Forever After

by Catherine Anderson

  Meredith’s predicament was the last thing on her mind at the moment. Her stomach twisted as she darted her gaze back and forth between the two men. Such pain. Two phone calls a year, divided into thirty-eight, equaled nineteen. That couldn’t be right. A father and son who loved each other as much as these two obviously did couldn’t possibly cling to old hurts and not see one another for nineteen years. It was absolute madness.

  Heath hauled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if he were silently counting to ten. “I don’t think it’s entirely fair for you to immediately assume I want something. I haven’t asked you for a red cent since I left, or for any kind of help. That’s half of my life, all of my adult life. It’s not as if I’ve been a habitual moocher.”

  Ian folded his arms and smiled. “So you didn’t come here for help?”

  Heath raked his hair again. “Dad, I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you, all right? If I had thought you wanted me to, I might have. But you told me never to come back. Remember?”

  “I never said that!”

  “You certainly did! You said if I stepped foot on this land again, you’d kill me. That you couldn’t bear to look at me.”

  “Give me a break, Heath! I can scarcely remember what I said that night. You had just killed my little girl! And hours later, you were still staggering drunk. With her blood all over you, for God’s sake. She wasn’t cold on the slab yet, and you were already slugging more beer. At that moment, I wanted to kill you.”

  Heath’s face went white, his eyes like dark splotches of water flecked with moonlight. For a moment, Meredith thought he might go to his knees. She couldn’t let this continue. The two men needed to iron this mess out, no question about it, but not like this, with Heath pulling his punches, afraid of alienating Ian because he was their only hope. Heath was literally laying himself out as a sacrifice to appease the man, as if he were a vengeful God.

  She gathered Sammy close and pushed to her feet. “Excuse me,” she interjected. “I’m leaving now.”

  Heath blinked and jerked his gaze to her. “Merry, no. He’s your only way out.”

  “The price is too steep,” she said shakily.

  “Meredith, I’m all right. Sit back down.”

  “No,” she cried. “You’re not all right, and I can’t watch you do this. Not for me.”

  “It’s not just for you. My life is at stake, too.”

  She sank back down on the chair. “That’s not playing fair.”

  “This is too important to just walk away. We need his help, and if his price is hurling insults, we’ve got to pay it. We can’t afford not to.”

  Ian chuckled, looking Meredith over. “Very good! I take it he falls for this?”

  Heath groaned. “Jesus, Dad! I can’t believe you. Look at her! Is she your typical femme fatale?”

  “They come in all shapes and sizes. In my profession, I’ve seen them all.”

  “So have I,” Heath shot back, “and she doesn’t fit the stereotype.”

  “You’ve seen the Wynema Falls variety,” Ian replied. “This one has more class. And I don’t mean that as a compliment,” he said to Meredith. “You’re a master at the craft, and you’re playing him like a three-string banjo. If you were only taking his money, I might feel less hostile. But you’re destroying everything that he is.”

  “Dad, I think I’m capable of judging the lady’s character without your input. You don’t know her. I do. And I’m telling you, this isn’t a snow job, I’m not making decisions with the lower half of my anatomy, and she’s nothing like you think!”

  “A sterling recommendation, coming from my son, the screwup.”

  “Screwup?” Heath repeated tautly.

  “You always have been, always will be. Sometimes I wonder how such a bull-headed, impulsive and uncontrolled idiot could possibly have sprung from my loins. I told you to get rid of her! To let someone else handle this. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Slate blue eyes clashed over a distance of seven feet, both sets identical in color and glinting with the same stubborn, indomitable pride. The creases in Ian’s lean, burnished cheeks were deeper than Heath’s. He had more crinkles at the corners of his eyes. His skin had aged on his neck, taking on the texture of crepe. But otherwise, father and son looked enough alike that they might have been cast from the same mold.

  If Ian’s barbed comments hurt, Heath didn’t reveal it. His jaw muscle relaxed, his stance went from tense to lazy, and he flashed his dad a cocky grin. “You’re such a cold, unaffectionate son of a bitch, my mother probably got knocked up by the postman.”

  Ian doubled his fists. “You little bastard. Why I was hoping you might have grown up, I have no idea! Don’t you dare speak of your mother with disrespect!”

  “The disrespect wasn’t aimed at her. I’ve heard men refer to their wives as their better halves. My mother was far more than that. She must have been the glue that held your humanity together because it’s sure as shit scattered on the wind now.”

  “You’re the same wild, unpredictable smart ass that you always were,” Ian tossed back. “And you still don’t have a lick of respect for me. Do you?”

  Meredith had wanted Heath to fight back, but now that he was, she felt extremely uncomfortable. They were squared off like two men about to exchange blows. Just the thought terrified her. Approximately four hundred and eighty pounds of muscle-packed masculinity, out of control, and she and Sammy might be caught right in the middle of it.

  “Mommy, Heef said it.”

  “Shhh, sweetie.”

  “But he said it!”

  Meredith wished she had a sock to stuff in her daughter’s mouth. Sammy turned bewildered blue eyes on her. “They’re saying lots of bad words, huh?”

  “Sammy, please,” Meredith whispered. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “Is ‘bastard’ naughty?”

  Meredith’s heart was starting to slam. She stared at her daughter. There wasn’t a trace of fear in Sammy’s eyes. She seemed totally unconcerned that the two men in the room appeared to be mere inches away from violence. So did Goliath. The dog had plopped beside her chair, his massive head resting on his paws. Occasionally, he opened one eye when the male voices went from loud to wall-shaking, but otherwise he just lay there, seeming to snooze.

  Heath answered Sammy’s question. “Yes, Sammy. My dad said some bad words, and so did I. I’m sorry, and when we go home, you can wash my mouth out. If I say any more, you be sure to count them.”

  “Okay.” Sammy fixed her gaze intently on the two men. With a hand resting on her knee and one small finger extended, she looked very like a miniature umpire keeping track of fouls at a ball game. “Just remember, Heef. Soap’ll make you urp.”

  Heath had already returned his attention to the quarrel. Sammy’s warning seemed to take the starch out of his spine. He stared at his dad, his face relaxing. After a moment, he shifted his gaze back to Sammy, his expression going tender and his mouth quirking at the corners. He finally smiled.

  “You know what, sweetcakes? You’re right. This isn’t worth having to eat soap.”

  He looked at Meredith. “I’m sorry, Merry. I shouldn’t have brought you here.” He extended his hand toward her. “The price is too steep. Let’s get going.”

  Meredith started to stand. At her movement, Ian whirled on her, his face so twisted with anger that she started and fell back in her chair. For an awful moment, she thought he might leap at her. He advanced on her instead.

  “What have you got, pure gold between your legs? He’s lost his ever loving mind! And you! Oh-hh-h! You have the act perfected, don’t you? The timid little woman who needs a big, block-headed man to fight her battles for her. I know your kind. A cold-hearted, manipulative bitch, that’s what you are.”

  Goliath lifted his head and snarled. Ian reeled to a stop.

  “Heath, get your goddamned dog under control.”

  “He is under control, Dad. You’re the one who’s lost it. You don�
��t even see them, do you? Not really. You’re so used to making snap judgments and weighing the evidence, all they are to you is a couple of bodies. Look in their eyes. Really look. Meredith is scared to death of you, and Sammy thinks you’re rude. Most people exclude little kids from a disagreement—offer them a tablet to scribble on, maybe some milk and cookies—anything to make it clear to them they aren’t in the line of fire. You didn’t even ask Sammy’s name or how old she is, the usual accepted behavior when you meet young children. Why am I not surprised? The fact is, you can look into her big blue eyes and not give a shit what happens to her. You just want me to do the smart thing and sacrifice her, and her mother, on the altar of the law. Well, Dad, screw you! As for your help? Forget I asked. We’ll find another way to save our bacon.”

  Keeping excellent track of Heath’s language, Sammy poked out two more fingers. There were now three counts against him.

  “I’m four,” she told Ian. Then she tipped her head questioningly. “Do you want me to count bad words for you, too? You’re sayin’ lots of nasty, icky ones. Heef says it’s a really bad rabbit he oughta break.”

  Ian stared down at Sammy as if she were an alien from another planet. “Excuse me?” he said in that haughty tone he had probably perfected in the courtroom.

  Sammy sniffed. “Did you farfle?”

  “What?”

  Sammy leaned slightly toward him. “You know, from your bum? My mommy says you gots to always say ’scuse me, ’cause it’s not p’lite.”

  Ian’s eyes darkened, and his color rose. Looking exactly like his son, he jabbed his fingers through his hair and blinked, totally ruining his professional styling job. “No, young lady, I did not ‘farfle.’”

  Sammy’s expression saddened. “I bet your Mommy died when you was real little, huh? Just like Heef. That’s how come you don’t got any manners. Right? ’Cause you di’n’t have her to teach you nuffing. Can you say your letters?”

  Ian took a turn around the room, raking his hair as if he’d suddenly discovered it was infested with vermin. Glancing at Meredith, he said, “While you’re teaching your daughter manners, Mrs. Kenyon, you might remind her to respect her elders. I don’t appreciate having my behavior criticized by a four-year-old.”

  Meredith pushed up from the chair again, juggling Sammy on her hip. “Until we met Heath, I didn’t feel any of my daughter’s elders, aside from myself, had earned her respect. If she has offended you, I apologize. But even you have to admit, this hasn’t been a very pleasant visit.”

  Heath covered the distance to Meredith and scooped Sammy from her arms. Then, taking her elbow, he said, “Come on, sweetheart. I’m sorry I subjected you and Sammy to this. I thought—well, never mind what I thought.” He snapped his fingers. “Goliath, come.”

  “Heath, wait a minute!” Ian called from behind them. “What did you mean when you said your life was at stake, too? Was it an exaggeration, or are your lives actually at risk?”

  Heath continued walking toward the study door.

  “Dammit, Heath! I asked you a question. If the situation is really that serious, of course, I’ll help you. All else aside, you’re my son!”

  Heath stopped, handed Sammy to Meredith, and said, “Sweetheart, wait for me on the porch, okay? I’ll be right there.” Then he turned toward his father. His eyes glistened with a suspicious brightness. “I’m not your son. I’ve been many things to you. An inconvenience. An embarrassment. A trial. Your cross to bear, definitely. But never your son.”

  Meredith knew she had to get Sammy out of there. She backed away as far as the doorway, but then she couldn’t seem to pry her feet from the rug to go any farther. She knew Heath thought she’d gone, but she couldn’t leave him. Not when he had that stricken expression on his face that told her how badly this confrontation was hurting him. She would stay, and Sammy would stay, because Heath would have stayed for them.

  Chapter 25

  I’m not your son. The words hung there in the room, seeming to echo. Ian looked as if Heath had struck him.

  “Think about it,” Heath cried raggedly. “Nineteen years, Dad. Sure, I screwed up. God forgive me, I screwed up really bad. But I was only a kid. And you spat on me. Do you remember that? You called me a murderer, told me to never defile your home with my presence again, and you spat in my face. I had five dollars and some change in my pocket. You didn’t even give me my clothes or a jacket. You just shoved me off the porch at six in the morning and washed your hands of me.”

  “You were staggering drunk. I’d just been to the morgue. And you were responsible for her death! Do you think I was thinking clearly? I wanted to rip you apart.”

  “You have no idea how many times I wished you had,” Heath said softly. “Because you were right. I had killed my little sister. Do you know how much I loved her? With you gone so much, she was my whole world, and she was the last person on earth I ever would’ve hurt.” The tendons along Heath’s throat stood out. “I was the one who found her under the truck. The one who stayed, trying with everything I had to lift it off of her. And when the cops got there and finally did get her out, I was the one who tried to resuscitate her. Her head was crushed. You just think about that. Mouth-to-mouth, Dad. That’s why I had so much blood all over me, damn you!”

  Ian locked his knees and closed his eyes, his face turning ashen. He looked like a man taking brutal body blows. Meredith’s heart nearly broke for him. The great Ian Masters had failed miserably at being a good father. She didn’t doubt that. But she could also see very clearly that he had cared about his children.

  “Oh, God, Heath, please,” he whispered, “don’t do this to me. Please. I can’t bear it. Not the details, please.”

  “Do this to you?” Heath retorted. “What about what you’re doing to me? You thought I was drunk when you saw me? You’d come in from Chicago, for Christ’s sake! Hours later! They had sedated me!”

  Ian’s head came up and a stricken anguish came into his eyes. “They would’ve told me,” he said raggedly. “You’re lying. Making excuses. They would’ve told me!”

  “Jesus, Dad! Would you look at me? I’m not a kid anymore. Lying? Why would I bother? To save our relationship? What a joke! And I’m sure as hell not afraid you’ll kick my ass.”

  “You just can’t admit the truth to yourself,” Ian accused.

  “Not true. I’ve lived with it all these years. Seen her face, not as it was in life, but as it was when I was trying to—” Heath’s chest heaved and tears tracked his leathery cheeks. “I kept thinking I might be able to save her—if I just tried hard enough. Remember how she always came running to me when she got hurt?”

  Ian made a strangled sound and nodded.

  “After Mom died, I was the only one here to make it better. When she was younger, it was scraped knees. When she got older, she’d come to me when some boy broke her heart. That night, all I could think of was that I could make her better if they’d just leave me alone with her for a while.” Heath heaved a shaky sigh. “I was stupid drunk when I rolled that truck. I admit it. I take complete responsibility for that, and I’ll carry the guilt with me to my grave. But I never touched another drop of beer after the wreck, and when you saw me later, I was not still drunk.

  “I was a two hundred and twenty pound linebacker! I wrestled bulls and rode broncs in my spare time. When they tried to put her in the ambulance and wouldn’t let me get close to her, I went berserk, and once I reached her, they couldn’t get me away from her. A bunch of them finally tackled me and held me down while a paramedic jabbed me in the arm. End of story. I wasn’t drunk! I had been drugged. And I’m sorry, but I can’t believe they never told you that. By Oregon law, I was still a minor.”

  His arms rigid at his sides, Ian shook his head. “I can’t remember anyone telling me that, Heath. But, then, it’s all a blur. I went on automatic pilot. Got the charges against you dropped and all reference to them taken off the accident report. Identified the body. I don’t remember half of what was sai
d to me.”

  Heath’s face went taut with bitterness. “You might have asked me, given me the benefit of the doubt. But you didn’t, did you? Back then, you never had an ounce of faith in me or bothered to listen to anything I said, and you still don’t.”

  Meredith couldn’t bear to watch this any longer. Heath was tearing his father apart. “Heath, that’s enough.”

  Heath spun toward the doorway, his gaze shooting to Sammy. “Merry, I asked you to get her out of here.”

  “I couldn’t leave you.”

  “Well, you’re right. Enough is enough. Let’s go.” He came to the doorway, encircled her with an arm, and propelled her down the hallway with such force that she felt like thistledown in the wind. “I just never learn. You’d think by now I’d know he doesn’t give a hoot about me, and that he never has! But, oh, no. I had to come back for one more kick in the teeth.”

  On the porch, Meredith dug in with her heels, set Sammy down, and turned toward Heath to grab him by the front of his shirt. “Heath? I’ve changed my mind. I’m afraid this may be a bad mistake.”

  “What is?”

  “Leaving like this. If you walk away now, you’ll never come back.”

  “Damned straight, I won’t!”

  “I can’t let you do it. You’ll only be hurting yourself if I don’t stop you.”

  “I hate his guts. He has no power to hurt me, period. And the feeling’s mutual.”

  “Oh, Heath. How can you be so blind? He loves you. It’s written all over him. He just doesn’t know how to say it! This is destroying him.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake! He looked pathetic for a couple of minutes. Big deal. He isn’t destroyed, Meredith. You have to care to be destroyed.”

  “You go back in there. Please, Heath. I’m not leaving until you do.”

  “And say what? That I’m sorry for what I said? It was the truth.”

  “Why has he stayed here?” she demanded to know. “He works out of Chicago. Why did he come here in the first place?”

  “He’d promised my mom he wouldn’t raise us in the city. What difference does it make?” He stepped off the porch. “I know you mean well, but you have no idea what you’re talking about.” He started up the circular drive. “You saw what he’s like. The man even turned on you.”