Chapter 17
“Gosh, it’s hard today.” I wheeze running behind Lucas on our way back to the guesthouse. It’s the third morning since he’s back on his feet, and true to his promise, he wakes me up every morning for a run.
He turns to face me, running backward. “Come on, slowpoke. Even a dummy’s eyes move faster than you.” His laugh sounds muffled but clear.
“You’re faster only because you have longer legs.”
“Jealous?” Lucas throws a snowball at me, but I manage to dodge it. The guesthouse is in sight and with a bit of effort I’ll be there in minutes.
I roll my eyes. “Was your coffee mixed with arrogance this morning?”
He resumes running, waving a dismissive hand. “Sour grapes.”
I hate Lucas. I really do. He never goes to bed before midnight and yet he looks as if he rested more than Sleeping Beauty. Like a pesky rooster he wakes me up at 7:30 A.M. I think he takes great pleasure in teasing me while I’m half asleep and dragging my feet out of bed to follow him.
Every day I swear to go to bed at a reasonable time, and every night I break my promise. Armed with snacks, laptops, pads and sticky notes Lucas and I storm into work for the online column. Ella is so tired after the long days we spend visiting Paris, she falls asleep in the car. Two nights ago she skipped dinner but woke up around 2 A.M. for a bowl of cereal.
Lucas stops to tie his laces. I pass by him. Or so I think. The next thing I know he tackles me, laughing harder and harder. I fall on top of him then roll under him.
“This should wake you up,” he wrestles me and rubs my face with snow.
“Stop!” My plea disappears behind mouthfuls of snow. As if that isn’t bad enough, Lucas tickles me. Can’t help the laughter dying in my throat. I become a worm in his arms, squirming to escape, but laughing at the crazy and silly situation.
I tickle Lucas back. His grip loosens when my arm swings snow at him, straight in his face. With renewed strength I fight him. We roll in the cold, white blanket, the one on top with a clear advantage to grab snow and throw at the other.
“Feisty, huh?” Lucas imprisons my left leg between his and pins me with his body.
I can’t even wiggle my arms free. My back freezes at the same time my front absorbs his body’s warmth. “Let go!” I squeeze my eyes, take a deep breath and gather all the force I can to push him away. Laughing doesn’t help; if anything it weakens me.
I open my eyes. Large kiwi-green eyes stare down at me. Our breaths come out rushed, blending before dissipating into the freezing air. Suddenly I’m aware of Lucas’s body pressed on mine. I forgot how a man feels—heavy but not crushing, hard but not rigid, hot but not melting. I forgot the body-to-body experience of a breath, one rising the other sinking. The man’s heartbeat echoing in mine, increasing faster.
“Lucas, I—”
“Say it again. My name. Say it again.” Husky, sexy voice breezes over my face.
“Lucas.”
“Again.”
My voice fades to a whisper. “Lucas . . .”
The smile leaves his full lips. Lucas’s thumb traces my jaw, up on my cheek. A strand of damp hair falls over his forehead and I’d be tempted to reach to push it back, were I not his prisoner.
Lucas dips his head and I hold my breath, waiting.
His cell phone rings.
“Damn!” Teeth grinding, he tenses for a second then pulls up on all fours. Standing he grabs my hand and helps me up. My body slams against his, my lungs depleted of air. “I gotta take this.” He lets go and answers the phone, leaving me already longing for his touch.
“Hey, little brother, how’s my man?” His voice sounds labored. “Of course I can talk, what kind of question is that? No, I just returned from a run. Yeah, it’s freezing. How are you?”
I should resemble a statue made of ice after lying on the snow for so long, but strangely my body’s on fire, my breath erratic. I start running, mouthing, “See you at home.” My jog ends as I get inside the house, where Ella sings karaoke with Zoé, watching the lyrics on the TV screen.
By the time we leave for the city a few hours later, Lucas is jovial, in spite of the fact that he told me today is Cameron’s first day out of rehab and that he’s worried about him relapsing. Lucas’s good mood rubs off on all of us, singing Ella’s favorite songs. Of course we mess up the lyrics to her chagrin and then we start again.
“Co-pilot, what’s the destination today?” Lucas swerves onto the freeway.
I pull my list out. “Well, we’ve seen the Louvre, Eiffel Tower, Arc De Triumph, and Panthéon. Next is Notre Dame, and Versailles.”
“Is this the name for Disneyland in French?” Ella asks.
Lucas and I exchange a long look.
I twist to see her better. “Notre Dame and Versailles are French historical places. Disneyland is called the same in all countries no matter the language.”
“Are we going to Disneyland?” Ella persists.
I haven’t thought about Disneyland or how much Ella really likes visiting all these famous places. I haven’t thought about tailoring this trip to her wants or needs, but rather how much I could pack in a few days. I know I’ll never afford to come back to Paris, so from my perspective I’ve focused only on what I wanted. Now I’m ashamed I’ve been so selfish. I took Ella’s giggles and running ahead of us or hopping on Lucas’s shoulders as a sign of her liking, enjoying what we do. But did she really have fun?
Lucas comes to my rescue. “Of course we go. This is the road to get there.” He winks at me.
“Yaaaay!” Ella claps and laughs then tells her dolls how much fun they’ll have in the park.
Disneyland in Paris is as colorful and inviting as the ones back home. Magic happens at every corner, characters smile and pose for photos, and kids frolic from one ride to another. Chocolate-covered apples, roasted chestnuts, and cotton candy tempt even the fullest tummy. Mickey Mouse ears pop up in the crowd as often as sparkling tiaras and green Goofy hats.
Ella wants to go through Snow White’s place twice and take photos with the seven dwarfs after we exit the ride. Next is Sleeping Beauty’s castle, then the Mad Hatter’s Tea Cups. She screams from the top of her lungs, gripping with both hands on the yellow with red polka dots cup’s rim. When we stop, both she and Lucas walk as if someone laced their shoes together, and I laugh, struggling not to throw up.
I let the two of them do one more spin and use the free time to browse through the nearby gift shops. Lucas has been more than generous throughout the entire time we’ve been here. I’d like to find a gift for him, something to remind him of our fun times and Ella. And maybe a little of me.
Three t-shirts later, with three matching hats and key chains, I meet Ella and Lucas outside the Tea Cups while they recoup from all the spinning with . . . pink cotton candy.
As I walk up to them, it hits me how much I’ve come to trust Lucas. I leave my precious daughter with him without flinching, trusting him to protect her, trusting him to take care of her as if it’s a given. She cuddles in his arms, laughing and looking up at him with a large smile on her face, absorbing every word he says. My heart stops when she cups his face in her chubby hands and rubs her nose on his. This is something she and I do all the time, kind of our thing.
Gray clouds hang low in the sky while a chilly breeze pricks our faces. It takes some convincing to get Ella to eat dinner after all the junk food she’s eaten, but she licks greasy, salty fingers after finishing a small portion of French fries. Thank goodness no one pays attention to my daughter’s eating manners.
Next is the Pinocchio and Jiminy Cricket show, which comes as a blessing in disguise from all the cold we’ve endured for hours now. By the time we hop off the Dumbo ride, it’s dark. Ella asks to be carried and falls asleep soon in Lucas’s arms. She doesn’t wake up when he places her in the back seat of his car.
“That was a blast.” Lucas buckles up and cranks up the heaters to the max, checks the mirrors, and pulls out o
f the parking lot.
“Yes, it was.” I look sideways at him, the hard profile of a soft and kind man.
He glances at me long enough to smile, then turns his attention to the traffic. “You okay?”
“Yes, I am.” I reach over and squeeze his arm. “Thank you, Lucas. Thank you for everything. It’s been a great vacation, thanks to you.”
“No. Thank you, Jane.”
“What for?”
“For sharing something with me I’ll never have.”
I’m confused. There’s no mockery in his tone so I ask, “What’s that?”
He doesn’t elaborate.
“What is it you’ll never have?” I press again.
He stops at a red light and looks at me. The dashboard casts light to his green eyes and parted lips. Beneath the tired expression I see sadness, but I don’t sense it in his voice, too even or too well trained to mask it.
“A family. You and Ella are a family and that’s something I’ll never have.”
Huh? Out of the cohorts of women idolizing Lucas Oliver, I imagine an impressive number of them wanting to become Mrs. Oliver. All he has to do is look, find and pick. For someone as handsome and popular as him it’s that simple. Or is it because none of them are good enough? I toss this thought away—Lucas has been too nice these days to think ill of him.
“Why is that?” The question leaves my mouth faster than the fleeting thought.
He shrugs. “I refuse to have children.”
I stare out the window, not really seeing much. I’m grateful for the darkness, knowing if he looks my way he’ll see how much his answer disappoints me. I thought he liked kids. The way he plays with Ella, the way he treats her—is this just a game?
I try to sound neutral, faking a laugh. “For a moment there you conned me into thinking you’d be a great dad.”
“I’m a hundred and ten percent sure I’d be a great dad,” he replies. “But I won’t. It’s too risky.”
It’s an answer I expect even less than the previous. “You can still have a wife.” Why I said that beats me.
“Nah,” he shakes his head. “It won’t work. I tried once. My wife said I was all she ever wanted. We agreed to never have kids. Three years later she said her biological clock was ticking. We got pregnant. She was ecstatic, I was a nut case. She miscarried twice. We tried again. When we made it to the end of the first trimester we thought third time was the charm, but our happiness was short lived. A few weeks later we found out that our baby boy had Rett syndrome. The docs explained that it’s a disorder of the nervous system and the baby most likely wouldn’t make it to term, or if he made it, he wouldn’t survive past the age of two.
“She wanted to have the baby. I didn’t. I was done trying. I argued it’d be unfair to the poor baby to make him suffer only to die anyway. We fought so much until she finally agreed to an abortion. She couldn’t even look at me and every other word she threw at me was either ‘criminal’ or ‘selfish bastard’. She was right. We divorced six months later. She’s now married and has two beautiful, healthy kids,” Lucas continues. “It must’ve been me. My family has been plagued with lots of diseases for generations on my mom’s side. Knock on wood, so far both Cameron and I have been healthy.”
“You can still marry. Maybe adopt. There are always solutions.”
Lucas chuckles. “That coming from someone who only sees everything in black or white and doesn’t believe in second chances.” He touches my forehead. “You’re not sick, are you?”
I slap his hand away, laughing along. “I’m serious. You just have to find what works best for you. Don’t just give up.”
“I wouldn’t force anyone to give up on their dream of having kids. I tried once and it was a mistake. Plus, my lifestyle keeps me too busy. There’s no room for a family in it. You, on the other hand, are a blessed woman, Jane. You have Ella and she’s healthy and sweet and smart. She’s precious.”
I glance over my shoulder. Ella sleeps in her seat, a headful of blond curls framing her angelic face. Yes, I’m one blessed mother. I know not all parents are as lucky as I am and my heart goes out to all of them, including Lucas. He’ll never know what he’s really missing.
Silence stretches over the rest of the drive. I want to reach out and take Lucas hand, but am afraid he’ll reject me. I feel sorry for him despite the fact that he made the decision of ending his baby’s life. It’s a regret he’ll live with for the rest of his life with no way of taking it back. I’m sure it’s not easy.
Once at home and after a hot bath, my mood doesn’t improve, quite the opposite. I struggle to keep my emotions in control for fear I’ll make a complete fool of myself if I run out to Lucas and hold him in my arms, the way I wish I could. Sadness for him grips at my heart, not letting go, not going away. That and knowing my vacation is over the day after tomorrow and with that, the excuse for spending time together. As I slip under the covers my eyes fall on the bag I bought at Disneyland.
I rush to the living room knowing Lucas is still awake and probably working on his laptop. Passing by his room I glance in to see him standing by his bed, wearing only pajama pants.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he looks at me and continues towel-drying his hair.
“I got you something.” I walk in, reaching inside the bag and pulling out a green t-shirt. I stop in front of him and unfold it. “I hope you like it.”
He laughs. “Grumpy? I’m never grumpy. You’re grumpy. This should be your t-shirt.”
I reach in for a red t-shirt and hold it over my chest. “I got one with Bashful. And one for Ella with Dopey, in purple of course.” I clamp both t-shirts under my chin and retrieve the other items from the bag. “I got matching hats and key chains. It’s not much, just a small token of appreciation for what you’ve done for us.”
Lucas laughs and I’m once again drawn to his laugh. He puts the t-shirt and hat on, and walks to the wall mirror.
“I don’t know what to say,” he returns to face me, wavy black hair falling over his forehead, a warm smile on his lips. “It’s nice of you to think of me. Speaking of which, I got something for you too. I was actually waiting for the right moment but,” he walks into the closet and returns with a red gift bag. “Here, this is for you.”
I can’t see what’s in it because of the golden gift paper, but my heart is picking up the pace as if a woodpecker took up residency in my chest. I want to refuse it but know I’d hurt his feelings. He accepted my gift, how can I refuse his?
“Come on, take it. It won’t bite you.”
I take the bag and remove the gift-wrap. My face must be redder than the piece of silk I hold between my fingers.
“You got me a nightgown?”
He holds both hands up. “I know this a very personal matter, but these rags you wear as PJ’s look horrendous. You’ve got to change your sleeping clothes, Jane. I bet even your dreams run away from you.”
I shrug. “You won’t understand. These were Evan’s . . . I wear them imagining he’s still around.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Didn’t—”
“It’s okay.” I’m not mad. He couldn’t know what these tattered clothes mean to me. I avoid looking at him.
His fingers feel warm against my skin when he lifts my chin. I lose myself in the green of his eyes, reminding me of candles in a dark room. “Jane, I love teasing you, but not about this. I had no idea. I’m really sorry.”
“I said it’s okay. Don’t worry.”
His fingers linger a moment longer on my chin then he releases me.
He clears his throat. “Thanks for the t-shirt and stuff. I . . . I really like it.”
I distance myself from him and stop at the door. “Thank you, Lucas. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Chapter 18
Somewhere in my sleep I hear shouting. I charge for Ella’s room and find her sleeping, the lamp on as I left it before I went to bed. I exhale and compose myself, sitting on her bed for a few moments
. It must’ve been a dream.
I barely make it back to my bed when I hear, “You son of a bitch, stay away from her! Did you hear me? Stay. Away. From. Her!”
Lucas.
I run down the hall. I find him in the living room. He doesn’t see me when he slams his phone atop the bar. With his back to me, he pours himself a drink then throws the bottle against the dead fireplace.
“Jesus Christ, what are you doing?” My stomach knots when he swings toward me, his face contorted by rage.
“He wants to turn off her life support, Jane, can you believe it?” Lucas takes a gulp from his glass then squeezes it until it shatters in his hand. “I’m so gonna kill that bastard. Kill him!”
My eyes lock on the blood dripping from his right palm. I must convince him to let me see it, but if he’s really drunk he might put up a fight. For his sake and mine I need to remain calm. If Ella wakes up and sees this scene she’ll freak out, and I doubt I can deal with both of them at the same time.
“Why?” Lucas yells. “He left her fifteen years ago, he has no right. That bastard has no right. No right! He doesn’t even want to wait for me to get home. I begged him to wait, but he’s never done anything I asked him to do.” He bends forward as if someone punched him in the stomach, then falls to his knees. “I can’t even say goodbye. I need to. I must.”
I step closer, my pulse racing. He looks at me with misty eyes, his chest rising and falling with sobs. I kneel in front of him and gather him in my arms. He surrenders resting his forehead on my shoulder. Encouraged by the lack of resistance I hold him, rubbing his back. The longer I hold him the harder he cries, his body shaking violently.
I’ve never seen a man so devastated. When we lost Dad, my brother cried quietly, a little kid that would never hear his father cheering him on when playing football. When Evan died, his father hid behind expensive dark sunglasses, dabbing expensive handkerchiefs to his face once in a while. The only sounds I heard during the services came from the cameras flashing or the shovels hitting the ground.
Me Tarzan, You Jane Page 15
