D'Alessandro's Child

by Catherine Spencer

  For a long moment, she hung suspended on the edge of sanity. He felt the heated flush ride over her, the quiver that ruffled her skin. And then, with a series of inarticulate little cries, she contracted around him, racked by spasm after spasm of splendid anguish.

  Crushing her to him, he rode the dying swells to a perfect calm. He had never felt more connected to another, never more complete.

  Paradise, though, was short-lived. Too soon, the real world swam back into focus and he had to face what he’d done. Unable to look at her, he eased her off his lap.

  She teetered unsteadily a moment, like a sleepwalker rudely awakened. Her hair lay tousled around her face, and her dress was rucked around her hips.

  Ashamed at the destruction he’d wrought, he went to ease the skirt into place. As he did so, something pale and flimsy near her right shoe caught his attention and he saw that her panties were hooked around her right ankle like a flag proclaiming his unconscionable behavior.

  Stooping, he lifted her other foot and threaded it through the appropriate opening, but stopped short of pulling the garment up her legs. “I think you’d better take care of the rest,” he muttered, and turned away to fumble with his own state of undress while she put herself to rights.

  Except, there was no putting right what he’d done. He’d let self-indulgence displace caution, not to mention common decency, and treated her with an appalling lack of dignity and respect. Why she didn’t haul off and sock him in the jaw he didn’t know.

  “I shouldn’t have let that happen,” he finally mumbled, still too ashamed to look her in the eye. “It’s a bit late to express regret, I know, but when I’m with you….”

  He trailed off, painfully aware of how lame he sounded.

  “Don’t be sorry, Michael,” she said. “I’m not.”

  “How can you be so forgiving? For Pete’s sake, I put my needs first, without any regard for yours.”

  “You’re wrong. You made me feel beautiful and desirable.”

  “You are desirable, Camille, that’s the problem and if, in his more lucid moments, your ex-husband forgot to mention that, he’s got one more to add to his list of sins.” He shook his head in self-disgust, and started toward the keyhole opening in the hedge. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve lost my appetite for food. I think it’s best if I just take you home.”

  “Walking away isn’t going to change anything, you know,” she said.

  He stopped and swung back to face her, guilt making him surly. “If that’s supposed to mean something profound, you’ve lost me.”

  “You’re afraid, Michael.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re afraid to face your real feelings. You’re hoping I’ll tell you never to come near me again, then you won’t have to deal with what really happened tonight.”

  “I know exactly what happened tonight, I assure you,” he said grimly. “I took advantage of you when your defenses were down. In my book, that makes me lower than dirt.”

  “Are you at all interested in knowing how I feel?”

  “Used?” he suggested, resorting to sarcasm to cover up the fact that he couldn’t stand himself. “Abused?”

  “Loved.”

  “Oh, jeez!” He thumped a fist to his forehead. “Don’t go glamorizing what we did. Love has nothing to do with it.”

  “Then what does?” she said. “The way I see it, what we shared adds up to something a bit more momentous than having a bad hair day.”

  “We had sex.”

  “Oh, Michael, if you really believed all we’d done was have sex, your conscience wouldn’t be bothering you now to the point that you can’t wait to get rid of me. You’d play the perfect date, buy me a nice dinner, and consider the score even. No apologies, no remorse, and definitely no regrets.”

  “I like to think I’m not quite that crass,” he said, wincing at the radiance of her smile.

  “You’re not. You’re a very nice man who holds himself accountable for his actions, and you know how to make a woman feel…good.” She smoothed her hands down her dress one last time, combed her fingers through her hair, and came toward him. “But that doesn’t mean you owe me anything more than you’re able to give, okay? I know you’ll be leaving soon, and although I wish you didn’t have to go, I’m not fool enough to think you’re going to rearrange your life on the strength of a three-week relationship. I’m just saying I’m grateful for what we’ve had. It’s been wonderful, Michael. I’ll treasure the memories for the rest of my life. You’ll be the summer fling I’ll remember with fondness when I’m old and gray. End of story.”

  It wasn’t often that he was caught at a loss for words, and even rarer that he found himself so moved that his eyes burned with the threat of tears. Quite by accident, he’d come across a jewel of a woman, and like the undeserving boor he undoubtedly was, he’d not recognized her worth until it was too late. And thanks to his stalling tactics, it most certainly was too late.

  To tell her now that he was her child’s natural father, and expect her to accept that he hadn’t deliberately wormed his way into her heart for the sole purpose of getting closer to his son was asking for a miracle he didn’t deserve.

  Burying a sigh, he left her in the car, went back to settle his bill at the lodge, then took her home. The drive was memorable in that they exchanged not a word the entire time. When they reached her house, he walked her as far as the flight of the steps outside her front door, and no further.

  Realizing that as far as he was concerned, the evening was over, she turned to face him one last time. “Well,” she said, with an uncertain smile, “I guess the only thing left to say is thank you for a lovely time and good night.”

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he gazed at her, committing to memory her lovely heart-shaped face. He saw her smile fade, and her mouth tremble. He saw how she lowered her eyes so that he wouldn’t see how filled with hurt they were. And he saw how she drew on the breeding and class that were her trademark to get herself inside and away from him before her pride collapsed.

  Not until the door had closed behind her did he finally speak the only words left to say. “Goodbye, Camille.”

  Then he climbed back into his car and took off, knowing it all had to end here. If he wanted to retain a shred of self-respect, his only recourse was to leave her in ignorance, and if that meant he’d never see Jeremy again then he had only himself to blame.

  She had given so much, and all he’d ever done was take. He couldn’t hurt her more than he already had, and he couldn’t go on punishing himself, either.

  He’d found a son. He’d briefly known the joy of being a father, albeit in secret. But for everyone’s sake, he had to leave it at that and walk away before he caused everyone more pain.

  She would not cry. She would remember instead how he had loved her—how his kisses had swept aside her inhibitions, how the flush of passion had swept over her body and she’d let it take her where it would. And she would trust the instincts which told her that it wasn’t over between them. She’d hold on to the conviction that his feelings for her ran deeper than he was willing to admit and that he’d realize it, once he’d dealt with his guilt. She would not give up on him until he made a clean and final break with her.

  It was the only way she could get through the night.

  Morning, though, cast the truth in a much harsher light and revealed her instincts for the wishful thinking they really were. She might have been foolish enough to fall in love, but Michael was made of sterner stuff. His life did not coincide with hers, and if she’d been in any doubt about that, her parents, showing up uninvited just after lunch, certainly brought the message home in a way she couldn’t ignore.

  “I don’t imagine you’re going to like what you’re about to hear, but that can’t be helped,” her father began. “As you’re well aware, your mother and I have been disturbed—deeply disturbed—by your apparent infatuation with Michael D’Alessandro. Camille, you have to put an end to this association. The
man is not to be trusted.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I had him investigated.”

  She stared at her father in scandalized disbelief. “You did what?”

  “I hired someone to look into his background. I felt I had no choice.”

  “No choice? Dad, you had no right!”

  “You’re my daughter and that gives me the right. Having to watch the hell Todd put you through and knowing I was helpless to do anything about it was bad enough. If you think I’m going to stand idly by and let it happen a second time, you greatly underestimate the power of a father’s love, Camille.”

  “Michael is as different from Todd as night is from day.”

  “In one respect he certainly is,” her mother put in. “Whatever Todd’s faults, he always managed to look after his investments. He never let anything, not even his…ahem, little problem, interfere with his work. The same can hardly be said of your latest admirer. Less than two years ago, a series of bad business decisions left Michael D’Alessandro on the brink of financial ruin.”

  “Are you saying he’s bankrupt, Mother? Is that what you were trying to tell me the other day, when you warned me the only reason he could possibly be interested in me is for my money?”

  “What we’re telling you,” her father said flatly, “is that although he’s made a remarkable comeback, he’s in no position to be frittering away his time on your doorstep because he’s in the mood for a month of fun in the sun. He has business obligations in Vancouver requiring his attention—matters the foreman he left in charge is not qualified to handle, which begs the question why, just when he’s poised for considerable success on his own turf, he’s setting up camp at your front door.”

  “Maybe because I’ve made it clear he’s welcome here.”

  “I’m afraid, my dear, we’ve uncovered another reason which has nothing at all to do with you.”

  Until then, her parents’ suspicions had struck her as preposterous, largely because nothing they had said countered what she already knew. But her father’s smug certainty that he’d found a rattlesnake in her bed and that she was too stupid to recognize its danger roused her to a rash, defensive anger. “Before either of you says another word, you should be aware that I’m in love with Michael and if he were to ask me to move to Canada to be with him, I’d be gone in a shot. That’s how much I believe in him.”

  Her mother let out a yelp and pressed a hand to her heart. “You cannot be serious, Camille!”

  But her father merely sighed and said grimly, “I was hoping matters hadn’t progressed quite that far. I hoped you would show more sense than to throw in your lot with a stranger. Dare I ask if he returns your feelings?”

  To tell them the truth was more than she could bear, but lying was not an option either, so she struck a middle ground. “I haven’t asked him.”

  Her father removed a slip of paper from his pocket. “Before you do, my dear, you might want to do a little investigating of your own based on this.”

  Glad that he couldn’t see how her heart had started to race, she took the paper and read the information printed on it. Room 4, 7 West, St. Mary’s Hospital, San Francisco.

  “Is this supposed to mean something to me?”

  “It will, once you discover who it is he’s been spending most of his time with. I think it will prove conclusively that he’s been lying to you from the minute he walked into your life.”

  The morning after the dinner fiasco, he drove into San Francisco and checked into a small hotel near the hospital. Kay’s time had dwindled to a matter of days, if not hours, and it made more sense to be close by. Or so he told himself, and that was the story he was sticking to, because to acknowledge the other reason—that he was voluntarily walking out of Jeremy’s life without so much as a goodbye—was just too damned painful to deal with.

  Kay seemed brighter when he visited her that afternoon. “I didn’t think you’d come until later,” she said, reaching for his hand.

  “I wanted to be sure I caught you before you went to sleep. I’ve got something to show you.”

  He’d been carrying the photos with him for days, but he’d held out showing them to her for fear that seeing them would upset her too much. But the clock was winding down and he didn’t have to be a doctor to know it. Pretty soon, she’d be past caring.

  He cranked up the bed a little and spread the pictures on the fold of the sheet in front of her. “This is our boy, Kay. What do you think of him?”

  Her eyes, already huge in her sunken face, glowed like coals, but it was the smile transforming her face that choked him. “Oh, my baby!” she whispered, running her fingers over the face of the child she’d given away. “Oh, my precious little angel! Look at him, Mike. He reminds me of you.”

  “Nah,” he said, doing his damnedest not to lose it. “He’s the living image of you when I first met you. Remember that day?”

  “You were playing basketball at U.B.C.”

  “And you were the cheerleader whose lap I landed in when I tried to keep the ball in play.”

  “You said I had great legs.”

  Oh, honey, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain of seeing the way she looked now. You had great everything in those days.

  “I wish we’d been able to make it work, Mike.”

  He cleared his throat and stroked her arm. No use pointing out that he’d tried. No use, either, pointing out that she’d had her sights set on a career in show business, and there’d been no talking her out of it.

  To be fair though, he hadn’t put up much resistance when she’d said she wanted a divorce. They’d been college sweethearts who’d married more because they were used to each other than anything else. Once the bloom wore off, they’d shared little more than a bed. The way he’d seen it, when the only thing a man and woman had in common was good sex, there wasn’t much hope the relationship was going to last over the long haul, and even the sex hadn’t been all that good toward the end.

  She thrashed her head from side to side like a trapped animal desperately seeking escape and finding none. Her lips were cracked and dry, her color the ghastly yellow of fading bruises. “I sold my soul to the devil…traded my baby for fame and glamor.”

  “Hush,” he murmured, wiping her face with a damp cloth. “You made a mistake, honey, but it’s time to forgive yourself.”

  “I was good, you know…the lead dancer in a nightclub, Mike…my name up in lights. Rita Osborne…just like the devil promised….” The rambling drifted into exhaustion and her eyes closed.

  Michael believed in God. Growing up in the heart of Vancouver’s Italian community, he hadn’t known a kid who didn’t. Church on Sunday, being an altar boy, singing in the choir—they were as much a part of life as homemade pasta. But it had been years since he’d prayed.

  He prayed then, though, because it was all there was left that he could do. Take her home, he begged, his eyes misting over as he watched each labored breath leach a little more strength out of her. She’s paid enough.

  She stirred. Plucked restlessly at the sheet. “He said he’d make me a star, you know.”

  “Who, the devil?”

  “No, silly,” she said, all at once sounding completely lucid. “My agent. But he didn’t. He just took all my money. And when I told him I was pregnant, he told me no one would hire a woman sticking out a mile in front to dance in a chorus line.”

  So that was why she’d been destitute when Todd Whitfield had found her! Some scam artist had robbed her blind. “Money doesn’t really matter much in the overall scheme of things, Kay,” he said.

  “It does when it’s time to pay. A pound of flesh, Mike, right?” Her face contorted into a hideous rictus of amusement. “Except a pound wasn’t enough, was it?” Her hands fluttered weakly over her wasted body. “There’s nothing left of me.”

  “Kay…!” Oh, God, please help her. Help me!

  “When they told me I was going to die, I had to come back…had
to find my baby and see…for myself. But I left it too late….”

  “The devil’s had his due, Kay,” he said. “You’re paid up in full. Our boy’s in good hands. Loving hands. You can rest easy now.”

  “Yes,” she said on a whisper, her eyes drifting shut once more. “Yes.”

  For a while longer, he sat with her, watching the slow, steady throb of the pulse in her throat. Wishing it would stop. Afraid that it might.

  What a hell of a way for a thirty-five-year-old woman to die—in a ten-by-ten foot hospital room, and no one who gave a damn that she was alone in the world except an ex-husband. No friends to give comfort, no phone calls, no cards to pin to the corkboard above the bed, and the only flowers those he brought in every couple of days. Stargazer lilies, her favorite—but even their exotic scent couldn’t overpower the smell of death that clung to her.

  The door swished open to admit one of the nurses who regularly looked after Kay. “Why don’t you take a break, Mr. D’Alessandro?” she said. “Go get yourself something to eat. Take a walk outside and get some fresh air. It’ll do you a world of good.”

  “I hate to leave her alone.”

  “She won’t be alone. I’ll sit with your wife until you come back and if there’s any change, I’ll have you paged.”

  “Thanks.” He needed to get away for a while and clear his head. He had the feeling it was going to be a very long night. “I’ll turn on my phone if I leave the building. They’ve got my number at the nurses’ station.”

  He was almost at the door when Kay stirred. “Mike?”

  “I’m here,” he said.

  “I love you, Mike.”

  He paused on the threshold, briefly at a loss. How was he supposed to respond?

  The answer came, clean and simple. Whatever she’d done or not done, she didn’t deserve to die believing no one cared. She’d been his wife at one time; she’d borne his son. They were reasons enough to keep a special place in his heart just for her. So he told her the only truth that mattered anymore.