Eliza raced down the staircase and rushed to the front door, flinging it open before Grant had a chance to knock.
“Hi.” He stepped back in surprise as Eliza yanked the door shut behind her.
“What are you doing here?” She grabbed his forearm and dragged him down the steps and away from the house.
“I thought I’d volunteer to go with you and Ben to the eye doctor. You know, since I have experience being vision impaired.” Grant flashed her a grin, but it quickly disappeared. “What’s the matter?”
“You can’t come with us.” Eliza paced the driveway, the accusatory crunch of the gravel heightening her agitation.
“Why not?”
“Because.” Wringing her hands, she drew in a shaky breath, trying to gather courage from who knew where.
“What’s going on? You’re acting… strange. Is Ben all right?”
“Ben is…”
Crunch, crunch, crunch…
Why was the gravel so infernally loud?
“Ben is…” Eliza repeated then paused, the air around them suddenly still and silent.
Too silent.
Not even a hush of wind through the trees.
“Lizzy?” Grant prompted, his voice strained with worry.
Drawing her gaze to meet his, Eliza forced her lips to part, willing the words to slip past her fear. “Ben is… your son.”
The truth dispersed on a whisper, lighter than a fallen leaf fluttering to the ground. Eliza held her breath, waiting for her words to land with the force of the entire universe.
“Very funny.” Grant’s laugh sounded more like a bark, short and tense, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her joke.
“Grant…” Painfully, Eliza stepped toward him, although every self-preserving instinct told her to flee. From the guilt. The shame. The repercussions.
But she couldn’t. Especially when the flicker of realization blazed across Grant’s face. His features settled into a heart-wrenching mix of anguish, shock, and fear, leaving her winded like a blow to the stomach.
Oh, what she wouldn’t give to erase his pain—the pain she had caused.
Her legs trembling, Eliza took another step.
Grant stumbled backward, both hands raised. “Don’t.”
“Please, let me explain.” Tears blurred her vision as she tried to move toward him. Let her explain? As if that would somehow fix what she’d done. Her throat constricted, making breathing nearly impossible, let alone words.
Not that it mattered.
Grant had turned his back to her, crossing the driveway with long, rapid strides. He might as well be running away from her.
And Eliza couldn’t blame him.
She’d spent years protecting the ones she loved from the fallout of the truth. But now that she’d unleashed it, she feared the destruction would be even worse than she’d imagined.
By the time Grant pried his fingers from around the steering wheel, they shook uncontrollably.
Clenching his eyes shut, he leaned against the headrest, drawing in a desperate breath. But no matter how deeply he inhaled, his lungs wouldn’t fill.
His entire world had tipped on its axis; every emotion converged together, leaving him devoid of energy and the ability to think straight.
Or more accurately, the ability to think at all.
Hauling himself up the porch steps, Grant barely noticed his father reading on the wicker love seat.
“What’s the matter? Are you sick?” Setting his book on the side table, Stan uncrossed his legs, leaning forward in concern.
“Something like that.” Grant pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, noting it did feel warm.
“Have a seat.” Stan scooted over, patting the space beside him.
“Not right now, Dad. I—” In the middle of his protest, Grant’s limbs weakened, and he sank onto the plush cushion, hanging his head in his hands. He winced as a sharp pain pierced his left temple.
“Here, have some water.” Ice cubes clinked together as Stan handed him the tall glass.
Grant threw his head back, downing huge gulps, slightly invigorated by the hint of lemon and mint. After he’d chugged the last drop, he handed the glass back to his dad.
Stan smiled as he eyed the remaining chunks of ice and lemon wedge. “Feel better?”
“A little, thanks.”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”
“You’re not going to believe it.”
“Try me.” Stan shifted in his seat to face his son.
Grant raked his fingers through his hair, wondering how he’d break the news. News he still hadn’t digested himself. After a deep, ragged breath, he decided on the blunt approach. “I just found out that Ben is my son.” As the words left his lips, they sounded distant and removed, as though someone else had spoken them.
When Stan didn’t respond, Grant snuck a sideways glance, fearing the worst. Would he be angry? Would he lecture him? Because that was the last thing Grant needed.
Ever since the night after graduation, Grant had lived with remorse. Even though they’d both been complicit, he’d apologized to Eliza for his lack of self-control, reaffirming his desire to wait until their marriage vows. But after that moment, their relationship had changed. And Grant had always wondered if it was the reason Eliza broke up with him. Which made it all the more painful when he’d learned she’d been with someone else. Of course, now he knew that was a lie.
It was all a lie.
But the worst part… the truth that had wrenched Grant’s heart right out of his chest… was that Eliza didn’t want him to be the father of her child. To the point that she’d kept their connection a secret. Grant didn’t think he’d ever get over that.
“Congratulations.”
When Stan finally spoke, Grant flinched, certain he’d imagined it. “What?”
“Congratulations,” Stan repeated, his voice warm and even. “Being a father is a wonderful gift.”
“Ha!” Grant grunted. “Even if it’s a gift that’s given begrudgingly?” He shook his head, the sharp pain now dull and throbbing. “She didn’t tell me, Dad. I’ve missed the first seven years of my son’s life.”
“I’m sure she had her reasons.”
“Yeah,” Grant snarled, bitterness rising in his throat like bile. “She knows I’ll make a lousy father and didn’t want me messing up her son.”
“I’m sure that’s not it.”
“How do you know? No offense, but I don’t come from the most functional family.”
Stan’s gaze flickered to the ground. “No, you don’t. And I bear a lot of responsibility for that.”
Grant shrugged, guilt overpowering his grief. “It wasn’t all bad. We had some good times together. Especially before we moved.” Before you and mom stopped speaking to each other, he mused, deciding to keep that particular observation to himself.
A shadow of sadness passed over Stan’s features, and he looked away.
Something in his father’s expression pricked Grant’s curiosity. “Why did we move?”
Stan remained silent, staring off into the distance, so Grant pressed again. “Dad? I think I deserve to know.”
“I never intended to tell you or your sister,” Stan murmured, twisting his watchband around his wrist. “But I always wondered if she suspected.”
“Why would Olivia know anything about it?”
“Because Olivia was the one being bullied in school.”
Grant’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”
While his sister was three years younger, and they’d never had the same circle of friends, Grant wanted to believe he’d know if she’d been bullied.
“Private schools can be wonderful. But they also have a dark side. Intense pressure and an unhealthy need for approval. Your sister… didn’t fit the mold.”
“Why? Because she was a tomboy? So what?” Grant’s chest heaved with anger. “Who bullied her?”
“All the other girls in h
er class. They were vicious, too. Stuff I couldn’t believe any child would think of.”
“How come I didn’t know?” Grant whispered, his heart shattering.
Stan’s features softened as he placed a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “You went to different schools, had different friends. And you know Olivia, she doesn’t open up easily. Your mother and I suspect it had been going on for a long time before we found out.”
“What did Mom have to say about it?” Knowing his mother’s vindictive streak, Grant had to assume her reaction wasn’t pretty.
“She thought we could work things out with the parents. But I could tell the apples didn’t fall far from the trees. Those kids came from the type of parents who would do anything to get ahead, even if it meant tearing others down. Those children were merely modeling what they were taught at home.”
Grant felt sick, his fingers clenching. He’d punch a brick wall, if it would do any good.
“Moving was drastic,” Stan admitted. “One of my clients vacationed in California and stumbled upon Poppy Creek on their trip. At the time, it sounded like the sort of town we needed. Of course, that’s the hard part about being a parent. Not every decision you make will be the right one.”
They sat in silence a moment. A lone bird warbled in the distance, its melancholy timbre sending shivers up Grant’s arms.
“For what it’s worth,” he said softly, turning to face his dad, “I think you made the right decision.”
Stan held his gaze and a healing glance passed between them.
Over the last several days, one thing had become undeniably clear to Grant. Things weren’t always simple and straightforward. Life was messy and complicated. And any worthwhile relationship required digging deep, occasionally venturing into dark and difficult places. But you often came out better for it.
“Want to finish our chess game?” Stan asked.
“That sounds great.” Rising from the love seat, Grant felt as though he’d left a crippling weight behind him.
And regardless of what Eliza thought—or anyone, for that matter—Grant would do whatever it took to be the best father possible…
For his son.
Chapter 23
The latch clicked, and Eliza leaned against the door, her heart still pounding, rebelling inside her chest as though it couldn’t stand to be near her, either.
“You told him, didn’t you?” Straightening from half-moon pose, Sylvia readjusted the tie-dyed sweatband around her glistening forehead.
“Wh-who?” Eliza stammered, wincing at the self-conscious catch in her voice. Between the fact that she’d steered Grant away from the house, and the loud flute music emanating from her mother’s yoga video, there was no way Sylvia could have overheard them.
“Grant, of course. I assume the shell-shocked expression on your face is because you finally told him he’s Ben’s father.”
Her knees weakening, Eliza slid a few inches down the door frame, like buttercream frosting melting in the sun. “You knew?”
“Sweetheart, I’m an actress. I know how to read people. Besides, you’re my daughter. You came to me with some cockamamie story about a tourist boy you barely knew. Please. It’s way too out of character.” Grabbing the remote off the coffee table, Sylvia hit pause.
“Who else knows?”
“Your father. Maybe Maggie. But we’ve never discussed it. I only assume because she knows you almost as well as I do.”
Eliza stumbled the few steps from the threshold into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, wishing she could bury herself in the oversize cushions and never come out. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Sylvia shrugged, the wide collar of her neon workout top slipping off her thin shoulder. “I figured you’d tell me about it when you were ready.”
“So, let me get this straight.” Eliza hugged one of the plump throw pillows, seeking comfort in the soft folds of the fabric. “You grill me like a secret service agent whenever you get even a whiff that I might be dating someone. But you never once mention this? I have to say, Mom. That doesn’t seem like the best parenting decision.”
“Well, you would know.” Sylvia smirked, the twinkle in her eyes adding levity.
Despite herself, Eliza laughed at the somber irony, deep and cleansing, until tears spilled down her cheeks. Then, coming to her senses, she hurriedly muzzled her face with the pillow. “This isn’t funny. It’s horrible. Grant is really upset. And he has every right to be. I desperately want to fix things, but I don't know how.”
“Well…” Sylvia perched on the edge of the coffee table, stretching the thin spandex of her yoga pants as she crossed her legs. “We Carters might be a lot of things, but we certainly aren’t cowards. Whatever it takes to make things right, I’m confident you’ll find a way.”
Her mother’s words did little to reassure her. The hole she’d dug was too deep, and insurmountably wide. And she hadn’t even told her the worst part.
Peeking above the frilly lace trim, Eliza met her mother’s gaze. “There’s something else you should know.”
“What’s that?”
“The reason I never told Grant about Ben. Or, at least, one of the reasons I never told him.”
Sylvia leaned forward, revealing a hint of her leopard print sports bra. “I’m your captive audience.”
Fidgeting with the large decorative button on the throw pillow, Eliza kept her gaze lowered. “Harriet knows that Grant’s Ben’s father. And… she knows about Dad not paying taxes on the handyman jobs around town. Stan must have told her….”
The color drained from Sylvia’s face and she didn’t move or speak. Or seem to be breathing at all, for that matter. The yoga video’s soundtrack of soothing pan flute paired with ocean waves crashing against the shore lent an eerie tone to the atmosphere. And all the lavender-scented incense in the world couldn’t cut through the cloud of tension hanging over their heads.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” Eliza whispered. “Harriet said if I kept quiet about Ben, Stan wouldn’t report you. But now, I’m afraid—”
“That soulless viper!” Sylvia leapt from the table, cracking her knuckles as she paced across the shaggy carpet. “When I get my hands on her…”
Eliza’s eyes widened as she watched her mother transform into one of the gang members from West Side Story. “Mom?”
Sylvia whipped around, her dark eyes blazing. “That woman lied to you. Your father wasn’t going to report the money he made from odd jobs. But after we had a long talk about it, he brought all the receipts to Stan and had him amend the tax paperwork.”
“What?” Eliza’s heart lurched to a stop, pain shooting through her chest. “No… that can’t be right. She said all the paperwork was in Stan’s office, and she’d show me proof….” Squeezing her eyes shut, Eliza pressed her fingertips against her throbbing temples, trying to quiet the condemning voices jeering inside her head. How could she have been so naive? Doubling over, Eliza covered her mouth, suddenly feeling ill.
Sliding onto the couch beside her, Sylvia wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, honey. You were still a child back then.”
“It’s been over seven years, Mom. And I never once suspected it was a lie.” Tears of shame tumbled down Eliza’s cheeks, and she didn’t bother wiping them away. She should have known better. She should have been smarter…. Once the thought process started, the should haves spun through her mind like a hand mixer switched on high speed, making her dizzy.
“And why should you have suspected it was a lie?” Sylvia’s eyes flashed with indignation. “That kind of evil is unconscionable. What possible reason could she have had for keeping Grant away from his son, anyway?”
“She said having a child would ruin his life.”
“Hogwash,” Sylvia snorted. “They’ll ruin your body, but Grant hardly had to worry about that.”
“Is it hogwash, though?” Holding her mother’s gaze, Eliza willed herself to get everything out in t
he open, once and for all. “Having me so young meant you had to give up on your dream of becoming the next Audrey Hepburn.”
“I’m really more of a Katharine, don’t you think? She seems much feistier.”
Eliza groaned. “So not the point, Mom.”
“I know, I know.” Sylvia slipped her arm from around Eliza’s shoulders and grabbed her hand, holding it between both of hers. “I want you to listen to me closely. Are you listening?”
“Yes.” Eliza’s lower lip trembled, her tears falling anew.
“You didn’t ruin my dream. I chose to give up acting. Do I occasionally miss the bright lights and grand costumes? Sure. But being your mother is the greatest role I’ve ever been given. And it was brilliant casting on God’s part, if I do say so myself.”
“Gee. And so humble, too.” Eliza sniffled, cracking a small smile.
“Want to take a guess at my greatest performance of all time?”
“When you were Sandy in Grease?”
“Not even close.” A soft, wistful smile lit Sylvia’s dark eyes. “I believe you were Ben’s age the first time you used your Easy-Bake Oven. You had the biggest grin on your face when you handed me this gooey glob of shortening, raw egg, and a lethal amount of salt. I thought for sure you’d poisoned me. But I ate that weird, oddly cold blob of goo as if it were the queen’s secret supply of chocolate.”
“I actually remember that! The way you raved about it made me want to become a baker someday.”
“Lucky for us, you’ve improved slightly.” Sylvia winked, giving her hand a squeeze. “I couldn’t be prouder of you, sweetheart. And I know you’ll find a way to mend things with Grant. Just give it time.”
Eliza leaned in to her mother’s embrace, hoping with all her heart that she was right
After their game of chess, Stan left Grant alone in the office to work, and a funny thing happened.
Grant used to think being single allowed him endless creative freedom. But now, spurred by his newfound parental responsibility, Grant’s mind flooded with inspiration. Not only did he want to provide the best life possible for his son, but he wanted to make him proud.
The Truth in Tiramisu (A Poppy Creek Novel Book 2) Page 14
