Kirk was satisfied that they had made a good dent in the project. He glanced at Ethan. More than that, they had brushed away a good deal of debris that Ethan had been harboring.
“This is the best day ever,” Ethan enthused, his mouth rimmed with raspberry jelly.
Kirk smiled, satisfaction, the kind he had never known, permeated him. It felt good, very good. “It was good for me, too.”
His response pleased Ethan most of all. His eyes grew large. “Really?”
“Really.”
Ethan decided to risk one more confidence. “My dad never took me anywhere.”
Kirk turned the minivan down the main thoroughfare. “Neither did mine.”
The answer surprised Ethan. He digested the implication slowly. “Guess that gives us something in common, besides Mom.”
Kirk was amused by the way Ethan lumped the two together. “I guess it does at that.”
Ethan settled back and contentedly polished off his fourth doughnut.
Chapter 12
Rachel had spent the whole day waiting for Ethan and Kirk to return. She had been working around the house, catching up on chores, attempting to keep her hands, if not her mind, occupied. Tension danced through her relentlessly, like electricity traveling along a power line.
It was ridiculous to feel this way. Afraid that they would return too soon, afraid that they would return too late. But no matter how hard she tried to keep an open, positive mind about the day, unease continued to nibble small holes in her resolve.
This day had been so important to Ethan. What if it somehow turned sour for him? She knew that she’d never be able to reach him if that happened.
She didn’t want to think about it.
She couldn’t help thinking about it.
When she heard the light rap on the door at almost seven o’clock, Rachel quickly abandoned the dust rag she had been pushing around over and over on the same spot for the past fifteen minutes.
Rachel took half a moment to compose herself in a last-ditch attempt to bridle her eagerness and glanced at her reflection in the hall mirror. She still looked unsettled, but, with luck, Ethan wouldn’t notice. Kirk, she knew, would.
She unlocked the front door and was greeted by the sight of a very tired, contented-looking Ethan on the doorstep, a tiny streak of what looked like jam along one cheek. Kirk was behind him, looking somewhat weary. There was a hint of satisfaction in his eyes.
“So, was it a success?” She stepped aside to let them in.
God, as tired as he felt, she still looked good to him. It made him come to life. He needed to get home and take a long, cold shower, he decided. To wash away the dust and the desire.
At her question, Kirk exchanged looks with Ethan. “We cruised, we took photographs, we ate.”
She couldn’t help noticing the way Ethan puffed up when Kirk said “we.”
“It was a success, then.” Rachel looked at her son. He appeared different, she thought. Definitely more like the way he used to be. She’d obviously spent the day worrying for nothing. “Hungry?”
At the mention of eating something else, Ethan groaned long and low, clutching his stomach with both hands. “No.”
She arched a wary brow as she looked at Kirk. “What did you feed him?”
He felt restless, and had no idea why. Something felt different tonight. As if he were waiting for a storm to break. He hadn’t been with her for more than a fleeting moment since he kissed her last night.
He wanted to kiss her again. Now.
Kirk lifted his shoulders and then let them fall, struggling hard to keep his mind from wandering back to last night. “Whatever he wanted.”
“Oh-oh,” she replied. Ethan, when undistressed and unsupervised, generally had an appetite that was greater than his stomach capacity. While his snacking was a healthy indication that his spirits were up, it didn’t bode well for his stomach.
Rachel studied her son’s face. “How do you feel?” Sympathy laced her voice.
It was almost as if the past six months hadn’t existed. There was no bravado, there were no barriers between them. This was her little boy turning slightly green in front of her. “Not so good.”
Without thinking, she brushed his hair from his eyes as she looked down at his sickly complexion. “Maybe you should go to your room and lie down for a while. It’s almost your bedtime, anyway.”
Mustering his failing strength, Ethan looked up at his mother. “No, please, Mom. I want to stay here.”
She could only stare at him.
“Please, Mom,” she echoed in disbelief. Ethan hadn’t shown her a shred of politeness, or even called her “Mom,” since Don’s funeral. Joy sprang up and raced through her on winged feet.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she took Ethan’s chin in her hand and raised his head ever so slightly. Her eyes met his. “All right, who are you, and what have you done with my son?”
“Aw, Mom...”
She dropped her hand and ushered him over to the sofa. “Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. Sit down and get comfortable.” She turned toward Kirk, gratitude shining in her eyes. “How about you? Would you like to have some dinner?”
He shook his head. The day had involved a parade of tacos, fries and doughnuts. He wasn’t feeling all that hot himself, although he’d kept it down to a minimum, eating only to keep Ethan company. “I’m not really hungry.”
“All right, how about a medal?”
Her eyes were so blue, he thought he could swim in them. He knew he could drown in them without any effort at all. Yet he couldn’t make himself pull his own eyes away.
“For what?”
She smiled as she looked toward Ethan. The boy seemed oblivious of everything except finding a comfortable place for himself on the sofa. “I don’t think I really have to explain that to you.”
He shrugged carelessly. “I’ll take a beer, if you have one.”
Since Cameron dropped by frequently, Rachel always kept a supply on hand. She’d never managed to develop a taste for the brew herself.
“Beer it is.” She looked toward Ethan. “How about some ginger ale?” He definitely looked as if he were in need of some bubbles.
He just gave his mother a woebegone look and nodded. With a sigh, he stretched his feet out on the coffee table, still searching for that comfortable niche that eluded him.
She’d told him not to put his feet up on the table a dozen times or more. This once, she said nothing. Furniture could always be replaced. A precious relationship was something else again, and theirs was just beginning to mend.
Rachel went into the kitchen and returned a moment later, a can in each hand. “Ginger ale.” She placed the green-and-white can in front of Ethan. The boy’s eyes had slid closed. If she didn’t miss her guess, he was nine-tenths asleep, which was just as well. With luck, when he woke up in the morning, his stomachache would be gone.
“And, for the gentleman, a beer.”
She handed it to Kirk, then sat down on the love seat beside him, tucking her legs under her. She’d kept on the baseball jersey he had seen her in this morning, and added a pair of shorts that were badly frayed at the cuffs. A fringe splayed along her thigh like so many delicate, caressing fingers.
Kirk took a pull on his beer and told himself she wasn’t driving him crazy.
Rachel watched him in silence for a moment. She felt exhilarated, wired and at peace, all in the same instant. A little, she realized, like the way she’d felt when Kirk kissed her last night. That, too, had been on her mind all day.
She waited until he was cradling the can between his hands. “So, how did it go?”
“Pretty well, I think.”
If he was going to attempt to maintain his sanity, he was going to have to stop looking at her eyes. Or at her legs. It didn’t leave a whole hell of a lot of places for him to look. He settled on the can.
“I’ve never seen such an enthusiastic kid.” Kirk laughed shortly as he hazarded a glance at her. “
Except for you, of course.”
“Enthusiastic?” She clutched the word to her. It sparkled in her hand, like a precious diamond. “Ethan? Ethan was enthusiastic?”
He nodded, leaning back in the seat. Even then, he couldn’t seem to relax. She was sitting too close to him. Every breath he took was filled with her.
“He didn’t want to stop.” Kirk thought for a moment, reconstructing the day. “I think I must have gone through twelve, fifteen rolls of film today.”
She chewed on her lower lip, hardly able to contain her happiness. She felt like hugging the world. And the man responsible for her joy.
“Did you manage to get anything good?”
He watched her teeth bite her lip, and longed to do the same. Longed to kiss her neck, and to taste the bright, womanly flavors he knew he’d discover along her body. Kirk clutched the can so tightly it began to dent beneath the pressure of his fingers.
He forced himself to relax. “I think so.”
She shifted, and her leg brushed against his thigh as she resettled herself. “What are you working on?”
He should be going, Kirk thought. He should definitely be getting up and going. Before he couldn’t. “This and that.”
Rachel shook her head and laughed softly. “God, but you are closedmouthed when you want to be.” She looked over toward a sleeping Ethan. “How was he, besides energetic?” She lowered her voice, in case he woke up suddenly. Her eyes shifted to Kirk’s face. Hope began to move forward. “Did he talk to you?”
He’d been wondering when to tell her, and how. He might have known she’d be the one to pick the time. And that it would be almost immediate.
“Yes.”
There was something in his tone that had her anticipation rising. Her words, instead of tumbling out, emerged slowly, as if coated in fear. “What did he say?”
Kirk took another pull of the beer, then toyed with the can. He knew the capacity of her sympathy, and that what he was about to say would hurt her. “I found out why he acts the way he does with you.”
The mere thought brought a fresh stab of pain to her. She pressed her lips together as she looked off at her son. Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. “He blames me for the divorce, doesn’t he? For Don’s death?”
“Wrong on both counts.”
Rachel looked at him sharply, confused, afraid to read anything into his words.
This much he could do for her. He could take away the burden of guilt she was needlessly carrying around. “He blames himself.”
Rachel felt as if all the air in her lungs had suddenly been sucked out. Disbelief filled the space as her eyes darted over toward her son. Ethan was now slumped over to one side, his face buried in one of the cushions on the sofa.
“Himself?” She spoke the word, though she hardly heard it. Confusion battered her. “How could he possibly blame himself?”
Kirk knew that she’d grown up with love. She had no idea what it was like to endure anger, to endure resentment and feel it was your fault. Things were born in that environment that children of love had no knowledge of.
“Because he thought you divorced Don because he hit him.”
It still made no sense to her. She placed her hand on Kirk’s arm, as if that would reinforce her words. “I did, but that was because Don’s mistreatment of Ethan was the final straw.”
He knew what she meant, but he also knew that Ethan had seen it differently. “And because after he wished his father dead, Don was killed.”
Rachel looked at the sleeping boy in horror. “Oh, my poor baby...” She felt her heart twist within her as she realized what her child must have been feeling. She struggled with the urge to wake him, to hold him in her arms and reassure him that he was blameless. “Did you manage to straighten him out?”
He nodded, rising. “I think so. He’s going to have to work it through some more, find his own way past the sorrow.” No matter what kind of father Don had been, he had still been Ethan’s father. Kirk knew the boy loved him, for nothing more than that. He’d loved his own father once, too. “But I really think he knows now that he had nothing to do with it.”
Impulsively, since words didn’t seem to be adequate, Rachel brushed her lips against his cheek. Then, to forestall the action from becoming something more, she crossed to the sofa. She tucked her arms around Ethan, ready to lift him from the sofa.
Kirk had every intention of leaving, but he couldn’t very well let her carry Ethan upstairs by herself, no matter how strong she thought she was.
“Here, let me,” Kirk muttered under his breath, edging her out of the way.
“I can carry him upstairs,” she insisted, but not too hard.
Even when they were growing up, she had always tried a little too hard. “Anything you can do, I can do better” could very well have been her credo.
“And bend steel in your bare hands when no one’s watching,” he told her, picking Ethan up. “Don’t worry, Superwoman, your secret identity is safe with me.”
Ethan’s arm was dangling, so she tucked it in against Kirk. Her fingers brushed against Kirk’s chest, and she dropped her hand self-consciously. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe it’s an observation,” he suggested charitably, shifting the boy against him.
Rachel led the way to the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder at Kirk. “About what?”
Ethan murmured something in his sleep, but it was too low for either of them to hear. “That you try to do too much.”
“I’m a single parent,” Rachel walked up the stairs ahead of Kirk. “Nothing I do is too much.” She sighed as she stopped at Ethan’s door. There were days when she felt so overwhelmed, so unequal to the burden. “It’s usually not enough.”
Kirk entered the room and placed Ethan on the bed. He watched as she lovingly removed the boy’s sneakers. There was love in everything she did. “If I know you, it’s enough.”
She looked at him, touched. “I take that as a very huge compliment.”
Rachel left the rest of Ethan’s clothes on the boy, deciding that it was more important that her son get his rest than for him to dress for the occasion. He usually slept like a rock, but she didn’t want to take a chance on tonight being an exception. She wanted him to sleep off his stomachache.
Tiptoeing out of the room, she shut off the light and closed the door. She looked up to see Kirk watching her as if what she was doing were completely out of the realm of his experience.
It probably was, she guessed. It didn’t take a detective to figure out that Kirk had never known much parental love and attention.
She sighed, contentment flowing through her, as she went down the stairs behind him. “I have absolutely no idea how to begin thanking you.”
He didn’t want her thanks. What he wanted was to leave before he gave in to the urges that had been multiplying within him at a furious pace since last night. “You gave me a beer.”
She threaded her arms through his and gently guided him toward the living room. “A beer is a very small payment for what you’ve done.”
Being thanked for anything made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t any good at being on the receiving end of gratitude. “I was just there at the right time. He would have told someone sooner or later.”
Rachel sat down on the sofa and tugged on his arm, urging him to sit down beside her. “I don’t know about that. You didn’t.”
Kirk didn’t understand what she was driving at. “Didn’t what?”
“Tell anyone about your life,” she said softly.
She saw the protective barriers go up, and it hurt more than she would have thought it could. After all this time, he didn’t trust her. Why? Whatever had happened to him was long in the past. Why couldn’t he just tell her and be done with it? They’d always exchanged confidences before.
Or at least she had thought they had. Thinking back, she began to realize that there had been gaps that Kirk purposely left blank.
Kirk picked up
the can of beer, but it was empty. He set it down again, refusing to look at her. “You knew all there was to know.”
The hand she laid on his arm was gentle, entreating. She felt him stiffen ever so slightly, the way Ethan had when he braced for a blow.
“You never told anyone your father beat you.” Rachel saw Kirk’s face harden instantly, shutting her out. “Don’t try to deny it, Kirk. You’re too much like Ethan not to have that in common. Besides,” she went on when he didn’t say anything, “you never talked about your home, never invited us over. Not even Cameron.”
Survival instincts had him evading the truth. “There could have been lots of reasons for that.”
“There could have been,” she agreed quietly, “but there weren’t.”
He looked at her, his face inscrutable. “Sure of yourself, are you?”
She hadn’t wanted to tell him, but he’d left her no choice. He had to set this free, just as Ethan had had to set his guilt free. Secrets left in the dark only festered and she had only to be with Kirk to know that something was troubling him. She could only guess that this was the cause.
“My bedroom window faced yours,” she began quickly. “I saw your father come into your room one night.” She took a breath. It hurt her to say it, almost as much as it must have hurt him to endure it. “I saw him beat you.” She had wanted to run, to tell someone, that night, but in those days, parents hadn’t been questioned when they administered corporal punishment. She had remained by her window, frozen. Horrified. “You never uttered a sound.”
Kirk had no idea which time she was referring to. His father had beaten him in every room of the house more than once. But he did remember his method of coping. He’d clench his teeth together and will himself not to cry out.
“It was the only way I could get back at him.”
She remembered the horror she’d experienced, watching. She’d quickly buried her head under a blanket, unable to look on any longer. She’d been ten or eleven at the time. “Why did he hit you?”
There was such love in her eyes, such sympathy, that it drew the words out of him.
“Frustration, I guess.” He shrugged, wishing he could shrug away the entire topic. “Same excuse Don used with Ethan.” He got up, feeling restless, cornered. “Look, I really don’t want to talk about this.”
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