Always Faithful

by Catherine Snodgrass

  Ian retrieved a hand trowel and shovel from a shed behind the house while Phillip tried his best to right the broken stems on the irises. It was hopeless, but at least the bulbs were intact and would grow back. He’d try to save what he could of the broken flowers for a vase. Oscar was simply going to have to learn that this was not acceptable. The trouble was catching him in the act before he took off again. Phillip sighed. Time for dog obedience school…again.

  As if sensing Phillip’s thoughts, Oscar trotted back to the house, tongue dragging, a cockeyed grin on his face. With no hesitation, he plopped down in the cool dirt of the rejuvenated flowerbed, and rolled.

  "Oscar, no!"

  The dog looked at Phillip like he was crazy. Ian grabbed his collar and tugged him to his feet. "Come on, Oscar. Let’s get a drink of water."

  Visions of dirty paws on carpet panicked Phillip. Before he could stop him, Ian had the door open. Oscar slipped through it like he owned the place. Phillip sprinted after them, expecting disaster. Oscar sprawled onto the cool tile inside the door then watched adoringly as Ian came back from the kitchen with a bowl of water.

  Tension eased from Phillip’s shoulders. The house was decorated for living, not for show. Unlike his own white-carpeted childhood home.

  Practicality and comfort were visible everywhere he looked, from the tiled floors at the entryway to the brown Berber carpet in the living room beyond. Even Rowan’s furniture was designed to hide the rigors of childhood.

  To his right, a staircase led to the upper level. Light poured down from above, inviting him to take a peek.

  "That’s Mom’s room," Ian said. "You can take a bath up there if you want. I always use the one down here."

  Phillip smiled. "That’s okay. I’ll wait until you’re done."

  "Okay, you can put your stuff here in Grandma’s old room." Ian pointed to a room down the hall. "And here’s my room if you want to look around." He tossed his backpack into the next room he passed, then darted into an adjoining bathroom.

  Phillip wandered around the house, studying the knickknacks, the books on the shelves, magazines on the coffee table. He felt lost, out of place, and why shouldn’t he? He was never meant to be here in the first place. An intruder.

  A small glass bird on a high shelf caught his eye, and he smiled involuntarily. She still had it.

  Rowan had seen the golden wren for sale at a small Georgetown antiques store. It had been their first date, and Phillip noticed her lingering over an object in a corner of the shop. He remembered the delight in her eyes when she cupped the fragile ornament in her palms. Much too expensive for her limited budget. He went back to the store later the next day and purchased it for her.

  Phillip ran his finger over the bird’s outstretched wingtip. His feelings for Rowan during those first days of their relationship came flooding back, the excitement, the agony of each look, each touch.

  He sighed. And then she cut herself out of his life, leaving a gaping wound in his heart. She had also taken away his unborn son. Phillip sighed again and scanned the rest of the shelves.

  The photo albums on the bottom shelf of the oak bookcase caught his eye. He recognized a few of them from his and Rowan’s time together. At least that hadn’t changed about her.

  She was meticulous in recording each facet of her life. Photos, ticket stubs, brochures. Every event, every experience in her life could be found in those albums.

  In college he had laughed at her obsession. Now he treasured it, for in those volumes lay the key to the years he had missed with Ian.

  With his index finger, he started to pull off the album most likely to contain Ian’s history—the one beside the last volume he was familiar with. Then he paused. He wanted to savor each memory. To curl up with Ian for a detailed explanation. He couldn’t very well do so until they were both cleaned up.

  Phillip glanced at the stairway leading to Rowan’s room. It was only a shower. What did it matter? He’d already lost eight years of his son’s life. He didn’t want to waste one second more. Snatching up his change of clothes, he took the stairs two at a time, determined to beat Ian back to the living room.

  He wasn’t prepared for the sight of Rowan’s room and the emotions it evoked. He told himself that it was a room, nothing more, nothing less. Decorated in muted tones of peaches and cream, the windows opened on two sides to encompass the surrounding desert landscape. It was a haven. A sanctuary. A place for lovers.

  A glance toward her king-size bed turned his stomach into knots. How many men had lain with her in that bed? How many had tasted her sweetness? Had she ever once called out his name in those moments of passion? Ever thought of him? Ever longed for him as he had her?

  The answer was painfully clear—no. Not if she could so callously deny him his child. Oddly, he recalled once more his father warning him of such a thing. It galled him to think that his old man may have been right all along.

  "I’ll be damned if I’ll ever let him know that."

  There was no sense mooning over the past. It was over between the two of them long ago, especially for her. He moved onto the adjoining bathroom. Another shock hit him.

  A garden tub greeted him the minute he stepped into the room. Big enough for two, set in an alcove surrounded by beautiful potted plants. An oasis in the middle of the desert. Their tub. A long ago dream for their future together. Sweet regret mixed with bitterness.

  "Why, Rowan? I don’t understand."

  And at that point he didn’t want to. Slinging his tote bag to the tile floor, he stripped down and stepped into the adjacent shower stall.

  Don’t look or think or feel. Just shower and get the hell out of here.

  Memories still invaded, twisting his heart and making him ache for what was and could never be again.

  "Damn. Damn. Damn." He twisted the cold water on full blast and let it shock his system back to normal. It didn’t help. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to be normal again.

  Grabbing the soap, he worked up a good lather on his washcloth and rubbed it against his chest. The scent of lavender enveloped him. Perfumed soap…he was washing with perfumed soap. Just what he needed to make his day complete. Hopefully, no one would notice…if he rinsed until he was a prune.

  * * *

  "This is when we went to Calico Ghost Town." Ian pointed to the picture, then delved into a rambling dissertation of all they had seen and done.

  "And this is when me and Mom went hiking in Joshua Tree National Park." There was a beautiful shot of the two of them on top of a giant boulder.

  "You climbed up there?"

  "Yeah, it wasn’t really very hard." Ian paused to consider a moment. "Well, Mom helped me over the really high rocks. We go hiking a lot."

  "What about Grandma?" The unasked question—who took the picture?

  "Oh, Grandma doesn’t go. She hates hiking."

  "Then, who took the picture?" Another unasked question—what man took the picture?

  "Ellen did. She hates hiking, too, but Timmy wanted to go so she went with us. Timmy is my best friend. We’re in Cub Scouts together."

  A car pulled to a stop before the house. "Grandma’s here." Ian jumped down and raced for the door. He tugged it open before Emma could reach it.

  "Grandma, come look. My dad’s home!"

  Her eyes brightened with Ian’s excitement as she hugged him. "I heard. Mom called me."

  Oscar trotted up for attention.

  She laughed and scratched him behind the ears. "What a pretty boy you are."

  Oscar was in love. He immediately dropped to the tile floor and offered his belly for scratching.

  Traitor.

  "That’s Oscar. He’s mine and my dad’s dog." He grabbed her hand and tugged her further into the room. "Come on, Grandma. Mom has to work this weekend. Dad made us dinner. We’re having spaghetti and meatballs. I helped."

  "It smells delicious." Her gaze fell on Phillip and her smile faltered. "Phillip."

 
"Emma." He set aside the album. "Dinner’s about ready. Would you like a salad?"

  "That would be nice. Thank you."

  Polite and correct. What else could they say with Ian present? It made for an awkward meal. He watched the time tick by until it was bedtime for Ian, then exercised another parental right which had been denied him—he read a story and tucked him in.

  "I love you, Dad. I’m glad you’re here with us now," Ian said with a sleepy smile.

  "Me, too. I love you, Ian. Have a good sleep." A final tuck, hug, and kiss, then he eased the door shut and marched down the hall to confront Emma.

  She raised a hand before he could draw breath to begin. "This is between the two of you. Leave me out of it."

  "That’s not good enough, Emma. I thought we were closer than that. You and James were like parents to me. You know that. How could you—"

  "James was dead, Phillip. It was all I could do to survive that. Each day was another day barely getting by, another day without the love of my life, another day of tears and misery. As I said, this is between you and Rowan. I’m the grandmother, not the referee."

  "I don’t understand, Emma. I loved her! How could she—"

  Emma shook her head. "Stop, Phillip. There is more to this mess than any one of us knows. You need to talk it out from start to finish with Rowan and hear her side of the story."

  "Fine. I’ll take it up with Rowan." He brushed by her to leave, but got no further than three steps when he saw Zach waiting for him in the living room with Mike Connors.

  "What the hell do you two want?"

  "Thought you could use a beer," Zach said.

  "Leave me alone." He tried to push between them.

  Zach snagged his arm. "I said…we thought you could use a beer."

  Phillip jerked free. "Sounds like I’m going to have one whether I want it or not."

  "Hey, this is me. Come on. I know how you feel."

  "You have no idea how I feel," Phillip ground out through barred teeth.

  Zach held his place. "True, but I have a good imagination. Always very important for an attorney." He grinned and raised one eyebrow in the patented Zach smile. "How ’bout that beer? It’ll calm you down. I’ll buy."

  "You don’t have enough money to calm me down."

  "Humor me then."

  "Or the two of you will wrestle me down to the nearest bar?"

  Mike stood. "Something like that." He clapped a hand onto Phillip’s back. "Let’s go. You can kill her later."

  Phillip arched an eyebrow. "Or you? You knew about this and didn’t tell me. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if you were the one who removed the information from my copy of her record book." His eyes narrowed.

  Mike shrugged. "I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. If something was missing…well, that’s what you get for not making your own copies of your client’s files." His voice was sarcastic, a pointed reminder of Phillip’s earlier rudeness.

  "Very funny, but I’m not laughing." Phillip curled his hand into a fist. He wanted to smash something. Mike’s face was a tempting target.

  He forced himself to relax. This wasn’t Mike’s fault. It was no one’s business but his and Rowan’s. Maybe the two idiots were right. Maybe a quick drink would calm him down. Everything was coming to a boil—events, his emotions. It was knocking him off-guard and out of control.

  "All right. Let’s go. I don’t want to be out all night. I still have some unfinished business to take care of."

  Zach swung open the door. "Just a beer or two." A wicked look danced across his face. "I’ve got to tell you, Phillip. You’re the best smelling date I’ve had in a long time."

  Phillip shot him a glare and folded himself into the back seat of Mike’s battered old blue Celica. The back seats were definitely not made to accommodate tall passengers.

  They took him to a small bar in the center of Twentynine Palms where the only music was the constant click of pool balls and the murmur of the customers. There, in a corner booth, two beers turned into three, then four, then Phillip lost count. Before he realized it, he was pouring out his guts.

  Zach and his incessant drive to know all had somehow managed to pry loose the entire story. As much as Phillip had wanted to keep this inside, the words flowed—not just the ones about hurt, betrayal, and revenge, but also the desire, the need, the love still burning beneath his hatred. His friends listened with little comment, and in the dark recesses of his mind, Phillip knew they wouldn’t judge him.

  "Unwinding from your hectic week?"

  Bleary-eyed, Phillip looked up at the man standing in front of their table. He looked familiar.

  Who is this guy?

  Then it clicked. It was Malcolm Collins. The NCIS agent who had botched the evidence gathering in Rowan’s case.

  "Mind if I join you?" He sat down without waiting for a reply.

  Phillip watched Zach and Mike exchange a look before Mike said, "As a matter of fact, we do. We were having a private conversation."

  Collins smiled. "Just one beer. I’m expecting some friends any minute." He motioned to the waitress, then turned that sly smile of his back their way. "Interesting day, huh?"

  Phillip stared a hole through the man and offered no response. The slight didn’t faze Collins.

  "Still think your client’s innocent, counselor?"

  Mike leaned forward. "First of all, Malcolm, you know as well as I do that you don’t ever talk about cases in public. Secondly, these personal events have nothing to do with Rowan McKinley’s innocence or guilt."

  "Don’t they?" Malcolm slugged down his drink. "Seems pretty clear to me. The only thing I haven’t found out is who her accomplice is."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Phillip’s voice echoed in his ears. Had he shouted? Apparently not, since a glance around didn’t reveal any eavesdroppers.

  "Well, counselor, it seems pretty clear that the recent attempt on Staff Sergeant McKinley’s life wasn’t an attempt on her life but on yours."

  "What?" The word came out in chorus from the three of them.

  Collins rested his elbows on the table and pressed forward. "Check out this scenario… She killed one man, what’s another? She knows she’s guilty. She knows she’s going to jail until hell freezes over. She has a kid she obviously doesn’t want the father to know about. She’s determined that the father not get his hands on the kid after she’s locked up so she concocts this scheme to get him here as her defense counsel then sets up a hit."

  Phillip stared at the man for less time than it took to blink, then tossed back a belly-shaking laugh.

  "You should be writing fiction, Malcolm," Mike said.

  "Should I?" he said with a smirk. "Have any of you asked yourselves how well you really know Rowan McKinley? This gentleman doesn’t know her at all." He indicated Zach, then pointed at Mike. "You’ve only known her about a year. As for her intrepid counselor here, we know how well he knows her, but people change and that was a long time ago."

  Nine years to be exact. Phillip’s laughter faded. He hated Collins for sowing even the smallest seed of doubt. Rowan had lied about Ian, but lying about murder entered a whole new ball game. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Would she?

  Collins polished off his drink. "Thanks for the company. I see my friends now. Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen."

  "What a bunch of crap," Zach said after the agent left not only them, but the bar as well.

  "I’ll say," Mike grumbled. "He stuck us with paying for his drink."

  "Guess that divorce is taking more out of him than we thought." Phillip tossed down the rest of his beer and set the bottle in the center of the table. "I need to go back to Rowan’s house and get my car. Someone else is going to have to drive me from there back to the base." He fought a wave of dizziness. "I need to talk to Rowan."

  "Not a problem." Zach slid out from behind the booth. "I’ll make sure you get to her. But you have to promise me something."

  "What’s that?"
<
br />   "No matter what happens tonight, you won’t lose your temper."

  When Phillip hesitated, Zach leaned forward. "Promise."

  "All right, all right. Let’s get out of this place."

  The combination of beer, the cool dryness of the nighttime desert air, and the rocking motion of the car made Phillip drowsy. He fought sleep with every mile, determined to stay alert enough to have it out with Rowan. He rehearsed words, played out scenarios. She was nothing more than a witness on the stand—a witness whose composure he was determined to break.

  He jerked upright when Mike turned off the engine. Sleep had claimed him after all. Rubbing his eyes clear, he reached for the door handle, then froze. Rowan’s van was parked beside his car.

  "What the…"

  Mike kept the electric locks in place. "The battalion commander removed her restriction this afternoon."

  "He can’t do that without—"

  "He can do whatever he wants," Mike said. "He’s a lieutenant colonel."

  "Fine. Open the damned door!"

  Zach draped his arm over the front seat and swiveled to pin Phillip with a direct stare. For once, his tone was dead serious. "You promised…remember."

  "That’s before I found out that I was being deliberately led around by the nose while Rowan was released. Now open the door! I have a right to an explanation."

  "Ask yourself this, Phillip. Is anything she says tonight going to make a difference to you now? It happened. It’s over. It’s in the past, and you can’t change that. Accept your son and the life you can have together now and go on."

  "Open…the…door!"

  "Your word as an officer and a gentleman?"

  Phillip flopped back in the seat. It was no use. Zach was about a million times more stubborn than any other individual he knew. It was either make the promise or stay here and rot. And he felt too drunk and tired to spend the night in the back of a Matchbox car.

  "Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "I promise." Until I get inside that house.

  Chapter 10

  * * *

  Through the living room window, Rowan watched Phillip unfold himself from the backseat of Captain Connors’ car. He’d been drinking and it showed. Each step was cautious as if he thought the ground would collapse beneath him. So unlike his normally confident stride where he owned the world and the world knew it. If current circumstances hadn’t been so dire, the sight would have been funny.