A Child Of His Own, page 18
“I’ve never been afraid of the truth. No matter how much it hurts.”
“Is that so? All right, so tell me how you feel about me.”
“I think you’re a good man. I think you’re decent and honest, and—”
“I don’t need a character reference, thank you. Besides, I didn’t ask what you think of me. I want to know how you feel, I mean how you really feel, about me. Or if you have any feelings at all for me.”
Dory stiffened at his ridicule. It would have been easy to toss off a caustic remark, to tell him how much she hated him for having turned her life upside down. Another person might have grasped the opportunity to wound him with indifference. But it was not in her nature to be cruel.
“Come on, Dory,” he urged with angry impatience. “You’re a smart woman, too smart not to know what I’m asking you.”
He was backing her into a dangerous corner from which there was no escape.
“You want the truth?” she stormed at him. “All right. Yes! Yes, damn it, I have feelings for you. I...I... Oh God, I love you. I love you so much it frightens me.”
She spoke each word as if she hated the sound of it, her features twisting with the bitter taste of the truth upon her tongue.
“All you have to do is look at me and I go weak all over. I’ve tried to fight it, but I can’t. It’s as if there’s a part of me over which I have no control.”
The words should have made him happy, but somehow, they didn’t. She admitted her love to him as if it were the worst possible thing that could happen to her. What she said next stung him more deeply than he could have imagined.
“It was natural, I suppose, falling in love with you. It’s been such a long time for me, and I was feeling lonely and afraid, and I let you seduce me.”
Isn’t that what he had done, let himself be seduced by her? Hearing her say it, however, sent his reason into a tailspin.
“I’ve never seduced any woman,” he exclaimed. “I’m not interested in a woman who has to be coaxed. I want a woman who’s willing and who’s not afraid to show me what she wants, like I thought you were last night.”
Dory cringed. Did he have to remind her of the way she had opened herself up to him, with the eagerness of a virgin all too willing to let herself be seduced?
“I want a woman who’s not afraid to give back. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I had the distinct impression that that’s what happened this afternoon. Or is that just how you show your gratitude?”
He knew his barb had hit its mark when her mouth fell open and he saw the sting of pain in her wide, green eyes.
His sarcasm was not lost on Dory as her mind spun with thoughts of the wanton, reckless passion she had exhibited, bringing it all back to her in a tidal wave of emotion.
“Gratitude?” she echoed. “Is that what you think it was? After I just admitted to what I feel for you?”
“Yeah, right, you love me. But you wish you didn’t, because it just makes things more complicated. Because after we hear from the attorney, you’ll go back to living your safe little life where you never have to tell any man that you love him ever again, and all you’ll have to deal with is the pest who comes now and then to see his son.”
“That’s not fair,” she exclaimed. “Do you think I can ever go back to the way things were before?”
“Then what are you going to do about it?”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“Face it, Dory. This thing isn’t going to go away, no matter how much you might want it to. You’ve admitted that you love me, the question remains, what are you going to do about it?”
She hated the smug, almost arrogant way in which he used her feelings against her. “Do? What makes you think I should do anything about it? You’ll have what you want. You’ll have your share of Jason.”
“Is that all you think I want?”
“Isn’t it? Tell me something, Ben. What will you do if you find out that you’re not Jason’s father?” She thought she already knew the answer to that. He would leave. Why would he stay when he had already proven that he didn’t believe in love?
Ben’s reaction to the bitter question was swift and genuine. “Not Jason’s father? Sure I am. We both know that in our hearts, don’t we?”
He had to be. He had long since given up the possibility that he wasn’t.
“But what if you’re not?”
It wasn’t so much the words that cut him like a knife, it was the look on her face.
It was his turn to feel cornered. In a low, thick voice, he told her, “I’ve handled a lot worse and survived.”
She shuddered to think of what he had endured in prison, and what he had lost. But it was no greater than the tragedies in her own life, and the one that threatened her now. To love him was the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to her. The best because it had helped dislodge the memories and ease the bite of their pain. The worst because she knew she would carry with her forever the burn of his lips against hers and the knowledge that he had never promised her forever.
His eyes flickered with dark emotion as they searched her face long and hard. He stood there without moving, wondering how he would ever survive this.
“Have it your way,” he said. With a look of abject disappointment on his handsome face, he added haplessly, “Dinner’s getting cold.”
He was angry at her vulnerability—that he could hurt her as much as he did, and he was angry at himself for the desire that raged within him even now.
The color that flushed her face accentuated her delicate cheekbones. Her eyes blazed fury and indignation and hatred and love all at the same time, the green of them sparkling like emeralds in the candlelight. She was like a beautiful, angry cat with her back up, exciting him with her anger as acutely as she had excited him with her lovemaking.
His gaze was drawn to the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing came in rapid little bursts. Her breasts were thrust against the fabric of her blouse, the outline of her nipples straining toward him. He felt the strength of his desire, no longer a slow, steady surge of blood through his veins, but a rapid, heated arousal that pushed against his jeans.
She was in his head, in his blood, and it was suddenly no longer enough just to look at her. He wanted her with the same fierce desperation that had overtaken him last night. He could tell himself that what they felt for each other wasn’t enough on which to build a life together, but it would never change the need he had established for her, or the passion that burned like a wildfire out of control.
Dory read his intentions in his eyes, which were fiery bright. She closed her own eyes against the impact. Pawn to her desire, she felt herself weakening under his hot, ardent gaze. Even now she felt her soft, private places heating up as if on fire, while her unanswered question about whether he would stay still hung in the air.
His eyes strayed to the table, and she knew what he was thinking. She could almost smell the pungent aroma of candles blown out in a hurry, and feel the crisp white lace beneath her back. With a soft intake of breath, she prepared herself to be taken in the rapid, angry rush of his desire.
She closed her eyes to the inevitable, fearing it, embracing it, wanting it more than she wanted life itself. From some far-off place she heard a noise. Her heartbeat? His? No, it didn’t have the heavy, erratic sound of a heart beating out of control. She sought to ignore it as she waited for his lips to claim hers.
But the moment of possession never came.
Feeling him pull back, Dory opened her eyes and saw that something had distracted him.
She knew in an instant what it was. The sound she had heard was the telephone ringing.
Like an unwanted intruder it barged in, forcing its way between them, hurtling Dory from one kind of expectancy to another. Her first thought was that it was Martin calling and that something had happened.
She backed away from Ben, her eyes still locked to his, until she reached the doorway, and then she hurried out of the room to answer the phone.
The desk on which the telephone sat was no more than seconds away, but she was breathless nevertheless when she reached for it.
“Hello? What? Uh, yes, yes, this is she.”
The voice at the other end of the line was not the one Dory had expected. Instead of her grandfather’s anxious voice telling her of some mishap he and Jason had gotten into, a feminine voice answered back.
“This is Celina Bonham. I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Dory’s entire being snapped to attention. “Why, Mrs. Bonham, no, you’re not interrupting anything,” she lied.
She turned a wild, stricken gaze toward the doorway. Ben was standing there, his whole body having gone rigid at the mention of the attorney’s name. For a second he remained there, hands gripping the jambs for support as he struggled to suppress the passion that raged inside of him still. In several long strides he was at her side. Not asking her permission to listen in, he bent his dark head down toward hers and placed his ear to the phone.
Sharing the phone, they listened apprehensively, their heads bent together, practically cheek to cheek, their lips so close they could have kissed.
“I have good news for you,” said the attorney.
Ben’s heart slammed into his chest. Dory’s skipped a beat with anticipation so acute it was like a physical thing.
“The court has approved your petition to open the file.”
In a faraway voice that sounded stiff and vaguely like her own, Dory said, “That’s wonderful.”
Ben gave out with a triumphant whoop under his breath. “How soon can it be done?” he asked anxiously.
“Mr. Stone? Is that you?” The attorney sounded surprised to hear his voice on the line.
“How soon?” he repeated.
“Why, right now, if you like.”
“You mean you have the file right there?” Dory asked, her panic growing.
“Yes. It was turned over to me late this afternoon. Would you like me to open it?”
Dory clamped her hand down hard over the mouthpiece and looked desperately at Ben. He looked as afraid and uncertain as she was. “Ben,” she began, “whatever happens—”
He pulled her hand from the phone. Into the mouthpiece he commanded, “Open it.”
They could hear the sound that the letter opener made as it slipped beneath the glued flap of the manila envelope that housed the file and ripped it open. They heard the sounds of papers being leafed through in rapid succession, as the searcher looked for one thing and one thing only. They could hear the sound of each other’s heart beating a savage rhythm.
But they could not hear what was coming from the sound of the attorney’s voice when, retaining her cool professionalism, she said, “The records, Mr. Stone, reflect that you are not the child’s biological father.”
Shock, at first. Cold, numbing shock.
Somewhere in the tumult of crushing disappointment Ben found his voice. In a voice ringing with desperation, he asked, “Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. It’s right here. You understand, of course, that I cannot reveal the actual biological father’s name.”
“Sure, sure.” His mind was spinning out of control. Had Allison lied and put another man’s name on the birth certificate to insure that he would never have his child? “The mother’s name. Please, Mrs. Bonham, you have to tell me the mother’s name.”
“Mr. Stone, that’s hardly possible. You agreed that—”
“To hell with what I agreed,” he stormed. He was losing it, his control, his child, Dory, everything.
Dory’s heart went out to him. He looked so utterly desperate. Placing her hand over his, she pulled the phone closer, giving him a warning look with her eyes not to interfere.
Her voice was level and softly pleading. “Mrs. Bonham, please. You see, it’s possible that Mr. Stone’s late wife might have lied about the father.”
Ben’s dark eyes widened and misted with a thousand unnamed emotions to hear Dory’s gentle plea on his behalf.
She spoke in a whisper, as if hearing the words out loud might somehow make a mockery of the whole situation. “Please, Mrs. Bonham. This would mean so much to us.”
There was nothing but static silence at the other end of the line at first, followed by a faintly resigning click of the tongue. “Oh, very well. But this is highly unusual.”
Again, the shuffling of papers while the two of them waited with their hearts lodged in their throats.
“Let’s see. Ah yes, here it is, the name of the mother.”
There was a pause, only a fraction of a second really, but a lifetime to the two people who waited.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stone, but the mother was not your late wife. It appears that the child in question is not yours.”
Chapter 16
It was nothing but a coincidence, after all. A painful and poignant coincidence, but a coincidence nevertheless.
Everything became a blur after that. The phone fell out of his hand and he stumbled backward, the news hitting him with the impact of a fist in the solar plexus. He needed air. Somehow he made it to the front door.
He stood on the weathered planks of the porch, gulping in air the way a thirsty man gulps water. He found it hard to think. All he could do was feel. Desperation. Futility. Loss. No one word could describe the utter hopelessness he was feeling.
He didn’t know how he came to be standing before the carousel, but it appeared suddenly in front of him, like a wall he had run smack up against. Stripped of its tarpaulins, its horses stood out like ghostly steeds, hooves thrashing against the night, bloodred nostrils flared, white teeth bared in taunting smiles. It was as if they were all laughing at him, at the weakness in him that had caused all this trouble and led to all this heartache.
He stood there staring wildly up at them, envying the lifelessness that freed them from the pain of feeling. Hating them for being a part of Dory and Jason’s life when he would never be. “How?” he cried to them, as if they could hear him and somehow they alone knew the answer. “How could I have been so wrong?”
He thought his gut instincts had been sharpened in prison, honed to perfection by a life that made such things necessary for survival. What had happened to his instincts to make them so untrustworthy?
Was it love that made him disobey his intuitive voice and run contrary to his reason? Love, that made fools of everyone in one way or another?
Or was it need? Not the physical need he had for Dory. That was basic and fundamental, and he was just a man, with a man’s hungers and needs, and he’d be damned if he would ever apologize for that. Rather, the obsessive need he had to find his son at any cost, the compulsive need to right the terrible wrong that had been done to him, and the desperate need to believe that Jason might be his.
But that was just it. Somewhere along the way he had lost sight of the might be and had created his own reality out of dreams. In those dreams he saw them all together, him, Dory, Jason and Martin, a happy, loving family, not just until Memorial Day, but for all the days after that. When all the while it was still just a fantasy never to come true.
My God, he thought, the torture he must have put Dory through. Awash with guilt over the way he had hurt her, it did his conscience little good to know that she had fallen in love with him despite his threatening claim to her son and the dark secrets from his past that touched so deeply upon her own.
She had looked so scared that cool April morning when he had appeared on her doorstep. And so sad. She was that most lethal of things to a man, a beautiful and vulnerable woman. He knew now that he had lost his heart to her that day without even knowing it.
He should have been strong enough to confide his secret past early on and taken his chances. Maybe then things would never have gotten to this point. Maybe she would have sent him packing long before his suspicions had a chance to get a foothold in his mind and lead them to where they were now.
And where did that leave him? He still felt as desperate and alone as he had the day he arrived. He didn’t have his son then, and he didn’t have his son now. In the wake of the pain he had caused, there didn’t seem to be anything left for him to do except leave the way he came, with his pack on his back. The only difference was that he would be carrying much more than his meager wardrobe with him. He would be carrying a hurt inside so fierce that it made all his previous hurts seem trivial in comparison.
He had survived those dark and lonely years in prison and endured the heartbreak of Allison’s betrayal, but he didn’t know if he could withstand the loss of Dory and Jason and everything he had come to believe in.
Just when he had come to accept his feelings for Dory, when he’d been about to grab a piece of happiness for himself as a part of her family, in the shattering aftermath of this evening’s news, what was left for him there? After all, he bitterly reminded himself, Dory had never asked him to stay.
Why should she now that the threat had been removed? The look on her face tonight said it all. As they had stood there with their heads bent together toward the phone, her complexion had been ashen with anxiety, her beautiful features wrought with panic. When she had pleaded with the attorney to reveal the mother’s name, even in the midst of his own turmoil, he’d been shocked to know that she did it for him.
Nevertheless, there had been no mistaking the wave of relief he saw wash over her face and the involuntary cry he heard spill from her lips when she heard the stunning news that Jason was not his. There could be little doubt about her feelings then.
He had gambled and he had lost, and the last thing his bruised and battered ego needed at the moment was Dory’s pity. He turned his head and saw her standing there. Pulling in a deep, galvanizing breath, he said, “Congratulations, Dory, you won.” He turned away, filled with self-disgust at the harshness he heard ringing in his tone.
There was no sign of pity in her voice or her eyes. “There’s no victory here, Ben. Certainly not for me.”
If only she knew what he was thinking, how badly he wanted her to want him, and how uncertain he was of being able to love her in return. Instead, he said, “I was thinking how your life can turn on a dime. God knows, mine has.” He smothered a bitter little laugh. “I should be used to it, but I guess I never will be. What is it, my karma? Did I do something bad in a previous life?”
