by Nora Roberts
Every day and every night, Jessie. You’re in my thoughts, my prayers, my dreams. I miss you.
I love you.
Mom
“This is hard for you. I can’t imagine how hard.” Jake lowered the letter and looked at her. “I’ve been caught up in patterns and data, facts and connections. And I tend to forget how all this makes you feel.”
“What year was that?”
“You were sixteen.”
“Sixteen years. She didn’t know, not for certain, what I looked like. She didn’t know what I’d become, what I’d done, where I was. But she loved me. Not just the baby she’d lost, but whoever I was. It didn’t matter. She loved me anyway, enough to write that. Enough to give it to me, to give all those letters to me so I’d know I was loved.”
“Knowing you can’t love her back.”
“Knowing I can’t love her back,” Callie agreed. “Not this way. Because I have a mother who I did all the things with that Suzanne wrote of wanting to do with me. I had a mother who told me she loved me, who showed me. A mother I went shopping with, and argued with, and thought was too strict or too stupid, and all the things teenage girls think their mothers are.”
She shook her head. “What I’m trying to say is my mother could have written that. Vivian Dunbrook could have written that kind of letter to me. Those emotions, those needs, that kindness, it’s in both of them.
“I already have some of the answers. I know where I come from. I know I was blessed with both the heredity and the environment that allowed me to be what I am. I know I owe two sets of parents, even if I can only love one set without reservations. And I know I can get through this. Through the emotional turmoil, the anxiety, the digging through facts to find more facts. Because the time line isn’t finished until I can give the woman who wrote that letter the rest of the answers.”
Twenty-one
Lana knew there were women who worked successfully out of the home. They ran businesses, created empires and managed to raise happy, healthy, well-adjusted children who went on to graduate magna cum laude from Harvard or became world-renowned concert pianists. Possibly both.
These women accomplished all this while cooking gourmet meals, furnishing their home with Italian antiques, giving clever, intelligent interviews with Money magazine and People, and maintaining a brilliant marriage with an active, enviable sex life and never tipping the scales at an ounce over their ideal weight.
They gave smart, intimate dinner parties and served on the boards of several charitable organizations and were unanimously voted in as president of the PTA.
She knew those women were out there. If she’d had a gun, she’d have hunted every last one of them down and shot them like rabid dogs for the good of womankind.
She was still wearing the boxers and T-shirt she’d slept in, was limping from the lightsaber wound on her heel she incurred when she stepped on the action figure of Anakin Skywalker while chasing the dog—who’d decided her new slingback looked tastier than his rawhide bone—and had just finished arguing with the plumber for twenty minutes as he seemed to believe she could wait until later in the week to have her toilet fixed.
Ty had managed to smear peanut butter all over himself, the dog and the kitchen floor and drown several Star Wars villains in the toilet, hence the call to the plumber. And it wasn’t yet nine o’clock.
She wanted a quiet cup of coffee, her pretty new shoes and an organized office outside the home.
It was partly her own fault, of course. She’d been the one to decide there was no point in shuffling Ty off to a baby-sitter while she was working at home. She’d been the one to be generous and understanding when her assistant had requested a week off to go visit her daughter in Columbus.
She’d been the one to decide she could do it all.
Now her little boy was upstairs sulking because she’d shouted at him. Her dog was afraid of her for the same reason. The plumber was mad at her—and everyone knew what that meant—and she’d managed to do nothing positive except turn on her computer.
She was a failure as a mother, as a professional woman, as as dog owner. Her foot hurt and she had no one to blame but herself.
When her phone rang, she considered, seriously, just covering her head with her arms. If anyone thought she was capable of solving their problems, they were going to be bitterly disillusioned.
But she took a deep breath, picked up the receiver.
“Good morning. Lana Campbell.”
Doug knocked, then decided it was doubtful anyone could hear him over the noise rolling out of Lana’s house. Cautious, he opened the door, poked his head in.
The dog was barking like a maniac, the phone was ringing, something blasted on the living room TV and Tyler was wailing.
He could hear Lana’s frustrated and close-to-strident voice trying to cut through the din.
“Tyler Mark Campbell, I want you to stop this minute.”
“I wanna go to Brock’s house. I don’t like you anymore. I wanna live with Brock.”
“You can’t go to Brock’s house because I don’t have time to take you. And I don’t like you very much right now either, but you’re stuck with me. Now go up to your room and don’t come out again until you can behave like a civilized human being. And turn off that television!”
Doug nearly stepped back outside again. From the sound of it, nobody was going to notice if he hightailed it back to his car and drove off in a cloud of cowardly dust.
None of his business, he reminded himself. Life had enough complications and conflict without voluntarily asking for more.
“You’re mean to me.” Tyler sobbed it, his voice rising and inciting the dog to join in with a long, high howl. “If I had a daddy he wouldn’t be mean to me. I want my daddy instead of you.”
“Oh, Ty. I want your daddy, too.”
He supposed that was it—the child’s pitiful sob, the absolute misery in Lana’s voice, that pushed him in the door instead of out again.
Still, he opted for denial first with a big, easy smile and a cheerful tone of voice. “Hey, what’s all this?”
She turned. He’d never seen her look less than perfectly groomed, he realized. Even after they made love she somehow managed to look perfect.
Now her hair was standing in tufts, her eyes were damp and a little wild. Her feet were bare, and there was a coffee stain splattered over the front of the WORLD’S BEST MOM T-shirt she wore.
Embarrassed color flooded her cheeks even as she lifted her hands in a helpless gesture.
He’d been attracted to the stylish, organized attorney. Seduced by the warm, confident woman. Intrigued by the widowed single mother who seemed to effortlessly juggle all the balls in the air.
And to his utter astonishment, he fell in love with the messy, frustrated, unhappy woman with toys scattered at her feet.
“Sorry.” She forced what she hoped resembled a smile on her face. “We’re in bedlam at the moment. I don’t think this is a good time to—”
“She yelled at us.” Seeking sympathy, Ty flung himself at Doug, wrapped his arms around Doug’s legs. “She said we were bad.”
Doug hauled Ty up. “Asked for it, didn’t you?”
Ty’s lip quivered. He shook his head, then buried his face against Doug’s shoulder. “She spanked my butt.”
“Tyler.” Lana supposed that had the floor opened up to swallow her, she’d just have been battered to death by the toys that fell in with her.
“How come?” Doug gave the butt in question a light pat.
“Doug.” Lana resisted just pulling out her own hair.
“I don’t know. She’s mean. Can I go home with you?”
“No, you may not go anywhere, young man, but to your room.” Livid, Lana reached out to tug Tyler away, but the boy clung to Doug like a wiry monkey to a branch.
“Why don’t you go answer the phone?” Doug suggested, jerking his head toward the shrilling phone. “Give this a minute.”
“I don’t wa
nt you to . . .” Be here. See this. See me. “Fine.” She snapped it out, stalked away to answer the phone.
He switched off the television and, still carrying Ty, opened the door, whistled for the dog. “Had a rough morning, haven’t you, slugger?”
“Mommy spanked my butt. She hit it with her hand. Three times.”
“My mom used to spank me sometimes. It didn’t really hurt my butt. It hurt my feelings. I guess you wanted to hurt hers back when you said you didn’t like her anymore.”
“I don’t like her when she’s mean.”
“She get mean a lot?”
“Nuh-uh. But she is today.” He lifted his head, aimed a look that managed to be woeful, hopeful and innocent all at once. “Can I come live with you today?”
Jeez, Doug thought, just look at him. A guy would have to be a hell of a lot tougher than Douglas Edward Cullen not to fall for him. “If you did, your mom would be awfully lonely.”
“She doesn’t like me anymore because the bad guys stuffed up the toilet and it flushed over, and we got the peanut butter and the shoe.” Tears plopped out. “But we didn’t mean it.”
“Busy day.” Impossible to hold back, Doug admitted, and kissed the hot, wet cheeks. “If you didn’t mean it, you must be sorry. Maybe you should tell her you’re sorry.”
“She won’t care, ’cause she said we were a couple of heathens.” Ty’s eyes were wide now, and earnest. “What’s that?”
“Oh boy.” How did a man resist a package like this? He’d gone all his life walking down his own path, alone and satisfied to be alone. Now there was this woman, this boy, this idiot dog. And they all had hooks in his heart.
“It’s somebody who doesn’t behave. Doesn’t sound like you and Elmer were behaving. Your mom was trying to work.”
“Brock’s mom doesn’t work.”
His own voice echoed back to him. His own childhood thoughts as he’d complained or sulked because his mother had been too busy to give him her undivided attention.
Too busy for me, are you? Well, I’m going to be too busy for you.
And how stupid was that?
Hell of a note, he thought, when a four-year-old’s tantrum causes an epiphany in a man past thirty.
“Brock’s mom isn’t your mom. Nobody’s more special than your own mom. Nobody in the world.” He held Ty close, stroking his hair while Elmer pranced over with a stick, obviously ready for a game.
“When you do something wrong, you have to make up for it.” He set Ty down, obliged Elmer by tossing the stick. “I bet that’s what your dad would say.”
“I don’t have a dad. He went away to heaven and he can’t ever come back.”
“That’s hard.” Doug crouched down. “That’s about the hardest thing there is. But you’ve got a really great mom. It said so on her shirt.”
“She’s mad at me. Grandma helped me buy the shirt for Mommy’s birthday, and Elmer jumped and made her spill coffee all over it. And when he did, she said a bad word. She said the S word.” Remembering it had his lips curving again. “She said it two times. Really loud.”
“Wow. She must’ve been pretty mad. But we can fix that. Want to fix it?”
Ty sniffed, wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. “Okay.”
Lana finished the call and was on the point of laying her head down on her desk for a minute, for one blissful minute, when she heard the door open.
She rose, tried to smooth down her hair, to draw some layer of composure around her.
Then Tyler came in, clutching a ragged bouquet of black-eyed Susans. “I’m sorry I did the bad stuff and said the mean things. Don’t be mad anymore.”
“Oh, Ty.” Weepy, she dropped to her knees to drag him close. “I’m not mad anymore. I’m sorry I spanked you. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I love you so much. I love you more than anything in the world.”
“I picked you flowers because you like them.”
“I do. I like them a lot.” She drew back. “I’m going to put them on my desk so I’ll see them when I’m working. Later on, I’ll call and see if it’s okay for you to go over to Brock’s.”
“I don’t want to go to Brock’s. I want to stay and help you. I’m going to pick up my toys, like I’m supposed to.”
“Are you?”
“Uh-huh. And I’m not going to kill the bad guys in the toilet anymore.”
“Okay.” She pressed her lips to his brow. “We’re okay. Go ahead and pick up your things, then I’ll put the Star Wars video on for you.”
“Okay! Come on, Elmer!” He raced off with the dog scrambling after him.
Lana pushed at her hair again, though it was hopeless, then got to her feet. Though her phone began to ring again, she ignored it and walked into the kitchen, where Doug was sipping a mug of coffee.
“I guess this was an educational experience. I’m sorry you walked in on all that.”
“You mean that I walked in on all that normal?”
“This isn’t our usual routine around here.”
“Doesn’t make it less normal.” He thought of his mother again, with some shame. “One person has to hold all the lines, occasionally some of the lines get snagged.”
“You can say that again.” She reached into a cupboard for a small green vase. “My own fault, too. Why send Ty to the sitter’s when he could be here with me? I’m his mother, aren’t I? So what if I’m trying to run an office out of here, and my assistant’s on vacation? Then when things get a little complicated, I take it out on a little boy and his brainless dog.”
“I’d say the little boy and his brainless dog played a big part.” He lifted a mangled shoe off the counter. “Which one of them chewed on this?”
She sighed as she filled the vase with water. “I haven’t even worn them yet. Damn dog nosed it right out of the shoe box while I was trying to deal with the flood in the bathroom.”
“You should’ve called a plumber.” He bit back a laugh when she bared her teeth at him. “Oh, you did. I’ll take a look at it for you.”
“It’s not your job to fix my toilet.”
“Then you don’t have to pay me.”
“Doug, I appreciate it, I really do. I appreciate your taking Ty out of the line of fire until I calmed down, and helping him pick the flowers, and offering to stand in as emergency plumber, but—”
“You don’t want anyone to help.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s certainly not that. I didn’t get involved with you so you could handle plumbing and other household crises. I don’t want you to think I expect that sort of thing just because we’re dating.”
“How about if you start expecting that sort of thing because I’m in love with you?”
The vase slid out of her fingers and hit the counter with a clunk. “What? What?”
“Happened about fifteen minutes ago, when I walked in and saw you.”
“Saw me.” Stupefied, she looked down at herself. “Saw this?”
“You’re not perfect. You’re damn close, but you’re not absolutely perfect. That’s a big relief to me. It’s intimidating to think about being with someone for the long haul—which is something I’ve never tried with anyone before, by the way—if she’s absolutely perfect. But she spills coffee all over herself and doesn’t get around to brushing her hair, yells at her kid when he deserves it, that’s worth thinking about.”
“I don’t know what to say.” What to think. What to do. “I’m not . . .”
“Ready,” he finished. “So, why don’t you just tell me where the plunger is, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“It’s, ah . . .” She waved a hand overhead. “Already up there. I was . . . I couldn’t . . . Doug.”
“That’s nice. It’s nice that you fumbled.” He caught her chin, kissed her. “It’s nice that you’re a little scared. Should give me time to figure out how to handle this.”
She managed a helpless gesture while bats bumped around in her stomach. “Let me know when you figure it out.”
“You’ll be the first.”
When he walked out, she braced a hand on the counter. Once again, she looked down at herself.
He’d fallen in love with her because of coffee stains and messy hair. Oh God, she realized as her heart fluttered, she was in trouble.
This time when the phone rang, she picked it up absently. “Hello. Yes.” She winced. “This is the law office of Lana Campbell. How may I help you?”
Minutes later, she was streaking upstairs where Doug, Ty and the dog all huddled around the toilet. “Out. Everybody out. I have to shower. Doug, forget everything I just said about not asking or expecting, because I’m about to take terrible advantage of you.”
He glanced at Ty, then at her. “In front of witnesses?”
“Ha ha. Please, I beg you, take Ty downstairs, scoop up everything that doesn’t look like it belongs in the home or office of a brilliant attorney. Stuff it in a closet. I’ll worry about it later. Put the dog out back. Ty, you’re going to Brock’s after all.”
“But I don’t wanna—”
“Come on, pal.” Doug started the scooping with Ty. “We’ll have a man-to-man talk about the futility of arguing with a woman when she has a certain look in her eye.”
“I’ll be down in twenty minutes.” Lana slammed the door behind them and stripped.
She was jumping back out of the shower when Doug gave a cursory knock and walked in. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
“For God’s sake, I’m naked. Ty—”
“Is downstairs picking up his toys. And since I intend to be a fixture around here, he’ll get used to knowing I see you naked. What’s lit the fire, Lana?”
“Richard Carlyle.” She grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her body as she raced out and into the bedroom. “He just called from the airport. From Dulles. He wants a meeting. Damn it, I didn’t get the navy Escada back from the cleaners.”
“He’s coming here.”
“Yes, he’ll be here at noon. I have to pull myself together so I look like a cool, articulate professional instead of a raving lunatic. I have to contact Callie, go through the files again.” She wiggled into a bra and panties. “I need to make certain I have all salient information in my head and at my fingertips.”
