His brother's expression was so sincere that Zane found himself telling Nathan everything. All his feelings spilled out, all the love he'd felt for Meg as well the anger. When he finished, he looked away, watching a group of nurses at a table across the room. Despite the hollow feeling inside, he felt a release from having talked to Nathan.
"I don't know what's going on with Meg," Nathan said, "but it sounds to me like you haven't heard the whole story. Talk to her when you get home. Don't let this jealousy eat at you, because it'll destroy you, just like it did my mother."
His words stunned Zane. Was he in danger of becoming as bitter as his Aunt Frances?
He had little time for further contemplation. Nathan's pager sounded, and as he looked at the message his face turned grim. "We have to get back upstairs. It's time."
When they arrived back in Clayton's room, Frances sat beside the bed holding his hand. A doctor took his vital signs and said quietly. "It won't be long now."
Frances nodded and took Nathan's hand. "If you have some final words you want to say to your father, you should do it now. He's too weak to speak, but I believe he can still hear you."
Nathan looked across the hospital bed, meeting Zane's gaze. "I think Zane should go first. After all, he's Dad's oldest son."
Frances turned to stare at him, and Zane felt the full force of her hatred. Even now, while her husband lay dying, she couldn't let go of her jealousy. It controlled her, creating ugliness where once there'd been beauty. Like the cancer that ravaged Clayton's body, anger consumed Frances. Had his father felt that anger all their married lives? Had she never been able to forgive him, though he'd remained faithful to her for the past forty years?
He wondered why Clayton had stayed with her. Had Frances used guilt to keep him with her?
He ignored Frances and bent low to speak softly into his father's ear. "Goodbye, Dad. I'm glad I got to meet you, even though our time together has been so short. I'll always remember you and I'll remember what you said about wanting Nathan and me to truly be brothers. I'll do my best to make sure that happens."
He tenderly kissed the old man's forehead. As he gave Clayton's hand one final squeeze, he thought he detected a flicker in his eyelids, as if he'd heard him. Zane held on to that belief, needing to trust that his father heard him and understood.
Nathan took his father's withered hand and kissed his cheek. "I love you Dad. I always will. I'll remember all the good times we've had, all the things we did together. I'll make sure my sons remember you, and I'll do my best to be a good brother to Zane, just as you wanted. Goodbye Dad."
Nathan continued to hold his hand. A moment later, Clayton's breathing changed, a rattle sounding deep in his chest. And then it stopped. He was gone.
For one desperate moment, Zane wished with all his heart that Meg were by his side.
* * * *
Meg's heart tripped in her chest as she approached the town of Eden, an old, familiar panic closing her throat with fear. As she turned off the main highway onto the town's only access road, she had the insane urge to turn the car around and head straight back to Winnipeg, but she knew that would accomplish nothing. Nothing would change for her until she could face her past. The one thing that kept her moving forward was the knowledge that they could no longer make her do anything she didn't want to.
She drove the length of Eden's main street, surprised by the boarded up businesses. The hardware store was closed, and the place where the lumberyard once stood was now a vacant lot. She saw only one gas station where there had once been three. Even the grain elevators had disappeared. All that was left on Main Street was the Co-op grocery store, a gas station, and a run down looking café. The years had not been kind to Eden.
She drove around for a bit, taking in the town's tiny size. In her memory it had been huge, taking on an importance it probably didn't deserve. Finally Meg took a deep breath and prepared herself to face the people she'd left behind.
She drove to the little house she'd once shared with Paul, the house where Tommy had spent his first two years. Memories assailed her as she parked in front of the little house, most of them bad, but a few good ones.
She preferred to remember the good memories: cradling Tommy in her arms in the big, old-fashioned rocking chair in the living room, tending the flower beds around the house. She could see the reflection of a television screen through the sheer curtains of the front window, though she couldn't tell who watched it. Was it Paul? If he was there she'd screw up her courage and tell him right now she wanted a divorce.
Even in the dim winter light she could see that the house was even shabbier than when she'd lived there. Sections of the picket fence surrounding the front yard were missing; the pieces that remained were unpainted and falling apart, held together only by the snowdrifts. The house itself desperately needed paint. To Meg's eye it seemed to have sunk into its foundation. The whole picture was one of neglect and despair.
Mustering every scrap of courage she possessed, Meg left her warm car and headed up the walk to the front door. She lifted her hand and knocked, her whole body trembling. Heavy footsteps came closer and the door opened a crack.
"Yeah? Who is it?"
The voice was elderly and female, and not at all welcoming. For a moment Meg was confused, wondering who could be living in Paul's house. Her heart hammered in her chest when she suddenly realized the woman was Paul's mother.
"Mrs. Clifford? It's Meg, I mean Maggie. Maggie Brown. I'm looking for Paul. Is he here?" She used her maiden name, and the Christian name she'd gone by as a child. It seemed like a thousand years since she'd been Maggie Brown.
The old woman opened the door a little wider and flipped on an outside light. She narrowed her eyes at Meg, examining her closely, making her feel like a bug under a microscope. When recognition struck, Paul's mother frowned in distaste. "You," she spat. "What do you want here?"
"I need to talk to Paul." Edith Clifford had hated her twenty years ago, and it seemed time hadn't improved her opinion. She'd stolen away the woman's beautiful boy, ruining his life forever. In her eyes, Meg had seduced her innocent son, and was solely responsible for the unplanned pregnancy. The only thing they'd ever agreed on was that she and Paul shouldn't get married. "Can you tell me how to find him?"
The woman's face was a mask of pure hate. She pointed a bony finger in Meg's face, looking as if she wanted to strike her.
Meg took a step back in surprise.
"You have a lot of nerve, coming back here, asking for Paul after all these years. You want to torment me, don't you?" She began to weep, big, wrenching sobs that shook her angular frame. "You can find him in the cemetery, where he's been for the last fifteen years."
Meg just stared at her, unable to take in what she was hearing. "Paul is dead? You're telling me he's been dead for fifteen years?"
The woman just wept harder.
Meg didn't know what to feel. She'd once cared for Paul, thought she loved him, but it had been a long time ago and she'd been not much more than a child. Now all she could feel for the father of her child was regret for the wasted life. "How did he die?"
Edith wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Car accident. His car caught some loose gravel on the side of the grid road and rolled into the ditch." She wiped at her face again. "It's all your fault. You drove him to it."
"What are you talking about? You said it was an accident."
"The police say he'd had too much to drink. He drank because of you, because you took his son away. How could you be so heartless as to take a man's only son away from him? I said good riddance to you. If you'd left on your own, we'd all have been better off. We would've raised that boy ourselves."
Meg shivered partly from the cold and partly from Edith's words. She could only imagine the kind of life Tommy would've had raised by this bitter, horrible old woman.
"It's your fault he's dead," Mrs. Clifford shouted, all rationality gone. "You took my boy away from me."
At
one time Meg might have accepted the blame, but no more. She was done with secrets and lies and guilt. She took a step closer to the old woman and looked her straight in the eye. "Paul was a grown man who made his own choice. If he chose to drink and drive, there's no one else to blame. Whatever happened to him, he brought it on himself."
With that she turned on her heel and headed back to her car, with the sound of Edith Clifford's screams of rage in her ears. She started the car and drove away, vowing to never drive down this street again.
Chapter Sixteen
Zane's father had organized his own funeral in the weeks before his death. Following Clayton's wish, it was a simple service at the funeral home, with his family and closest friends in attendance Aside from himself, Nathan, Sylvie, their boys and his Aunt Frances, there were perhaps two dozen others present. Zane fervently wished his mother could have been there to say goodbye to the man she had once loved, but that would have been impossible, given his aunt's feelings. He had no wish to antagonize her further.
As Clayton's wish was to be cremated, there was no body at the funeral. Sylvie had created a memorial table that sat in a place of honor at the front of the chapel. There she'd placed pictures of Clayton, along with some of the things he loved; his favorite putter, the bonsai he'd been tending for years, some of his favorite novels. In a prominent location on the table were pictures of his family. Zane had been touched when he saw that Sylvie had included a picture of him, taken when he'd been out earlier that month.
The service was short and poignant. Nathan delivered a eulogy that illustrated his deep love for his father. His aunt wept quietly through the whole service.
When it was over, Zane followed the others to the outer foyer where Frances, Nathan, Sylvie and the boys greeted guests and accepted condolences. He stood off to one side, not wanting to create speculation by insinuating himself as part of the family, knowing his aunt would be deeply offended if he did. But part of him wanted to announce to the world that he was Clayton McPhillips' son and he was damn proud of it. He felt very much alone and separate as he watched the rest of his family. If Meg had been there...
He immediately cut off that line of thinking. Meg was no longer part of his life.
A man in his sixties walked up to Zane and extended his hand. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Ron McPhillips, Clayton's brother. How did you know my brother?"
For a moment Zane didn't know what to say. All he could think was that he had an uncle he hadn't known he possessed. Under the circumstances he didn't feel able to tell his uncle of their connection.
"I'm Zane Martin. I'm a relative of Clayton's wife from Winnipeg." It was the truth if not the whole truth.
Ron McPhillips cocked his head to one side. "Martin? That was Frances' maiden name, wasn't it?"
"Yes." He was afraid to offer much more information.
"Clayton and I grew up in the neighboring town to Harwood." He shook his head, clearly puzzled. "You certainly remind me of someone."
"He probably reminds you of Dad, Uncle Ron." Nathan appeared beside Zane and put one hand on his shoulder. "Zane is Dad's son, and my brother."
Ron looked from Nathan to Zane and back again, then slowly nodded. "Yes, I can see the resemblance now. I knew something had happened years ago, suspected that Clayton had an affair, but he wouldn't tell me." He leaned closer to Nathan and darted a furtive glance towards Frances. "Does your mother know?"
"Yes. Dad told us when he got sick. But I think Mom always suspected."
Ron just shook his head. "Who's your mother, son?"
Zane kept his voice low, not wanting anyone to overhear. "My mother is Frances' sister, Emily Martin."
"I don't know what to say," Ron said, shaking his head once more. "Except welcome to the family."
"Thank you. I appreciate that."
"Is it all right if I tell my wife and my children? They'll be thrilled to meet you. After all, they're your cousins."
"It's all right as far as I'm concerned," Nathan said.
"I think maybe today isn't the right day," Zane said. "This has been pretty hard on Aunt Frances and I don't want to upset her any further. But someday I'd love to meet your family."
He shook hands with his uncle once more and Ron went to join the rest of his family, who were about to depart. The other guests had already left the chapel.
"Everyone's coming to Mom's house now," Nathan said. "Sylvie has arranged for a small lunch to be served." He looked towards his wife, who had stayed by Frances' side through the whole service. "I don't know what I would have done without Sylvie these last few weeks. I think I would've fallen apart." He shook his head. "You're coming to the house now, aren't you?"
Zane was about to accept the invitation when Frances appeared. "How dare you insinuate yourself into our lives."
Nathan tried to step between them. "Mom, that's enough. It's time to go. Our guests will be arriving at the house soon."
She shook off Nathan's hand on her arm. "Not until I've had my say."
Zane looked into his aunt's face and realized that at one time she might have been pretty like his mother, but anger and bitterness had lined her face with age and ugliness. He supposed he owed it to her to let her vent her anger towards him. "It's okay, Nathan. Why don't you wait with your family in your car and Aunt Frances will join you in a minute. I need to get to the airport, so I'll be leaving from here."
"You're sure you won't stay a few days? We'd love to have you."
Sometimes Zane wondered if Nathan didn't enjoy tormenting his mother. He knew full well that she didn't want a relationship to develop between them. She had no say in whether they became close, but he didn't need to rub her nose in it. "No, I need to get home. Please say goodbye to Sylvie and the kids for me."
Nathan shook his hand. "I will. I hope we see you soon. Keep in touch." With a warning glance at his mother he left.
Zane turned to Frances. "Just say what you need to say and let's get out of here."
"I put up with you for Clayton's sake while he was alive, but I no longer have to," she spat. Her voice dripped with contempt. "My family and I will not associate with his bastard."
He'd heard the word many times before but it still had the power to wound. "Nathan is a grown man. He can decide who he associates with. Our father's wish was that we get to know one another, become brothers, and I intend to honor his wishes."
"How dare you call him your father! He was my son's father, not yours. Your mother seduced him, tried to take him away from me, but I wouldn't let her. Clayton was my husband. She's nothing but a shameless whore."
The urge to strike the old woman was so strong that Zane carefully put his hands in his pockets to prevent them from lashing out. "You can say what you want about me, but be very careful what you say about my mother."
His tone of voice and the expression on his face must have frightened her because she stepped away from him. "You and your mother ruined my marriage," she said in a small voice.
Zane shook his head. "No, we didn't ruin your marriage. You managed that all by yourself." He started for the door, tired of this pointless conversation.
"You don't know what it's like to love someone and know that when they're with you, they're thinking of someone else," Frances yelled. "You know that the only reason they're with you is because they feel sorry for you. The jealousy eats you alive until you want to explode, until you almost hate them." She beat one fist against her chest, her face flushed and livid with anger. "It's not fair. I was his wife. He should have loved me best."
Zane turned slowly to face her, stunned by her words and the way they echoed his thoughts. Forewarning chilled him. He could so easily turn into a bitter, angry person like Frances if he let himself. The jealousy he'd felt towards Tom's father had put him halfway there.
The thought shamed and frightened him. Did he want to end up like Frances, old and alone, clinging to wrongs done to him? She'd alienated her friends and family with her anger and wounded pride. Zane shook
his head. He was more like his aunt than he cared to admit, but at least he could see how the jealousy had ruined her life and tainted the lives of the people around her. He vowed not to let it happen to him. He needed to talk to Meg to try to understand why she rejected him. Maybe it was still possible to work things out.
"I know exactly what it's like to love someone that way, Frances," he said quietly. "I hope you can find some peace someday."
She stood in stunned silence as he left the chapel. Outside in the parking lot, Zane waved goodbye to Nathan and his family before he got in his rental car. He couldn't get home fast enough.
* * * *
Zane retrieved the Lexus from the airport parking lot in Winnipeg and headed straight to the restaurant. It was past seven, but he knew Meg often worked this late and he needed to see her.
Maria Evans smiled a welcome when he entered the restaurant. "Well, hello there," she said, extending her hand. "It's good to see you."
He took her hand and held it tightly. "Is Meg here?"
Maria's brow furrowed in concern. "No, she's not. Why don't you sit down for a moment and I'll bring you some coffee."
"I should really go to her apartment, Mrs. Evans. I need to speak to her."
"Please call me Maria. Meg isn't at her apartment either. Why don't you sit down and I'll explain?"
Zane sat in a nearby booth and tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. What was going on? Where could Meg be? His heart skipped a beat when the thought that something had happened to her raced through his mind.
A moment later Maria returned with coffee for both of them. She passed Zane a cup and slid into the booth.
"Has something happened to Meg? Is she all right?"
"Meg's fine. Everything's okay." Maria sipped her coffee, but the tension in her smile told Zane she was worried about Meg as well. "She borrowed my car to go home to Saskatchewan. She said she had some things she needed to take care of."
Why would she suddenly feel the need to go home when she hadn't been there for years? "What did she have to take care of?" Feeling suddenly very cold, he wrapped his hands around his coffee mug to warm them.
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