by Ann Major
“I’ll set up an account and do what’s necessary. But the less I see or hear from you, the better. In the future, my lawyers will talk to your lawyers. I’ll want to see our child rather frequently, I’m afraid. As you know, I’m sorely lacking in close family. And as I distrust the mother, I’ll need to be as big an influence in his life as possible if he’s to have a fighting chance. And I repeat, I will see to it that these matters are arranged so that we meet as infrequently as possible.”
“I—I know how you must feel…finding out the way you did…about our first baby. You must think me truly awful… .”
“No! You don’t know how I feel! You couldn’t possibly imagine.”
For a moment his hard face was expressionless. Then he shook his head. “You don’t understand me at all.”
“I know I didn’t stand up for you the way you wanted me to when my stepfather brought charges against you. You thought I went along with him, but I didn’t. I loved you. I still do.”
“Don’t use that four-letter word. You say it too easily. All it’s ever been for me is a one-way ticket to hell.”
“Zach, I was sixteen…pregnant…terrified…of him and of the accusations, of all the ugliness. I was so confused. Hysterical, really.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said in a weary, defeated tone.
But it did matter to her, fiercely. She’d thought she’d learned to live with her regrets, then he’d come back into her life and made her love him again. Being with him right now, when he was so distant, knowing that he was shutting her out forever, made her want to confess everything, to finally share all the regrets she’d carried alone for so long.
She’d organized a funeral for their first baby, had attended it by herself in the rain. Her mother, who would have come, had been too ill to leave Bonne Terre. Gram had been caring for Summer’s mother, and Tuck had been too young to be of any comfort. Summer had stayed in the cemetery until she’d been drenched, until the last clod of dirt had been thrown, until a compassionate grave digger had plucked a single white rose from the funeral wreath she’d bought and handed the dripping blossom to her.
“Press this in that Bible you be carrin’, cher. And go home. You can’t do any good here. The little one, she’s in heaven now.”
Summer had placed angels on the grave.
Somehow she swallowed her tears when she came back to the present. “I went to Houston when I was nearly five months along. I tried to talk to you, to find you, but you wouldn’t see me.”
“Because I knew you were manipulating me.”
“But I tried to tell you about the baby. I really tried.”
“Not hard enough apparently. You could have told somebody else…. My uncle, maybe. He would have gotten the message to me. But you didn’t.”
“I was out of money. I wasn’t feeling so well. I—I thought it was no use, so I went back to New Orleans. I—I lost the baby the next week. I was all alone. I wanted you so desperately. I never wanted you with me more.”
A muscle in his carved cheek jerked savagely, but when he spoke, his voice was low, contemptuous.
“You didn’t do anything deliberate to bring about that unhappy event, did you?”
“What?” His words hit her like a blow. Once again his face swirled in blackness. If she’d been standing, she would have fallen. Only with the greatest effort did she manage to catch her breath.
“No.” The single word was a prayer asking him to believe her. The single tear that traced down her cheek spoke the truth.
Not that he could see the truth, blinded as he was by his own fury and sense of betrayal.
“You damn sure know how to deliver a line.” His low voice was hoarse. “I’ll give you that. You need to remember that little trick for the stage, sweetheart. It was very effective.”
“Okay. I understand,” she whispered. “You’ll never trust me again. Or forgive me.”
“You’ve got that right. The sooner we finish this conversation, the sooner we can get on with our separate lives. I said I’d help you with the baby, and I will. You don’t look well. I want you to take better care of yourself this time. Cut back on your schedule. You can’t possibly do eight shows a week. I’ll pay for the best doctors…anything you need. And I want to be there when you deliver. Not for your sake, but for the baby’s.”
She nodded, feeling crushed at his efficient tone.
“I love you,” she murmured. “I’ll always love you.”
“Then I’m sorry for you because it’s over between us. I consider myself a stupid fool for getting involved with you again. Usually I’m smart enough to learn from my mistakes. Nick tried to warn me you were nuclear. He was right.”
“I’m so sorry I’ve caused you so much pain… .”
“Sorry never cuts it, does it?”
Ravaged, she stood up. Then turning from him, she fled.
Outside, the sunlight in the trees was as dull as old pewter, and she was deaf to her favorite song playing on her car radio.
She didn’t want to go back to New York and work onstage, work with people. She wanted to curl up somewhere in a dark room and cry.
Then she remembered Gram’s tin of chocolate-chip cookies on the shelf above her fridge. She would go back to Gram’s and confide in her. Her grandmother would take Summer in her arms as she had after Summer had lost Zach, her mother and her little baby girl, and, for a brief spell, she’d feel better. Then she’d stuff herself on her grandmother’s cookies until she fell asleep.
Slowly, she’d gather enough courage to go through the motions of living. She’d pack her suitcase and set her alarm. Tomorrow she’d dress and drive to the airport. Then she’d return to her lonely apartment and get back in her old routine and try to forget Zach all over again.
It wouldn’t be possible, but she’d try just the same.
* * *
The memory of her soft, pale face with those unshed tears tore at him.
“I can’t do this. Take over for me,” Zach growled as he slammed his clipboard down on a table inside the casino.
Roberto and his men watched silently as Zach stalked past them, the rows of slot machines and then the gaming tables. Outside, the air was thick and oppressive with the scent of rain. He looked up and saw threatening black clouds moving in fast. A fierce gust ripped across the bayou.
Perfect weather, he thought, as the first raindrop pelted him.
No sooner had he slammed the door of his Mercedes, started the engine and roared out of the parking lot, than it started pouring. Not that the rain kept him from whipping violently across the narrow bridge and skidding onto the main road. A truck honked wildly. Brakes squealed as it surrendered right-of-way.
Zach took his foot off the accelerator. No use killing some innocent motorist. Summer damn sure wasn’t worth it.
It was going to take a long time for his love, or rather the illusion of who he’d believed she was, to die again.
Maybe forever.
She’d looked so damn pretty in that soft pink dress that had clung to her slim body, and so desperately forlorn with those damp blue eyes that had shed that single spectacular tear at exactly the right moment. She’d shredded his heart all over again. It would probably thrill her to know she’d nearly had him believing what he saw and felt instead of what he knew to be true.
His gut had clenched, and his heart had thudded violently. He’d wanted to grab her, pull her close, soothe and console her, kiss that tearstained cheek and those beautiful, pouting lips…just one last time. He’d wanted it so much he’d almost lost control.
Then he’d remembered she was an actress, who’d dressed to entice him, who’d played her role perfectly despite her vows never to act when she was with him.
He remembered all her lies of omission about the baby. What part of their relationship had ever been true? What was he to her? Another circus act in the three-ring show she put on for her adoring fans? Did she need a man in her life to complete the picture of her as Ameri
ca’s number-one sweetheart? Acting was a highly competitive career. What sin wouldn’t she commit to stay on top?
He thought of all the magazine-cover stories he’d seen about actresses with their adoring babies and husbands. Were any of those heartwarming stories truthful? Weren’t they all just fodder for fools like him, who, deep down, wanted to believe the dream?
Had anything she’d said today been real?
Whether it was or not, she’d damn sure shattered his heart and sent him to hell and back all over again.
Twelve
One week later
Zach moved silently through the long shadows of the tall spreading oaks near Viola’s house, stepping past Silas, who looked like a black-and-white fur ball as he napped under the pink blossoms of his favorite crape myrtle bush.
The dazzling pink flowers blurred, and suddenly Zach saw Summer instead of the worthless feline: Summer with her heart in her eyes, Summer looking lovely and too sexy for words in that ridiculous pink confection of a dress.
Damn her. As the image dissolved, he experienced burning, agonizing loss.
Frowning, he approached Viola’s screen door warily.
Why was he even here? He had a plane to catch. It wasn’t as if he had to show up at her request. Hell, these days he ignored most invitations, and he had every reason to ignore Viola’s. Why was he putting himself through this?
Because she’d sounded so fragile when she’d summoned him. Because he genuinely liked her. Because she was family now, in spite of everything Summer had done. Viola would be his son’s great-grandmother. Because she was hurting nearly as much as he was that the dream wouldn’t come true.
Viola’s bossy cat trotted toward the screen door and rubbed his tail arrogantly against Zach’s jeans. Then he sank a claw into the screen as he waited to be let in.
Viola welcomed them both. Silas, who sprang inside first, she gave a can of tuna. Zach, she gave a plate of chocolate-chip cookies and a glass of iced tea that she’d flavored with mint from her garden.
He didn’t have time for tea or cookies, but he was loath to say so. Viola had a strange power over him.
When he saw the empty shelves and all the boxes stacked against the walls in every room, in an effort to make polite conversation, he asked when she planned to move to her new condo.
“I’m taking my time. I can only do an hour or so of packing each day before my back starts howling. Tuck’s not much help, bless his lazy soul, not even when I pay him. Slow as molasses. Drops things, he does. And Summer’s not going to rent out this old place after all. Because of the baby….” She said that last with reverence as she lifted her sharp gaze to his.
When she didn’t avert those piercing eyes that saw too much, his heart sped up to a tortured pace.
“She’s feeling quite sentimental about the old place. Said she’s going to keep it for herself and the baby, so the baby will grow up loving it as much as past generations have before her. That’s nice, don’t you think?”
Her? Funny how Zach always thought of their kid as a boy. A little boy with golden hair and bright blue eyes. But it could be girl, couldn’t it? A beautiful little girl who looked like Summer, who’d break his heart because he loved her so.
Viola noted his empty plate. Usually, she hopped up to refill such a plate. But not today.
“I’m afraid there aren’t any more cookies. You see, Summer ate practically all of them the other day…stuffed herself on them, the poor dear. Not a good thing really, in her condition. She has to get into all those costumes, too, you know. But she was so down before she left. Kept eating one after another, couldn’t stop herself. Until I took the plate away and froze the remaining cookies for future guests. And here you are.”
“Why did you ask me to come over here today, Viola? I have a plane to catch, meetings in Houston… .”
“You poor dear, with your big, important life. You know, you don’t look any better than she does. I can see that, despite your tough exterior, this is just as hard on you as it is on her.”
Zach froze. “Did she put you up to this?”
“Who?” Viola’s eyes were suspiciously guileless. “Put me up to what?”
Those innocent eyes, so compelling in her wrinkled face, seemed to search his soul in the exact way that Summer’s sometimes did. But unlike Summer, Viola’s deep compassion for him was genuine.
“Zach, is this really what you want? You two are going to have a child. Summer’s brokenhearted, and I think you love her, too. I think you always have and always will.”
He felt the ice that encased his heart melting beneath the brightness of her sweet, determined gaze, but his face remained a mask.
“Zach, you have the baby to think of. When parents don’t live together, it’s the child who suffers most. The family’s broken. That’s what happened to Summer when her father walked out on Anna. Look at poor Tuck, how he’s still struggling. A baby needs to be part of a close, loving family.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t all have the ideal family,” he muttered. “I was on my own after my mother left my father, and then my father remarried a younger woman, who threw me out after he died.”
“So, then you know how it feels. Do you want your baby to suffer the way you did, when you could so easily prevent it?”
Easily?
Again, he asked himself why he’d come here. It was hard enough to let Summer go without this fragile old lady, whom he liked, trying to pry his innermost secrets from him. Summer was wrong for him. Period.
He’d believed in the dream, but it had all been a lie. Summer was the ultimate liar. And even if it weren’t for that calamity, even if she were the lovely illusion he’d believed in, he couldn’t live with the press pouncing on them every time one of them had so much as a conversation with another attractive person. He didn’t want his marriage to be a feast for public consumption. He wanted a real marriage—a private, personal bonding of two souls—not some mirage of perfect love that would heighten Summer’s popularity.
“I don’t need this,” he growled as he stood up.
“Sit back down,” Viola commanded in her bossy way.
Strange that, in his hopeless mood, he found her firm manner oddly comforting.
Slowly, he sank back into the chair, Summer’s favorite chair, which happened to be his favorite, too.
“I may be a pushy old lady, who doesn’t know half as much as she should, but I know you two belong together.”
“Not anymore. Too many things have happened. The past…our first baby…all the lies. I don’t want everything we do to be magnified by the media.”
“Summer is a wonderful girl, and you know it! Thurman was a real stinker. Hasn’t he cost us all enough? As for the press—why do you care so much about what other people think?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“I say it is. I say maybe you’re too proud, too arrogant. And maybe, despite your bluster, you’re something of a coward.”
He scowled at her.
“I know this because I’ve been guilty of the same thing at times. When anything bad is written about Summer, my friends all tease me. I don’t like it. I feel put down and ashamed. But they’re jealous, you see, of her success. Not that any of them will admit it. But don’t they just love it when unkind words are written about Summer or an unflattering picture of her is taken? I fall for their bluster every time and blame Summer. Either she sets me straight or I get my bearings back on my own. All the negative stuff is backward praise in a way. People see how wonderful she is and want a part of her. It’s up to me to stay centered and put her first and everybody else last—where they belong.”
“We’ve got an ugly past to live down, as well.”
“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn you can live anything down.”
“Look, our lifestyles just aren’t compatible.”
“Then modify them. Maybe it won’t take as much give on your part as you think. When two people who are right for each o
ther come together, the most insurmountable obstacles can be conquered.”
“I’ve gotta go.”
“My, but you’re stubborn. It’s probably one of the reasons you’re so successful. You stick to what you decide to do, and do it. But in this case, you’re wrong. You’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“Usually, I go with my gut. This time, though, I made an intelligent decision, based on past and present experience—that’s all.”
“Maybe you should stick with your gut.”
“Not smart. She’s too good of an actress. She throws off my instincts.”
“Has this all been about revenge, then—about you wanting to get even with her for what happened fifteen years ago?”
“Hell, no.”
“Well, too bad, ’cause you’d sure be even with her if it was. You really hurt her this time. I haven’t seen her like this since she failed to carry your first child. It seems so unfair that here she is pregnant again, you both have a glorious second chance, but you’re walking out on her like before. You just about killed her last time.”
“I don’t need this.”
“I say you do. When you were in jail, Thurman found out she was pregnant and sent her away to New Orleans to have your baby. He didn’t want you or anybody else to know about the baby because he was afraid it might sway public opinion in your favor. There were people, even back then, who sided with you and didn’t like the way Thurman was using his pull to rush the due process of law.
“Did you know Summer tried to contact you shortly before she miscarried?”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
Viola ignored his protest. “Summer was inconsolable when she couldn’t find you. Finally, she felt that she had nowhere to go but back to New Orleans, and that’s where she lost the baby. Summer had the saddest little funeral for that child. Not that I could go. I was too busy tending to my dying daughter. When Summer finally came home to stay, she was different, changed.
“Then Anna, her mother, died. Summer blamed Thurman for everything that had happened, for the end of her mother’s remission, for losing you, for the death of the baby. She said she couldn’t live in this town with her memories, so she broke away from all of us and went to New York. That’s where she took bit parts while going to college in her spare time. I sent money. She worked herself to the bone in an effort to forget you. But she never could.”
