Father's Day, page 11
“The accident?” A huge heaviness settled in her chest. Each breath pained her and brought with it the memories she longed to forget, memories of another accident—the one that had taken her husband from her.
“It was Janice’s fault—the accident, I mean. She’d been drinking and should never have been behind the wheel of a car. The day before, Cole had been in to see his attorneys, pleading with them to move quickly because he feared Janice was becoming more and more irresponsible. But it wasn’t until after Janice moved out that Cole realised how sick she’d become, how dependent she was on alcohol to make it through the day.”
“Dear lord,” Robin whispered. “Cole must have felt so guilty.”
“It was terrible,” Joyce returned, her voice quavering. “I didn’t know if Cole would survive that first year. He holed up inside the house and severed relationships with everyone in the neighbourhood. He was consumed by his grief. Later he seemed to come out of it a little, but he’s never been the same.
“The irony of all this is that eventually Janice would have got all she wanted, had she been more patient. A couple of years ago, Cole accepted a partnership in one of the most important law firms in the city. He’s made a real name for himself, but money and position don’t seem to mean much to him—they never have. I wouldn’t be surprised if he walked away from the whole thing someday.”
“I think you’re right. Cole told me not long ago that he has some property north of here that he inherited from his grandfather. He’s restoring the house, and he said something about moving there. It’s where he spends most of his weekends.”
“I wondered if it was something like that,” Joyce said, nodding. “There were rumours floating around the neighbourhood that he spent his weekends with a woman. Anyone who knew Cole would realise what a crock that is. Cole isn’t the type to have a secret affair.”
Robin felt ashamed, remembering how she’d been tempted to believe the rumour herself.
“For a long time,” Joyce went on, “I wondered if Cole was ever going to recover from Janice and Bobby’s deaths, but now I believe he has. I can’t help thinking you and Jeff have had a lot to do with that.”
“I…think he would have come out of his shell eventually.”
“Perhaps, but the changes in him lately have been the most encouraging things so far. I don’t know how you feel about Cole or if there’s anything between you, but you couldn’t find a better man.”
“I…I’m falling in love with him,” Robin whispered, voicing her feelings for the first time. The words hung in the air like a dark, heavy cloud.
“But I think that’s absolutely wonderful, I really do!” Joyce said enthusiastically.
“I don’t.” Now that the shock had worn off, Robin was forced to confront her anger. Cole had told her none of this. Not a single word. That hurt. Hurt more than she could have expected. But the ache she felt was nothing compared to the grief Cole must face each morning, the pain that weighed down his life.
“Oh, dear,” Joyce said. “I’ve really done it now, haven’t I? I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. You’re upset and it’s my fault.”
“Nonsense,” Robin whispered, making an effort to bring a smile to her dry lips and not succeeding. “I’m grateful we met, and more than grateful you told me about Janice, and about Cole’s son.” The knowledge produced a dull ache in Robin’s heart. She felt grief for Cole and a less worthy emotion, too—a sense of being slighted by his lack of trust in her.
She was so upset on the short drive home that she missed the turn on to Orchard Street and had to take a side street and double back.
As she neared the house, she saw that Cole was outside watering his lawn. He waved, but she pretended not to notice and pulled into the driveway. Desperate for some time alone before facing Cole, Robin did her best to ignore him as she climbed out of the car. She needed a few more minutes to gather her thoughts and tutor her emotions.
She was almost safe, almost at the house, when Cole stopped her.
“Robin,” he called, jogging toward her. “Hold on a minute, would you?”
She managed to compose herself, squaring her shoulders and drawing on her dignity.
His wonderful eyes were smiling as he hurried across over, fast approaching her. Obviously he hadn’t realised there was anything wrong. “Did Jeff happen to say anything to you about seeing us kiss last night?” he asked.
Her mouth was so dry that she had to swallow a couple of times before she could utter a single syllable. “Yes, but don’t worry, I think I’ve got him squared away.”
“Drat!” he teased, snapping his fingers. “I suppose this means I don’t have to go through with the shotgun wedding?”
She nodded, keeping her eyes lowered, fearing he would be able to read all the emotion churning inside her.
“You have nothing to fear but fear itself,” she said, forcing a lightness into her tone.
“Robin?” He made her name a question and a caress. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head, shifting the bag of groceries from one arm to the other. “Of course not,” she said with the same feigned cheerfulness.
Cole lifted the bag from her arms. Robin knew she should have resisted, but she couldn’t; she felt drained of strength. She headed for the house, knowing Cole would follow her inside.
“What’s wrong?” he asked a second time, setting the groceries on the kitchen counter.
It was still difficult to speak and even more difficult, more exhausting, to find the words that would explain what she’d learned.
“Nothing. It’s just that I’ve got a lot to do if we’re going out for dinner tonight.”
“Wear something fancy. I’m taking you to a four-star restaurant.”
“Something fancy?” Mentally she reviewed the contents of her cupboard, which was rather lacking in fancy.
“I’m not about to be outclassed by Frank,” Cole teased. “I’m going to wine and dine you and turn your head with sweet nothings.”
He didn’t need to do any of those things to turn her head. She was already dangerously close to being in love with him, so close that she’d blurted it out to a woman she’d known for a grand total of twelve minutes.
Abruptly switching her attention to the bag of groceries, Robin set several packages on the counter. When Cole’s hands settled over her shoulders, her eyes drifted shut. “It isn’t necessary,” she found herself admitting.
Cole turned her around to face him. “What isn’t?”
“The dinner, the wine, the sweet nothings.”
Their gazes held. As if choreographed, they moved into each other’s arms. With a groan that came deep from in his throat, Cole kissed her. His hands tangled in the auburn thickness of her hair. His lips closed over hers with fierce protectiveness.
Robin curled her arms tightly around his neck as her own world started to dip and spin and whirl. She was standing on her tiptoes, her heart in her throat, when she heard the front door open.
Moaning, she dragged her mouth from Cole’s and broke away just as Jeff strolled into the kitchen.
The ten-year-old stopped, his brow furrowed, when he saw the two of them in what must surely look like suspicious circumstances.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Cole.” He strolled casually to the refrigerator and yanked open the door. “Is there anything decent to drink around this place?”
“Water?” Robin suggested.
Jeff rolled his eyes. “Funny, Mom, real funny.”
“There are a few more sacks of groceries in the car. Would you get them for me?” He tossed her a look that suggested the child-labour laws needed reviewing, until Robin added, “You’ll find a six-pack of soda in there.”
“OK.” He raced out of the house and returned a minute later, carrying one sack and sorting through its contents as he walked slowly into the kitchen.
“I’ll lend you a hand, sport,” Cole said, placing his hand on Jeff’s shoulder. He glanced at Robin and his eyes told her they’d continue their discussion at a more opportune moment.
Robin started emptying the sacks, hardly paying attention as Jeff and Cole brought in the last couple of bags. Cole told her he’d pick her up at six, then left.
“Can I play with Blackie for a while?” Jeff asked, a can of cold soda clenched in his hand.
“All right,” Robin answered, grateful to have a few minutes alone.
Robin cleared the countertops and made Jeff a sandwich for his lunch. He must have become involved in his game with Cole’s dog because he didn’t rush in announcing he was hungry.
She went outside to stand on the small front porch and smiled as she watched Jeff and Blackie. Her son really had a way with animals—like his father. Every time Robin saw him play with Cole’s Labrador, she marveled at how attuned to each other they were.
She smiled when she realised Cole was outside, too; he’d just finished watering his lawn.
“Jeff, I made a sandwich for you,” she called.
“In a minute. Hey, Mom, watch,” he yelled as he tossed a ball across the lawn. Blackie chased after it, skidding to a stop as he caught the bright red ball in his mouth.
“Come on, Blackie,” Jeff urged. “Throw me the ball.”
“He can’t do that,” Robin said in astonishment.
“Sure, he can. Just watch.”
And just as Jeff had claimed, Blackie leapt into the air on all fours, tossed his head and sent the ball shooting into the street.
“I’ll get it,” Jeff hollered.
It was Cole’s reaction that Robin noticed first. A horrified look came over his face and he threw down the hose. He was shouting even as he ran.
Like her son, Robin had been so caught up in Blackie’s antics that she hadn’t noticed the car barrelling down the street, directly in Jeff’s path.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“JEFF!” ROBIN SCREAMED, fear and panic choking her. Her hands flew to her mouth in relief as Cole grabbed Jeff around the waist and swept him out of the path of the speeding car. Together the two fell backward on to the wet grass. Robin raced over to them.
“Jeff, how many times have I told you to look before you run into the street? How many times?” Her voice was high and hysterical. “You deserve the spanking of your life for that stunt!”
“I saw the car,” Jeff protested loudly. “I did! I was going to wait for it. Honest.” He struggled to his feet, looking insulted at what he obviously considered an over-reaction.
“Get into the house and wait for me there,” Robin demanded, pointing furiously. She was trembling so badly that she could barely speak.
Jeff brushed the grass from his jeans and lifted his head to a dignified angle, then casually walked toward the house. Not understanding, Blackie followed him, the rubber ball in his mouth, wanting to resume their play.
“I can’t, boy,” Jeff mumbled just loud enough for her to hear. “My mother just had some kind of anxiety attack that I’m gonna get punished for.”
Cole’s recovery was slower than Jeff’s. He sat up and rubbed a hand across his eyes. His face was ashen, his expression stark with terror.
“Everything’s all right. Jeff isn’t hurt,” Robin hurried to assure him. She slipped to her knees in front of him.
Cole nodded without looking at her. His eyes went blank and he slowly shook his head, as if to clear his mind.
“Cole,” Robin said softly, “are you all right?”
“I…I don’t know.” He gave her a faint smile, but his eyes remained glazed and distant. He placed one hand over his heart and shook his head. “For a minute there I thought Jeff hadn’t seen that car and…dear lord, I don’t know…if that boy had been hurt…”
“Thank you for acting so quickly,” Robin whispered, gratitude and relief filling her heart. She ran her hands down the sides of his face, needing to touch him, seeking a way to comfort him, although her heart ached at his words. So many times over the past few weeks, she’d suspected—and feared—that Cole’s feelings had more to do with replacing the family he’d lost than love for her and Jeff.
With a shudder, Cole locked his arms around her waist and pulled her close, burying his face in the gentle curve of her neck as he dragged deep gulps of air into his lungs.
“Come inside and I’ll get us some coffee,” Robin suggested.
Cole murmured agreement, but he didn’t seem in any rush to release her. Nor she him. Her hands were in his hair and she rested her cheek against his, savouring these moments of closeness now that the panic was gone.
“I lost my son,” Cole whispered and the words seemed to be wrenched from the deepest part of his soul. His voice held an agony only those who have suffered such a loss could understand. “In a car accident six years ago.”
Robin kissed the crown of his head. “I know.”
Cole broke away from her, slowly raising his eyes to meet hers. Mingled with profound grief was confusion. “Who told you?”
“Joyce Wallach.”
Cole closed his eyes. “I could use that coffee.”
They both stood, and when Cole wrapped his arm around her waist Robin couldn’t be sure it was to lend support or to offer it.
Inside the house, Jeff was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, his knees pressed under his chin. Ever loyal, Blackie lay beside him.
Jeff raised his head when Robin opened the front door, his round eyes following her. “I saw the car,” he repeated. “You’re getting upset over nothing. I hope you realise that. Hey, what’s wrong with Cole?” he asked abruptly. He glanced from Robin to their neighbor and then back to his mother. “He looks like he’s seen a ghost.”
In some way, Robin supposed, Cole had.
“You all right, sport?” Cole asked. “I didn’t hurt you when we fell, did I?”
“Naw.” He bit his lip, eyes lowered.
Cole frowned. “You don’t sound all that certain. Are you sure you’re OK?”
Jeff nodded reluctantly. “I will be once I find out what my mother intends to do to me. I really was going to stop at the kerb. Honest.”
The kid would make an excellent attorney, Robin decided.
“I think I might have over-reacted,” Cole said. He held open his arms and Jeff flew into them without a second’s hesitation. Briefly Cole’s eyes drifted shut, as though in silent thanksgiving for Jeff’s safety.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Jeff murmured. “I would have stopped.”
“I know.”
“I promise to be more careful.”
“I certainly hope so,” Robin said.
Cole released Jeff and sighed deeply, then looked at Robin. “You said something about coffee?”
She smiled and nodded. “I’ll get it in a minute. All right, Jeff, you can go outside, but from now on if you’re playing ball with Blackie, do it in the backyard. Understand?”
“Sure, Mom,” her son said eagerly. “But—” he paused “—you mean that’s it? You aren’t going to ground me or anything? I mean, of course you aren’t going to because I did everything I was supposed to—well, almost everything. Thanks, Mom.” He tossed the red ball into the air and deftly caught it with one hand. “Come on, Blackie, we just got a pardon from the governor.”
Robin followed the pair into the kitchen and watched as Jeff opened the sliding glass door and raced into the backyard with Blackie in hot pursuit. Reassured, she poured them each a mug of coffee while Cole pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. She carried the mugs to the table, then sat down across from him.
Cole immediately reached for her hand, lacing her fingers with his own. He focused his concentration on their linked hands. “Bobby was my son. He died when he was ten.”
“Jeff’s age,” Robin said as a chill surrounded her heart.
“Bobby was so full of laughter and life I couldn’t be around him and not smile.”
Talking about Bobby was clearly difficult for Cole, and Robin longed to do or say something that would help. But she could think of nothing to ease the agony etched so deeply on his handsome face.
“He was the kind of boy every father dreams of having. Inquisitive, sensitive, full of mischief. Gifted with a vivid imagination.”
“A lot like Jeff,” she murmured, and her hands tightened around the mug.
Cole nodded. “Bobby used to tell me that I shouldn’t worry about Janice—she was my wife—because he, my ten-year-old son, was taking care of her.”
Robin held her breath as she watched the fierce pain in his eyes. “You don’t need to tell me this.” Not if it was going to rip open wounds that weren’t properly healed yet.
“I should have told you long before this,” he said, frowning slightly. “It’s just that even now, after all these years, it’s still difficult to talk about my son. For a good many years, I felt as though a part of me had died with Bobby. The very best part of me. I don’t believe that any more.”
“Jeff reminds you a lot of Bobby, doesn’t he?” Robin doubted Cole fully understood that he was transferring his love from one boy to the other.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Bobby had a huskier build and was taller than Jeff. His sport was basketball, but he was more of a spectator than a participant. His real love was computers. Had he lived, I think Bobby would have gone into that field. Janice never understood that. She wanted him to be more athletic, and he tried to please her.” Cole’s gaze dropped to his hands. “Janice and I were divorced before the accident happened. She died with him. If there’s anything to be grateful for in their deaths, it’s the knowledge that they both went instantly. I couldn’t have stood knowing that they’d suffered.” He paused long enough to take a sip of the coffee, and grimaced once. “You added sugar?”
“I thought you might need it.”
He chuckled. “I have so much to thank you for.”
