“The priest who pulled you off Gordo.”
Tom nodded. Father Ed had bought him a hamburger and some milk and sat with him while he ate. Tom had found him easy to talk to. He’d told Father Ed about his parents, his grandmother, his foster home. The priest took Tom home with him. His wife, Beatrice, was blind, but her nose was working well. The moment she got a whiff of Tom, she sent him off to the bathroom to shower.
“How long had you been on the streets?” Anne asked.
“Several months.”
Beatrice gave Tom an old bathrobe of Ed’s to wear while she washed his clothes. Over dinner that night, he learned she and Ed had married late. Too late to have children. Too late to adopt. Too late to be considered for foster care. But they took care of him from then on.
They educated him at their home. Ed also taught Tom carpentry, Ed’s hobby. He was a devout man, Tom said, who firmly believed in church teachings. Yet he never once pushed his faith on Tom.
“All he ever told me was to remember that my right to choose was the most powerful right I possessed,” Tom said. “And with every choice I made, I created who I was.”
“He sounds like a very special man.”
“He was the best,” Tom said with feeling.
When he was eighteen Tom gained access to his family’s estate and tried to pay Ed and Beatrice back for all they had done for him. They had so very little. Yet they wouldn’t accept a dime from him. They told him the way to repay them was to use the money to get a good education. Thanks to their tutoring, he easily passed a high school equivalency test and enrolled in college. He majored in engineering, and when he graduated, took a job in commercial construction.
“Because of the interest Ed had given you in carpentry,” Anne said.
Tom nodded. “Everything that was important to me, I learned from Ed and Beatrice. They taught me how to love by the way they loved me and each other. They were my real family. Then five years ago they were shot to death by a drug-crazed mugger outside a restaurant where I had taken them for their anniversary dinner.”
“Oh, Tom, no.” Anne’s voice was filled with sadness.
Tom stared at his empty glass. He wanted more wine to ease the awful dryness in his throat that these memories were bringing. But he didn’t refill his glass. He hadn’t drunk more than two glasses of wine at one sitting in five years, and he wasn’t going to start tonight.
When a man told the woman he loved the worst about himself, he had to do it sober.
“It was raining, so I left them standing under the awning in front while I went to get the car. Suddenly, I heard an angry man’s voice demanding their money. I whirled around to see a guy with a gun pointed at them. I ran toward them, but I wasn’t in time. He shot Ed first, then Beatrice.”
Tom paused for a moment as the soul-searing images returned. Still, there was more to tell. Long ago he had learned that the only way to say something terrible, something unspeakable, was calmly and quietly.
That was how he said it now. “I knocked the gun from the mugger’s hand. It only took a couple of well-placed blows to kill him.”
He stared at his empty wineglass, aware of Anne’s eyes on him. But she said nothing. Just waited for him to continue.
“When I bent down to Beatrice, she was gone. When I turned to Ed, I found he was still alive. He looked into my eyes and knew at once that I had killed their attacker. ‘I had already forgiven him, Tom,’ he told me. ‘We’re here on this earth to learn to love, not hate.’ Then he died in my arms.”
Tom closed his eyes for a moment as the memories became too vivid. When he opened them again, Anne’s grave face was before him.
“Until that moment, I hadn’t understood what Ed had been trying to tell me all those years. You see, I could have easily just knocked out their attacker. I had chosen to kill him. And because the mugger had a long record, I was hailed as a hero. I was no hero. Ed was the hero. He had chosen love. His had been the right choice. Love gave meaning to his life...and even to his death.”
Anne’s eyes held that lovely look of wonder that had first spoken to Tom’s heart.
“So you became a priest like Ed,” Anne said. “Choosing love. Willing to go out on a limb for homeless kids and those most in need of comfort. It all makes perfect sense.”
Tom smiled at Anne’s gentle expression and the soft silver light in her eyes. She knew the worst about him now and had responded with compassion and understanding.
He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Anne, do you have any idea how much I love you?”
Just for an instant, the light in her eyes was so bright it blinded him. But then it went out as though a switch had been thrown.
“Tom, it’s not necessary to say that.”
“I didn’t say it because I thought it was necessary. I said it because it’s true. I love you, Anne.”
He felt her start to withdraw.
“I know your previous relationships have hurt you,” he said quickly, holding on tightly, not letting go of her hand, trying to get through the barriers she was fast erecting. “Please, don’t let them be the yardstick you use to judge what we have together.”
“I don’t do that, Tom. What we have together is sweeter and truer than anything I ever had with Bill or any other man. I’ve known an intimacy and honesty with you that I didn’t believe possible between a man and a woman.”
Warm relief flowed through Tom’s heart. Until he heard her next words.
“But I’m not a dewy-eyed fool,” she said as she pulled her hand away. “I know that this is temporary. And I know it can’t be anything else.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because men aren’t monogamous by nature. Sooner or later you’ll be looking elsewhere. I’m not finding fault. I’m just letting you know that I know.”
“You’re measuring me by the two men who have disappointed you.”
“No, I’m measuring you by every man I’ve ever met. Including my father.”
“Your father, Anne?”
“Last year I came home for a surprise visit and walked in on him and a woman neighbor. After he scurried her out the back door, we had a long talk. Seems he’s been having affairs for years. When I asked him how he could do this to my mother, you know what he said?”
Tom waited quietly for her to tell him.
“He said it had nothing to do with my mother. It was just the nature of a man to need the sexual excitement that came with variety. A natural biological imperative for the male of the species to spread his sperm. Totally beyond his control.”
Tom’s gut twisted at the disgust on Anne’s face as she said those words.
“I asked him why he’d even bothered to get married if he felt that way,” Anne murmured. “He told me that marriage didn’t have anything to do with a man’s biological nature. He even claimed he still loved my mother.”
“Your father doesn’t understand real love,” Tom said quietly. “Does your mother know about his affairs?”
“He told me she accepted them,” Anne said. “I didn’t believe it until I asked her. The sadness in her eyes tore at my soul. She won’t divorce him. She still loves him. And that foolish, stupid love traps her in all that misery.”
Tom tried to reach for Anne’s hand again, to ease the sadness in her eyes. But she held herself away.
“My father also told me that the only reason men let women think they’re going to be faithful to them is because they know women can’t handle the truth. He told me I should have figured out that truth since my partners’ sexual promiscuity had been behind the breakup of my relationships, as well as my sister’s marriage.”
“And you believed him.”
“He was right. I should have figured it out. But I hadn’t. Not until then.”
“Y
our father doesn’t speak for all men,” Tom said. “And he certainly doesn’t speak for me.”
“Tom, you’re one of the best men I’ve ever met. No, make that the best. The last thing you ever have to do is defend yourself to me. But you are an incredible lover. And you didn’t learn that out of any book.”
“Anne, don’t—”
“A year ago you were with Tommy’s mother. Now you’re with me. Who you’ll be with next year, I don’t know. I’ll enjoy the time we have together for what it is. But I’m not going to end up like my mother. So, please, don’t talk to me of love.”
And with that she got up from the table and walked out of the room.
Tom sat alone staring at the half-full bottle of wine for a long time. It would be so easy to drink it and let it dull the pain of disappointment inside him. And he wanted to dull that pain. But it wouldn’t do anything to change Anne’s mind.
He had thought all he had to do was give her time. But now...now he wasn’t sure there would ever be enough time.
She loved him. He knew it in his soul. But she would never be able to see it, much less admit it, not with the thick weeds of doubt that were so deeply rooted in her heart.
Tom corked the wine bottle, turned off the kitchen light and went upstairs. He stood outside Anne’s bedroom door for a long while, looking at the column of light spilling underneath it.
He wanted to go in, take her in his arms and make love to her with all his heart. He had exchanged solemn vows with her, promised to forsake all others, promised to love her through the end of their days. He had meant every word. But she obviously hadn’t believed them. Her flat refusal of his love made that very clear.
Tonight, he hadn’t just bared his heart to her, he had bared his soul. How else could he show her? What else could he say?
Nothing. There wasn’t anything left he could do or say.
He turned away from her door and let himself into the second bedroom.
Anne heard the door close across the hall and knew that Tom would not be coming to her tonight. And she knew why. She had hurt him. And the pain of that knowledge ached.
Tom was not the kind of man who lied. He believed what he’d told her tonight. Even if she couldn’t.
She had not been able to stop the happiness that had filled her when he told her he loved her. Even with everything she knew, with all she’d been through, having Tom say those words to her had nearly made her forget every one of her hard-earned lessons.
Tom made her want to believe again. So badly, she wanted to believe again. But her self-preservation wouldn’t let her. She had to hold on to it. Because when Tom’s feelings changed and he was gone, it would be all she had left.
Gone. When Tom was gone... The ache in Anne’s heart grew worse. How much time would they have together before it was over?
Not enough to let this rift remain between them. Not enough to waste a moment away from him.
She hadn’t tried Tommy on her breast tonight. Needing to do that would be the perfect excuse for going to Tom.
She gently gathered the baby into her arms, slipped out of bed and walked across the hall to Tom’s door. She stood there for a long moment before getting up the courage to knock.
When she finally did, Tom opened the door almost immediately. He wore pajama bottoms, nothing more.
“Tommy needs you to...” Anne stopped, staring at the expanse of Tom’s smooth, bare chest, not able to look in his eyes, suddenly embarrassed to say what the baby needed. What she needed.
He cupped her chin with his hand and raised it until she met his eyes, his look open and gentle. “Your room all right?”
The awful ache in Anne’s heart dissipated. Tom was making it easy on her. No game playing. No trying to hurt her back for the pain she had given him. Just simple understanding. And kindness. And love.
She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. “Any room, Tom.”
He scooped Anne and the baby into his arms in one effortless move, holding them tightly against his chest as if they weighed no more than a feather.
His eyes searched hers. “Did you really come for the baby’s sake?”
She wrapped an arm around his neck. “No.”
Tom brushed a kiss against her hair—a kiss that was as soft as a sigh. “I love you, Anne.”
“I know, Tom. Just please don’t say it anymore.”
“But you believe me?”
“You told me you’ve never lied to me. And you never will. I believe that.”
“Keep believing it, Anne,” Tom said as he carried both her and the baby back into the bedroom. “Just keep believing it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
ANNE COULDN’T REMEMBER a more beautiful Saturday morning. The sun was shining. Birds were singing. The spring breeze flowing through the open kitchen window was lush and warm.
Tom sat across the breakfast table from her, bouncing the baby in his lap. He was rumpled and unshaven and so unfairly sexy. Tommy bounced and cooed and smiled at him adorably. And Tom cooed and smiled right back. There was such love on Tom’s face for his son that it made Anne’s heart swell.
If only she had met Tom instead of Bill those many years ago! How different things might have been. If only.
No, she was not going to play that game. It was pointless. The past and its mistakes were best forgotten. All she could do was remember the lessons she’d learned from those mistakes, and make smarter choices in the present.
Rising from the breakfast table, she gathered the dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher.
“Tom, we’re going to need to go grocery shopping,” she called over her shoulder as she set the dishwasher cycle.
“Hmm.”
Anne wondered why Tom’s answer seemed so preoccupied. She turned to see him staring at something in the morning newspaper laid out on the table in front of him.
She walked over, rested her hands on his shoulders and read the headline—Tomei Murder Case to be Reopened.
The Tomei name sounded familiar to Anne.
“Tom, wasn’t Tomei the last name of the couple whose son died in the emergency room at the hospital yesterday?”
Tom nodded.
Anne’s eyes scanned down to the article.
The district attorney’s office has learned from Mr. and Mrs. James Tomei that their son, James Tomei, Jr., confessed to killing his wife just before he died from injuries sustained in a self-inflicted gunshot wound Friday night. Tomei, Jr., allegedly told his parents that he strangled his wife, Elizabeth, two years ago after learning of her affair with their neighbor, Donald Abbott. He then framed Abbott for the crime. Abbott was tried and convicted for the murder last year and is currently serving a life sentence.
Anne sat down in the chair next to Tom and studied his calm face. “You heard Tomei’s confession. If his parents hadn’t come forward, would you have been able to let an innocent man serve a life sentence for a crime he didn’t commit?”
“Anne, I can talk to you about the general guidelines concerning confessions, but I can’t discuss any specific confession.”
“Sorry, I forgot. Okay. In general terms, let’s say you hear a person confess to a crime for which someone else has been convicted. Can’t you say anything?”
“A priest cannot under any circumstances divulge what he has heard in a confession.”
“Even if the person confesses to having done something evil, like this man Tomei, and later dies?”
“Under any circumstances, Anne, means under any circumstances. That’s why some Episcopal clergy don’t accept confessions anymore.”
“But you do. Why?”
“Do you know what the original derivation of the word evil was?”
She shook her head.
“It meant to have lost one’s
way. We all lose our way at some time in this life. To recognize you’ve done wrong, to be truly sorry for it and to ask for and receive forgiveness is to have found your way again. Confession and absolution are powerful healers.”
Anne remembered the look of relief on the face of both Mr. and Mrs. Tomei when Tom had told them their son had died in peace. She realized that Tom had done that for their son, as well. What he could do for someone as a priest was beyond anything she’d been able to do as a judge.
No, she wouldn’t do what he did for a living for anything, but she admired him greatly for choosing that path. And for so many other things. She had told him he was the best man she had ever met. With every moment that statement grew deeper with meaning.
Tommy had grabbed Tom’s ear and was pulling it with his determined little hand. Tom captured the baby’s other hand and munched on the tiny knuckles while Tommy giggled delightedly.
It was just impossible to resist this man.
She stood up. “I’m going to go take a shower. Would you care to join me?”
Tom looked up at her and smiled. “Is this a trick question?” he asked as he reached over and expertly undid the sash on her silk dressing gown.
* * *
“WE KNOW SHRUBBER is using these underage, runaway girls as breeders to produce babies for his wealthy clients,” Anne said as she pushed the grocery cart down the supermarket aisle. “But we haven’t even discussed Dr. Faust’s role in this.”
Tom picked up a bag of potato chips and flipped them over his shoulder into the cart. Anne picked up the bag and put it back on the shelf. Tom smiled. They were like an old married couple already. And he loved it.
His heart felt so much lighter this morning. She had come to him last night because she couldn’t stay away. No matter what her experiences had been, no matter how afraid she was of love, she couldn’t stay away from him.
“Tom? Did you hear me?”
“Even if this Dr. Faust were ignorant of the girls’ real names,” Tom said, “he knows the ages of the parents on the birth record he signs. A doctor would have to be able to tell the difference between the body of an expecting mother who was only fifteen years old and one who was almost thirty.”
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