Calix inclined his head.
“It was also time-consuming. I had no idea how much money there was, and suspect you don’t either. It’s staggering.”
For him to call the Steele wealth staggering was significant, the Bellamys being worth enough on their own. He was also right. He had no idea how much there was, where it went, or how to funnel it productively, and it struck him then, right here was a man who did.
“If I might …?” Calix asked.
Evander motioned him on.
“I would appreciate any help you can give on how to protect it. I haven’t had any guidance, haven’t sought to even ‘do’ anything with it until now.”
Unsure if Atlas had mentioned the ship, he was relieved when Evander did.
“The cruise line,” he said.
Calix nodded.
“I’ve looked at the figures and see you have a good head on your shoulders. It’s expensive, will take a lot of work, but a very good direction to go. Your father would be proud.”
“My father wouldn’t have afforded it.”
This brought silence and a thoughtful look in Evander’s eye. “Your father got his wealth because he was smart. That he squirreled it away later in life was entirely due to circumstances, and that is why we’re here.”
Calix inhaled, his breath loud in his ears, his heartbeat heavy in his chest. “I can take it,” he said. “Whatever it is. I want the truth.”
Evander’s lips curved in a smile. “I see that and promise to give you whatever help you need, financial or emotional.”
Calix stared at his face. He was sincere.
“I know what it’s like to have so much and be swayed by outside forces. It’s a great responsibility for one man to carry, especially one with your youth. I also know how the smallest, or largest, surprises can shift your view.”
“Who is my mother?” Calix asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Evander’s eyes grew reflective, and he pushed a paper across the desk. Calix took hold of it. Mary Lindstrom, it read, followed by an address. “Who’s this?”
“That,” Evander began, “is a woman who has received ten thousand dollars a month for the last twenty-three years.”
Calix grip on the paper tightened, and it crinkled in his grasp. “Twenty-three?”
“It began right about when you were born,” he said, “and continues to this day.”
“Wh-why?” The question choked him.
Atlas reached out a hand and laid it on his back. “One reason. She’s your mother.”
This was something he must do alone, but it took him twenty-four hours to get up his nerve. He avoided Flynn, knowing if he saw her he’d confess, and until he spoke with the woman who held the answers, he didn’t want to speak of it. Not even for her, and she was the most important person in his life.
He also did something he’d never done before and never thought he’d do. He prayed. It hit him though, his head bowed, words to God on his lips, how ironic that was. He, Calix Steele, was asking God for help when he’d never given God any thought at all? Did he even have the right?
His life, so far, had been godless, his dad … the man he’d called dad all these years … never mentioning faith or religion, and the woman he refused to call mother living without it. The closest he’d ever come was the prayers of his nanny and those had been in Spanish.
“Padre nuestro, que estés en el cielo,” she used to say, over and over again, never explaining it to him.
Yet, how could he do this without having God behind him? That felt like failure before it began. With this in mind, he whispered the thoughts held in his heart, climbed in his car, and made his way there.
She lived outside of town, about an hour away, in a moderate-sized home on a street of similar places. Remarkable, since she would have amassed some three million dollars since the payments began. But then, maybe her heart wasn’t after the money at all or maybe she’d put it to good use instead of wasting it. Who was he to say?
A short walk across a series of paving stones led to a brick-lined stoop and a front door worn with weather and years. Calix knocked, breath held, and started when it opened.
The woman standing in the entrance was barely older than he was and remarkably like him, same blond hair, same aristocratic bearing. Her hand tightened on the knob, her knuckles turning white, and she trembled in place. “Please, come in.”
He followed her through a small foyer into a nicely furnished living space, at her signal, taking a seat. He stared at her, mute, for a moment, and the air grew thick. “I’m Calix Steele,” he said, at last.
She dipped her chin. “I know.”
He deflated then, what strength he’d held onto rushing out. “You’re my mother?”
Her eyes moistened. “I knew one day you’d find me. I’ve watched you on the news ….”
“Why?” he asked, the question bursting from him. “What happened and why did you do it?”
She swiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I was so young, fifteen, and homeless. It seemed like a godsend. Here was this man willing to give me more money than I’d ever make working minimum wage for an entire lifetime. Plus, he’d give you a home, take care of you, and he was desperate. He said he and his wife had lost a child, and she was grief-stricken.”
A lie. Calix faced it. Of course, he would have lied. But what was the truth? And why bother this woman with it? She believed she’d done the best thing. Let her keep faith in that.
“Who was my father?”
She trembled, curling and uncurling her fist. “A boy I knew. He wanted me to get rid of you, but I refused. I couldn’t destroy the life I’d created … and look how well you’ve done.” She smiled. “I was right. He loved you … your dad. He took you from me, held you tight, and said, ‘The only child I’ll ever have.’”
Calix insides gripped. The only child because he’d never have one with her, and now, her with the only answer to his question. Who was she? Who was the woman he’d called mother?
“I saved it all,” she said.
Unsure what she meant, he pushed his thoughts aside. “Saved it?”
“The money. Except for the little I’ve lived on, it’s in the bank. I figure I’ll give it to my grandchildren.”
“You … you have children?”
She nodded and, her eyes bright, stood and wandered to a cabinet against the wall. Here, she removed a photo album and placed it in his lap. He flipped it open.
“Two,” she said. “Justin and Jessica. Jess just got married ….”
She had a hard time looking in Meghan’s eyes, this despite the fact she hadn’t said one negative word. Instead, it was, looking at her, she saw her own sins, she and Calix doing time and time again what faith and morality forbid heedless of anything but their hunger for one another. Meghan had said no when Atlas pushed her. She didn’t have to ask to know that was true. Why couldn’t she do the same?
“Stop beating yourself up,” Meghan said. She stretched one hand across the table and captured her fingers. “You’d go back now?”
From having his child, she meant. Flynn tried to smile.
“A baby’s a beautiful thing regardless of the circumstances.”
She wasn’t sure she believed that, or at least, could accept it. She felt obligated to whip herself over it first. Self-control. Why hadn’t she had any self-control? Pushed to the wall, face-to-face with him, she’d given in time and time again and wasn’t sure she regretted it. How could she regret what felt vital to her every breath?
“You said you couldn’t live without him,” she began.
Meghan’s gaze softened.
“That you had to figure out how to live with him because the other choice wasn’t a choice at all.”
“I said I had to learn to forgive, and so do you. Forgive yourself.”
“I can’t.”
Because her actions made her a mother, the mother of a baby who’d one day inherit billions of dollars, and she was so inadequate
to the task.
“You can. You’re not alone, and as soon as you tell him, you’ll realize that. It’s what we hold inside that damages us because we torment ourselves with it. Don’t tell me you haven’t been doing that. I can see on your face that you have.”
She had. Over and over and over again. Why had she behaved like that? Why couldn’t she have done better?
Meghan checked her phone and sighed. “I’m out of time and have to go back to work. Promise me, you’ll tell him.”
She nodded, though she was unsure if that was the truth. They stood and hugged, parting ways. Flynn headed home, her thoughts tangled, and pulled into the driveway to find a woman standing at the office door.
She knew instantly who it was and wished she could be anywhere but there. With half a mind to reverse and leave, she didn’t, but forced herself to get out. “Can I help you?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.
The woman’s eyes grew cold, her manner stiff. “I’ve ten million dollars if you’ll leave town.”
Ten million dollars? Flynn frowned. Did she really think she could be bought? “Not interested.” She turned her back on the woman and unlocked the office door. She made to close it in her face, but the woman stuck her foot in the opening.
“Ten million dollars and you leave town, never to see my son again, or …”
“Or what?” Flynn snapped. “You’ll sick your dogs on me? I said I’m not interested in your money, and I’m not interested in your money. This is my home, and you are trespassing.”
She shoved at the door, but the woman resisted. It scraped across the tile, edging closer.
“You’ll regret this,” the woman squawked in what was left of the opening. “I know the truth about him. You either disappear or I’ll tell it.”
Flynn halted, fear shoving upwards. The truth? What was the truth? And would it ultimately destroy him?
Bending her shoulder to the door, she heaved it shut and twirled the lock. The woman straightened, dusting her skirt with one hand, then made her way to a car parked at the curb. A driver helped her in.
A sob shook from Flynn’s throat. Maybe she was right. Maybe the best place for her was wherever Calix couldn’t find her. She had only to decide exactly where that was.
Spinning on her heel, she fled up the stairs.
His heart in his throat, Calix dialed Flynn, eager to tell her what he’d learned, but the persistent ring of her phone without an answer reduced his enthusiasm. He dropped his phone in the cup holder and headed for the office instead. He needed to check in before calling it a day. Last thing he should do is neglect the business he now valued.
An hour later, he parked in the garage and took the elevator to the top floor. He emerged to face his father’s wife in the hallway.
“You’re not welcome here,” he said, pushing past her. “You need to leave.”
But she stuck like a burr to his side. “You should appreciate what I did for you.”
“What you did?” He halted. “How about what you didn’t do? You never once acted like my mother because you weren’t my mother.” Heads in the workspace turned. He ignored it. He no longer cared.
But she did. “Don’t … don’t say that,” she squeaked.
She reached for him, but he shoved her aside. “No, I have nothing to hide. I know who I am now. My mother’s name is Mary Lindstrom, and I have a brother and a sister, a new brother-in-law. But you knew that because you’ve tried for twenty-three years to cover it up.”
Her face paled. “I … I’m his wife.”
“I’ll grant you that,” Calix replied. “You’re Samantha Steele, but that’s all you are. My father didn’t leave you one dime of this place because he hated you. You somehow wormed your way into his life and stuck there. To save face, he protected you, to the point he bought a baby.”
The room grew quiet. Samantha squirmed in place.
“Why?” he asked. “Did you lie, tell him you were pregnant? Was that what forced him to marry you?” He read her face and knew it was the truth. “And it all comes back to money. He wouldn’t spend it because he wouldn’t make your life any better, and he couldn’t look at me because he realized he taken me from the one person who cared and left me with one who didn’t. Yet despite all of that, he gave me everything he owned. I am Calix Steele, and you, whoever you are, are nothing.”
She rose up taller and gave a snort. “That little twit you’re with is nothing. See if you can ever see her again.”
Calix froze. Flynn. He grabbed Samantha and pressed her against the wall. “What did you do?”
Her face grew hard. “What I’ve been doing since your ‘wonderful daddy’ picked me up in a strip joint … surviving. He was my ticket out, and I knew just how to play my cards …”
Calix didn’t stay to hear the end, but fled to the elevator and down to the garage. He drove too fast, running two red lights, on the way to Flynn’s shop. Banging on the door, he called her name. “Flynn? Open up. It’s Calix.”
Nothing. He tried the knob, and it gave way.
He found her apartment empty. His throat tight, his eyes burning, he turned in a slow, painful circle, and his gaze fell on the bed. Shame clawed at his soul. He’d used her to make himself feel better, treated her like she was less than the intelligent, valuable woman she was, and not stopped once to examine why. How could he have been so thoughtless? The question rang in his mind.
He stared across at the small table in the kitchen. They’d shared breakfast there, toast and jam, coffee, all the while his mouth finding hers. He’d had to run downstairs, half-dressed, to catch the car sent for him that morning. He moved his gaze again, and it lit on a short trash can pushed against the counter and torn packaging poking over the top. Crossing the room, he lifted it in his hand and his breath rushed out.
“Pregnant,” he whispered. Flynn was pregnant, and he was going to be a father.
Calix set the box on the table and closed his eyes. He had to find her, but where would she go? If he were her and running to escape, what place would feel safest?
A tiny voice spoke to his heart. Home. She’d go home, to the happiest years of her life she’d spent with her dad.
It was abandoned, the floor scattered with someone’s leftover things – a ratty stuffed animal, a broken straight-backed chair, a pile of baby things. Flynn stared down at them and crumbled into a heap. A baby. She, Flynn Burckhardt, was having a baby, and she couldn’t handle it.
There it was, the thing she wouldn’t admit to anyone. Calix had everything, could buy what he wanted. He’d make a good father, loving and gentle, a good provider. But that’d change who she’d become and all of this, all of these memories would fade. She’d be his middle-aged parvenu in spikey heels and too much makeup, and that, she couldn’t handle.
“Why did anything have to change?” she asked aloud.
Why did her father have to die? Why did she have to take up his mantle fixing cars? Why did a rich, handsome, sweet man have to drive into her shop and step into her life? And how could she, the mechanic, teach any small life how to grow, to live, to love?
“Flynn?”
Calix’s voice pierced her thinking, and she shrunk, unwilling for him to find her there. Scrambling backward, she wadded herself up in the closet, but minutes later, he rounded the corner and spotted her.
“Flynn.” Crouching, he sat at her side and slid back against the wall. He made no motion to touch her, but his gaze was intent. “I went by your place …” He began. “I saw …” His voice trailed away.
Her knees tucked to her chest, her arms around them, she buried her face in the crack they made. “I’m pregnant.”
He exhaled.
“And I’m frightened.”
“Of having a baby?”
She shook her head. Carrying it, giving birth, was foreign to her, but not frightening. They seemed natural, a process as old as time.
“Of me?” His voice deepened.
She looked at him then. “I love you.�
�
He raised a hand, hovering it over her cheek, and lowered it gently. Its warmth seeped inward. “And I love you.”
“Do you?” she asked.
He seemed taken aback by that question. “You doubt me? You’re all I care about. I love you, Flynn Burckhardt. I love that you can do what other girls can’t, that you don’t doubt where you come from or what you stand for.”
“But that’s just it,” she replied. “I know who I am and am not willing to let it go. I don’t want to be an overdressed rich girl who thinks of nothing but getting her hair done. I want to have my hands in an engine, oil on my face. I want to get behind a wheel and drive like the wind, not caring it’s crazy.”
He stared at her. “You think I’d change you.”
“Won’t you? Won’t this?” Her hand crept to her waist.
He tipped her face upward. “I fell in love with the woman who could do all that. I gave myself to her because who she is makes me a better person, and I have no intention to make her change. One day …” He paused. “One day when she’s ready, I’ll meet her at the end of a church aisle, and she’ll take my name. But even then, she can go right out and fix the brakes if she wants to.”
Hope lodged in her throat. “You mean it?”
He nodded. “I promise, and you can trust me because I know who I am now. I’m in God’s care where I’ve been all along.”
His hand landed over hers, and she looked down at their fingers. Unfolding herself, she leaned against him, and he kissed her forehead.
“I hope it’s a boy,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter if it isn’t.”
“To me either,” he replied.
Calix caught eyes with Flynn across the room and winked. She returned the gesture with a friendly smile, a glass of ginger ale sparkling in her hand. Fingers, strong and firm, squeezed his shoulder, distracting him.
Steele Page 7
