She watched them drive away. The license plate caught her gaze, bringing more tears. Lil Red.
It had been nothing more than a shambles held together by rust and will when they’d found it all those years ago. A hint of the original red color had remained and Rowan had dubbed it ‘the little red car’. She had been by Phillip’s side when he’d ordered the personalized tags, with him when Donald had raged at the rusted heap leaking oil on his pristine brick driveway, had sat enthralled while Phillip had planned each step of restoration then she’d actually crawled under the car and helped him with the work.
Now look at it. Another reminder of the years lost. No, the years stolen. She had to find a way to make Phillip understand that.
Ellen squeezed a hug around her shoulders. “It was inevitable. Too many people knew. Someone was bound to slip up sooner or later. Maybe you should call your mom.”
Rowan shook her head. The last thing she needed at the moment was an I-told-you-so lecture.
* * * *
Phillip hoped he would be able to find his way back to base after negotiating all the turns and back roads it took to get to Rowan’s house. According to Ian, they lived in the boonies—a charming phrase for ‘out in the middle of nowhere’.
He should have guessed as much. With Rowan’s uneasiness about closed-in places, living in town or on base wouldn’t hold much appeal. As it was, he was surprised at how many houses there actually were out of town.
“There it is.” Ian pointed excitedly at a turnoff. “Where the trees are.”
Philip jolted off the pavement onto a dirt road and winced at the cloud of dust and pings of rocks as they bounced off the undercarriage of the Mustang.
So much for a clean car, not to mention the paint job.
Rowan’s two-story house was on a rise about a mile down the road. Even from this distance, Phillip saw light glinting off the windows of the small two-story, which surely offered a one-hundred-eighty-degree view. An abundance of trees and other greenery provided a welcome break from the stark landscape and shade from the desert sun but not enough encroachment to make Rowan feel shut in.
A twinge of guilt hit him at the memory of his threat to have her locked up. It had been a dirty tactic. In retrospect, he couldn’t say that he really would have carried it out.
Who was he fooling? He’d meant it. She deserved to suffer after the lies she’d told. He longed to see her disabled by panic and fear, to crawl on her hands and knees and beg him…beg him to have her released. His revenge would be in saying no. The small fantasy gave him a modicum of satisfaction.
Pulling to a stop before the house scattered the birds, ground squirrels and jackrabbits lounging in the welcome shade near the front entrance. Ian shoved open the door before Phillip could stop him. In less time than it took to blink, Oscar was out of the car, hell-bent on chasing down the closest offenders, barking madly.
“Oscar, no!”
The dog charged on, plowing through rows of carefully manicured pansies, marigolds and geraniums. A bed of irises became casualties of his zeal. With each pound of the dog’s big paws, flower after flower was ripped from its bed. Finally, free of the obstacles of civilization, Oscar tore off across open landscape.
Chasing him was out of the question. Phillip knew that from experience. Oscar would come back when he was done romping, successful or not.
He surveyed the damage left in his wake. Emma’s garden was destroyed.
“Your grandmother is going to kill me when she sees what Oscar did to her garden.”
“That’s not Grandma’s garden. It’s mom’s.” Ian pointed to the house on the next acreage. “Grandma lives there. The people died and it was for sale, so she bought it.” He lowered his tone to that of a conspirator. “Mom says she thinks Grandma might have a boyfriend. We see a car there from time to time.”
It was hard to imagine Rowan gardening and harder still to think of Emma with anyone but James. He had to forcibly recall that James was dead and had been for… “Did you know your Grandpa McKinley?”
Ian shook his head. “He died before I was born.”
That would explain why James hadn’t called to tell him about Ian. He never would have stood for this nonsense had he been alive. It still didn’t excuse Emma—and certainly not Rowan.
“Shouldn’t we go after Oscar?” Ian asked.
“He’ll come back when he’s ready.” And not a minute sooner. “What we do need to do is try to fix your mom’s garden.”
No sense in setting a bad example for his son. The very air Rowan breathed might infuriate him, but he still had to show the boy a good example.
Ian retrieved a hand trowel and shovel from a shed behind the house while Phillip tried his best to right the broken stems on the irises. It was hopeless, but at least the bulbs were intact and would grow back. He’d try to save what he could of the broken flowers for a vase. Oscar was simply going to have to learn that this was not acceptable. The trouble was catching him in the act before he took off. Phillip sighed. Time for dog obedience school—again.
As if sensing Phillip’s thoughts, Oscar trotted back to the house, tongue dragging, a cockeyed grin on his face. With no hesitation, he plopped down in the cool dirt of the rejuvenated flowerbed and rolled.
“Oscar, no!”
The dog looked at Phillip as if he were crazy. Ian grabbed his collar and tugged him to his feet. “Come on, Oscar. Let’s get a drink of water.”
Visions of dirty paws on a carpet panicked Phillip. Before he could stop him, Ian had the door open. Oscar slipped through it like he owned the place. Phillip sprinted after them, expecting disaster. Oscar sprawled onto the cool tile inside the door then watched adoringly as Ian came back from the kitchen with a bowl of water.
Tension eased from Phillip’s shoulders. The house was decorated for living, not for show—unlike his own white-carpeted childhood home.
Practicality and comfort were visible everywhere he looked, from the tiled floors at the entryway to the brown Berber carpet in the living room beyond. Even Rowan’s furniture was designed to hide the rigors of childhood.
To his right, a staircase led to the upper level. Light poured down from above, inviting him to take a peek.
“That’s Mom’s,” Ian said. “You can take a bath up there if you want. I always use the one down here.”
Phillip smiled. “That’s okay. I’ll wait until you’re done.”
“Okay, you can put your stuff here in Grandma’s old room.” Ian pointed down the hall. “And here’s mine, if you want to look around.” He tossed his backpack in then darted into an adjoining bathroom.
Phillip wandered around the house, studying the knickknacks, the books on the shelves, the magazines on the coffee table. He felt lost, out of place—and why shouldn’t he? He was never meant to be here. An intruder.
A small glass bird on a high shelf caught his eye and he smiled involuntarily. She still has it.
Rowan had seen the golden wren for sale at a small Georgetown antique store. It had been their first date and Phillip had noticed her lingering over an object in a corner of the shop. He remembered the delight in her eyes when she’d cupped the fragile ornament in her palms—much too expensive for her limited budget. He’d gone back to the store the next day and purchased it for her.
Phillip ran his finger over the bird’s outstretched wing tip. His feelings for Rowan during those first days of their relationship came flooding back—the excitement, the agony of each look, each touch.
He sighed. Then she’d cut herself out of his life, leaving a gaping wound in his heart. She had also taken away his unborn son. Phillip sighed again and scanned the rest of the shelves.
The photo albums on the bottom shelf of the oak bookcase caught his eye. He recognized a few of them from his and Rowan’s time together. At least that hadn’t changed about her.
She was meticulous in recording each facet of her life—photos, ticket stubs, brochures. Every event, every experience in her life
could be found in those albums.
In college he had laughed at her obsession. Now he treasured it. In those volumes lay the key to the years he had missed with Ian.
With his index finger, he started to pull off the album most likely to contain Ian’s history, the one beside the last volume he was familiar with. Then he paused. He wanted to savor each memory, to curl up with Ian for a detailed explanation. He couldn’t very well do so until they were both cleaned up.
Phillip glanced at the stairway leading to Rowan’s room. It’s only a shower. What does it matter? He’d already lost eight years of his son’s life. He didn’t want to waste one second more. After snatching up his change of clothes, he took the stairs two at a time, determined to beat Ian back to the living room.
He wasn’t prepared for the sight of Rowan’s room and the emotions it evoked. He told himself that it was a room—nothing more, nothing less. Decorated in muted tones of peaches and cream, the windows opened on two sides to encompass the surrounding desert landscape. It was a haven. A sanctuary. A place for lovers.
A glance toward her king-size bed turned his stomach into knots. How many men had lain with her in that bed? How many had tasted her sweetness? Had she ever once called out his name in those moments of passion? Ever thought of him? Ever longed for him as he had her?
The answer was clear—no, not if she could deny him his child. Oddly, he recalled once more his father warning him of such a thing. It galled him to think his old man may have been right all along.
“I’ll be damned if I’ll ever let him know that.”
There was no sense mooning over the past. It had been over between the two of them long ago, especially for her. He moved on to the adjoining bathroom. Another shock hit him.
A garden tub greeted him the minute he stepped into the room—big enough for two, set in an alcove surrounded by beautiful potted plants. It was an oasis in the middle of the desert. Their tub. A long-ago dream for their future together. Sweet regret mixed with bitterness.
“Why, Rowan? I don’t understand.”
At that point, he didn’t want to. After slinging his tote bag to the tile floor, he stripped down and stepped into the adjacent shower stall.
Don’t look or think or feel. Just shower and get the hell out of here.
Memories still invaded, twisting his heart and making him ache for what was and could never be again.
“Damn. Damn. Damn.” He twisted the cold water on full blast and let it shock his system back to normal. It didn’t help. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to be normal again.
He grabbed the soap, worked up a good lather on his washcloth and rubbed it against his chest. The scent of lavender enveloped him. Perfumed soap. He was washing with perfumed soap—just what he needed to make his day complete. Hopefully, no one would notice if he rinsed until he was a prune.
* * * *
“This is when we went to Legoland.” Ian pointed to the picture then delved into a rambling dissertation on all they had seen and done. “And this is when me and Mom went hiking in Joshua Tree National Park.” There was a beautiful shot of the two of them on top of a giant boulder.
“You climbed up there?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t really very hard.” Ian paused to consider a moment. “Well, Mom helped me over the really high rocks. We go hiking a lot.”
“What about Grandma?” The unasked question— Who took the picture?
“Oh, Grandma doesn’t go. She hates hiking.”
“Then, who took the picture?” Another unasked question— What man took the picture?
“Ellen did. She hates hiking, too, but Timmy wanted to go, so she went with us. Timmy is my best friend. We’re in Cub Scouts together.”
A car pulled to a stop before the house. “Grandma’s here.” Ian jumped down and raced for the door. He tugged it open before Emma could reach it. “Grandma, come look. My dad’s home!”
Her eyes brightened with Ian’s excitement as she hugged him. “I heard. Mom called me.”
Oscar trotted up for attention.
She laughed and scratched him behind the ears. “What a pretty boy you are.”
Oscar was in love. He immediately dropped to the tile floor and offered his belly for scratching.
Traitor.
“That’s Oscar. He’s mine and my dad’s dog.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her farther into the room. “Come on, Grandma. Mom has to work this weekend. Dad made us dinner. We’re having spaghetti and meatballs. I helped.”
“It smells delicious.” Her gaze fell on Phillip and her smile faltered. “Phillip.”
“Emma.” He set aside the album. “Dinner’s about ready. Would you like a salad?”
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
Polite and correct. What else could they say with Ian present? It made for an awkward meal. He watched the time tick by until it was bedtime for Ian then exercised another parental right which had been denied him. He read a story and tucked him in.
“I love you, Dad. I’m glad you’re here with us now,” Ian said with a sleepy smile.
“Me, too. I love you, Ian. Have a good sleep.” A final tuck, hug and kiss then he eased the door shut and marched down the hall to confront Emma.
She raised a hand before he could draw breath to begin. “This is between the two of you. Leave me out of it.”
“That’s not good enough, Emma. I thought we were closer than that. You and James were like parents to me. You know that. How could you—?”
“James was dead, Phillip. It was all I could do to survive that. Each day was another day barely getting by, another day without the love of my life, another day of tears and misery. As I said, this is between you and Rowan. I’m the grandmother, not the referee.”
“I don’t understand, Emma. I loved her! How could she—?”
Emma shook her head. “Stop, Phillip. There’s more to this mess than any one of us knows. You need to talk it out from start to finish with Rowan and hear her side of the story.”
“Fine. I’ll take it up with Rowan.” He brushed by her to leave but got no farther than three steps when he saw Zach waiting for him in the living room with Mike Connors.
“What the hell do you two want?”
“Thought you could use a beer,” Zach said.
“Leave me alone.” He tried to push between them.
Zach snagged his arm. “I said…we thought you could use a beer.”
Phillip jerked free. “Sounds like I’m going to have one whether I want it or not.”
“Hey, this is me. Come on. I know how you feel.”
“You have no idea how I feel,” Phillip ground out through bared teeth.
Zach held his place. “True, but I have a good imagination, always very important for an attorney.” He grinned and raised one eyebrow in the patented Zach smile. “How about that beer? It’ll calm you down. I’ll buy.”
“You don’t have enough money to calm me down.”
“Humor me then.”
“Or the two of you will wrestle me down to the nearest bar?”
Mike stood. “Something like that.” He clapped a hand onto Phillip’s back. “Let’s go. You can kill her later.”
Phillip arched an eyebrow. “Or you? You knew about this and didn’t tell me. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if you were the one who removed the information from my copy of her record book.” His eyes narrowed.
Mike shrugged. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. If something was missing… Well, that’s what you get for not making your own copies of your client’s files.” He was sarcastic, a pointed reminder of Phillip’s earlier rudeness.
“Very funny, but I’m not laughing.” Phillip curled his hand into a fist. He wanted to smash something. Mike’s face was a tempting target.
He forced himself to relax. This wasn’t Mike’s fault. It was no one’s business but his and Rowan’s. Maybe the two idiots were right. Maybe a quick drink would calm him down. Everything
was coming to a boil—events, his emotions. It was knocking him off-guard and out of control.
“All right. Let’s go. I don’t want to be out all night. I still have some unfinished business to take care of.”
Zach swung open the door. “Just a beer or two.” A wicked look danced across his face. “I’ve got to tell you, Phillip. You’re the best smelling date I’ve had in a long time.”
Phillip shot him a glare and folded himself into the backseat of Mike’s battered old blue Celica. The backseats were definitely not made to accommodate tall passengers.
They took him to a small bar in the center of town where the only music was the constant click of pool balls and the murmur of the customers. There, in a corner booth, two beers turned into three, then four, then Phillip lost count. Before he realized it, he was pouring out his guts.
Zach and his incessant drive to know all somehow managed to pry loose the entire story. As much as Phillip had wanted to keep this inside, the words flowed—not just the ones about hurt, betrayal and revenge but also the desire, the need, the love still burning beneath his hatred. His friends listened with little comment, and in the dark recesses of his mind, Phillip knew they wouldn’t judge him.
“Unwinding from your hectic week?”
Bleary-eyed, Phillip glanced up at the man standing in front of their table. He was familiar.
Who is this guy?
Then it clicked. Malcolm Collins, the NCIS agent who had botched the evidence gathering in Rowan’s case.
“Mind if I join you?” He sat without waiting for a reply.
Phillip watched Zach and Mike exchange a look before Mike said, “As a matter of fact, we do. We were having a private conversation.”
Collins smiled. “Just one beer. I’m expecting some friends any minute.” He motioned to the waitress then turned that sly smile of his back their way. “Interesting day, huh?”
Phillip stared a hole through the man and offered no response. The slight didn’t faze Collins.
Always Faithful Page 11
