A Child Of His Own, page 7
To Dory, it was a pathetic attempt to reclaim something he had lost. If she weren’t so angry, she might have felt almost sorry for him. “I’ve never known it to happen, but I suppose it could. It all depends on what the birth mother wants. In my case, she demanded total anonymity. The records are sealed. I have all the vital statistics, time of birth, weight, inches, but not in the form of a birth certificate.” Stoically, she added, “Sorry.”
“There’s another way to find out if I’m his father,” said Ben, undeterred. “DNA testing.”
“That’s out of the question! Jason had his tonsils out last year and he had nightmares for weeks over the blood test. I’m not about to put him through that kind of thing.”
Ben put his hand up to staunch her reaction. “No, no, I wouldn’t want you to. Of course not.”
“Besides, in order for it to be even remotely possible, we would have to have used the same attorney, and what are the chances of that happening?”
In the face of the odds she was stacking against him, Ben felt his hope slowly slipping away. “My son’s adoption was handled by an attorney in Manhattan by the name of Celina Bonham.”
There was a soft intake of breath. Dory’s voice emerged scratchy and raw. “Celina Bonham is one of the best family law attorneys in the state of New York who specializes in private adoptions. It’s not so inconceivable that we would have used the same attorney.”
“But you just implied the odds were too great for that to happen.”
“They are. At least I think they are.”
The truth was, Dory didn’t know what to think. Every word of Ben’s shocking pronouncement was a blow to her heart. That he could be Jason’s father was unthinkable.
Was it merely coincidence that he’d come knocking on her door that first morning, or had he seen Jason in town and followed him here? What if it was just a crazy coincidence after all? But what if it wasn’t? What if it was his intention to try to take Jason away from her? With all the unanswered questions swirling in Dory’s mind, only one thing was certain. Someone’s heart was bound to be broken.
Chapter 6
A breeze full of springtime and dogwoods wafted through the carousel. The high sun was caught in the gilded panels as Dory applied a coat of white primer to one of the horses.
When that was dry, she would use the same artist’s oils that were used in paintings to add subtleties, and shade and soften for expression. As with an oil painting, by the time she was finished, she would have used a dozen layers of color to give the right richness and underglow to a rippling flank or a flowing mane.
Working with the horses was like a tonic to her. Often, when she was feeling lonely and regretful, she would seek them out, finding consolation in their stoic company.
They were her oldest and truest friends, her link to happier times, to memories of growing up surrounded by her parents’ love.
Losing her parents had been the first blow to her heart, leaving it as fragile as glass for the disappointments that would follow. She didn’t think there was anything that could hurt her more than losing them, except perhaps losing the Dutch Mill, or Martin,..or Jason.
That last thought brought with it a pain that was almost unbearable and which not even her gildedhooved friends could assuage. A pain that was worsened by the nagging little voice at the back of her mind that kept repeating, “Can it be? Can it be?”
The worst part of it was that her feelings for Ben had begun to grow stronger. First there was his kiss, tender, tentative, saying more than mere words could ever express with its lingering softness over her lips. In the days that followed she had actually found herself looking forward to seeing him at breakfast.
In the past, breakfast had always been such a haphazard affair, with Martin routinely up at the crack of dawn, Jason refusing everything except cereal, and Eddie sleeping one off until noon, that she had forgotten how wonderful something as simple as making breakfast for a man could be.
When had it begun, this slow and steady shift of emotion within her? When had the handsome dark-eyed drifter pierced the hard shell of her resolve and pricked the tender core deep inside? Like the wind, he had slipped in without notice, stirring up her emotions and creating havoc in her mind.
She should have trusted her instincts that told her not to hire him in the first place. There had been something about him from the start that put her on edge. She told herself it was the way he stared at her with those dark, probing eyes, and the fact that she knew so little about him. She didn’t want to admit that maybe it was her attraction to him, slamming into her with the force of a locomotive, that made her uncomfortable.
It was her feelings for Ben that angered Dory the most. She could fight in court his attempt to take Jason away from her, but how could she fight these feelings that sprang from somewhere deep within and which would not be denied?
Over and over again she asked herself how she could have been so wrong a second time. First Eddie, and now a man who could hurt her even worse.
Torn between her budding feelings for Ben and her desire to protect and keep her son, Dory tried to concentrate on her work, but she could not. In her heart she knew she had to find out if what Ben suspected was true. Certainly not for Ben’s sake; she’d be damned if she would help him. But for Jason’s, knowing that she could not deprive her son of the right to know his father, and for her own, knowing that she would never forgive herself if she did not somehow find the courage to do the right thing.
She heard the car and knew that Martin had returned home, with or without the paint she didn’t know, since she was doing her best to avoid Ben and had no intention of going over there to find out. Lunchtime came and she let the two of them fend for themselves. She could just picture the scene in the kitchen, Ben with his hideous secret threatening to ruin their lives, Martin unsuspecting, as they sat at the table eating tuna-fish sandwiches. But as the hours passed, she knew she couldn’t avoid Ben forever. She knew also that she really had no choice. She had to help him.
It was well past noon when Dory stepped off the carousel and went to the house. She came out a few minutes later, looking pale and feeling apprehensive. Drawing in a supportive breath, she went to find Ben.
The first thing she saw when she rounded the corner of the shed was the games of chance. Some still wore their coats of old, peeling paint. Others were painted in bright new colors that shone in the sunlight, with big bold lightning streaks, exclamation marks and spirals in colors that contrasted wildly with the backgrounds.
Ben had been right. Day-Glo was the way to go. The transition was amazing and exciting, and as she stood there admiring his work, Dory could just imagine all the eager kids lining up to try their luck on opening day.
A glance around revealed no sign of Ben, and the courage she had talked herself into began to dissipate. Maybe tonight, when Jason was asleep in bed and Martin was snoring softly in his rocking chair on the porch, maybe then she would confront Ben with all the questions running rampant through her mind, like what would he do if they found out that Jason was not his son, and what would he do if they found out that he was?
She was on her way back to the carousel when she saw him. He was sitting on the ground, his back pressed against a tree, knees pulled up, his head in his hands. For a moment she thought he was weeping, and for the first time she was acutely aware of just how much this was affecting him.
Upon closer scrutiny, however, she noticed that his body was perfectly still, and no sound came from him. Good. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him. Yet even as she approached, she felt a subtle tugging on her heartstrings.
The sudden tension in the air told Ben he was not alone. His head came up from deep thought to the sight of her.
Even now, looking unfriendly and immovable, she was beautiful. Sunlight sparkled like copper pennies all through her hair. In the bright light of day her eyes shone as green as emeralds. Her cheeks were tinted, no doubt from the anger she had every right to feel.
He couldn’t blame her for hating him. Just when he’d begun to feel as if he were making some progress in gaining her friendship, he himself had driven this terrible wedge between them.
He’d been sitting there, agonizing over how on earth he was going to bridge the gap and, more important, tell her the rest of it, about Allison and prison, without destroying whatever chance he had of convincing her to help him. More than anything now, he needed her understanding, the one thing he wasn’t likely to receive.
He got up from the ground and dusted himself off. Somewhere in the tangle of his emotions he found his voice.
“Did you see the games?”
She answered grudgingly, “Yes. I’ve got to admit you were right.”
“I’m glad you like them.” He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling uncomfortable with their small talk when there were more compelling issues at. hand.
“Ben, I—”
“Dory, I—”
Their words shot out in unison and ceased just as abruptly as each turned away in a fluster.
His next words emerged unsteady and unsure. “Were you going to say something?”
“You first,” she urged.
Ben licked his lips nervously. In his mind were dozens of things he could have said to her, but to his own surprise, it was his heart that spoke.
Unconscious of the physical gesture, he reached his hand out to her, palm up, empty and pleading, and said, “Dory, you’ve got to believe that I never meant to hurt you. I had no idea when I showed up here that something like this would happen.”
She looked down at the outstretched masculine hand, its strong brown fingers slightly bent and beckoning to her. She closed her eyes in anguish at the appeal she heard in his voice.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
He came to stand behind her, only inches away but not daring to touch her. “Believe that I would never do anything to willingly hurt you.”
“Is that the operative word, Ben? Willingly?” She turned to face him. “I see. You wouldn’t willingly hurt me, but if I get in the way, so be it.” He was standing so close that she could feel his heated breath rustling the hair along the side of her face. “Well, I can tell you this. If you try to take Jason away from me, I certainly will get in the way. I’ll fight you all the way to the Supreme Court if I have to.”
“What makes you think I want to take him away from you?”
Dory’s eyes narrowed, suspicious of him, like slits of green glass. “You don’t want him?”
“Of course I want him, but, who knows, maybe there’s another way. Earlier you mentioned visitation rights. Maybe we could work something out.”
Uncertain whether or not to believe the sincerity she heard in his tone, and needing to know more about the man to whom she might have to give up her child, Dory questioned bitterly, “What would make a man give up a child in the first place?”
Ben swallowed hard and answered, “I didn’t know about him. My wife and I were separated at the time. I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”
“You had time to come forward before the adoption was final. Why didn’t you?”
It was the one question he dreaded most to answer. His muscles tensed beneath his denim shirt. Carefully, he replied, “I was out of her life and didn’t know I had a son until he was three years old.”
“It sounds like you didn’t know a lot of things.”
His look turned stony at the disparaging tone. “I didn’t. But I do now.”
She arched a slim brow at him. “Oh? And just what do you know now?”
“I know that I may have found him.”
“Based on what? A hunch? A feeling? Because Jason has dark hair and eyes? Because the same attorney happened to have handled both adoptions?”
“Yes, to your first three questions. And as to the last, because maybe it was the same attorney who handled one adoption.”
“Do you know anything about your son, anything at all that would convince me that you’re right?”
“Only that he’s living somewhere up here and that he’s the same age as Jason.”
Dory was exasperated and angry and frightened all at the same time, and now she was flabbergasted. “That’s it? That’s all you know, and based on that you want to put my family through a nightmare?”
“There are too many coincidences,” he argued. “And a feeling. Here.” He brought a closed fist down hard over his chest. “Don’t tell me you never had a feeling about something that wouldn’t go away and that turned out to be right. If we can’t depend on our instincts, what can we depend on?”
“You’re right about that. And my instinct is to protect my child.”
He bit back his abject disappointment. “Of course, I understand. I can expect no help from you.”
“That’s not what I said.”
In answer to the questioning look in his eyes, Dory spoke her next words carefully, not wanting to arouse in him any unwarranted hope. “What I mean is, while my instinct is to protect my son, it is also not my intention to stand in the way of him knowing his father. We’ll never know if that’s you unless we find out. That’s why I phoned the attorney before I came out here to speak to you. We have an appointment to meet with her on Friday at noon. We can drive into town and take the train into the city.”
“Dory, I—I don’t know what to say, except thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, Ben. Like you said that first day, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me and Jason and Martin. And speaking of my grandfather, I’d rather you didn’t mention this to him. I’ll just tell him that we have to go to pick up supplies. There’s no sense in worrying him over something that isn’t likely to happen.”
Her voice was no longer hard-edged, but soft, with that vulnerable little scratch that brought Ben’s protective instincts to the surface. But if he had learned anything about her today, it was that behind the delicate facade, the sad, green eyes and softly aching voice, beat the heart of a survivor.
He was shocked by what she had done, until he remembered that streak of fairness that ran through her like a river, deep and sure, and he knew that she could not go against her nature.
Wishing that he felt an iota of the confidence she must be feeling, he said, “You’re that sure of yourself?”
“The word is hope, Ben. Isn’t that the one thing that was left inside the box?”
Chapter 7
Ben looked out the window of the taxi as it weaved and dodged its way across town. The streets of Manhattan were thick with congestion. Everywhere he looked people streamed out of the buildings and subway exits, all converging to form one colorful moving mass of humanity. It was all just the way he remembered it. The energy, strung like a network of live wires all up and down the streets and avenues. The bustling pace of people always in a hurry to get somewhere. The throbbing rhythm of honking horns and sirens.
He used to be a part of all this, once, in what seemed now like an eternity ago. He used to love this place. The energy and the madness of it had helped to fuel his own creativity. A part of him resonated with that energy even now.
Yet as the taxi jockeyed for position through the crowded streets, another part of him felt strangely disconnected from it all. The city was too big, too fast, and filled with too many bad memories.
Ever since Dory had announced that she’d made the appointment with the attorney, he’d been apprehensive over whether the woman would remember him. It couldn’t have been every day that a man fresh out of prison showed up at her office looking for his son. With the exception of a few more hard lines etched around his eyes, he reasoned that he hadn’t changed much externally in three years. She was bound to remember him once she heard his name. He paled at the thought of what he would do if the subject of prison came up. It wasn’t the way he wanted Dory to find out.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want Dory to know. On the contrary, his need to open up to her was stronger than ever, particularly in light of the bomb he had dropped in her lap about Jason. He had to be honest with her. He wanted no lies between them, not if there was the possibility that they might share a little boy’s life.
He turned from the window to look at Dory seated beside him on the ripped vinyl seat. She was wearing a white dress with tiny red polka dots spread across the fitted bodice and flared skirt. A matching fabric belt was cinched about her waist. His eyes were drawn to her legs. The heels on her red leather shoes were just high enough to give her calves a flattering curve and her ankles that sexy little turn that made his eyes linger.
It wouldn’t have surprised him to find out that she had bought the dress at a thrift shop or vintage clothing store. He suspected that her penchant for auctions and antique shops was due only in part to her search for carousel horses, but mostly because of her genuine interest in remnants of the past. She was an alluring combination of old-fashioned sensibilities and modern realities. She was a woman whose tastes and mannerisms reflected a gentler era, yet she got by on intelligence and twentieth-century independence. She was simple and complicated at the same time, one trait luring him like a candle in the window, the other propelling him right through the glass.
Her slender hand was resting on the black vinyl seat between them. He resisted the urge to envelope her fingers in his, to tell her with his soft cradling touch that everything would be all right, when he knew that it wouldn’t be, not once she heard about his past. He was seized again by the fear that she would find out from the attorney. The words scratched painfully at the back of his throat when he opened his mouth to speak.
“Dory, there’s something I have to—”
His effort to explain was aborted by the sudden lurch of their bodies when the taxi screeched to a halt at the curb.
“This is it,” the driver announced.
Ben’s words retreated back into silence as he reached into his pocket for the money to pay the fare. He caught up with Dory on the sidewalk, and they entered the building together.
