Daniel thought he knew the answer.
He read on, learning how much his mother had worried about him and eventually been hurt by his coldness. Yet she had never tried to raise a bridge, never explained herself to him.
Until that one conversation, when he should have listened harder than he had.
He found precious few other answers in the remainder of the letters. Billy’s, written on battlefields and in bouts of utter tedium, were touching and boyish. Hers, likely sent by return mail, had to have been saccharine if the tone of his was anything to go by. Believing that Josephine Fraser, even a very young Josephine Fraser, had written fulsome love letters strained Daniel’s imagination. Maybe Joe would believe more easily; although he knew better than anyone how stubborn she could be, he had also seen a more affectionate, playful side to the woman he’d called Nana Jo.
Finally, Daniel opened the jewelry box and reexamined his mother’s few, treasured pieces. Her first wedding ring was plain gold, inscribed With All My Love, Billy. Daniel had never seen it on her finger. In his memory, she’d worn the other, slightly more elaborate ring without an inscription, and a diamond engagement ring, too, given to her by Vern. She’d kept wearing them after the divorce, asking for the respect given to a married woman even though she went back to the last name Fraser.
No other rings. Robert Carson wouldn’t have given her one. Rings implied a promise.
Daniel fingered these three, wondering what they should do with them. None were hugely valuable. Engagement rings were sometimes handed down in families, but given the history of Josephine and Vernon Kane’s wedding, he for one would rather start afresh if Rebecca changed her mind.
Looking at the other pieces of jewelry, he decided to ask Joe what he thought. His own inclination would be to sell the lot, except perhaps for that first wedding ring. He thought she’d loved Billy Fraser. She’d treasured this ring and his war medal. It seemed…indecent to let it be melted down for gold.
Daniel felt a rush of anger, thinking about that diamond pendant upstairs in his wall safe, comparing it to these bits that were all his mother had ever owned. Sarah Carson had worn that glorious necklace to local society events, while Jo was putting Daniel’s new jeans and T-shirts on a credit card and paying them off five dollars at a time because her salary didn’t stretch far enough to afford them. Where was the justice in that?
Daniel was about to close the box when he saw the yellowing envelope on the bottom. He’d missed it the last time, when he and Joe had hastily gone through Mom’s things. Was this a letter she’d kept near, where she could take it out to look at easily?
But there was no address on the envelope, no postmark. And inside was a photograph rather than a letter. A snapshot of his young mother with Robert Carson. They were at the Presidio; the Golden Gate Bridge rose in the background. Having a carefree day away from anyone who would recognize and condemn them?
She was laughing, radiant as she looked up at the tall man who gazed down at her with an expression that sent goose bumps down Daniel’s arms.
Love. Goddamn it, it had to be love.
Sarah Carson had believed he intended to leave her, until he found out that she, too, was pregnant. Was this photo taken during the brief period when Josephine Fraser thought she would soon be marrying this man she had so unexpectedly come to love?
Daniel touched his mother’s face with the tip of a finger, the merest brush. He let out a ragged sound and was shocked to realize his face was wet.
These were his parents.
Glowing with happiness, while Sarah Carson sat at home, probably not yet suspecting that her husband’s heart had been given elsewhere.
Daniel remembered the photos Jenny had showed him of Robert and Sarah, including the one of their wedding, when they gazed at each other with quiet joy. Could a man love two women? Sarah wasn’t the beauty Josephine had been. Had Robert felt lust for his mistress, tenderness for his wife? And yet, Daniel remembered Joe telling him about the man he’d talked to at Josephine Fraser’s funeral, the man he had later realized was Robert Carson. He’d brought roses to lay on her casket, pale lilac, smelling like the perfume she wore when she dressed up. He wouldn’t have come to the funeral if he hadn’t kept her in his heart, would he? And yet, hadn’t there been love in the way he looked at his wife in that second photo Jenny showed him, the one taken when they were white-haired and their children raised and grown long ago?
Their children. One of whom was Jo’s baby, given away to find a better life, or maybe as a gift to the man she’d loved so deeply.
God. Daniel roughly wiped his cheeks. Answers? There weren’t any.
“YOU OKAY?” NAOMI ASKED quietly. Mal had run ahead of them into the fish-and-chips joint. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”
“Who could I be but myself?”
Her friend leveled a look at her. “You know what I mean.”
Rebecca hesitated. She’d kept functioning by pretending everything was fine. Finally she said, “I haven’t heard from Daniel in almost two weeks.”
“You said no.”
Naomi was the only person in the world Rebecca had told about his proposal. The only person she would tell. And even then she hadn’t confessed how many hundreds of times she’d questioned her decision. He couldn’t say the words, but did that necessarily mean he didn’t love her? He said, I missed you. Every goddamn day. Wasn’t that love?
To her friend, she said unhappily, “I know.”
Sounding tentative, her friend suggested, “You might be better off if he loses interest in seeing Malcolm.”
“But Malcolm wouldn’t.”
They were joining her son in line at the counter. Naomi lowered her voice, so that her words were just for Rebecca’s ears. “Now, there’s a change. You were so convinced you and Malcolm were a team. Weren’t you wishing, not that long ago, that you’d run off to the wilds of Montana or some such place?”
Rebecca rolled her eyes.
“Can I have clam chowder, Mom?” Malcolm asked, tugging at her hand. “And lots of crackers? You can ask them for extras, right?”
“I’ll ask them for extras,” she agreed. He liked the chowder but not the clams, so mostly he dipped the crackers in and ate them.
Malcolm dominated the conversation at the table. He was in his element; Aunt Nomi was one of his favorite people in the world, and she was hanging on his every word.
She didn’t mention Daniel again to Rebecca, even obliquely, until she was dropping them off at home. Then her last words were, “When you want to talk, I’m here.”
Rebecca nodded, trying to smile but failing abysmally. Don’t cry. I can’t cry. How could I ever explain to Mal?
“What did Aunt Nomi mean?” he asked loudly as she unlocked the front door. “What would you want to talk about? We talked lots today.”
This smile was steady enough to fool an undiscerning four-year-old. “We did, didn’t we? She just meant girl talk. Like after her Friday-night dates.”
“Oh.” Those didn’t interest him. “Do I gotta take a nap?”
“Yes, you have to lie down. If you don’t fall asleep, that’s okay. You can look at a book.”
She said that almost every day. And almost every day he dropped off to sleep the minute his head hit the pillow. Not for long; Malcolm’s naps were getting shorter and she guessed would soon be history, appropriately enough since he’d be in kindergarten come fall. She planned to register him for full-day classes, one of several options, to match her schedule.
She was trying so very hard these days to calmly focus on the life she’d laid out, on the plans she made on her own. For days and days after Daniel left that night, some part of her had clung to the ridiculous hope that he would be back. That he would be able to say, “I love you.”
But the hope had withered, until all that was left was a tiny, hard kernel that had lodged in her chest. It felt like the husk left when a seed had blown away, still solid even after its vital purpose was finishe
d.
When a week went by and then another without even a phone call from him, and Malcolm started asking questions, Rebecca had to wonder whether Daniel had ever been the man she’d slowly, reluctantly begun to believe in. Out of anger at her, would he really disappoint the boy who had begun to trust him? She didn’t want to think he could be so cruel, but wasn’t that the trouble with Daniel? He was so hard to know. So…opaque.
She was just about to call him that evening and give him a piece of her mind when the phone rang.
Malcolm jumped off the stool where he’d been helping butter French bread. “Can I get it, Mom? Can I get it?”
Her heartbeat sped up for no reason. “Do I have a choice?”
He grinned at her and fumbled the phone. “Hello?” Then, joyously, “Dad! You haven’t called in a really long time! Mom said prob’ly you were just busy, but you come see us every weekend. Why didn’t you?”
It was agony hearing only one side of the conversation. She could make out Daniel’s deep rumble, but no words.
“Okay,” Mal said finally. “Mom, we aren’t doing anything Sunday, are we?”
She shook her head. We? Or was Malcolm the one who wanted to include her in any outings?
“Here’s Mom,” her son said, and thrust the phone at her.
Rebecca wiped off her hands and took it. “Daniel?”
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry for the silence.”
Very evenly, she said, “I assumed you were busy.”
“No, it’s been…more complicated than that.”
“Complicated?” she echoed.
“Yeah. I’m hoping to see you without Malcolm. Talk to you.”
“Didn’t we say everything already?” She went still. “Or is this about something else?”
He wouldn’t offer to give up his parental rights altogether, would he? Now, after Malcolm had gotten to know him and accepted him as Dad?
How could the idea seem so appalling, when only a few short months ago her greatest dread had been that Daniel would discover he had a son?
“I have things I’d rather not say over the phone.” His voice could be maddeningly uninflected when he chose. This was one of those times. “Will you give me a hearing, Rebecca?”
What could she say but, “Yes, of course. When did you have in mind?”
“Saturday? Day or evening, whatever’s better for you.”
They might as well have been discussing when to hand off Malcolm for their next father-son outing. Something that would soon be routine.
“Malcolm has another birthday party Saturday. This time, thank goodness, at the birthday boy’s house. I’m dropping him off at eleven.”
“I’ll be at your place right after eleven, then,” he said, voice deepening but still constrained.
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll see you then.”
When she set the phone back in the cradle, her hand was shaking.
And I thought the past two weeks were hard.
This one would be agony. What was important enough for him to say that he had so formally scheduled a time with her? Why, oh, why, couldn’t he have just dropped by, surprising her, and gotten it over with?
Would he still want her if she said, “I was wrong?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DANIEL FLEXED HIS FINGERS on the steering wheel as he drove. He focused briefly on his hands and they went still. A minute later, he realized he was doing it again. One more in a line of nervous tics he seemed to have developed these past weeks.
Yesterday, at the office, his personal assistant had suddenly said, “What the hell’s with you, Daniel? You’re making me nervous!”
“What…?” He had looked down to see that his fingers were rat-tat-tatting on the desktop in time to some inner anxiety. “Sorry,” he’d said, and stopped.
At home, he’d gotten out the soft juggling balls he’d had since his college years and taken to juggling again. He could think better, with those damn balls flying, than he could staring into space.
It was the solitude that was getting to him, he had decided. Which was a strange thing for a loner like him to be thinking. But getting back together with Rebecca—making love with her again—had showed him one thing: he was living a sort of half life. Engaged at work, satisfied there, but in stasis the rest of the time. He had no personal life. Had convinced himself he didn’t need one.
Now he knew he was wrong.
Knew his mother had been wrong. She had sacrificed too much for Robert Carson. Maybe what he’d felt for her, he had called love, too; Daniel couldn’t be sure. But the reality was, Robert had put another woman first. Had loved her more, when it got right down to it. And rather than giving her heart to another man, Jo Fraser had stubbornly clung to her loneliness. Her determination to suffer in the name of love hadn’t been healthy for either Adam or Daniel.
Yeah, she’d loved Adam, but maybe more because he was Robert’s son than because he was Adam. And whatever love she’d been able to give Daniel had been a washed-out version of the real thing, too insubstantial for even a child to trust. His suspicion was that she really had thought he was Vernon Kane’s son, not Robert’s. For whatever reason, she hadn’t seen Robert in his face, and so she couldn’t give him the real deal. By that time, seeing herself in him wasn’t enough. Maybe she felt unlovable.
Fingers rhythmically gripping the steering wheel again as the highway descended toward Montara, Daniel gave a harsh laugh. God, did he know that feeling.
He wished he had the slightest idea what Rebecca would say today. Three weeks ago, he’d convinced himself that all she wanted were romantic words. Figure out whether he could say them with feeling, and he was home free.
It wasn’t until he was lying sleepless one night, staring at the city light seeping around his curtains, that he’d realized the real problem. He’d balked at saying “I love you” to Rebecca, but was confident he could promise forever and a day without a qualm—and keep the promise. Why would he ever want another woman, when he had her?
If you really have her, whispered a voice in his head.
He’d moved restlessly, irritably in bed. What did that mean? If? Once his ring was on her finger, she was installed in his house, mother of his child, maybe pregnant with another baby…
He felt cold inside. His mother had given him all the trappings, too. Never let him go without. Never missed a parent-teacher meeting, chauffeured him to the activities that mattered to him. Seemed pleased with good grades, had talks with him about bad ones. But distance had opened inexorably between them anyway, starting before he could even remember. Because she didn’t really love him.
What was it Rebecca had said?
It’s not the word that matters so much. It’s what lies behind it.
She had grappled for an explanation. He couldn’t remember how she’d put it exactly, but it was all about how, without love that went bone deep, people drifted away from each other. Mere liking, sexual attraction, a sense of obligation, none of these made for the same level of commitment.
That was what he’d really been looking for in his mother’s papers and photos, he thought, lying there in the dark. Some evidence that, contrary to what he’d always believed, she really had loved him.
What he’d come up with was a big, I don’t know. Or maybe it was, Yeah, probably, but not enough. She’d given too much to Robert Carson to have anything left over for her second son, because he wasn’t Robert’s.
How disappointed had she been? he wondered rather clinically. When he was born with red hair instead of Robert’s blond or Vern’s brown hair. When she saw no sign to tell her whose child he was. Had she felt relief, because his face wouldn’t torment her with what she’d lost, as Adam’s very existence must have? Disappointment? Regret?
All of the above?
It didn’t matter now. What did matter was how Rebecca felt. Because what he’d realized, drifting through that half life, was that he needed the damn words, too. “Sure, I like you, Malcolm gives us som
ething important in common and, oh, yeah, the sex is great,” was not what he needed to hear from her. It wasn’t enough. He felt incredibly dense to have thought it was all she needed to hear from him.
Today, where Highway 101 curved treacherously along Devil’s Slide, he’d stolen a look over the crumbling cliff to the ocean hammering the rocks far below and recognized the abyss he had been envisioning in front of him. If she didn’t love him, nothing could save him from that gaping, dangerous emptiness.
And what made him think she did? That she could, when no one else ever had?
Damn, was he scared.
He realized he had passed El Granada without even glancing to his left at Cabrillo Heights. Open, fallow fields lay to each side of the highway. He could see Half Moon Bay ahead.
If she said no today, how could he come back tomorrow to pick up Malcolm, seeing the emptiness that his life would be spreading before him?
By God, he thought grimly, he’d be here anyway. No matter what, his son wouldn’t grow up with the slightest doubt about whether his father cared.
Don’t think about it.
Heart hammering, he made the last few turns. Her car wasn’t in her driveway yet. He parked at the curb, turned off the engine and set the emergency brake, then sat there.
Nothing in his life had ever mattered as much as this did. And he’d never been so out of his element.
He waited for a very long five minutes before he saw her car coming in his rearview mirror and got out as she pulled into the driveway.
She climbed out and shut her car door, facing him as he came up the driveway toward her. She looked…good. Better than good. Her legs were long and slender in black leggings or thick tights of some kind. Over them, she wore a fluffy, deep red sweater that came down to midthigh and had a rolled collar that bared her collarbone and throat. Her hair was up in that ballet bun she so often wore, long dangling earrings sparkling with gold and ruby red, too. Her expression was utterly composed, but also wary.
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