Tender Absolution

by Lisa Jackson

  Attila just looked at him.

  “Go on. Dig in.” Ben waited and the dog slowly, as if he expected to be kicked or poisoned, cautiously approached the food. “Be paranoid if you want,” Ben said.

  The shepherd cocked his head, then hurried outside. Within seconds he was back, his nose deep in dog food.

  “That’s better.” Ben grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and walked into the living room. Flicking on the remote control to the television, he dropped into a chair near an old rolltop desk he’d shoved into the corner. The message light on his telephone was blinking. “Hopefully, this is about a dozen clients begging me to come work for them,” he said with a glance to the dog.

  Attila didn’t respond.

  He pressed the button, the tape rewound and a series of clicks were followed by the first message.

  “This is Bill with General Drywall. We can be at the house on Bitner next week on Tuesday. I’ll send a crew unless I hear from you.”

  The phone clicked again.

  “Ben?” a female voice asked. “This is Tracy. I saw you today at the restaurant and I…we, Randy and I…were wondering if you’d like to stop by for dinner tonight. Nothing special—but we’d love to have you.” She paused for a second, then said, “How about seven? And if I don’t hear from you by six, I’ll just figure you had other plans. It was great seeing you today. Hope you can make it.”

  He glanced at his watch. Five-forty-five. Why not have dinner with Tracy? A small-town girl. A woman who was content to live here with her son. Kevin’s son.

  Carlie’s face flashed before his eyes and he felt like a Judas. But that was crazy. Even if she were telling the truth about her relationship with Kevin, she’d thrown him out of her house. Gritting his teeth, he reached for the receiver.

  He owed Carlie Surrett nothing!

  * * *

  “THIS IS YOUR uncle Ben,” Tracy said to a young redheaded freckle-faced boy. His hair was straight and fell over his forehead in a way that reminded Ben of Kevin a long, long time ago.

  Randy wrinkled his nose. “Uncle Ben? You mean like the guy on the rice box?”

  Ben laughed and stretched out his hand. “Not exactly,” he replied, shaking Randy’s hand.

  “Don’t give Ben a hard time,” Tracy gently chastised her son. They lived in a nice apartment in Coleville, as modern as Carlie’s was rustic. White rug, white walls, white appliances and white furniture with a few throw pillows of mauve and blue.

  “He’s not giving me a bad time,” Ben said. “What grade are you in?”

  “Fourth.”

  “Same as Nadine’s oldest boy,” Tracy said, turning back to the sink. “But they don’t see each other much since we don’t live in Gold Creek.”

  “Are you talking about John Warne?” Randy asked.

  “You know we are.”

  “He’s a creep.”

  Tracy visibly stiffened. “That’s not very nice—”

  “Hey, it’s the truth,” Randy said. “And I don’t care if he is my cousin because he’s a jerk.”

  “You don’t really know him.”

  “Well, I know Katie Osgood. I see her in Sunday school and she tells me all about John—like how he’s the biggest dweeb in the whole school. He’s always in the principal’s office.”

  “That’s enough, Randy,” Tracy said, managing a forced smile. “Why don’t you show Ben your baseball-card collection?”

  “He won’t want to see—”

  “Sure, I will,” Ben said, anxious to diffuse the tension between mother and son.

  Hanging his head, Randy led Ben down a short hallway to a small room covered with posters of baseball players. Within minutes, he’d opened several albums and was telling Ben about all the players. He was particularly proud of a few old cards of Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford, “you know, those old famous guys,” he said to Ben, his face lighting up. “My dad had these cards when he was a kid. Grandpa kept them for me.”

  Ben’s heart twisted. This boy was Kevin’s bastard, a kid George Powell had accepted. He spent half an hour with Randy and the cards before Tracy called from the kitchen, “How about something to drink?”

  “I’ll have a Coke!” Randy yelled back.

  “I was talking to Ben,” she replied, wiping her hands as she appeared in the doorway. “But I’ll get you something, too. By the way, it’s seven.” She glanced at Ben as Randy turned on a small black-and-white television. “There’s some sports show he always watches about this time. Come on into the kitchen.”

  While Randy settled back on his bed, his cards spread around him, his eyes glued to the little black-and-white screen, Ben followed Tracy back to the kitchen. She was a pretty woman, but as he watched her hips sway beneath her black skirt, he felt nothing.

  “Okay, the selection isn’t all that great but I’ve got beer and wine and…a bottle of Irish whiskey, I think.”

  “A beer’ll do,” he said, feeling suddenly awkward. The apartment was clean and neat, not a magazine out of place, and on a table near the couch was a gold-framed picture of Kevin, a picture Ben recognized as having been taken only a few weeks before his brother’s death. Ben stared at the photograph and felt that same mixture of pain and anger build in him as it always did when he was reminded of his older brother.

  “Belly up to the bar,” Tracy invited as she placed a bottle and empty glass on the counter that separated the kitchen from the eating area. She held up a frosty mug of dark soda. “I’ll run this down to His Highness and be back in a flash.”

  He drank his beer and watched her work in the kitchen. She was efficient and smiled and laughed a lot, but there were emotions that ran deep in her brown eyes, something false, as if the layer of lightheartedness she displayed covered up other, darker feelings. Her smile seemed a little forced and there was a hardness to her that bothered him.

  They ate at a little table by the sliding door and the food was delicious: steak, baked potatoes and steamed broccoli smothered in a packaged cheese sauce. She poured them each a glass of wine and made sure that Randy’s manners were impeccable. Ben had the feeling that the kid had been coached for hours. “No elbows,” she said when Randy set his arm on the table. “What did I say about your hat?” she asked, noticing the fact that Randy’s Giants’ cap was resting on his head. “Oh, Randy, you know better! Please…use the butter knife. That’s what it’s there for.”

  When Randy finally asked to be excused, Ben let out a silent sigh of relief. “He really is a good boy,” she said as Randy ambled down the hall.

  “Of course he is.”

  “Straight A’s and pitcher for his Little League team. They won the pennant last year.” She smiled, all filled with pride and Ben got an uneasy feeling that she was trying to sell the kid to him. “He’s in the school choir, too. Last year he had the lead in their little play. It wasn’t much, you understand, only third graders, but he was the one they chose. Probably because of his voice and the fact that he’s smart as a whip. I’ve been into that school five times this year already, asking them to move him up a grade or two in math. He’s bored with what they’re teaching.”

  Ben shoved his chair from the table. “Ever thought of private school?”

  She sighed. “All the time. But that takes money and, well, being a single mother, we don’t have a lot of extra cash.” She picked up her plate and when Ben tried to carry his to the sink, she waved him back in his chair. “Sit, sit. I can handle this.”

  “So can I.”

  “But you’ve been working all day.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  She smiled and seemed flustered. “Just let me do it, all right? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man to pamper.”

  Warning bells went off in his head, but he ignored them. She was just trying to be nice. Nothing to worry
about. She stacked the dishes in the sink and cut him a thick slab of chocolate cake.

  “Won’t Randy want some of this?” he asked, when she sliced a sliver for herself and sat back down at the table.

  “He’s in training. No sweets.”

  “But—”

  She shook her head and took a bite. “Baseball starts in a few weeks and tryouts are just around the corner. He’s got to be in shape. He’s lucky I let him have a soft drink tonight.”

  “He’s barely ten.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said, that underlying hardness surfacing in her eyes. “You, of all people, should understand. It’s kind of like being in the military. Randy wants to be the ace pitcher again this year and I told him that I’ll support him in that goal, but only if he works hard for it. No junk food. Lots of rest. Exercise. And he’s got to keep his grades up.”

  “And sing in the choir and do higher-level math,” Ben added, unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

  “Why not? He can do it all.”

  “When does he have a chance to be a little kid?”

  She sat on the couch and frowned when he slid into a white chair in the corner of the living room. “He is a little kid. A disciplined little kid.”

  “But when does he build forts and play in the woods and ride his bike and swim and—”

  “When he trains, he swims on the weekends in the Coleville pool and there are no woods right around here. Riding his bike is dangerous—too much traffic. Besides we have a stationary bike in my room. If he wants to work out—”

  “I’m not talking about working out. I’m talking about just hanging around,” Ben said, his insides clenching when he considered how much pressure the kid had to live up to.

  She was about to argue, thought better of it and kicked off her high heels. Tucking her feet beneath her on the couch, she sipped her wine slowly. “I suppose it does look like Randy’s on a pretty tough regimen, doesn’t it?” Sighing, she ran the fingers of one hand through her hair. “And part of the reason is that it’s easier for me to have him on a schedule. I work two jobs and don’t have a lot of free time so I have to depend on other people to give him rides. I don’t want him to spend too much time alone—that’s not good—so I encourage him to participate and be with kids his own age.”

  “And win.”

  She smiled. “Because he can, Ben. He’s got so much potential.” Her eyes glazed for a second, she licked her lips, and she whispered, “Just like Kevin.”

  Ben’s stomach turned to stone. He suddenly realized why Tracy had never married; no one could compare to his brother. She didn’t give another man a chance. And over the years she’d created a myth about Kevin, the myth being that he was perfect.

  “Kevin was an average student, Tracy.”

  “He had a basketball scholarship.”

  “That was taken away when he couldn’t keep up his grades.”

  “He just had some bad breaks,” she said quickly. “How about a cup of coffee?”

  “I can’t.” He stood, glad for an excuse to leave. “I’ve got a million calls to make before it gets too late. But thanks.”

  “Anytime,” she said as if she meant it. She walked to him and touched his arm with featherlight fingers. “The door’s always open for you, Ben. It does Randy a world of good. He…he needs a…man. Just wait a minute and I’ll get him. He’ll want to say good-night.”

  She hurried down the hall and a few minutes later, she practically pushed Randy forward to shake Ben’s hand.

  The boy licked his lips nervously. “Glad to meet you—” he shifted his eyes to his mother, struggled for the words and added “—Uncle Ben.”

  “You, too, Randy. Maybe I’ll see you at the ball field.” Ben clasped the kid’s hand.

  His sullen face broke into a smile. “Would you?”

  “You bet. Can I bring my dog?”

  “You’ve got a dog?” Randy’s eyes widened and all evidence of his pained expression disappeared. “What kind?”

  “A mean one.”

  “Really.”

  “I call him Attila.”

  Tracy’s lips tightened.

  “He just showed up at the office with his belly sliced open.”

  Randy’s eyes were wide. “Wow!”

  “He’s a German shepherd—a black long-haired one.”

  “Cool!” Randy said, grinning ear to ear.

  “You’re allergic to dogs, Randy,” his mother reminded him gently as she nudged him back down the hallway. “And so am I—at least I’m allergic to big dogs that shed.” She walked with Ben to the front porch and Ben felt as if she expected something from him, something he couldn’t give her.

  “Thanks for dinner. It was great.”

  “We could do it again,” she suggested, her lips curved into a satisfied smile.

  “I’ll let you know.” He felt a jab of guilt when he recognized the hope in her eyes.

  “Good night, Ben,” she said as he started across the parking lot. “Call me.”

  He didn’t bother to turn around and lie to her. He wasn’t about to start a romance with Tracy and he felt that whether she realized it or not, Tracy hoped to use Ben as a replacement for his dead brother.

  “What a mess,” he growled as he climbed into his truck and let out the clutch. He thought of Carlie again. Beautiful Carlie. Seductive Carlie. Lying Carlie.

  The old Dodge leapt forward and he flicked on the windshield wipers. Women, he thought unkindly. Why were they so much damned trouble?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “WHEN YOU LEFT town, you thought Carlie was pregnant—with Kevin’s baby?” Nadine was clearly astonished. Hauling a huge suitcase out of her new Mercedes, a wedding gift from her husband, she shook her head, then slammed the door shut with her hip.

  “That’s what the letters said.”

  “No way.” Shaking her head in disgust, she unlocked the front door. “Sometimes, Ben, I don’t understand you. Come in. I think we need to talk. But first things first. Bring in those other bags, will ya?” She tossed him her keys and he found two suitcases in the backseat. “Hayden will park it in the garage later—there’s some stuff he’s got to move around in there—things left over from the wedding.”

  Ben grabbed the other two bags, locked the sleek car and walked back into the house. The Christmas tree was still standing in the corner but some of the lights had been stripped from the stairs and all the flowers had begun to wilt.

  Nadine sighed loudly as she walked to the den, dropped her large case and kicked off her shoes. “Oooh, that’s better. I’ve been dragging my latest inventory all over the place. Heather Brooks hooked me up with some art dealers who are expanding into jewelry and jackets, you know…‘wearable art.’ Now I’m afraid I’m going to end up with more orders than I can fill.” She led him into the kitchen where she opened the refrigerator door and peered at the contents. “How about some sparkling apple juice?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said with more than a trace of sarcasm.

  “Might brighten your mood.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “A cola?” She didn’t bother waiting for an answer, just grabbed two cans and handed him one. As she sat in one of the kitchen chairs and popped the lid, she rested her heel on one of the empty chairs and said, “Now let’s start over. You thought Carlie was pregnant—by Kevin, right?”

  Was she deaf? “We already discussed this.”

  “But why, Ben?”

  “Because of the letters.”

  “The letters?” she repeated, then caught on. “Oh, we’re talking about the letters you found in Kevin’s bedroom, right?”

  “Yep.” He didn’t like talking about the subject, but knew there was no other way to get to the truth. Ben had been seated in h
is pickup, waiting for Nadine, brooding about Carlie for over an hour, wondering what was truth and what was fiction.

  “Are you serious?” She actually had the gall to laugh.

  “This isn’t a joke.”

  “Yes, it is!” Rolling her eyes, she took a long swallow of her drink. “You really thought—”

  “Yes, I did. Now what’s so damned funny?”

  “It’s pathetic really.” Her green eyes turned sober. “I think you read too much between the lines.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, surprised at the hope leaping in his heart.

  She massaged her foot as she shook her head. “I read those letters and yes, Kevin was in love with Carlie—that much was obvious. He was really hurt that she was seeing you and he felt betrayed by both of you.”

  The old pain knotted Ben’s stomach, but he’d expected as much. Nadine never pulled any punches. You asked her a question, she gave you a straight answer.

  She was still talking. “…but the pregnancy he wrote about had to have been Tracy’s.” Nadine reached across the table and touched the back of Ben’s hand. “Don’t you remember? Tracy was pregnant. Not Carlie. And the abortion you read about was just hopeful thinking on Kevin’s part,” she said with a twist of the lips. “He didn’t want the baby. We’re talking about Randy, you know. It took a lot of guts for Tracy to have that baby and raise him on her own. Kevin was dead and the tongues in this town were wagging like crazy. But she did and Randy’s a super kid. In fact,” she said wryly, “with his grades and all, he certainly shows mine up, not that I’d change anything about John and Bobby. My boys are just more…trouble.”

  “Like their mother,” Ben said, though he didn’t feel much like joking. Had he been so blind? For all these years. “Those letters were addressed to Carlie.”

  “But never mailed. They were just a way for Kevin to let off steam, or maybe someday he would have had the nerve to send them to her, I don’t know, but you turned everything around in your head.” She took a long swallow of her soda and settled back in her chair.