting forty or so pounds over his head had been easier twenty years ago.
Benjy gripped Malcolm’s hair as Malcolm stood up. Malcolm placed his hands on the child’s legs to stabilize him. “Okay, sport, here we go. Watch the landing. We might have to duck.”
“Okay.” Benjy’s voice was small at first, then increased with his delight. “Wow, Mom, see how tall I am!” He leaned over, and Malcolm had to grab the banister to keep them steady. “What do I call you?”
Malcolm couldn’t help the smile growing broader by the second. “I never had a grandson before. What do you think?”
“I never had a grandpa. Nana Cleo said I could call her what her granddaughters do.”
“The girls call me Gramps, but you don’t have to. Pick your own. There’s no hurry.” Malcolm reached the bottom step and looked at his daughter, wanting reassurance that he was right, that she would stay. That they had time.
But she was in no shape to d
o that, huddled with her arms wrapped around her, a shadow of the girl he’d known.
He tucked her stiff body against him. “Your mom would remember where the tree house was. Let’s get her to help us.”
It was the right thing to do. She softened into his hug, and he pressed a kiss to her hair.
“Come on, Mom, show us where it was.”
Malcolm led them both through a house so filled with memories that his heart was sore, pummeled by too-sharp heartache, too-sweet joy. When they neared the doorway, he tightened his grip on Benjy’s leg and ducked without letting go of his daughter.
Benjy squealed and jerked at Malcolm’s hair. Ria actually uttered a tiny, breathy laugh.
Malcolm entered the kitchen, smiling at Lola and Aunt Cammie standing by the sink, mouths open and eyes wide. “Hello, ladies.”
And kept on walking, before this moment could vanish.
“Wow, Gramps, that’s a big tree,” Benjy exclaimed, leaning forward.
“Whoa, there—” Malcolm barely caught the boy before he tumbled. Unaccustomed laughter fizzed up from a place inside him he’d thought long dead. “See what you think when you’re up there.”
“Really, Gramps? I want up on that one.” One small finger pointed a good ten feet from the ground.
“Benjy—” Ria stopped.
Malcolm noted her expression of concern and smiled at her, but she only had eyes for her son. Slow down, he cautioned himself. He’s not your child.
But…dear God. Once again the resemblance to David rocked him.
“So can I, Gramps, huh?”
Malcolm slid Benjy down over one shoulder and into his arms, tempted to keep the child close and never let loose. Easy, now. “Let’s start with this one, shall we?”
Benjy appeared ready to protest. Malcolm didn’t give him time. “Up you go.” He boosted the boy onto the lowest limb of the old tree.
Benjy wobbled to one side. Ria gasped.
But Malcolm steadied him instantly. “Grab on with both hands.”
“Maybe he should wait,” Ria said.
“Gramps won’t let me fall, will you?” His sturdy little body slid precariously as he craned to view above him, then below, his eyes sparkling. “Look, Mom, I’m way taller. I bet nobody’s as high as I am.”
He shifted suddenly to peer behind him.
Once more, he slipped. Malcolm stopped his descent. “If you’re going to play in this tree, you have to take responsibility for yourself. Some falls can hurt you badly. One time David—” He stopped.
“That’s my name, David,” Benjy said.
Cleo had warned him, but for a second, Malcolm couldn’t seem to get a breath. He glanced at Ria; anguish was there, but immediately she dropped her head. “Can you spot the tree house, Benjy?”
“Yeah. Wow—this is cool, Gramps. Can I climb up to the part that’s left?”
“No.” Ria answered him first. “It’s too far up there. You’re not ready.”
His lower lip stuck out. “I can do it. I can, Mom.”
“You’ve never climbed a tree before. Take it one step at a time.”
“I’m not a baby. I’m big now.”
“Benjy, don’t argue with me. I said no, and that’s that.”
Benjy glared at her, his eyes watery, his lip trembling. “I hate you. You don’t want me to do anything fun.”
Ria reeled from the impact of his words. Shame and anger warred on her face. “Don’t talk to your mother that way,” Malcolm said. “She’s only trying to watch over you. If you’re truly big, then act accordingly.”
Benjy’s widened with shock. For a moment, his chin jutted out. Then he ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Not me. Apologize to your mother.”
Tears trembled on his lashes. “I’m sorry, Mom.” Then he sought out Malcolm. “Don’t be mad at me.”
Malcolm laid one hand on Benjy’s leg. “I’m not, I promise. But don’t ever tell people you love that you hate them, no matter how angry they make you. You never know if you’ll have a chance to make amends.”
He glanced at Ria, wondering if she, too, heard past echoes of that awful phrase being carelessly hurled from her own lips. “Daddy, I—”
“Vic, sweetheart—”
A new voice rang out. “What in the world is going on?”
Malcolm glanced toward the house. “Hello, Betsey.”
Ria turned to stone where she was.
His younger daughter stopped and stared. “Vicky? What are you doing here?” As always, Betsey was perfectly groomed, her dark hair in a sleek chignon, tiny pearls in her ears, crisp white cuffs and collar framing a black sweater, the perfect West Austin young matron. “You look dreadful.”
Ria’s gaze descended to her faded jeans and threadbare blue flannel shirt, her scuffed boots. Malcolm observed her through her sister’s eyes, unkempt and painfully thin. “Betsey—” he cautioned.
But Ria’s chin rose. “Thanks. Nice to see you, too.”
Betsey’s high, perfect cheekbones colored. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She glanced over at Malcolm, then past him, her face a mask of shock. “Who—”
At the same time, Benjy stage-whispered, “Who’s that lady?”
“Benjamin, my man—” Malcolm scooped him off the limb and swung him in his arms. “This is your aunt, Betsey.”
“What’s an aunt?” he asked, blissfully unaware of the currents swirling around them.
Malcolm tickled him on the belly, and Benjy giggled. “She’s your mother’s sister.”
“Oh.” Benjy threw his arms around Malcolm’s neck. “I love you, Gramps.”
Tears stung Malcolm’s eyes. “I love you, too.”
Betsey choked. “You have a son?”
The horror in her voice brought Benjy’s head around.
Malcolm wished for better circumstances to break the news to his youngest. No matter. The boy’s existence was fact, and they would begin as they meant to go on. He was family and should not be punished for his mother’s past. “This fine young man is Ria’s son, Benjy.” He fought a wince as he continued, “Benjamin David.”
Betsey sucked in a gasp.
Malcolm raced past it. “We’re trying to see how much work it’ll require to restore the tree house to its former glory.”
But Betsey wouldn’t be deterred. “Ria? David? How could you?” Her head shook violently. “I don’t understand. You show up after six years without a word and—you’re staying?” She glared at Malcolm. “And you’re smiling? After what she put us all through?”
Betsey’s face was bone white and pinched, her gaze a tangle of anger and pain and yearning.
Malcolm resisted the urge to go to her, torn between his two daughters. But Betsey had so much more than her sister. “Watch what you say, honey.” He nodded toward Benjy.
Betsey was beyond reason. “Daddy, how can you just accept this? Especially when he—” She pointed at Benjy. “When he is the image of—”
“Not now, sweetheart.” Malcolm ceased swinging Benjy and pulled him up to rest against his chest, one hand protectively splayed over Benjy’s back.
He ached for the girl who had been so softhearted and eager to please, who had traversed the rocky path between a troubled sister and an adored brother, always the easy child, the one whose needs came last.
That girl was nowhere in evidence, Betsey’s usual composure unraveling, the eyes that were his own brown burning with a feverish glint. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I won’t have it, do you understand me? You can’t just drop back into our lives when we were all settled and expect us to act as if nothing ever happened.” She shot him a devastated glance. “You destroyed this family, Vicky, and I won’t let you do it again. We were doing fine without you.”
“Stop it, Bets. Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he warned.
“Oh, I’m serious about every word.” She faced down her sister. “David was your fault, and Mother and Daddy’s divorce was your doing, and I was
left with no family at all. You ran out, and I had no choice but to handle it.” Her chin lifted. “Well, I did. We don’t miss you.”
Malcolm understood her agony, but he couldn’t let her continue. Benjy was growing frightened, and Ria was too fragile. “Elizabeth Anne, do not talk to your sister like that. If you can’t be civil, then leave this house now.”
Ria moved, finally. “No, I will. Benjy, come on.”
“No, Ria.” He held on to the boy, who stared at them all with wide, worried eyes. “Sh-h, Benjy. It’s going to be all right.” He stroked the child’s dark hair.
“How can it ever be all right with her around, Daddy? She’s never been anything but trouble. She broke your heart a hundred times. She killed—”
“Not one more word.” Malcolm’s voice was steel. “I will discuss this with you later.” He gentled his tone. “I think it’s best that you leave now if the situation is so uncomfortable for you.”
Betsey reacted as if he’d slapped her. “All I want is for you to be happy. I’ve tried to fix—” She shot Ria a look that was incredulous. “Everything she destroyed. How can you stand here and tell me that I should go and she can stay here?”
Ria blinked rapidly as she stared down at her feet.
“Families forgive, honey. We have to go on from here.”
“Daddy?” Betsey sounded so young. So hurt.
“Give her a chance, won’t you?”
Betsey covered her mouth with one hand, tears streaking her cheeks, head shaking violently. She opened her mouth, but only an inarticulate cry emerged. She backed away.
Malcolm started to hand the boy to his mother and charge after her, but Benjy whimpered and clung. “Betsey, please—”
“I—” Her voice quivered. “I have to go now.” A sob escaped. She whirled and ran unsteadily toward the gate that would lead to the front of the house.
“Daddy, I’m—”
So sorry. He could almost hear the words. He tore his attention from one daughter to face the other. Loneliness and fear rode Ria hard.
He ached for both his girls. He would seek out Betsey later, but for now, he would focus on Ria and her child. Holding Benjy on one hip, Malcolm gathered Ria against his chest.
The House That Love Built Page 6
