Wishing Lake

by Regina Hart

  “When are you going to propose?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” One hurdle down, another to go. But the second was the biggest he’d ever faced. “I wanted to wait until after the election, when she’d have more time to relax and think about our future.”

  “Good idea.” Ean nodded. “It’s been a week since the election. That should be enough time.”

  “I never dreamed I’d have this chance. I want the proposal to be special.” Alonzo rose. His legs were shaky with relief.

  Ean stood, too. “You’re setting the bar really high for Quincy, Jack, and me.”

  “Megan, Ramona, and Audra are special ladies.”

  “They are.” Ean offered Alonzo his hand. “I’m sure you’ll continue to make my mother very happy. But if you ever hurt her, I’ll find you.”

  “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  Ean released Alonzo’s hand and stepped back. “Good luck, although you won’t need it.”

  “Thanks.” Alonzo inclined his head, then turned to leave.

  Actually, he could use all the luck he could get. What could he say or do to help Doreen realize he didn’t want to replace Paul? He wanted them to build a future of their own.

  “What are you doing here?” Darius had opened his front door to find his father outside his apartment Thursday night.

  “Is that any way to greet your father?” Simon seemed surprised by the lack of welcome.

  “Seriously, what are you doing here?” In the four years since he’d been living in the apartment, Darius’s parents had never been to his home. He’d thought it was understood they never would. This was his Simon-and-Ethel-Free Zone.

  “We should spend more time together.”

  So now he’d have to watch his Cleveland Browns NFL team continue its losing tradition during the Thursday night game while Simon competed for his attention? Was there no threshold to the pain a Browns fan had to endure? Darius stood back to let his father in.

  Simon followed the beige wall-to-wall carpet into the living room. He glanced at the mahogany coffee table and matching end tables, the black leather sofa and matching recliner, and the black entertainment center and bookcase.

  “What’s for dinner?” Simon made himself comfortable in the recliner.

  Darius squelched his resentment and locked the front door before joining his father in the living room. “I’ve already eaten.”

  “What?” The older man checked his watch. “It’s only eight o’clock.”

  Darius settled on the far side of the sofa. “What’s with you and Mom? The other day she criticized me for eating lunch before one.”

  “You spoke with your mother?” Simon’s expression brightened. “Did she ask about me?”

  Was Simon delusional? “She kicked you out of the house, remember? Why would she ask about you?”

  Simon gaped at him. “She didn’t kick me out. It was my decision to leave.”

  Darius wasn’t going to argue semantics. He returned his attention to his forty-eight-inch flat-screen television. “Listen, Dad, if you want to watch football with me, fine. But don’t talk during the game. It’s annoying.”

  Simon looked at the television. “Who are the Browns playing?”

  “The Bills.” Hadn’t he just asked his father not to talk?

  Silence lasted a few plays this time before his father once again spoke. “So how’s your mother?”

  “Why don’t you ask her?” Darius grabbed the remote from his coffee table, pointed it toward the television, and pumped up the volume.

  It was obvious Simon was bored and lonely, but Darius wasn’t interested in playing twenty questions with his father while his team struggled for a winning season.

  “I tried.” Simon raised his voice to be heard above the game. “She won’t return my calls.”

  “Can you blame her?” Darius’s eyes were on the television, but his mind was in the past.

  “What does that mean?”

  Darius wasn’t surprised his father was so clueless, but did he really want to get into this now while his team was fighting for football respect?

  Why not?

  Darius used the remote to mute the game, then shifted on the sofa to confront his father. “Put yourself in Mom’s position. Three months ago, after thirty-four years of marriage, she discovered her husband has a seventeen-year-old son she’s never heard of much less seen. This is after years of your denying you’d ever been unfaithful.”

  Simon shot from the recliner. His body was stiff as he pointed a finger at Darius. “I made one mistake. She’s going to throw away thirty-four years of marriage over one mistake?”

  “Which mistake are you admitting to?”

  “The one I made.” Simon lowered his arm. Tension still vibrated around him.

  “You’ve made a hell of a lot more than one.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  With his fingers, Darius counted off his father’s transgressions. “You married a woman you didn’t love—”

  “I loved your mother when I married her.”

  “You lied to June when you told her you weren’t married—”

  “I never told her I was single.”

  “You had at least one extramarital affair—”

  “June came on to me.”

  Darius unclenched his teeth. Simon was a piece of work. “You never took responsibility for Noah.”

  “June never told me she needed my help.”

  Darius stared at Simon. Was he serious? “That doesn’t matter.”

  Simon raised his arm again. “None of this would have happened if you’d minded your damn business. What did you think you were doing?”

  Darius wished Simon would stop pointing fingers at him, literally and figuratively. “I was thinking where there’s smoke, there’s fire. I was aware of the rumors. I’d heard the whispers for years, so I did some research.”

  “You mean you went digging into my personal business.” Simon glowered at him. “I hope you’re happy. You destroyed our family.”

  “No, Dad. You did, years ago.” Darius stood and walked to him. “We’ve never been a family. Just three people who didn’t have anyone else. But you destroyed even that with your lies.”

  “I’m telling you, I never lied.” Simon’s agitation increased. He was almost spitting his words.

  “Why didn’t you tell Mom about Noah?”

  “It wasn’t any of her business.”

  Darius’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead. “She’s your wife. You don’t think she had a right to know another woman was giving birth to your son?”

  “It had nothing to do with her.” Simon spoke through his teeth.

  “Apparently, she disagrees because she kicked you out.” Darius returned to his seat at the opposite end of the sofa. “Oh, I forgot. She didn’t kick you out. You left.”

  And who knew whether June Cale was the only woman Simon had had an affair with? She was the only affair they could prove.

  “You’d better watch how you speak to me, Darius. I’m still your father.”

  “You’re Noah’s father, too.” And how many other children? “When are you going to get to know him?”

  “I came here to spend time with you, but all you want to do is argue.” Simon crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You came here because you’re lonely, but that’s your fault. You never got to know us—or Noah. You were just a boarder in the house with me and Mom.”

  “I don’t have to stay here and listen to this shit.” Simon turned away from Darius. “You’re just like your mother.”

  His father stomped across the living room. The threshold shook as he slammed the front door.

  Accusing him of being like his mother didn’t upset Darius. He would have been more upset to be compared to his father.

  CHAPTER 11

  “I do love Doreen’s soups. Do you think she uses real dog meat?” Ms. Helen spooned up more chicken stew at the table she shared with Darius at B
ooks & Bakery Tuesday afternoon, the ninth day of December.

  “Probably.” Darius stilled. His forehead creased in a frown. “Wait. What did you say?”

  “What’s on your mind, Darius? And don’t bother to say nothing because I know it’s something.”

  Of course Ms. Helen could tell something was troubling him. She knew him better than anyone. Wasn’t that the reason he’d asked her to lunch?

  Stalling for time, Darius lowered his soupspoon and glanced around the café. It was full but not as crowded as it typically was around lunchtime. He and Ms. Helen had been lucky to get a table. They’d arrived just after 11:00 a.m. Fortunately, Ms. Helen had been available for an early lunch.

  He turned back to his soup. “My parents are driving me crazy.”

  “They’ve been doing that since you were old enough to realize they generally talked nonsense.” Ms. Helen was right about that.

  “I thought their separation would make it better, but it’s gotten worse.”

  “That was bound to happen.”

  Darius was caught off guard. “Why?”

  “I’ve told you before, your parents argue because they’re insecure of each other’s feelings.” Ms. Helen stirred her stew. “And now that Ethel has met the proof of Simon’s infidelity in Noah, she’s increased the hostilities.”

  Darius arched a brow. “You think they’re in love?”

  “That’s why your mother’s furious and your father’s still trying to impress her.” The former university professor was in full oracle mode now. Past experience had taught Darius he’d need the patience of Job to wait on her answers.

  “How is that possible?” Darius ignored his lunch. “My entire life, they’ve never had a kind word for each other.”

  Ms. Helen looked puzzled. “All this time, did you think your parents married because your mother was pregnant?”

  “What was I supposed to think?”

  “Your parents didn’t have to get married, Darius. They wanted to get married. Then they realized they weren’t ready for the commitment.”

  “I thought they hated each other.” And him. Revelation after revelation. Ms. Helen was rewriting his past. “What are you saying? For my parents to stop arguing, they have to admit they’re in love?”

  “No, they have to forgive each other and let go of the past.” Ms. Helen sipped her lemonade.

  “That’s easier said than done.”

  “I’ve been in love several times. Love isn’t easy. Nothing worth having is.”

  “But how do you forget that your spouse lied to you much less had an affair? Could anyone’s love survive that?”

  “I don’t know.” Ms. Helen contemplated her soup as though she could see the past. “I remember how in love your parents seemed at first.”

  “And then I was born.”

  Ms. Helen’s attention shot to Darius. She gave him a fierce look. “Their unhappy marriage is not your fault.”

  “But it was after I was born that everything went to hell.” He pushed the words past the lump in his throat.

  “You’re not responsible for that. They are.” Ms. Helen was adamant.

  Darius reached past his untouched sandwich for his glass of iced tea. He drank it as he let his gaze circle the café again.

  Outside, it was cold and dreary. But Books & Bakery was always welcoming. Or maybe he was projecting his feelings for his friends onto the shop. Ean, Jackson, Audra, Alonzo, and Ramona sat on bar stools, chatting with Doreen and Megan, who stood on the other side of the counter. When his friends had first arrived, they’d stopped at his table to say hello and to pay their respects to Ms. Helen, the queen holding court. His tension eased as he concentrated on his friends.

  Darius set down his glass. “If my father loves my mother, why would he be unfaithful to her?”

  “That’s a conversation for you and your father. It’s not my place to involve myself.”

  “I’m involving you.” Darius was anxious to understand his father’s motives. Could that help him understand his own? “Please, Ms. Helen, what do you think?”

  Several beats of silence passed before she answered. “Your father isn’t a courageous man. I think Simon’s affairs were his way of trying to escape his situation even though he didn’t want to leave Ethel.”

  “His way of having his cake and eating it, too.” Darius nodded. That was a match for Simon’s egotistical nature.

  “If you want them to stop driving you nuts, you’ll have to help them find a way to forgive each other.”

  Darius frowned at his sandwich and half-eaten soup. “How would I do that?”

  “I haven’t a clue. But you’ll think of something. You’ve always had good insight about people.” Ms. Helen pushed Darius’s plate closer to him. “In the meantime, you’ll need to keep your strength up.”

  Darius grunted. To accomplish a truce between his parents, he’d need more than insight. He’d need a miracle. Where would he find one in Trinity Falls?

  The moment Peyton entered her apartment Thursday evening, she stripped off her heather pantsuit and matching pumps and exchanged them for her most comfortable pair of olive green jeans, magenta V-neck sweater, and her fuzzy orange slippers. It had been a long day, made even longer by the dread she’d wrestled with since she’d awakened.

  Now wearing more comfortable clothing, Peyton paced her living room, cordless phone in hand. She rehearsed one more time what she would say to Bruce before tapping in his cell phone number.

  “This isn’t a good time.” Bruce sounded as though he was about to disconnect the call. What had she interrupted? It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered.

  “We need to talk.”

  Silence dropped on the other end of the line. Her stern tone must have surprised him. Good.

  “Hold on.” Muffled voices hissed in the background before he returned to the call. “What is it?” Bruce didn’t sound like a man who’d been separated for five months from the woman he loved.

  Peyton drew a breath, filling her lungs before plunging into the deep end. “I’d hoped to have this conversation during Thanksgiving break, but it can’t wait.”

  “So I gathered.” Bruce did sarcasm well.

  She paced away from her overstuffed silver love seat, past her sterling-silver-and-glass coffee table to her ebony lacquered bookcase. “I can’t marry you.”

  “Why not?”

  It wasn’t the tortured tone she could have hoped for, but boredom was better than the irritation she’d expected. She paced back to her coffee table. “Do you love me?”

  “What does that matter?”

  “It matters to me. A lot.” She dropped onto the love seat. “Why would you marry someone if you didn’t love her?”

  “We’re well suited.” Finger tapping in the background punctuated Bruce’s words. He had a tendency to keep rhythm to some internal beat with his fingers, a pen, a pencil, anything he could get his hands on. It was annoying.

  “In what way?”

  “In every way.” The tapping stopped. Bruce’s voice tensed. He was either losing patience or focus. A curious rustling sound came over the line.

  “Except the most important one.” Peyton stood to pace across the living room again. “We don’t love each other.”

  “Your parents approve of me.” His voice was breathless as he grasped at straws.

  “I know they do.” She leaned against her bookcase. “That’s the real reason you want to marry me, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t be paranoid, Peyton.”

  In the past, Bruce’s belittling tone would trigger her change of topic. Not today. She was stronger, less willing to be brushed aside. Less confrontation averse. Had her time in Trinity Falls done that?

  “Am I being paranoid, Bruce?” She returned to her seat on the sofa, crossing her legs. “My father’s a partner in the investment firm in which you want to build your career. My mother’s welcomed in the social circles in which you want to move. Marrying me would help your career a
nd your social standing. What would I get?”

  “That’s your paranoia talking again.” He knew all the buttons to push her temper. What he didn’t realize was his tactics no longer worked.

  “Paranoia would be my asking you about your relationship with your secretary.”

  “What?” Bruce’s tone changed. He sounded almost wary. “My relationship with Leila is strictly professional.”

  “Sure and fellatio isn’t really sex.” Peyton sensed his discomfort on the other end of the line. She’d hit a nerve. Being right wasn’t always a good thing.

  “We’ll continue this conversation when you return to New York for Thanksgiving.” Bruce’s words carried a bite. “Maybe by then you’ll have come to your senses.”

  “Is Leila getting impatient?”

  “Peyton—” He choked off her name.

  “The engagement is off, Bruce.” Her tone was flat.

  “What about Aruba? I’ve put down a deposit for the trip.”

  “I told you I wasn’t going to Aruba for Christmas.” Peyton sank onto the sofa planted between her bay windows and her coffee table. For once in her life, she had the upper hand. How empowering. “But your money doesn’t have to be wasted. Why don’t you take Leila?”

  “This is ridiculous. Hold on.”

  Peyton pressed her phone tight against her ear. Rustling and mumbled voices carried to her. Someone was with him in his office, someone they didn’t want her to hear.

  Bruce returned to the call. “We’ve been engaged for months. You agreed to be my wife.”

  “That’s right, your wife, not your ticket to the life you want. In return, you can’t even give me your fidelity.”

  “You’d get a husband.” Here was his snide tone again. “Men aren’t beating down your door with marriage proposals, even with your family’s connections. You’re thirty years old, Peyton. I’m saving you from the shelf.”

  Who even says things like that anymore? “If you can’t be faithful during our engagement, you’re not going to be faithful after we’re married.” Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it back.

  Did her father know of Bruce’s affair with Leila? If she could sense something was going on between her fiancé and his secretary, how could her father not? He worked twelve-hour days with them.