by Jessica Bird
"Come in," Jack said.
Callie put her head inside. "Gray! I didn't know you were coming over. Are you going to have dinner with us?"
Gray smiled in an easy way, tossed back the tail end of his drink, and put the glass on the desk.
"No, I was just leaving." He picked up his coat. "I'll talk to you later, Jack?"
Jack nodded while staring into Callie's face.
When they were alone, she frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Because I'm prepared to kill anyone who tries to get at you, he thought.
"Jack?"
He held his good arm out. "Sorry. Come over here, so I can kiss you."
She shut the door and walked across the room. As he watched her, he felt his blood thickening in his veins and his eyes lingered on her mouth. For all the times they'd been together, he couldn't believe his attraction to her was still so fresh. That he could want someone so much, even after he'd had her, was a revelation.
But that was love, Jack thought.
Positioning her in his lap, he ran his hand down her thigh. "You know something?"
"What?"
"You're beautiful." He pressed his lips onto hers.
As she settled against his body, he thought about what Gray had said. Had he truly considered the ramifications of running? Butch Callahan wasn't going to give up without a serious brawl and all of the other candidates were going to want to win just as badly as Jack did.
Which meant the gloves were going to come off. And everything was fair game.
The question was, how badly did he want to win. And how much was he willing to sacrifice to make sure he did?
"Jack?"
"Hmmm?"
"Do you ever get away? You know, take a vacation?"
He swept her hair aside and kissed his favorite spot on her neck, the one right behind her earlobe. "What did you have in mind?"
"Maybe after the holidays, we could go up north. Just for a weekend. We wouldn't be gone that—”
He cut her off with a kiss that went on and on. "Let's take a week. "
The smile she treated him with made Jack think being gone even longer might not be a bad idea.
Later that week, they were lying in her bed and Callie was on the verge of falling asleep when Jack said, "I want to ask you something."
"What?"
"Why did you wait so long to have se—to make love with someone?"
For a moment, she wasn't sure how to answer him. She'd tell the truth, of course, but the wording was difficult.
"Well, aside from being an introvert to begin with, I had to work my way through college and grad school, so it seemed like every minute of the day I had something I needed to do. When I got out of NYU, my mother—was sick and getting worse fast. She had multiple sclerosis, and with her increasing debilitation, someone always had to be with her. We didn't have money for round-the-clock nursing." She shrugged. "You need time and discretionary energy for relationships, and I had neither."
She knew he was frowning by the displeasure in his voice. "You shouldn't have had to deal with your mother's illness alone. What about your father? Where was he?"
"He was, ah, it was a difficult situation." Jack propped his head on his hand and let his cast fall between them. In the dim light, she could tell he was looking at her with his characteristic intensity. "So you handled everything by yourself?" "I had no other choice," she said. "I just coped and sometimes not well. There were a lot of nights when I couldn't stand the pressure and would have done anything to get away from my mother. I cringe at some of the things I felt. She didn't choose to get sick, to suffer, to wilt in her own skin until she died. But I felt so... trapped. I didn't want to leave her because I was afraid something would happen, but I just wanted to get out of the house sometimes. I could have been better, I think. I could have—”
"You stayed," he countered. "That's what counts." Callie released her breath in a sigh. "I wish I could do so much of it over again."
"I think you're too hard on yourself." Jack brushed his lips softly over hers. "And I don't know how your father could have stood by and done nothing."
"Frankly, it was easier than having him involved. Things could get really messy when he was around."
"What was he like?"
She looked up at the ceiling, figuring it was probably okay to let some anonymous details out. "He was... larger than life. Whenever I was around him, I always felt as if I were in the presence of greatness. He was a tall man, almost as tall as you, and I felt tiny around him. Insignificant."
"Were you close?"
"Not at all. He was confident, very sure of himself, until he tried to talk with me and then he became so awkward. I think he avoided me because he didn't like the way he felt when he was with me. Powerful people tend to be comfortable only when they are in control of themselves."
"That's a hell of a way for a father to act," Jack muttered. "What did he do for a living?"
Her eyes flashed to his and she began to think of ways to change the subject. "He was a businessman. But I don't know much about that side of his life."
"Was he gone a lot? Working?"
"I guess you could say that."
"What kind of business was he in?" When she didn't answer, Jack frowned. "You're leaving out a lot, aren't you?"
As she stayed silent, he stared at her for a long moment.
"Let's talk about something else," she suggested softly.
"Okay." She was relieved until he said, "So why don't you want to tell me about your father?"
Callie felt herself bristle. "I just don't want to talk about him, okay?"
"Don't you trust me?"
"What do you mean?"
"If you have to ask that, I think I know your answer." He rolled over onto his back.
"I'm just not interested in talking about the man."
He turned his head on the pillow. "But maybe I want to know."
Callie sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. "What does it matter, anyway? The past is the past. He's dead and I've moved on from whatever problems I had with him. It's all a nonissue."
There was another long pause.
"Callie, I think we need to talk."
The tone in his voice was grim and she felt her skin shrink. "About what?"
"Us. The future."
She looked at him over her shoulder. He'd cradled his head in the palm of his good hand and his bare chest was only partially covered by the blankets.
"What do you have in mind?" she asked, hoping like hell she could bear his answer. He'd told her the night of the accident that he thought he loved her, but they hadn't talked about what was going to happen after she was done with the portrait.
"Have you ever thought of settling in Boston?" he asked. "You could work from here just as well as you could in New York."
Her slow smile returned. "True."
"And we could see each other. A hell of a lot."
She felt herself loosening up. "I'd like that, Jack. I really would."
He reached for her, pulling her down.
"Me, too," he said, against her mouth.
He kissed her once, but then stopped.
"About the election." He smoothed her hair back. "If I decide to run, it's going to get rough. If you're going to be at my side, you need to be ready."
"To duck and cover if they pelt you with tomatoes? "
"Well, yes." He laughed softly. "But I was thinking more about the press. You should be prepared to get hit with some inquiries into your life."
Cold dread coursed through Callie, wiping out the rush of relief she'd felt a moment before.
"What do you mean?"
"The media, my opponents, they're going to crawl all over me. My past, our relationship, your background, everything's going to be examined closely."
She jerked upright, trying to imagine what would happen if anyone looked into her life. Her father's secret, the thing she had protected for so long, would be prime fodder for
reporters if it was discovered. She could just imagine the coverage.
And there was Grace to consider. Callie had promised never to betray her, and even though she wouldn't be selling out her half sister on purpose, the end result would be the same. The whole world would know the details of their father's infidelity and Grace would be the target of more tell-alls.
Jack sat up, having obviously caught the wave of her concern. "I'll take the brunt of it, of course, and Gray and I will take care of you."
She searched his face. "You said if you decide to run. Is there a chance you might not?"
He seemed taken aback. "Why don't you tell me what you're worried about? "
She thought about explaining everything to him and felt her throat close up. It was probably just as well that she keep quiet. The story wasn't hers alone to tell. Jack and Grace might have been friends, but exactly how close were they? After having made a promise never to speak of the past to anyone, she wasn't about to break her word.
"I just don't want the press in my life," she said. "That's all."
Jack frowned, his eyes growing shrewd. "What exactly do you have to hide?"
She looked away.
"Tell me Callie."
"I can't."
There was a long, tense silence.
"Why not?"
When she remained quiet, he got out of bed and roughly pulled on his pants.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I don't know what happened in your past, but it's hard to imagine what you can't share with me."
"Jack, don't be like this." She reached out to him, but he brushed her hand away and yanked his shirt on. "Look, I don't know why this has to be a big deal. You haven't decided to run yet, right?"
He shot her a harsh look. "What I'm worried about right now is how little you trust me."
"But I do trust you."
"Then tell me."
When she remained quiet, he looked away.
"Christ," he muttered, stuffing his feet into his loafers. "I thought honesty was something I'd never have to worry about with you. I can't believe you're being like this."
How she was being? As if she'd asked to be born to a father who was horrified by her very existence?
A surge of defensive anger got her out of bed and she wrapped a blanket around her body.
"What's really going on here, Jack? Are you just concerned about us? Or are you worried about how my past might influence your success at the polls?"
He stopped moving. "I'm going to try and forget you said that."
She closed her eyes, immediately wishing she could take it back.
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, so am I," he said, heading for the door.
"Jack, wait—”
"I don't really want to talk right now, if you don't mind."
After he'd left, Callie sat down on the bed and closed her eyes, feeling her heart pound.
Keeping her father a secret had been drilled into her for so long, she couldn't imagine talking to anyone about him. Even Jack.
God, how well she'd been trained. And how early.
She could remember being eleven years old and standing in Grand Central Station with her mother. As they'd waited for their train, she'd looked over at a businessman who was getting his shoes shined. The man had had a paper up in front of his face, but she could tell he was someone like her father because he dressed in the same kind of clothes.
She'd been watching him, wondering what it felt like to have shoes cleaned while they were on your feet, when he'd flipped the paper around and she'd seen a picture of her father. Excited by the image, she'd hurried over and proudly started to explain to the man just whose daughter she was.
Her mother had pulled her back sharply, making excuses and smiling. "She thinks everyone in a tie is her father."
"No, I don't."
"Excuse us."
The man had nodded and gone back to reading but, as Callie was dragged off he'd dropped the corner of his paper and had given them a measured stare. Her mother had caught the look and done her best to block his view, drawing Callie into a corner.
Her mother was obviously shaken. "You shouldn't do things like that. Remember how I told you that your father is a secret? A secret between the three of us?"
Of course Callie had remembered, but she was getting tired of keeping her mouth shut. No one else's father had to be kept hidden.
"I was just telling some stranger."
"But if you tell a secret, what happens?" her mother had prompted.
"You don't have to keep it anymore," she'd retorted, putting her fists on her hips.
"No. No—Callie, look at me. If you share a secret, what happens? You lose something special."
Callie had started shaking her head. She was tired of the lecture, tired of keeping the stupid secret. Besides, it wasn't like she was gaining much by being a good girl. Whether she followed her mother's rules or not, her father still didn't look her in the eye when he came to visit.
"Callie, I'm serious."
At that moment, she hadn't cared how stern her mother was getting. "So what! If I tell people about Daddy, I'm going to lose him? Who cares!"
Her mother had gripped her shoulders and put her face down so close that their noses had almost touched. "If you tell, we're both going to lose him."
Looking into her mother's pale face, Callie had felt the fight drain right out of her.
As she came back to the present, she heard the sound of Artie chasing groundhogs in his sleep. She glanced over the side of the bed, watching his paws twitch and hearing him yodel deep in his throat.
God, she wished she had a different story to tell. But she didn't.
And breaking through years of careful schooling was not something she could do easily. After a lifetime of guarding the secret, letting it out felt all wrong even though she reminded herself that it was Jack who wanted to know.
If she could tell anyone, surely it would be him?
And what about the election? The press? It wasn't a fait accompli that a reporter would find out what she was hiding. But considering what there was to lose, namely Grace's peace of mind and security, was she really willing to chance exposure?
Artie jerked and let out something that was close to a bark.
"Wake up," she murmured, reaching down and patting the dog. "Come on, now."
His eyes opened halfway and he seemed grateful as he looked up at her. Maybe the groundhogs had been coming after him this time.
Abruptly, she felt like she knew what being chased was like. She'd been trying to outrun her father's dubious legacy for some time now, but damn it, history was proving fast and tireless.
She stroked Artie's head until he fell back to sleep and then she put a pillow against the headboard and leaned back. As she stated at the Caravaggio over the fireplace, she let the debate between her past and her present fill the dark, quiet hours.
Chapter 19
The next morning, Callie put Artie on a leash and headed off at the crack of dawn for a walk. By the time they came back down Buona Fortuna's driveway, the dog was exhausted. Unlike her, he didn't have to work off anxiety and dismay, two great energizers along the lines of caffeine and rocket fuel.
They'd walked along the side of the road for miles, all the way into Weston, the next town over. She'd finally forced herself to turn back, because however keyed up she was, walking to the New Hampshire border wouldn't accomplish anything other than wearing out her running shoes. Besides, Artie was starting to droop.
When she approached the house, the garage doors were open and Mrs. Walker's Jaguar was gone, which meant Jack had left for the day. He'd taken to driving his mother's car because it was an automatic and he couldn't shift with his arm in a cast. Looking at the empty bay, she was disappointed that she'd missed an opportunity to try and apologize to him again.
After she let the dog into the kitchen, she said good morning to Thomas and went up to the garage. She'd just turned on the big light
and settled in when she heard footsteps come up the stairs. She turned and was surprised to see Jack.
His eyes met hers, but he didn't smile.
"I'd thought you'd gone," she said, putting down the wooden stick she was about to wind with cotton. "I'm working from home today." He walked across the room to a window, hands in the pockets of his jeans, a thick Irish sweater bringing out the darkness of his hair. Weak sunlight fell across his face as he scanned the sky.
"About last night," she began. "I really want to apologize. I was frustrated and angry—”
"And honest, maybe?" He looked at her over his shoulder.
"Jack—”
"I need to make something clear."
"Okay," she said, putting her hands on her knees and leaning forward to ease the tension in her shoulders.
"I told you I wanted more out of this relationship than sex and a little affection. I'm greedy by nature so I won't settle for second best. I never do. I want all of you, Callie. Not just the pretty bits and pieces." He faced her. "I want to know about your past because it's part of you. Not because I'm worried about how it will affect me."
"I believe you."
"So talk to me."
She started to shake her head. "It's not that simple."
"You say you love me, but how can you if you don't trust me enough to share all the parts of your life with me? Are you worried something will change my opinion of you? Because nothing will. There isn't anything you could tell me that would make me pull back."
She glanced down at her hands and wondered whether she was really worried about that. Did she honestly think he would bolt just because she was a bastard? Of course not.
Jack's voice darkened. "I'll tell you what, though. This silence could drive me away."
Callie looked up, searching his face for the courage she knew she needed to find in herself. She took a deep breath.
This was Jack, she told herself. This was Jack. This was Jack. This was—
Feeling like she was leaping into a black hole, she blurted out, "My father and mother were never married."
His face changed instantly. It was as if he'd relaxed and become saddened for her at the same time.
"My father was married to another woman. He had a family, a whole life, outside of my mother and me and we were the lesser of the two. He never acknowledged me in any formal way; his name's not even on my birth certificate."
