Something’s off.
“Astaire,” I say.
“Mm hm?”
“Everything all right?”
Her arms fold—a defensive stance. “Of course.”
“They say it’s just some inflammation. Another round of steroids and I should be good to go. They might try me on a different antirejection regimen.” I try to soothe her worries, but she nods too quickly, like she isn’t even listening.
“That’s good.” She chews the inside of her lip.
“I should be home by Friday for sure. Then I can get everything ready for Honor’s arrival. You said we should get her balloons, right? And a teddy bear?”
“I’ll handle everything.”
The clock by the TV reads 11:38 PM. It’s late. She’s exhausted. These past few hours have been just as draining for her as they’ve been for me, I imagine.
“I know this is a lot for you.” I take her hand and pull her closer.
When she finally looks me in the eyes, I’m met with something I’ve never seen in hers before—fear.
Maybe when she sees me, she thinks of losing her mom. Losing Trevor. Maybe this is becoming too real for her, too fast, and she’s finally starting to think this through.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I tell her. “Now go home, get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“You sure?”
I wave her on. “Yes. Don’t worry about me.”
I settle back in my bed, wide awake and staring at the blank TV screen on the other side of the room. From the corner of my eye, I catch her looking back at me before she goes. She’s all of ten feet away, but there might as well be an ocean between us.
She’s pulling away.
And I can’t fault her for it.
41
Astaire
“Astaire, we need to talk.”
I’m arranging flowers in a crystal vase on his island Friday night when he says the words I’ve been wanting to say since two nights ago. A pink “welcome home” balloon floats between us, weighted with a bag of sand wrapped in matching cellophane. A smiling gray teddy bear with a monogrammed platinum locket around its neck completes the homecoming display.
We’re ready for her tomorrow.
“Okay.” I give him my full attention, steadying my quaking hands at my hips. “What’s up?”
He studies me. “You tell me. You’ve been acting strange ever since the hospital.”
All the words rush to the forefront at the same time, none of them finding their way out. Dr. Rathburn stressed the importance of keeping him calm and relaxed—I worry this could incite him.
“Is Honor … your daughter?” I blurt the strangest, cruelest question I never dreamed I’d be asking this man.
“What?” He sucks in a breath. “Astaire … why would you … what makes you …”
I’m not sure if he’s flabbergasted or trying to buy time as he comes up with an explanation.
“I ran into Beth Wednesday,” I say. “She told me everything.”
His lips twist into an amused smile and relief paints his chiseled face. “Oh, God. Okay. Yeah. That explains it.”
I fold my arms.
“What did she tell you exactly?” he asks.
“That Honor is your daughter and that’s why Larissa left her to you,” I say. “And I have to say, Bennett, the resemblance is uncanny when I think about it. She’s your spitting image.”
His amused smirk fades and he braces his hands against the counter. “Beth’s half-correct. Honor is a Schoenbach. But she isn’t mine … she’s Errol’s.”
“Convenient.”
His eyes flash, holding mine. “On my life, Astaire. On my fucking life. On the heart that beats in my chest. I am not her biological father.”
He comes around the island, peels my trembling hands from my shaking body, and holds them in his.
“Look at me.” He speaks through clenched teeth, though his words are calm.
The instant my gaze meets his, the energy between us ignites, though with what, I can’t be certain. I just know I could slice through it, it’s so thick.
I want to believe him, I do.
But words are only that.
Words.
“I saw the text message transcripts.” I swallow the knot in my throat. “When I was grabbing your phone in your study … I saw them. They were on top of your desk.”
“My god … those messages weren’t between myself and Larissa if that’s what you’re getting at.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Jesus Christ. Do you honestly believe I’d be capable of something so vicious? So vile?”
I don’t answer because … I don’t know.
At the end of the day, this is all so new and we might as well be a notch above strangers.
How well can a person ever know someone else anyway?
“You know me better than that,” he says. “Honestly, you know me better than anyone at this point. I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone else. I’ve spent more time with you these past six weeks than I’ve spent with any one woman in the past six years.”
“I want to believe you, Bennett. I do. But it’s going to take more than that …”
He’s pacing now.
“You told me you and Larissa were never close,” I say.
“Right.”
“So why would she leave you her daughter?”
“Million-dollar question.” He stops pacing, arms folded. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing the last several weeks.”
“No, I mean … from a logical perspective, it would seem like … she’d leave Honor to you because … she’s yours.”
His eyes narrow. “Nothing Larissa ever did was logical. I’m still trying to figure out what the hell she was thinking screwing Errol. None of it makes sense. Only thing I can think of is that the bastard was grooming her. Knew she was vulnerable. Used it to his advantage.”
He hunches over the island, fists tightened, jaw clenched.
“I’m guessing you didn’t read the entire transcript, because had you read them, you’d have seen several instances where Errol referenced Beth,” Bennett says.
I exhale.
He’s right. I didn’t read them all.
I only read enough to realize what they were, and then I got the hell out of there before I got sick again.
“How did you get those texts?” I ask.
“When Larissa was twenty, I got her a cell phone. She was always getting into trouble, never could pay the bill on the one she had. I wanted to make sure she would always have a way to reach me no matter what, that she had a phone that would never be shut off.” He pauses. “I stopped bailing her out after a while. Stopped taking her calls. But I kept paying the bill.” He pauses. “Took some digging, but we managed to have the carrier dig up several years’ worth of texts between Larissa and Errol.”
“So why do you have them?”
“Because my mother is threatening to have my brother file a paternity suit.”
“Your brother wants custody?”
“He wants legal custody—which he then will relinquish so she’ll go back into the system.” He shakes his head. “To them, Honor is a black mark on our family name. A human stain. They want to pretend she doesn’t exist. Me adopting her prevents them from doing that.”
“He can’t do that, can he?” I ask. “He can’t just … step in and take over after all this time.”
“Talked to my attorney. He seemed to think the odds were against me in this one,” he says. “Which is why I have the transcripts. I have proof Errol knew of Honor’s existence and made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. It also paints a pretty vivid picture of the abusive dynamics of their relationship. If you can call it that.”
“So … why does Beth think Honor is yours?”
“Beth is snowed. Errol and my mother have her convinced that Honor’s mine because she clearly looks like a Schoenbach and if she knew the truth, their marriage would be over and they’d
lose the baby they’re in the process of adopting. Too much on the line.”
“She wouldn’t wonder why he’s suing for custody?”
“They’d keep her out of the loop. It’s not hard. Lying is what my mother and Errol do best. They’ve got it down to a science.”
“Maybe she already knows.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“She made this comment … that Schoenbach men ruin their women. Something about how she can’t stay but she can’t leave. And then she got all emotional.”
He rolls his eyes. “Beth has a taste for the finer things in life. Errol is her ticket to that. I don’t discount the chance that she knows of his philandering ways. I highly doubt Larissa was the first woman he fucked that wasn’t his wife… And he’s been begging to start a family for years. Beth doesn’t want kids. But she wants to stay a Schoenbach. She’ll be miserable if she stays. Miserable if she goes.”
“All of these things would’ve been nice to know …”
His lips press flat. “I was trying to keep you out of this. Spare you the family drama.”
I drag in a jagged breath and move closer to him. Lifting my hand, I cup the side of his cheek.
My gut is telling me to believe him. My heart too.
“I’ll take a DNA test,” he offers. “I’ll do whatever I need to do for you to believe me. I would never …”
I silence him with a slow kiss. “I know.”
Wrapping my arms over his broad shoulders, I pull him against me, and I hold him.
Sometimes all you can do for someone is to be there.
“I won’t let him take her,” he whispers.
“I know you won’t.”
“And when this is over, I’m going to kill him. I’m going to murder that bastard.”
I smirk. “No, you won’t.”
“By the time I’m through, he’ll wish he were dead.”
42
Bennett
“I ran out for donuts. Pink with white sprinkles.” Astaire balances a cardboard box in her hand Saturday morning before placing it next to the bouquet of flowers.
Jeannie will be arriving with Honor any minute.
“Flowers. Balloons. Donuts. Think we’re all set.” I kiss her cheek before making myself a cup of coffee. “But something tells me the thing she’s going to love the most … is you.”
Honor has no idea Astaire and I are dating.
We wanted to wait until it was just the three of us, sit her down, explain that we’re good friends who spend a lot of time together. For now, I thought it was imperative that she be here for this moment. Having a familiar face—someone she adores—will only enrich this experience for her.
Three knocks at the door.
“They’re here.” Astaire rises on the balls of her feet and gives me a lightning-fast hug before slipping her hand in mine and leading me to the foyer. “This is so exciting. I’m already getting teary-eyed …”
I laugh under my breath, gather a long breath, and get the door.
“Hello, hello …” Jeannie’s mouth curls into a reserved smile, but her eyes are glassy. All this time, I’ve never stopped to think of how bittersweet this moment must be for her, knowing she’ll likely never see this child again. She holds a medium cardboard box, and Honor hides behind her, playing peek-a-boo and fighting a grin.
“Please, come in.” I step aside and Honor whips around Jeannie’s legs and sprints toward me, wrapping my legs in a tiny squeeze, one I feel all the way to my chest.
Jeannie places the box on the floor next to the entry rug. From what I can tell, it contains a few clothes. A ragged teddy bear with a dangling eye. A naked baby doll. And a plastic jewelry box.
“Ms. Carraro!” Honor squeals, though she’s still stuck to me like glue. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to be a part of your special day,” she says.
“Yay!” Honor bounces.
“Hi, Jeannie. I’m Astaire Carraro. Honor’s kindergarten teacher and a good friend of Bennett’s.” Astaire greets Jeannie with a handshake. “Lovely to meet you.”
“You as well,” Jeannie says.
“We’ve got donuts if you’re hungry.” Astaire points to the kitchen.
Honor is still clinging to my leg. When Larissa first came to us, I remember the way she would cling to anyone who would let her cling to them. She was like a shadow. Always there. For a while, it was me. Then it was the gardener. The cook. My brother. Anyone who would pay her an ounce of attention was suddenly her new best friend.
It wasn’t until I was much older that I realized all she wanted was to be loved.
Reaching, I take Honor by the hand. “I hope you’re hungry. Jeannie, would you like to join us for breakfast?”
She swats her hand. I realize now she’s fighting back tears. “I won’t be staying, but thank you. And you have my number should you have questions or need anything.”
Jeannie shows herself out. Just like that. And just like that, it’s the three of us.
The place is quiet for a beat, like the world is shifting on its axis, realigning in a new direction. From this moment on, our lives will never be the same.
Honor’s.
Astaire’s.
Mine.
No one knows what the future brings. It isn’t possible. All I know is that as long as we have each other, we can weather any storm.
43
Astaire
“Push me higher!” Honor squeals at the top of her lungs Sunday afternoon, pumping her little legs as she swings. It’s unusually warm for this time of year—sunny and mid-fifties, which meant it was the perfect opportunity to get out for a bit and get some fresh air. It just so happens there’s a darling little park a few blocks from Bennett’s place.
Yesterday was a dream. Honor’s arrival went off without a hitch. She loved her bear, her locket, the flowers, the donuts, the balloons, her pink bedroom—but most of all, she loved Bennett.
He was certain I’d be the hot ticket item, and sure, she was glad to see me, but Bennett was absolutely the star of the show.
While I wouldn’t exactly call him a natural with kids, I think he’s getting the hang of it. Last night after dinner, I gave Honor a bath and when we came out, he’d already dimmed the lights in her room and selected a bedtime story to read to her.
I think he’s going to do just fine with this whole fatherhood thing …
He stands in front of the swings, camera out as he snaps a picture.
I push Honor higher and our eyes catch.
He smiles.
I smile.
If I could bask in this moment forever, I would. It’s perfection in its most pure and simple form. A family memory in the making.
My heart swells.
When I look into his eyes, when I hear the conviction in his voice when he speaks about his family and his dedication to Honor—I know in my heart of hearts that he’s a good man.
And I believe him about Errol.
When we’re finished at the park, Bennett surprises us with a trip to a local ice cream parlor in his neighborhood. On the way home, he holds my hand as Honor skips ahead, her dark pigtails bouncing as she sings a song from school.
For the first time in years, I’m enveloped in head-to-toe warmth and there’s a fullness in my soul.
It’s a feeling I’ve felt only twice before—once with Linda and again with Trevor.
And that feeling … is home.
With them, I am home.
44
Bennett
“Anything else I can do before I take off, Mr. Schoenbach?” Eulalia asks Monday night as Honor and I take our places at the dinner table. Astaire had to work late tonight, some mandatory teacher’s workshop, so it’s just the two of us.
“No. Thank you, Eulalia. We’ll see you tomorrow.” I place my napkin in my lap, feeling the watchful little gaze at the other end of the table.
Honor does the same. She’s good at that—noticing something and copying
it. She’s a tiny human sponge. A mimic.
I reach for my bourbon.
She reaches for her water.
We sip.
We exchange smiles.
“You look so small all the way at the end of the table. Why don’t you take the seat next to mine?” I offer.
She climbs down from her chair and carefully slides her placemat and bowl of macaroni and cheese to the chair on my right.
“How was school today?” I think back to our initial family dinners with Larissa. My mother would never ask about her day and my father could never be bothered to ask about anyone’s day. We were supposed to sit still, eat our dinners, and look adorable doing so.
“Good.” She chews. “Ms. Carraro let us have an extra recess today. She said we were super good and we deserved it.”
I glance at the chair to my left, where she’d be sitting if she were here, and I can’t shake the sensation that we’re missing a vital piece in this little operation.
“What’d you do today?” Honor asks.
It’s a question I’m not used to having to answer, so I take a moment and try to recall the past several hours.
“Let’s see.” I slice into my filet mignon. “I read a book. Took a walk outside …”
“You didn’t go to work?”
“I’m off of work for a few weeks.”
Honor scans me, nose wrinkled. “Why? Are you sick or somethin’?”
“Just taking it easy for a while.”
“What’s that mean?” she asks.
“Taking it easy? It means slowing down, doing less, enjoying the little things.”
“Oh. Okay.” She chews her pasta, staring at the unlit candle centerpiece on the table. “Is Ms. Carraro coming over tonight?”
I shake my head. “Unfortunately not.”
She pouts. But only for a moment.
She’s a happy child. Thank God. I’ve yet to experience tears or tantrums, though I know they’re par for the course and it’s only a matter of time. But so far, so good.
“You’ll see her tomorrow morning,” I add. “And she’ll be bringing you home after school.”
The Cruelest Stranger Page 17