“Okay.”
“He’s up there, smiling down on us right now,” Zane said. “I just know it.”
“He’d want us to go downstairs and play Old Maid.”
Zane laughed. “You’re right. But first he’d want me to kiss you.” He brushed her hair away from her damp cheeks. With his thumb, he erased the dark circles under her eyes where her mascara had smudged. “I love you, Honor Sullivan, with all my heart.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
He kissed her as tenderly as he could, knowing that in his arms he held the future, his life, the purpose of his world. Honor Sullivan loved him. With her by his side, there was nothing he could not do.
Zane pulled back the covers for Jubie to slide into her bed. Honor had given her a bath and dressed her in a new set of summer pajamas Violet had sent over from her shop, probably made of hemp or turnips or something. Whatever they were made from, the pattern of little bunnies and the lace trim slayed him. Nothing could be cuter than this little girl in her jammies.
After the bath, Honor had gotten a phone call she had to take in the office. The rest was up to him. He could do this. How hard could it be to tuck in one little girl? Nothing to it. A little tuck of the blankets, maybe a kiss on the forehead, and lights out.
Jubie held her bear tightly to her chest now, but throughout several games of Go Fish, dinner, and dishes she’d left him on one of the chairs in the living room. Zane tucked the covers around her shoulders. She was so small and fragile. He must not break her with his big, clumsy hands. She didn’t move her gaze from his face.
“What do you think about Lavonne taking care of you while Honor and I are at work?” he asked.
“Good.”
“Do you want to hear a secret?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m going to ask Honor to marry me. I have a sparkling ring to give her. What do you think of that?”
Her eyes grew wider. “Will it be like in Cinderella?”
“I guess so.” He hadn’t seen Cinderella. Another item to add to his list. “Time for sleep. Goodnight.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead.
“What about my story?”
“Your story?”
She pointed to a stack of books on the dresser. From their plastic covers and labels, he knew they were from the library. Lavonne must have taken her today.
“I always have a story before I go to sleep,” she said.
“Right, sure. A story.” A bedtime story. Every kid should have a bedtime story. Violet had told him that once. There were at least six books in the stack. “Which one?”
“The one with the owl.”
Owl Moon. The cover was of a man and child looking at the moon in a snowy setting. Was that a little boy or girl? He sat in the armchair next to the bed and opened to the first page.
“No, that’s not how we do it.” Jubie patted the spot right next to her on the bed. “You have to get up here to read.”
He plumped a pillow and crawled onto the bed. Jubie stuck her arms out from the covers and held her bear over her chest. “Go ahead. I’m ready now.”
Zane read the first page. Beautiful language, like a poem, and these pictures were astounding. If all children’s books were like this one, he was all in. “Is the main character a boy or a girl?” He couldn’t tell what with the bulky winter clothes and hat.
“A girl,” Jubie said with conviction. “Definitely a girl.”
He’d been thinking a boy, but who was he to argue? He read another page.
“You’re not doing it right,” she said.
“I’m not?”
“No, you have to do the owl sound. Like this.” She made a hooting noise that sounded more like a ghost than an owl, but who was he to criticize?
“And you have to make the man’s voice lower than the girl’s.”
Lower? “Okay, Woody Allen.”
“Who’s Woody Allen?”
“A famous movie director.”
“I like movies,” she said.
“Me too.”
“I like My Little Pony movies the best.” She flapped her bear’s arm, like he was waving. “Muppet does too.”
“Muppet? That’s your bear’s name?”
“What else would it be?” She giggled.
He smiled and read another page, making the necessary adjustments to his style. After a few more pages, she nodded with obvious approval. “Much better.”
“Thanks.” Everybody’s a critic.
Page after page he read, until the story was over. His throat ached from trying not to choke up. The man reminded him of his dad. They’d looked at the moon together, but from the beach, not the woods. “This is a good book,” he said.
“It’s one of my favorites.”
“I can see why.”
“I want to go owling,” she said.
“Me too.”
“With me?”
“Especially with you,” he said. “But I know more about surfing than owling. I could teach you how to boogie board.”
“What’s that?”
“Like surfing, only it’s on your belly.”
“Oh. Yeah. I saw kids doing that at the beach. But Lavonne said it cost money to get one of those.”
“I have a couple boards at my house. I’ll take you.”
“Really?”
“Sure. The beach is my favorite place in the whole world.” He shifted to get a better look at her. Her eyes were drooping. Good, she would be asleep soon. This was a lot of talking right before bed.
“Zane?”
“Yeah?”
“Could we get the kittens tomorrow?”
The kittens. He’d forgotten all about them. Probably Honor had too. Jubie had not. He had a feeling she didn’t forget much. Be careful what you promise. It would kill him to disappoint her.
“I’ll look on the internet tonight and see if I can find some. But we might not find any right away, okay?”
“Okay,” she said sleepily. “Now you can kiss me goodnight.”
“Excellent.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Goodnight.”
“Say, ‘goodnight Princess Jubie’.”
“Goodnight Princess Jubie.”
“Goodnight King Zane.”
His heart danced inside his chest. It would never be the same.
The clock struck midnight and Zane could not sleep. Beside him, Honor snored softly, having fallen immediately asleep after some bedtime antics. Before that, they’d read through the legal documents Jubie’s mother’s attorney had prepared. In the morning, they would start the legal process that would include a home inspection and a few other hoops. One step at a time, they’d promised each other.
The letter on the nightstand seemed to call to him. He couldn’t stop thinking about his mother. Would it be good to meet her? Or would it just open wounds he didn’t want to spend any precious energy healing? He kept coming back to this. He wanted to ask her why she left and why she never had any interest in him.
He left the bed and padded over the nightstand to grab the letter. Quietly, he crept down the stairs to the kitchen where his laptop waited on the kitchen table. He set the letter next to it and went out to the patio to look at the sky. An almost full moon hung over the sea. Stars shone brightly, so visible over this town with no lights. In the far distance, the sound of waves crashing to shore were barely discernable.
Her heard a meow and turned to see the neighbor’s fat cat jump from their porch awning to Honor’s patio. Shadow let out a great meow and plopped to the floor, then sauntered over like a model on the red carpet. Zane sat on one of the lawn chairs. Shadow immediately jumped on his lap and began to purr.
Zane scratched behind his ears.
You need to tell me where to find some kittens.
Shadow didn’t respond, other than to lick his paw with a disdainful glance in Zane’s direction. The scent from the oranges filled the night air with a ripeness like expectation. Should he contact his mother?
He went back and forth between curiosity and anger.
Finally, he went inside and opened his computer. He typed his mother’s email address. Here goes nothing.
Dear Patricia,
This is Zane Shaw, your son. My father, Hugh Shaw, died several day ago. He left me a letter explaining who you were, as well as your email address. I don’t want anything from you, other than to meet you and ask a few questions. If you’re willing, I can come to San Diego. Sincerely, Zane Shaw
He went upstairs and crawled into bed and fell fast asleep.
* * *
There was a message in the morning.
Dear Zane,
I would like to meet you. Would you be available a week from now? If so, I can give you an address of a place to meet.
Sincerely,
Patricia Hudson
The flight to San Diego was quick and before Zane knew it, they’d landed. He caught an Uber to the address in La Jolla and paced outside the bistro for a good five minutes before he went inside. Dark and cool, the place was all stiff linens and sparkling water with patrons that smelled of money.
He spotted Patricia Hudson seated at a table by the window. She had the same white blond hair and slender figure from her long-ago photograph. She stood as he approached. A diamond on her left hand sparkled. Her eyes were bloodshot, as if she hadn’t slept much the night before. That made two of them.
“Zane?” she asked.
“Patricia?”
“That’s right.”
They stood awkwardly, staring at each other. Zane didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he stuck them into the pockets of his jeans.
“Have a seat,” she said.
He sank into the chair, grateful for the support, given how his legs shook.
“You look like your father,” she said.
“So I’ve heard.”
Tiny lines formed around her eyes and mouth, but all in all, she looked pretty good for forty-nine. Perhaps a tuck or two and some good Botox had kept her skin virtually unlined. Her nails were carefully sculpted into a french manicure and her hair was cut into one of those exact chin-length bobs. She wore a long shirt over light slacks. He’d imagined her looking older. This woman looked decidedly upper class. He stole a glance at her shoes. No idea if they were designer or not, but they looked expensive. Honor would know. He longed for her just then. Get this over with and go home to her and Princess Jubie.
“Nice area,” he said.
“Yes, La Jolla’s lovely. All year round. Are you hungry?”
“No. Just a coffee for me,” he said.
She put her hand up to flag the server and ordered a nonfat cappuccino.
“Plain coffee. No cream,” he said.
“I’m sorry to hear about Hugh,” she said after the server left.
“Thank you. It was a sudden heart attack, but he’d had Alzheimer’s for several years. A rapid decline, unfortunately.”
“What a shame,” she said. “I always enjoyed his quick wit.”
“In some ways he’s been gone for years,” he said.
They went silent as the server set their overpriced coffee on the table.
She stirred her latte until the foam was absorbed into the coffee. “You said you had some questions? I’m assuming medical history?”
“Sure.” He hadn’t thought of that, but he probably should ask. “Anything I should worry about?” His damn hands were shaking. This was the most awkward conversation he’d ever had in his life.
“My family has no history of heart disease, but there have been some cases of cancer. As far as genetic defects and that kind of thing, nothing comes to mind. Are you thinking of having children?”
He flinched. “My fiancée is unable to have children. We’ll adopt.”
“Then nothing to worry about there.”
“Are you married? Do you have other kids besides me?” This was like a job interview. He had to ask while he had the chance.
“Married, yes. No children.”
Other than the one you left behind. “Have you lived in San Diego long?”
“For the past twenty years or so. I traveled the world when I was in my twenties.”
“You were traveling the world when I was a kid.” A bitter edginess seeped out of his mouth. He didn’t care. There was no reason to pretend. She’d left him to be raised without a mother.
“Some women aren’t cut out for motherhood. I was one of those women.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I never planned on getting pregnant. Hugh and I were a summer fling. I didn’t think it would lead to you.”
“But it did.” How could you just leave me?
“Your father was made for the job. I knew you’d be fine.”
“So, you just left?”
“That’s right. I’m sorry if it hurt you, but I can assure you it would have been worse to be raised by a miserable mother than to not have one at all.”
I would’ve liked the chance to decide for myself.
“Did your father marry?” she asked.
“No. He was in love with a woman, but she died.”
“I see,” she said. “That’s too bad. Hugh was a wonderful man. I figured he’d married and you had a bunch of siblings. He always seemed like such a family man.”
“The bar kept him busy,” Zane said. “It left little time for socializing.”
“Yes, I remember.” She sipped from her cup. “I’m going to be frank. My family doesn’t know about you. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Why? It’s not like I want anything from you.” Steam rose from his cup and danced in the sunlight that came through the window.
“Everyone wants something all of the time,” she said.
“It’s not money, if that’s what you think.”
“What is it, then?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I’m getting married and we’re adopting a little girl, and I guess I just wanted to know…how a mother leaves her child.”
“I’m not here to defend myself.” Her eyes were the color of faded jeans—cold and intelligent. “But I’ve always been a person with great self-awareness. I knew it was better for you without me.”
“Why are you here? Why did you agree to meet me?” Zane asked.
“I always told myself I would, if you contacted me.”
“Were you ever curious about me?” he asked. Did you ever look for me like Dad did Sophie?
“Of course I was.”
“But not enough to look for me.”
“I knew you would be taken care of by your dad. I was raised in wealth and privilege. Hugh was my rebellion. My summer of fun. After you were born, it was obvious to me that I needed to go back to the life it seemed so fun to run from. My parents would never have accepted me back with a baby out of wedlock, so I made the choice. I’m sure it sounds cold, but I was a teenager. I’d just graduated from high school the year before. I wasn’t ready to be a mother. Your father was so much older. Dangerous and forbidden. Until he became just an ordinary guy with a rundown bar.”
“There was nothing ordinary about my dad.” Dammit, tears wanted to spring from his eyes. Angry tears. She had no idea the gem Hugh Shaw had been. She was nothing compared to him, regardless of how loaded she was. All this time he’d given value to money, had sought after it and chastised himself for not having enough of it, had even been ashamed of his profession. She was right. He had been better off with his dad.
“My husband doesn’t know about you either.” She reached for the small purse on the table and pulled out a checkbook, along with a stack of papers. A legal document. She wants me to sign something. “My younger brother’s flirting with a political career. My family has a shiny and spotless reputation. I’m prepared to keep it that way. I’m sure a small-town bar owner could always use a little extra cash.”
“How did you know I still owned the bar?
“I looked you up.” She slid the check and paperwork across the table.
“My attorney prepared this for your signature. It’s a simple agreement that you won’t contact me again or tell anyone about our relationship.”
He cracked his knuckled under the table. What had he expected? Some teary reunion like he and Maggie had with Sophie? His sweet sister had wanted to be found. Patricia Hudson had not.
Zane glanced at the check. Five hundred thousand dollars? How did someone hide five hundred thousand dollars from their husband?
“I don’t want your money.” He slid the check and paperwork back to her. “I wanted to meet you. I wanted to look into your eyes and understand what kind of a woman leaves her own child. I was obviously mistaken that maybe there was a reason for it—something I could understand, even relate to. I thought maybe a nineteen-year-old made a decision she regretted later. I thought you might have wondered how I was or how I turned out—was I a good man like my father?”
“You’re an angry man,” she said. “I’m sorry for that.”
“I’m a good man like my father, but I’ve got a wheelbarrow full of baggage. And yeah, I’m angry. It’s always my first reaction to most things in life and that’s bullshit. You did that to me. You made me think women leave. You made me think I was impossible to love. My own mother couldn’t love me so who could?”
“That’s a lot of wonderful psychobabble.” Her lips had thinned to a tight line. When she picked up her cup, her hands shook. “But fairly ridiculous.”
He stared at her, unable to comprehend how the woman who had given birth to him could be this cold, this cruel. “It took knowing some great women to realize that not all women leave. Most don’t. You’re an anomaly. Thank you for confirming my suspicions. You’re not someone worthy of being in my life.”
“I knew you wanted something. Everyone does. You wanted to punish me—scold me for hurting your feelings when you had a perfectly good childhood. Your generation always wants to blame something or someone for their choices.” She tore the check on the table in half. Then, she took a checkbook from her purse and scribbled on another check before sliding it across the table. “Consider it compensation for your suffering.”
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