Pulling Home (That Second Chance)

by Campisi, Mary

  Grant opened the door to his BMW and Audra slid in. “And now you, young lady,” he said, opening Kara’s door. She scooted inside and buckled up. When he’d pulled out of the lot, he asked, “Pizza?”

  “Yes!” Kara screeched from the back seat, correcting to a more subdued, “Please,” when Audra cast a warning look.

  “Pizza it is. I know this great little place on the west side of the city. You’ll love it.”

  Grant was right. Mama Petroni’s thick crust mushroom pizza was even better than the little haunt she and Christian claimed had the best pizza in the world. It felt a bit too much like a family with the three of them tucked in a corner booth, knees touching, faces illuminated by red-globed candles. It’s only pizza, she assured herself, though after the second slice, she began to wonder if Grant weren’t trying to promise more than just a great pizza. When Kara left them to study her new obsession—a seventies jukebox tucked in the corner of the restaurant—Grant turned to Audra and said, “She’s a great girl.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  He toyed with a straw wrapper, folding it over and over into a design. “I always thought I’d have two or three kids by the time I reached thirty-five.”

  “Men aren’t on a biological clock the way women are. For Heaven’s sake, men can have children into their seventies, eighties even.”

  He lifted his gaze and those Robert Redford eyes captured hers. “But you have to find the right partner and that’s not so easy.”

  And sometimes the right partner turns out to be the wrong partner.

  “When I lost Jennifer I thought I’d never meet anyone else, but sometimes, when you least expect it, the right one comes along.”

  “Grant—”

  “I’m a patient man.” His fingers brushed her knuckles. “I’m just glad you’re staying.”

  How could she tell him despite his kindness, his good looks, and his intelligence, he wasn’t the one? Her subconscious kicked in. He’s not Jack, it tormented. Nobody’s Jack.

  “Besides,” Grant continued, covering her hand with his, “my sister would kill me if I jumped in line ahead of her. She’s been tracking your brother-in-law since the second she saw him.”

  “Really?” Torture me with the details.

  “Absolutely. Jack’s ignored Leslie’s threats and ploys to get a ring out of him so what happened to make him cave?”

  “I don’t know.” Why had Leslie had to threaten him?

  He slid a smile her way and Audra saw why women fell over themselves to get to one of those smiles. “I think you’re behind it.”

  “Me?” she squeaked.

  “Definitely.” He tilted his blond head and studied her. “Hey, don’t look so scared. I know that big bad brother-in-law’s intimidating, but if he tries to bother you, come to me.” His tone flipped from teasing to serious.

  “Thank you.” She was such a fraud. Jack had never bothered her that she hadn’t wanted to be bothered, even if she protested.

  “You are most welcome.” He spotted Kara approaching and withdrew his hand. “I meant what I said before. I think you’re responsible for Jack’s sudden change of heart. You lost your husband. Now he sees life’s too short to wait.”

  ***

  He knew why she was here, which made what he must do even more difficult. He’d avoided the meeting for three days, excusing away the time with three weddings, a funeral, and a baptism. Still, she persisted.

  Finally, he agreed on ten o’clock Friday morning, with the understanding he had half an hour. He didn’t like pushing away a person in need. After all, a man of the cloth welcomed lost sheep back to the fold, did he not? But this sheep wanted information which could destroy whole families, nay whole doctrines, and he could not, no he would not acquiesce.

  When his assistant ushered Audra into his study at exactly ten o’clock—not a minute earlier as per his request—he made certain he had his back turned to the door, his attention focused on his violets. His flowers carried him through this turmoil, settling a peace and grace on him which he’d only found one other place—prayer.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Pastor Richot.”

  Yes, indeed she had her mother’s voice. Soft. Melodic. Innocent. August Richot turned and greeted her with a smile he’d practiced these past three days. He must not give any indication he knew the truth. Lives depended on it. “Hello, my dear,” he said, gazing into eyes the same hue and sparkle as Corrine Valentine’s. “I apologize for the delay in meeting.”

  He moved from behind the desk and clasped her hands. Indeed, she looked exactly like her mother. “Please”—he released her hands and gestured to the chair—“make yourself comfortable.”

  He sat behind his desk, opting for distance which might make her less able to detect the truth, or untruth as it were. Dear Lord, forgive me for what I am about to do. Give me strength in Your most infinite wisdom, to carry out this deed in Your name, oh Most Holy One.

  “As you know, my daughter Kara was diagnosed with a condition known as Chiari malformation which required brain surgery.”

  Poor innocent. “I was deeply saddened to hear of such misfortune. You’re a very strong woman, Audra, and our prayers remain with you. Alice asked us to put your daughter’s name on our prayer list as well as special mention during church services. The women’s guild offered to bring meals, but your mother-in-law squelched that idea. Alice said if there was cooking to be done, it was going to be done by her.”

  “That sounds like Alice.”

  “How old are you, child?” He was only buying time. He knew exactly how old she was.

  “Twenty-nine.” She shifted in her chair and took a deep breath.

  Here it comes. Don’t change your expression, don’t act alarmed. Just breathe and pull your lips into a faint smile. “Yes?”

  “You know my mother wasn’t married and she never talked about my father, but there were enough names tossed around, it could have been anybody.”

  It was only one man. “People can be rather harsh and cruelty abounds, especially for those unable or unwilling to defend themselves.”

  Her lower lip began to quiver, but she stopped it by clamping it with her upper teeth. “When I came here, I believed she had no idea who my father was but then I met Doris O’Brien and now I think otherwise.”

  Oh, Doris, why can’t you let this go? Corrine would have forgiven your treachery. God’s forgiven you. Why can’t you forgive yourself?

  Audra Valentine picked at a spot on her slacks, her eyes downcast as she continued, “Doris told me she made up the stories about my mother and all those other men. She said she wanted a piece of my mother’s popularity.” When she lifted her head, her eyes were wet. “She told me my mother confided in you and Doris thinks you know who my father is.”

  August clutched the edge of the desk and waited for his racing heart to quiet. I cannot give you the man’s name. “Do you know Doris is a paranoid schizophrenic? She has bouts of paranoia where she thinks everyone is out to poison her. At one time or another throughout the years, she’s accused half this town of trying to do her in. Other times, she’s appeared about town dressed in nothing but a bra and panties. She’s also delusional. The only way she can stay out of an institution is with twenty-four hour care and as long as she doesn’t become a menace to herself or others.”

  “I know she has problems, but there are times when she knows what she’s talking about.”

  I’m sorry I have to do this to you, Doris. Forgive me. “Perhaps.” He raised his shoulders and shrugged. “For every time she’s actually lucid, there are twenty-five when she’s not, and yet you’d swear she was. Especially regarding the past. That’s what we’re talking about here, isn’t it? An event that took place almost thirty years ago?”

  Corrine’s daughter shook her head. Amazing, how even such a small gesture was so like her mother. “I believe Doris,” she said. “She told me to see Father Benedict and he broke down and confessed to kissing my mother and being half in l
ove with her. Doris O’Brien did not make that up.”

  Oh, Bartholomew. One fall from grace had burdened his soul and atrophied his ability to forgive himself or others. August nodded and said in a gentle voice, “Father Benedict is not your father.”

  “Of course not. But Doris said you might know who was.” She clutched the edge of the desk and pleaded, “Please. My daughter’s life could depend on it.”

  Lord, forgive me. One life in exchange for a whole town. Why must this be laid at my doorstep? Heaven and Our Lord, Jesus Christ, grant me absolution for this most grievous offense. “I wish I could help you, Audra. But I can’t.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  Lord, guide me in Your most infinite wisdom. What do I do? Lead me and I will follow. Lord, hear me, I beseech You. He opened his mouth and the knowledge he’d held inside so many years spilled out before he realized what he’d said. “I knew the man. He loved her, but he was married with a family.”

  Chapter 25

  “I didn’t do it, Audra. I swear.”—Howard Krozer

  ON EDEN STREET HEAD WRITER PULLS FROM OWN LIFE FOR STORY

  Ever heard the name Audra Valentine Wheyton? Probably not. How about On Eden Street? You bet. Touted as the number one daytime drama, this afternoon love, lust, and betrayal soap exploded last season with the hiring of an unknown head writer. We’re talking unknown in the biz and unknown even to fellow writers. She used an assumed name, Rhetta Hardt, which co-workers believed to be true and protected with great pride.

  The air of secrecy only led to the public’s obsession with the writer’s real identity. The truth emerged or rather exploded through an unknown source recently that Rhetta Hardt is really Audra Valentine Wheyton, recently widowed mother of an eight year old daughter and close friend to none other than one of the country’s most eligible bachelors, Dr. Perfection, Peter Andellieu. Ms. Valentine currently resides in San Diego but grew up on the less fortunate end of Holly Springs, New York. Raised by a grandmother, she never knew her father, and lost her mother to drugs and alcohol at a young age. The universal question remains how a writer can blend such emotion into a storyline without experiencing it. It would appear Ms. Valentine has indeed experienced the very storyline she writes about. The head writer is no stranger to intrigue either. The newest question is the parallel between the two brothers in the story, one of whom is a doctor and real father of his brother’s child, and Ms. Valentine’s relationship with her dead husband’s brother, who also happens to be a doctor. Sex? Intrigue? You bet. Stay tuned as we delve deeper into the truth behind the story.

  Audra threw the paper down and grabbed her cell phone. She jabbed in numbers, and waited.

  “Howard Krozer speaking.”

  “Damn you, Howard, I want this to stop.”

  “Audra. How’s your daughter?”

  “Cut the bullshit. I want you to stop the feeding frenzy.”

  His voice slip-slopped through the line. “What are you talking about?”

  “The papers. The tabloids. I’m all over them. I suppose next you’ll be getting quotes from my high school teachers.”

  “You were the one who walked out and left yourself exposed.”

  “So you dumped my identity for the paparazzi to fight over? I thought you had more class than that, Howard. You gave me your word.”

  “I’ve got a show to produce and ratings to track. If my head writer jaunts across the country—”

  “To bury my husband and treat my sick daughter.”

  “I didn’t do it, Audra. I swear.”

  “But you know who did, don’t you?”

  He hesitated a split second past the truth. “No, I don’t.”

  “Of course, you do and as long as I stay in the news, people will clamor to the set. Ratings will skyrocket. You’ll make People and Us and life will be good.”

  “That’s not how I want it, kiddo. I want you back. For the record, I never even hinted the storyline could be based on truth. I swear to God.” He paused. “Is it true?”

  She ignored the question. “I trusted you, and you sold me out.”

  “Can you just come back?”

  “My daughter had brain surgery a few weeks ago, but perhaps you forgot that in your quest for ratings.”

  “You’ve got to finish out the season.”

  “You should have thought of that before you let your jackals shred my privacy.”

  “You’ve got a contract.”

  She pictured Howard chomping on his cigar in staccato. The man hated opposition. “That guarantees anonymity. Looks like you have a problem.”

  “Peter’s in on this with you, isn’t he?”

  “Of course, he is. If you want a half chance of getting any more episodes, call off your dogs and throw them a bone that leads away from my personal life.”

  “I can’t. I don’t even know where it’s coming from.”

  “You’ll figure it out.” She snapped her cell phone shut and fell onto the bed.

  Damn Howard Krozer. She’d trusted him and though she couldn’t prove it, she knew he’d betrayed her. Maybe not intentionally, but along the way he’d let information slip or hadn’t done enough to cover it up. All she cared about now was diverting the comparisons between her real life and her stories. If the people of Holly Springs read the story, they might start their own timelines, draw their own conclusions. And that would prove disastrous.

  ***

  When Jack saw the article he’d just finished a four hour surgery and a hot shower. He grabbed a Snickers bar and snatched the paper from the stack on the coffee table in the doctors’ lounge. He’d covered the first half of the front page before Audra’s name jumped out at him in super bold print. Jack read the article three times before he ripped it up and threw it in the trash. She’d risked everything and for what? A rating? A damn statue? Respect?

  Her beautiful face popped in his brain but all he felt was disgust. She better have a damn good plan for damage control or by God, he’d make her wish she had. Jack let out a string of curses and headed for the doctors’ parking lot. When he reached his parents’ home, his anger escalated the instant he spotted the local news channel van parked at the curb. A young woman in a fuchsia suit stepped out and approached him, pointing a microphone in his face. “Excuse me? Do you live here? I’m Cyndy Kay from Channel WXBG.”

  “I know who you are.” Cyndy Kay, the reporter who slept with all her sources. Bernie’s uncle worked for the station and it had been the hottest story since O.J. Simpson.

  “Could I ask you a few questions?” She gave him her extra white smile and tilted her head so her black hair fluffed around her shoulders.

  Did they teach that in broadcasting 101? “Sorry, no.” He moved past her and up the sidewalk. “There’s no story here.”

  She ignored him. “Is Audra Valentine inside?” When he didn’t answer, she plowed on, “Is it true On Eden Street emulates her own life? Did she know her father?” He held up a hand and continued past her. “Did she have an affair with Jack Wheyton? Is he the father of her child?”

  Jack would have swung around and punched her if she’d been a man. Instead, he turned, grabbed the microphone, and flipped off the switch. “End of interview. Now get off this property or I’ll call the police.”

  “Who are you?” She snatched the microphone from him and glared. He knew the instant his identity registered. “You’re Jack Wheyton, aren’t you?”

  “No comment.” He swung around and bound up the front steps with a persistent Cyndy Kay behind him.

  “Mr. Wheyton, are you the father of—”

  Slam. He blocked out the rest of her sentence but he didn’t need an audio to know what she’d asked. He found his mother and father in the kitchen, sitting side by side, staring at their thirty-seven old linoleum. They looked older, more fragile, and for the first time, he pictured them failing, physically and mentally. “Mom? Dad? What’s going on?”

  Alice lifted her head. The look in her gray eyes tore at him.
“They’re saying horrible things about you, Jack. It’s all over the news.”

  In a rare show of affection, Joe pulled his wife closer and kissed her right temple. “They’re lies, Alice. All of them. It’s just another feeding frenzy and Jack got caught in the middle.”

  “Why would they say that, Jack? Just because of some silly soap opera with two brothers and a baby? It’s ridiculous. You and your brother would never betray each other.”

  God, Mom, if you only knew. We both did the unthinkable; all because of her. He swallowed hard, trying to steady the queasiness in his stomach.

  “Jack?”

  “Dirt sells, whether it’s true or not. All people are looking for is a little relief, from mortgage payments, car pools, dead end jobs. They want to forget their boring little existences, even if it’s only for ten minutes. What’s a late credit card payment compared to a secret baby?”

  “But it’s not true. How can they print it?”

  “They aren’t saying it’s true. They’re speculating and that’s all the public needs to go wild with it.”

  “We know it’s bullshit, Alice.” Joe shot a look at Jack and for a split second, there was almost a question buried in that look.

  “Has Kara heard any of this?”

  “No.” Alice clutched her husband’s hand. “Dear God, she can’t hear about this. It would be too much.”

  “It’ll be okay, Mom.” Jack moved toward his mother, leaned over and kissed the crown of her head. “I’ll take care of it, okay?” Though how the hell he was going to do that, he had no idea.

  “You’re a good boy. You and Christian were always such good boys.” Her face clouded with grief and anger. “It infuriates me that someone would suggest such a sordid deed. As if either of you would even consider such a betrayal. If I weren’t a Christian woman, I’d tell those people just what to do with their accusations.”

  Joe patted his wife’s hand and said, “That’s why you have me, Alice. I’m not afraid to tell them all to go to hell.”