“Go on now, Tiffany,” Shelly urged.
Tiffany ran from the room.
Shelly watched her daughter leave and then said, “She has a fifty percent chance of being a carrier.”
“A carrier? What do you mean?”
She tilted her head toward Joe, and Gray understood. She might carry Duchenne and give it to her own child.
“She will have to be tested someday.”
Gray swallowed, unnerved that a tiny perfect creature like Tiffany could carry something so harmful. And Shelly was dealing with all of this on her own. “How long ago did your husband die?”
“Eight months. We’ve been getting by, but he had no insurance, and I’ve run through our savings. I can’t work because of the children.”
Joe alone would be a full-time job, Gray guessed.
“I’ve never done anything like this before in my life. I’ve never begged for money before, but my children...”
“Why so much money?”
“I need to get through the next ten years until Tiffany can take care of herself. I can live frugally, but Joe will cost me money for his treatments.”
She mouthed something, so Joe wouldn’t see, and it looked like, “He’ll get worse.”
Gray knew people, had learned in his business dealings to judge quickly and accurately, and Shelly wasn’t lying.
Any and all actions this woman performed were for her kids. Desperation drove her. Gray was sorry that he’d come. It was easier to consider destroying her when she wasn’t a real person, when he couldn’t tell from a letter that what drove her was a consuming love for her children.
“Sell the house,” he ordered. “Invest the profit and then rent.”
“We don’t own this house.” She shrugged, a simple gesture of defeat.
Why hadn’t her husband had life insurance? Why hadn’t he considered this possibility and prepared his family financially? It was a man’s responsibility to provide for his family, for God’s sake.
“What kind of work did your husband do?”
“He was a security guard. He worked nights. On weekends, he drove a delivery truck.” Shelly glared at Gray. “I can see what you’re thinking. He wasn’t a deadbeat. He loved his kids and he loved me, and he tried to provide for us as best he could.”
She stepped closer.
“I don’t have next month’s rent money.” She’d lowered her voice so Joe wouldn’t hear. “The kids and I will be on the street or in a shelter. I don’t know what I’ll do with Joe. He needs occupational and physical therapy that I just can’t afford.”
Like a bad nightmare, the woman’s tenuous situation got worse and worse.
“That’s why I wrote the letter.” She went to the sofa, took a hankie out of her pocket, and wiped the spittle slowly drizzling from Joe’s mouth. “Your father never gave my mom a cent to help raise me. I guess I’m asking for all the child support he never paid.”
“I can’t believe my dad never gave your mother support. He’s a good man. He takes care of his responsibilities.”
“That’s not the impression my mom got. She said he seemed to treat everything in life like a game. When he ran away after she told him she was pregnant, she figured she’d never contact the SOB again.” She realized she was talking about Gray’s father and said, “Sorry, that’s just the impression my mom got of him. She worked hard to raise me without taking a dime from my father. She had a lot of pride.”
Gray raised one brow. “And you don’t?”
For a long moment she said nothing while her throat worked. “I used to. I can’t afford it anymore.”
She sighed. “It’s easier for me to think of this as support my mom was owed all along rather than to call it blackmail. I’m good with money. I can make what I asked for last years. You don’t have to worry. I won’t ever come back for more.”
She stared at him with that hunger again, cataloging every detail about him. “Are there more of you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re my half brother. Do I have more? A sister, maybe?”
She looked so hopeful he hated to disabuse her. “No,” he said a little sadly. “There’s only me.” And he’d always felt his solitude keenly.
Her tentative smile warmed him. “That’s one more sibling than I had before you walked in that door.”
His mind couldn’t fathom that this woman might be his sister, couldn’t let go of the feeling that he’d wanted something like this for a long time, and that it might finally be true.
Damn illusions, though. He couldn’t live with illusions.
He took the test he’d picked up from the lab and held it up.
She watched him curiously.
“Let’s find out what’s real and what isn’t,” he said.
He opened the kit and took out a cotton swab on a long stick. “Open up.”
Her face flattened, and whether it was embarrassment or outrage, it didn’t matter to Gray. He was getting this done. No way was he handing nearly half a million dollars to a stranger based on a kid’s face and a woman’s smile that might be the same as his own, and a family similarity that could simply be coincidence.
“I can do it myself,” she said. “Give me the test and I’ll go to the bathroom.”
“No. We do it here. Now.”
He watched her swallow her self-respect. She stepped closer and opened her mouth. He swabbed the inside of her cheek, making sure the cotton was soaked with her saliva.
Her chest rose and fell too quickly, and her cheeks turned red.
His own breathing grew unsteady. He’d been raised better than this, with old-fashioned values, to never invade a person’s space and their privacy. He’d been taught to treat others with respect, but this had to be done.
Hardening his emotions, he pulled a couple of hairs from her head to add to the kit. Shelly had brought this on herself. He was merely protecting his family.
He sealed the kit in front of her, then put it away in his briefcase where another envelope sat, containing hairs Gray had taken from his father’s brush that morning. It looked as if one of them had the root still attached. With a little luck, it would be enough.
Turning to leave, his guilt not assuaged despite ordering himself to stop caring about these people, his gaze fell on Joe.
Could Gray walk away? Could he reasonably leave these people to fend for themselves when their hardship was so dire? Whether or not they were related? Gray had never lacked a darned thing in his life.
He pulled his checkbook out of his briefcase, ignoring the papers he’d had drawn up for Shelly to sign, relinquishing all claims to his father and his money. Intuitively, he knew she wouldn’t. She believed every word she’d said. Gray understood what Shelly probably didn’t, that her mother could have lied to her about who her father was.
He wrote a check to cover the rent, plus a couple of hundred extra for groceries.
If it turned out that this was all a scam, then it would be the first time Gray had ever been taken for a ride. Somehow, he knew...his chest hurt...he knew...his pen slipped in his fingers...she could be, might be, was likely family.
Dad. Who are you really?
He handed the check to her and said, “I’ll get more to you when I can.”
Torn into two men, on the one side a savvy businessman and on the other just a lonely guy, he rushed from the house.
Because his emotions were too close to the surface, and he hated that, and because Shelly looked as though she might cry, he walked down the street without looking back. He had no choice but to help this woman, which meant he needed to get his hands on all of that money she’d asked for her.
Awash in disappointment that his task hadn’t turned out the way he’d hoped, that he couldn’t write Shelly off as
a phony, or an opportunist, he nearly missed seeing a convenience store on the corner.
He’d given her money for groceries but wanted to do more. In fact, he wanted to give Tiffany juice. He wanted her to be able to go to her older brother and not only ask for a glass whenever she wanted it, but to actually be given one.
Once inside the store, he cursed himself. “Sentimental fool,” he whispered.
Even so, he bought two big jugs of orange juice and a couple gallons of milk. Sam was too thin, so he also picked up half a dozen packages of sliced meats and cheeses, as well as whole wheat bread, containers of potato and macaroni salad, along with ice cream and four chocolate bars, one for each of them, including the mother. Somehow, he doubted she would eat hers, would probably hide it away to share among the kids another day.
Then, because he wondered about what that chocolate and the extra juice might do to a kid’s teeth, he bought three new toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste—one with a good, cavity-fighting record.
On impulse, he picked up a tiny pair of pink flip-flops decorated with turquoise glass beads. They almost fit in the palm of his hand.
Fool. He didn’t care.
Leaving the bags on the veranda, he rang the doorbell and strode away hard and fast. He didn’t want to be caught, as though giving, charity, were an action of which he should be ashamed.
Halfway down the street, he leaned against a tree, out of sight, and watched.
Sam opened the door, stared at the bags of groceries, then yelled for his mom.
All but the boy on the sofa crowded onto the veranda.
Tiffany squealed and pulled a jug of juice from a bag and barely missed dropping it on her toes before Sam snagged it.
“Juice, Sammy. Pease.”
Sam went back inside.
Shelly turned away and surreptitiously wiped her cheeks. She peered up and down the street, but Gray hid behind the tree. When he peeked back out, she had stopped searching for him and was going through the bags.
In danger of becoming maudlin, Gray turned to leave but heard Tiffany squeal again. Was it a normal part of her speech? He’d heard it three times within the past half hour.
Tiffany had discovered the cheap sandals and sat on the top step to put them on. Shelly disappeared inside the house with the groceries, leaving Tiffany alone on the veranda admiring her pink-and-turquoise-clad feet.
Was she safe? Gray studied the street. There was no one else around.
A moment later, Sam ran outside with a pink plastic cup in one hand and a fistful of cold cuts in the other.
He handed Tiffany her juice and a slice of cheese and said, “See ya later, Tiff. Tell Mom I’ll be at Brian’s playing.”
Jumping on to the rusty bike, he took off down the street, shoving meat into his mouth while he steered with the other hand.
Gray shook his head. No helmet. Too dangerous. His immediate burst of anger at the kid’s mom dissipated. If he had to choose between food for his children and buying a bike helmet, the decision would be a no-brainer.
The front window curtain fluttered, and Gray realized that Shelly was watching her daughter while she sat on the step and drank her juice and ate her cheese, chattering to herself. And stared at those silly, cheap sandals.
Like a sap, he strode away fast because tears threatened.
Whew. Too much emotion flooded him—satisfaction that he’d helped a needy family, bittersweet happiness that he had a sister, regret that Dad hadn’t done more for his illegitimate child and last, anger at the father he loved so much.
Also, he felt a surge of hope. He had a family. Lately, he’d been aware of his parents’ ages. Any day now, Gray could be on his own. Completely.
Suddenly, here and today, he had a family. An emptiness that had started in the middle of his childhood was slowly filling up. He had a family, he thought, wonder filling him until he felt light-headed.
He walked away, another amorphous feeling in his chest taking shape and developing a name. Pride. In himself. He’d done something good. Really good.
His heart swelled and filled with the milk of human kindness, something he’d always blasted in his cynical way.
If his colleagues could only see him now, they wouldn’t believe what he’d just done. Rather than annihilating an opponent, he’d actually helped one out.
He couldn’t stop here. He needed the rest of the money that Shelly was demanding. If he were in her shoes, he wouldn’t let up the pressure until he got it.
Gray had bought them a few weeks with his check, but Shelly would be back. In her situation, he wouldn’t stop until he had everything he’d asked for. He wouldn’t trust nebulous promises about more money to come in the future. He’d want it all in the bank now.
His fingers gripped the handle of his briefcase. He wasn’t a complete fool. The DNA test would go back to the lab, even though he suspected the result was a foregone conclusion.
He needed Audrey to sell. Torn between elation and despair, hands tied, he understood that the decision had been taken out of his hands.
He was going to have to betray Dad.
CHAPTER FIVE
AUDREY HAD INTERVIEWED three therapists in a local coffee shop, separately. One she hadn’t liked at all, one was okay, and the third was wonderful. She felt like Goldilocks choosing a chair or a bed to sleep in, but the one who felt “just right,” Teresa Grady, had backbone. She could handle Dad. She also had compassion, which Dad sorely needed.
Teresa would be happy to come to Accord in September. Audrey had booked her for two full months.
Now, Audrey was here in the huge conference center, striding toward the back with a sinking heart. She’d come to check out exactly where her booth would be. She’d been sent measurements, but they’d seemed so small, she couldn’t believe they were accurate. She wanted to see it in person, so she could judge exactly how she would design the space. She hadn’t expected to be in the back of the room.
Janeen Walken led her to the far end of the sterile space. “Here you are.”
Audrey’s booth would be backed into a corner as far from the front doors as possible. They might as well have buried her in concrete. “You’ve got to be kidding. Why am I stuck back here where no one will see me?”
“Lot selection was done by lottery.”
Not being a cynical person by nature, and not sure why she was suspicious, she didn’t believe that a twist of fate had put her back here. “Where will Bolton Florists be displayed?” Bolton was the largest floral franchise in the west.
When Janeen hesitated, Audrey knew she’d hit on something.
“Answer my question,” she demanded.
Janeen took her to a spot across from the front door where everyone would see Bolton the second they walked into the show.
Lottery, my patootie.
The show would be juried, but also, a portion of the winning vote would be determined by show attendees. In other words, the paying public, who would be influenced by how easy the displays were to locate, would be voting on what they saw. They would be voting for their favorites, but how could a booth become their favorite if they couldn’t find it?
They had to be able to see them to vote fairly.
“This is a prime spot,” Audrey said. “The best spot. You expect me to believe that Bolton happened to win this by lottery?”
Janeen’s gaze slid away. “Yes.”
“Give me a break. You and your peers are frauds. You’ve been bought.”
Janeen’s expression hardened. “How dare you?”
“Seriously? Do you really think that everyone is so stupid that they won’t see the truth?” Her voice echoed in the empty cavernous chamber. “The largest floral franchise in the west is up front while the new kid on the block is in the back corner.”
Janeen shrugged but didn’t respond.
“Someone must consider me serious competition.” Audrey stepped forward and poked her finger toward the woman’s chest, careful that she made no actual contact, no matter how provoked. “I’m going to win this contest. Unlike Bolton and whoever else is your pet, I’m going to win fairly.”
“Are you threatening a member of my board?” The deep voice came from behind Audrey. She spun around.
Walter Reed stood a few feet away. He’d been a friend of Harry Bolton’s for years. The floral industry in the state was surprisingly small. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. As soon as she’d opened her shop, she’d found out everything she could about her competition.
Bolton was huge, had been in business for years and produced the same arrangements they’d been designing for most of those years.
Audrey wanted to breathe fresh creative energy into the industry. People were ready for innovation. She was sure of it.
The contract with the hospital that was being offered as part of the prize was currently held by Bolton. Harry would fight tooth and nail to keep it, including getting down and dirty about it. Pun intended.
How on earth it had slipped out of Harry’s hands and into this year’s prize package was a mystery. Audrey had heard rumors, though, that people were tired of white carnations and red roses. They wanted something new.
And Audrey could, and would, deliver when she won this competition. Take that, Harry Bolton and all of your old cronies, and stuff it where the sun don’t shine.
“You can’t threaten Janeen.” For a big man, Walter Reed moved as soundlessly as a sly cat. She hadn’t heard him approach. “Do you want to end up in court?” he asked.
“Where was there a threat in what I just said?” Her blood boiled, but she could deal with this guy. “I made a promise. I’m going to win. How is that a threat? Be careful what you accuse me of, Walter, unless you want to end up in court.
“As I just said to Janeen, I plan to win fairly. Unlike others in this competition.”
She stalked from the building, her pulse beating like a maraca. This was bad. So bad. She’d need a plan, a strategy to bring customers to the back of the vast room. With nothing in it, it felt like an airplane hangar. Full of participants with large floral displays, Audrey would be buried. Insignificant.
Because of Audrey Page 8
