The House That Love Built

by Jean Brashear

  One tear dropped on his fingers. Another.

  “This is killing me, Snow. How am I supposed to let you go again?” he whispered.

  A cry escaped her. She struggled against his hold. “Please. I can’t—” The look in her eyes tore something deep inside him. “What we want doesn’t matter. And who you love can change.”

  “You’re wrong,” he shouted. Shoved to his feet. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. Ever will. This can’t be how it ends.” He wanted to punch a fist into the wall.

  “It’s been over for a long time, Malcolm.” Her voice shook. “What we had is gone.”

  “It’s not, damn it. You didn’t stop loving me, just as I never quit loving you.” His pacing arrested in mid step. “Is it that guy, that…kid you were with? If he wasn’t in the picture—” He stared at her in horror. “Are you in love with him, Snow?”

  “No. He thinks he is, but—” She glanced away, then straight into his eyes, though the suffering he saw there nearly undid him. “He’s not the issue. The child is all that counts, Malcolm. Not us. Not the past.”

  He started to grab her, to shake her. Force her to acknowledge that their love would never be gone. Couldn’t die.

  The violence of his emotions shocked him straight.

  “Cleo.” Her name on his lips was part prayer, part anguish.

  She was right. A child’s life was at stake. His longings couldn’t weigh in the balance.

  But God, it hurt. Like a cancer eating its way into his bones, the thought of losing Cleo forever, of being only kind strangers from now on, corroded all the hope within him. Nearly brought him to his knees.

  Why had he been blind for so long? How could he have overlooked for a second that she was part of him forever, that he’d never be whole without her?

  When she lifted her head, he could see his torment reflected in her agonized gaze. Everything in him called out to her, desperate to be one again.

  “Snow.” His voice was raw with yearning. “Could I hold you? Just once?” One more embrace that would have to last him for a lifetime.

  Every day for as long as he lived, he would miss her. And he would have to see her again and again, aware each moment that they could never be together. The grinding ache had him reaching out to pull her into his body, to warm them both.

  For a second, she softened against him.

  Then, with a broken sob, Cleo stumbled away. Stuck out a palm to keep him back.

  The rejection was a fist to his gut.

  He couldn’t help grasping for her again, but she staggered back. “No. Malcolm, no.” She wrapped her arms around herself and fought to hold herself rigid. “We’d only make it worse.” Her voice barely stirred the air between them, but her eyes…oh, God, those eyes he had loved for so long. They told him just how much he’d lost.

  He could ignore her. He was stronger, bigger. If he could touch her, he could make her recant. That had always been true between them.

  But he had hurt her too much already.

  So instead, he fought with himself until he’d wrestled down the need. Cleared a throat that had closed up so tight he could barely breathe.

  Then he dredged up the strength to do what was right, though he wasn’t sure his legs would hold him.

  “I’m sorry.” His vision blurred as he headed for the front door.

  Hand on the knob, he paused but didn’t turn back. “I’d still like to see Benjy as often as possible, but I’ll make sure you’re not here.”

  He might have heard her whisper his name.

  But he didn’t wait to find out.

  It was nearly morning, and Cleo had no idea what had happened to the night.

  Except that it was colder than usual, she thought.

  But that might only be her heart. Still in her clothes, wrapped in an afghan topped by a quilt, she couldn’t seem to stop shivering. Find any warmth.

  She tried to understand what was different. In reality, she’d watched morning come only a matter of days ago, and Malcolm had been out of her life as much then as now.

  She doubled over, legs drawn tight, arms wrapped around them to still the shaking.

  You know, Cleo. You know.

  A smattering of days before, she’d understood her life. Her place in the world.

  Hadn’t had her eyes opened. Believed Malcolm didn’t love her.

  Been certain she didn’t want him.

  Was there anything more cruel than discovering that the one true love of your life loved you back as deeply as ever—

  Only to have to face that you would never be together again?

  Oh, it wasn’t that she didn’t believe him that Joanna and he weren’t close. Or understand that these days, divorce was all too common, that Malcolm could leave Joanna, share custody of the baby and come to her.

  But Cleo had wrecked enough young lives. She could not live with herself if she damaged this baby’s chance at happiness.

  Cleo threw her head back against the chaise. From her throat was torn a sound caught between laughter and a sob, harsh and clawing. Ugly and…broken.

  Because she was actually considering going to Joanna and making Malcolm’s case for him.

  How could Joanna live with him and not see what kind of man he was? Strong, upright, compassionate to a fault. Honest and good. Kind. Caring.

  And fun.

  Oh, the fun they’d had together. She glanced at the shadowy profile of the tree house below, her mouth quirking in remembrance of heated kisses, of the feel of Malcolm’s hair brushing her breasts, her midriff…her thighs.

  Laughter strangled by the grip of overwhelming passion. Desire so hot she was sure normal women didn’t experience it, or how would they ever get anything done?

  A new memory surfaced. His hair tonight beneath her hand. The strands of silver mingling with mink brown. But still thick.

  Still beloved.

  And off-limits.

  Cleo bowed her head. Sank to the cushions. Curled against the pain.

  Tears leaked beneath her eyelids, hot, stinging drops of grief and pain.

  Over, it’s over…he won’t be mine ever again.

  The birds began to chirp, small, hesitant nudges against the night.

  Cleo gripped her hands inside her cocoon, nails digging into flesh.

  And prayed to stop shaking. Cease feeling. Aching.

  Recognizing that a small part of her had never truly given Malcolm up.

  Wondering how on earth she ever would.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “She’s gone.”

  Cleo stirred at Lola’s voice. Groaned. Surprised that she’d fallen asleep at last, she tried to sit up. “What?”

  “Ria. She’s gone.”

  Cleo scrubbed at her face. “Already? Where?”

  Lola huffed, settled beside her. Snapped her fingers. “I’m sorry, but you have to wake up, Cleopatra. Focus. Your daughter has disappeared.”

  “But—” Finally, it hit. “Oh, dear God, Benjy—” She struggled out of the covers and jumped from the chaise.

  “He’s still asleep.”

  Cleo frowned. “Then she’ll be back. She’d never leave him.”

  Lola looked a thousand years old and brandished a slip of paper. “Read it for yourself.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.” Lola shoved the note at her. “I’m sorry, doll. This is my fault.”

  “Your fault?” Cleo echoed dully. “I’m the one she hates.”

  “Just read it, hon.”

  With foreboding, Cleo opened the paper. And saw her daughter’s handwriting for the first time in years.

  Mother—

  I can’t pull this off. I can’t be the good child you want. And I can’t take care of Benjy the way he deserves, but I have no doubt you will. Betsey’s right—you and Daddy will do it better, and the others will help you.

  He’ll miss me, and I’ll never get over missing him. But I’ll screw him up if I stay, just like I’ve destroyed
everything else. For once in my life, I’m going to do the right thing. I heard you and Daddy last night, and I realize what I’ve cost you. I’m sorry, so sorry, that I told you about the baby. I keep screwing up.

  I’m running away again, and I know I’ve done that too often. But I’m leaving the best part of me behind. Let me give you a child to replace the one I cost you. You’ll take better care of him than I ever could.

  But please—don’t let him ever believe I don’t love him. He is my heart. The only good thing I ever did.

  Victoria

  Cleo pressed one hand against her mouth. “Oh, Ria. We were doing better. I thought we had a chance.” She stared at her mother. “What have I done to her?”

  Then she glanced at the words again. “What does she mean, Betsey was right?” She recalled her youngest daughter’s pinched look after Ria had left the shop night before last. “Do you suppose Betsey told her to go and leave Benjy here?”

  “Even if she did, Betsey didn’t give her the final push. I did.”

  Cleo had never seen her mother like this, drained and defeated. Lola always believed something better was just around the corner. Cleo sat back down and took her mother’s hand. “You’re Ria’s favorite. You’d never harm her.”

  Moisture shimmered in Lola’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Late last night, she came downstairs because she couldn’t sleep. I was up watching TV. She just seemed to need company, so we talked. If I’d had any idea she was considering something like this, I’d have kept my big mouth shut.” Lola gripped Cleo’s fingers. “I told her that I’d done the wrong thing, keeping you with me. That I’d been selfish instead of choosing what was best for you. I didn’t marry a perfectly kind man because he didn’t fit my image, and by refusing, I robbed you of the family you deserved. I was too busy dreaming my way to the top.” Her eyes were old and tired. “I needed you, more than you ever needed me. I’ll never be able to convey how much I regret that. And now look what I’ve done.”

  Cleo felt her mother’s faint trembling. “You weren’t selfish.”

  Lola laughed without mirth. “Doll, you’re not the actress in the family. You can’t lie worth a damn. You grew up in spite of me, not because I was a good mother.”

  “I always believed you loved me, in your own way.”

  “My own way won’t win any prizes.” Lola shook her head. “But that’s the past. What are we going to do to find your child?”

  Cleo’s shoulders drooped for just a second before she straightened again. “You wake Aunt Cammie. Let’s get coffee going and try to make the day as normal possible. We’ll tell Benjy—” Sweet heaven. What would they tell him? “We’ll say that she—” What was right? He was too young to understand.

  But what if they never located her? She was older and wilier this time than last, and she’d managed to stay hidden for six years.

  But you gave up too easily then, Cleo.

  It was true. Malcolm had kept searching, but she’d managed to bury her daughter’s existence as deeply as she’d locked away her love for her husband. She’d fallen back into old habits, trusting no one, opening to no one.

  Except Sandor, and him only a little.

  Sandor. She stood suddenly. He’d been with Ria night before last. “Sandor might guess where’s she’s gone,” Cleo said. “The police won’t take a missing person’s report yet, but we can talk to Betsey, as well. And find a private investigator. I wish we had more information about where Ria was during those years.” With quick gestures, she folded the quilt and afghan, closing them up as she must put away last night. Nothing else mattered but caring for Benjy and finding her daughter.

  She crossed the porch to enter her bedroom.

  “What about Malcolm?”

  Cleo stumbled against the threshold. “What about him?”

  “He’s her father, doll. He’d want to know.”

  I can’t bear to see him again this soon.

  But Lola was right. He’d been a better parent to Ria than she ever had.

  “What happened between you two last night, honey?”

  Cleo clutched the door frame. She didn’t want to talk about it, but Lola would stay after her unless she understood why Cleo couldn’t see him, so she took a deep breath and turned. “Malcolm and Joanna are expecting a baby.”

  Lola was too much the romantic not to read between the lines. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” She rose and drew Cleo into her arms. “But he still loves you. Any fool can see that.”

  The oddities never quit. The last time her mother had comforted Cleo, Cleo had been little older than Benjy.

  Sorrow made strange bedfellows, but Cleo surprised herself by accepting Lola’s embrace. “It doesn’t matter.” She couldn’t let it.

  Then she heard Benjy’s voice in the hallway and stepped back. “We’ll tell him that Ria did such a good job on the shop that she’s gone to market in Dallas to get more supplies, and it will take a few days.” Her gaze implored her mother. “Am I right that he’s too young to be told the truth unless—” When was the last time she’d asked her mother for advice?

  She wouldn’t finish the sentence or voice her fear that they might never find Ria.

  “I’m no expert at mothering,” Lola reminded her, stroking one hand down her arm.

  “I’m not, either,” Cleo admitted.

  “This will sound odd, coming from someone whose grasp on reality has never been that firm.” Lola paused, and a trace of spirit sparkled in her eyes “But perhaps as much of the truth as he can absorb is the best path. We could tell him that she loves him very much and that she thought he would enjoy a little vacation with us while she took one of her own because she’s very tired and has been advised to rest.”

  “How can she do this to us?” Cleo cried. Heartache warred with a touch of anger. Why take the easy way out and not stay long enough to explain this to Benjy herself, instead of forcing Cleo to make agonizing choices?

  And just how would you explain to one of yours that you were leaving them for their own good?

  For that matter, how did you explain to Betsey why suddenly she had no father or siblings?

  Let he who casts the first stone…

  Ria had to be terrified right now, and heartsick to the bone. Despite her daughter’s many mistakes, there was no doubt in Cleo’s mind that Ria loved her child with everything in her.

  She’d never have left him, otherwise.

  “All right,” she said. “And we’ll tell him over and over how much his mother loves him.” She gave Lola a quick, awkward hug. “And we’ll work night and day to find her, because she’s wrong. He needs her most of all.”

  She started toward the hall to fetch Benjy, but halfway there, she halted. “Mother?” The forbidden appellation rose to her lips, surprising them both. “May I ask you a favor?”

  For once, her mother didn’t correct her. Instead, she smiled and blinked back tears. “Anything.”

  Cleo felt absurdly young and unsure. “Would you call Malcolm for me? I just—” Can’t.

  Lola nodded. “You got it, doll.”

  “Gramps!” Benjy was across the floor like a shot, leaping into Malcolm’s arms.

  Cleo had thought she had herself prepared to deal with Malcolm, but she realized she wasn’t even close.

  Was there anything that could melt a woman’s heart faster than the sight of a strong man tenderly holding a small child?

  And when that strong man’s eyes opened and looked at you with his naked heart on display… She’d have to be a stone not to feel the earth shift beneath her feet.

  Fortunately for her, Benjy immediately claimed his grandfather’s attention. No other concerns could come first.

  “Gramps, my mom went on ’cation. She has to rest, that’s what Nana said, but we’ll do all kinds of fun stuff, and—” His precious little face crumpled, and he took a deep, shuddery breath. “And then she’ll be back real soon. Right, Gramps? Nana sa
ys Mom will come home before we know it.” His need for Malcolm’s confirmation was palpable.

  Malcolm cast Cleo a glance she couldn’t interpret, but instantly shifted his attention back to the boy. “Your mother loves you with all her heart, Benjy. She’ll return just as soon as she possibly can.”

  “But how long is ‘soon,’ Gramps?”

  Cleo had forgotten a small child’s fluid sense of time. Next week and next year were equally incomprehensible distinctions.

  But Malcolm rose to the occasion, pasting a smile on his handsome face. “Well, there’s ice cream soon and Christmas soon, and then there’s bath time soon. Seems to me that bath time always comes quicker than Christmas, and ice cream’s somewhere in between.”

  The threatening tears were lost as Benjy contemplated this puzzle.

  “Your mom is supposed to rest up. Maybe we should say she’ll be home Christmas soon because Christmas always feels far off, but when it arrives, it’s really, really big fun. Having your mom home will be even better than Christmas, don’t you agree?”

  “Yeah.” Benjy nodded enthusiastically, apparently as reassured by Malcolm’s calm certainty as their children always had been. “So what will we do for our ’cation today? And can Tyrone come?”

  All four adults in the room laughed in sheer relief. Other difficult moments would arise—bedtime, for one—but Cleo was reminded of some of the blessings of small children: they were flexible, and they took their cues from those around them. Remaining positive was key to getting Benjy through this.

  Aunt Cammie stepped in, recruiting Benjy to chaperone Tyrone and her on a walk. After hugs and kisses all around, soon Cleo, Malcolm and Lola were alone.

  The atmosphere took a nosedive. If Lola hadn’t been there, Cleo wasn’t sure what she would do. Part of her yearned to assume Benjy’s place in Malcolm’s arms.

  But nothing had changed since last night.

  Not between Malcolm and Joanna, anyway.

  For Cleo…everything had.

  Never had it been more critical for her to maintain her poise.

  Never had she wanted to do so less. “Oh, God, Malcolm. What if something happens to her?”

  “Would you care?”