by Robert Hass
“And you ran?” Justin’s opinion of that was clear.
“If I had known about you I would have stayed and fought. And I would have married your mom,” Sloan said, holding the boy’s gaze with his. “I told you I loved her. And I meant it. I would have done anything for her. Anything.”
Annie would never know, but she was the reason he’d run, not the criminal accusation. He’d left town to save her, not knowing his departure would only cause her more trouble.
He heard the soft intake of Annie’s breath and ventured a glance at her face. Flushed, eyes glassy, soft mouth parted in surprise, she stared at him. He knew she wanted to ask why he hadn’t told her everything that night, but she wouldn’t ask now in front of Justin. Tonight was for the boy.
“Is that why Grandpa doesn’t like you? Does he know about me?”
“Your Grandpa never liked me, Justin. You had nothing to do with that.”
“Grandpa doesn’t know. Only your dad—” Annie caught herself “—only Joey knew for sure.”
“So, that’s why he hated me.”
“Oh, Justin.” Annie’s words were despairing.
Sloan’s fists were tight against his thighs. He ached from the knowledge that his son had lived his whole life believing he was not loved by his father. “Joey thought he was doing the right thing, Justin. He took care of you and your mother. We have to give him credit for that.”
But Justin wasn’t ready to cut Joey any slack. “Why doesn’t he like Delaney? She’s not like me. She’s a good kid.”
All right, that was enough. Sloan put a firm hand on Justin’s knee. Lydia’s words, spoken long ago, came out of his mouth. “You listen to me. None of this is your fault. You’re a good boy. Everyone goes through rough times but that doesn’t make you bad.”
Annie circled an arm around her son’s waist. “He’s right, baby. You’re a wonderful son and I wouldn’t trade you for anyone else.”
“Even when I do stupid stuff?”
Annie grinned. “Even then. But that doesn’t mean I want you to do any more of it.”
Justin allowed a grin, too. “Yeah, I figured that.”
Sloan breathed a sigh of relief. This had gone better than either he or Annie had expected. Brushing a hand down his clean jeans, he rose. “I want you to know something, Justin.”
“What? You expect me to be out slaving over a delphinium first thing in the morning?”
“Yeah, that, too.” Sloan laughed and was sorely tempted to hug the kid. Sometimes a wisecrack came in handy. “You’re a real help to me. I couldn’t accomplish near as much without you. But that’s not the most important thing. I haven’t been here for you. I regret that more than I can tell you, and I hope, long after the garden is finished, you’ll let me be part of your life.”
The speech was longer than he’d intended to give, but the words needed saying.
Justin pulled away from his mother and rose, too, coming up to Sloan’s shoulder. One of these days, the boy would be as tall as he was. The thought gave him a hitch beneath his ribcage. This was his child, his baby, his son.
Before he could stop himself, Sloan pulled Justin against his chest and thumped his back once. The boy came willingly, all bones and sinews and smelling of pizza. Sloan breathed him in, a feeling of regret and joy so profound washing through him that he couldn’t have spoken if he’d tried.
He thumped his son’s back one more time and stepped away.
Justin stood before him, lanky arms dangling at his sides, half little boy, half adolescent. And his next words rocked Sloan’s world.
“Does this mean you and Mom are getting married now?”
Chapter Eight
Annie was emotionally drained.
Long after Justin’s stunning question that had turned her face to fire and shocked Sloan to temporary silence, the two adults had talked and listened. But mostly they’d danced around the volatile, impossible question. At eleven, Justin should understand that relationships were not as simple as he wanted them to be.
“Do you want any more coffee?” she asked Sloan. They’d adjourned to the kitchen two hours ago when Sloan, in a clear attempt to move past their son’s query, had challenged Justin and her to a game of Uno. Finally, after another hour, Justin had wound down enough to go to bed. Since then she and Sloan had shared coffee and conversation, most of it as serious as the night’s events.
He put a hand over his coffee cup. “I’ll be up until dawn as it is.”
She snorted. “No kidding. But your ploy with the Uno game was brilliant.”
“It was the only thing I could think of to channel his mind in a new direction.”
“Otherwise, he would have been up all night, too.” And he might have pushed the marriage issue, a question that had put crazy thoughts in Annie’s head.
She carried the dirty coffee mugs to the sink. When she turned, Sloan was behind her with the cream and sugar set.
“Where do these go?”
“Up there.” She opened a cabinet door. “I’m still amazed that you convinced him to get some sleep.”
“The threat of sweating in the sun without any sleep is a powerful motivator.”
As he reached over her head, he bumped her side with his. Annie knew she should step away from the contact, however incidental, but she didn’t. Having Sloan near felt better than it should. “So are the twenty extra dollars you promised him.”
He chuckled. “True. I am an astute businessman. And so, apparently, is my son.”
Annie turned the faucet in the sink, the spray adding backdrop to their conversation. “How do you feel about all this, Sloan? You have to be stunned.”
He stood so close she could feel the heat of his body and could see the tiny pulse beat over his temple. He smelled of coffee and spice and of the fresh outdoors. If anything, Sloan Hawkins was more attractive today than he’d ever been, and not just physically, though there was definitely that.
He looked down at her, one hand braced on the counter-top, face serious. “I’m still processing.”
Whatever that meant. Scared she was setting herself up for more hurt, Annie edged a step away.
“The important thing,” he said, filling the space she’d just vacated, “is that Justin seems to be okay.”
“Telling him was easier than I expected. I was relieved to get the truth out in the open.”
“Where do we go from here?”
Drying her hands on a towel, Annie turned and leaned her hips against the counter edge, thoughtful. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Justin. Me. You.”
“I don’t know.” Carefully, she folded the tea towel, unsure of what he wanted her to say and even more uncertain of what she wanted. “I think he needs you in his life, especially now when the information is new and startling. It would be wrong to dump this on him and then walk away.” Which was exactly what she expected Sloan to do.
Sloan’s jaw worked. “I won’t.”
“I hope you mean that. I can’t bear to see him hurt anymore.”
“He’s my son. I want to know him.”
“How is that going to be possible?”
“He can come to Virginia.”
Annie’s heart dropped. “No.”
“Why not? D.C. is a few minutes away from my offices. I can take him lots of cool places he’s never seen.”
“I don’t know. It’s scary to think of him so far away.”
“You don’t trust me with him.” The statement was said with an edge of bitterness.
“I—” Maybe he was right. But what did he expect? “I can’t pretend the past didn’t happen.”
Sloan’s shoulders slumped for a second and then he stepped away from the counter and from her, expression hard. “That’s what I figured. But let’s get one thing straight. I’m going to be in his life, whether you trust me or not.”
And with that unsettling threat dangling in the air like a noose, he walked out of her house, fired up his Harley and roared aw
ay.
Sloan lay on his boyhood bed, still fully dressed—except for his boots, of course. Lydia would thump his head for putting dirty feet on her hand-stitched quilt.
Lydia. He rubbed at his grainy eyes, sorrow pressing against them with such power that he required all his will not to cry like a big baby. The neighbor had graciously stayed at his aunt’s side while he was visiting Annie and Justin, although Sloan had called several times and offered to rush home. Lydia, the neighbor said, only awakened once.
He sighed, his chest almost too heavy to lift. Tonight he’d made another mess. Though the conversation with Justin had gone well, Sloan’s smart mouth had managed to alienate Annie again.
She’d stabbed him through the heart with her distrust. Rationally, he knew she had reason, or at least she believed she did. He knew better, and that knowledge was starting to eat on him. He’d almost told her the entire story, but Annie loved her father and believed the best of him. If she knew what Dooley had done, she’d be devastated. Why break up a family just because he didn’t have one?
Justin’s face floated into his consciousness. He did have a family. Sort of. He’d never given fatherhood much thought, but now that he knew about Justin, he wanted him. The weird thing was he wanted the sunshiny little girl, Delaney, too.
With a groan, he threw an arm over his eyes. “Annie.”
He’d always wanted Annie. All of this was her fault. He loved her kids because they were part of her, and he loved her.
“God, I don’t know what to do.”
God.
His conversation with Lydia came tumbling in. He’d promised to give some thought to God.
No time like the present. He wasn’t sleeping anyway. Although he wasn’t sure of the protocol for ringing up God in the middle of the night, he remembered boyhood prayers.
He threw his legs over the side of the bed, his feet touching down on a soft throw rug—the same rug he’d knelt on as a heartbroken boy, begging God to bring his mother back.
“Where were You, God?” he asked. “Lydia says You’re there. Annie, too. Where are You?”
He felt a little stupid talking out loud to the darkness, but he did anyway. He’d always believed in God. He just figured God didn’t believe in him all that much. Aunt Lydia said he was wrong, and he believed her now in a way he hadn’t when he was young and stupid. His aunt was a wise lady.
He’d considered the time twelve years ago to be the lowest point in his life. Confused, tormented, ostracized from everything and everyone he’d loved, he’d been too young, foolish and angry to cry out to God.
Tonight he was an adult with enough wisdom to know he could no longer do this by himself. Even though he’d built a successful business and had plenty of money, life still felt empty. He felt empty. A million dollars couldn’t buy happiness or peace of mind or love. And those were things he lacked.
“All right, God, just me and You talking. Okay?” And he began to pray.
Streaks of dawn, pink and pretty, crept into the upstairs bedroom and awakened Sloan from what had to be a very short nap.
He was on his knees, next to the bed, his face smashed against the smooth old quilt. Sitting back, he discovered his foot was asleep and gingerly stretched his legs on the rug.
As awareness came to him, he remembered the last twenty-four hours. Though his eyes were gritty and his head groggy, he felt renewed and refreshed, not on the outside, but inside. A quiet assurance filled the space that had once churned with turmoil.
Something had happened to him. Something he could not explain, but in that time of talking to God, a light had gone on inside his head. He figured people would say that Hawkins boy had finally gone off the deep end if he told anyone, but he had come into this room last night alone and this morning a Presence was with him.
Emotion clogged his throat. God had heard and answered. He’d heard no angels singing, but he figured they were. Or maybe they were shocked silent.
He grinned at the thought.
Who would figure a security expert with a knack for knocking heads would find God?
“Thanks, Lord,” he said. The feeling had returned to his legs, so he slipped on his boots. Normally, he set his alarm to check on Lydia every couple of hours anyway. When she awoke this morning, he’d have good news to share.
Quietly, he descended the stairs, peeked in to find her sleeping as he’d expected, and went into the kitchen to start coffee. Last night, he’d overindulged in caffeine at Annie’s, but this morning, he could use the jump start.
While the smell was filling the room, he set out the ingredients for pancakes. Annie and the kids would be here at seven. Generally, she fed Lydia and the kids before her mother picked up Delaney for the day and Justin went to work in the gardens with him.
Humming, he cracked the eggs against the bowl and added them to the flour and sugar and his special secret ingredients—melted butter, buttermilk and a touch of vanilla. Annie would be surprised to discover pancakes cooking when she arrived.
He smiled to himself. She’d be a lot more surprised when he shared his news.
Annie arrived to the smell of fried bacon and fresh coffee.
“I’m impressed,” she said, setting her purse and nurse’s bag aside. “The man cooks.” And looks really good in the process.
“This smells awesome,” Delaney added, batting long black eyelashes at Sloan. She was already full of smiles and energy even this early in the morning.
“Beats cold cereal.” Sloan was at the counter next to the stove, dipping pancake batter into a black cast-iron skillet. “Grab a plate. Or better yet, set the table for us, Delaney, and Justin, you pour juice or milk. Whatever you want.”
Justin, who’d been even quieter than usual this morning, did as Sloan asked without comment. Sloan cocked an eyebrow at Annie. All she could do was shrug. After Sloan left last night, she’d spent an hour or more thinking and praying for their child to be all right. But, like his father, Justin was hard to read. He could be thrilled or devastated and she’d never know unless he exploded.
“You appear to have things under control here,” she said. “I’ll go check on Miss Lydia.”
One hand on the skillet handle and the other wielding a spatula, Sloan glanced over a shoulder. “She was still asleep when I came down. I have something important to tell her so let me know if she’s awake.”
Annie assumed he meant Justin. So did Justin, because the child whipped around from the fridge, juice bottle in hand.
Sloan hitched his chin toward the wide-eyed boy. “We’ll talk about that later. Your opinion counts.”
Justin gave a short nod and carried the juice to the table. Bewildered, Annie realized the two males had just agreed to something she didn’t understand but that had satisfied them both. Was this the way it was supposed to be between a father and a son?
Chewing on the interesting thought, she traversed the hall to Lydia’s room and went inside.
“Good morning, Miss Lydia.” She stepped to the bed and placed a hand on her patient’s shoulder, going through the morning assessment routine. Lydia’s color was more cyanotic today, her respirations more shallow.
The dear lady didn’t move. Annie gently shook her. “Lydia.”
Tired eyes opened. Bluish lips barely curved. “Hi, honey.”
Annie smiled, but the nurse inside was frowning. “Let’s check your blood pressure.”
For once, Lydia didn’t protest. Annie checked her pressure and listened to her heart and lungs with a stethoscope. Though the results were not good, Annie maintained a professional demeanor. She’d been preparing for this time, praying about it, steadying her own emotions. Lydia needed her friendship and her medical expertise, not her tears. So would Sloan.
“Where’s Sloan?” Lydia murmured.
“Making pancakes for the kids and waiting for you to wake up.”
“Like a family,” the older lady whispered, expression soft.
With a jolt, Annie realized it was true
. Worse, she liked the idea too much.
“He has something important to tell you.”
“Justin?”
“I’m not sure, but Sloan and I told Justin last night, and the conversation went well, I think.” Leaving the blood-pressure cuff in place, Annie jotted the reading and time in a folder she kept at the bedside.
“Truth will set you free.”
“Yes,” she agreed, though her mind was not on the conversation. “Your blood pressure is too low this morning. Will you change your mind about the hospital?” Lydia had created a living will indicating her wish to die at home. The time was fast approaching.
“I’m not afraid. This is where I belong.”
Annie knew the answer before Lydia spoke, but in good conscience, she’d had to ask.
“Do you need anything? Want anything?”
“Sloan.”
“I’ll get him.”
Heavy-hearted, Annie went into the kitchen. The kids and Sloan were chowing down. “Your aunt wants you.”
Bad news must have shown on her face, because he took one look, rose from the table and left the room.
“Finish your breakfast, kids,” Annie said, her eyes following Sloan’s journey down the hall. “I’m calling Grandma to come get both of you.”
Around a mouthful of pancake, Justin protested. “But Sloan and I are working—”
“Not today, son. Miss Lydia isn’t doing well.” She reached for the phone and punched in the numbers.
Justin swallowed. “Is she gonna die?”
“No one knows for sure, but the signs are there.”
Both children grew silent. Interest in Sloan’s pancakes went out the window. The kids, like so many others, including herself, cared for Miss Lydia. And though Annie had talked to them repeatedly about the lady’s health, losing Lydia would be hard on everyone—especially Sloan.
After a quick phone call to her mother and another to Lydia’s physician, Annie went to be with her patient. This was the part of being a hospice nurse that she’d trained for, one of the reasons she’d chosen this job. She wanted to be a help to a patient and family in this hardest of times. But she’d never been this close to a patient before. Or to the patient’s only family.
