Wednesday's Child

by Leigh Michaels

  room. “Mr. and Mrs. Emerson? Robbie is back in his room now. He’s still very sleepy, but he’d like you to come in.”

  *****

  Robbie talked nonstop from the hospital to Mission Hills, chattering about everything from the prettiest nurses on the pediatric floor to his speculations about how Beast would like the new neighborhood.

  He didn’t say anything about his own feelings, but Layne could hear uncertainty dragging along under the flow of words. And she was glad all over again that she had agreed to come.

  What would Robbie have done, she wondered, if she wasn’t in the front seat of the Mercedes?

  She stole a look from under her lashes at Kyle, who was devoting most of his attention to the freeway. Traffic was heavy this morning, and he was negotiating it carefully. But he looked happy, she thought, and now and then he smiled at Robbie’s chatter. It was a smile she remembered from the early days — indulgent, fond. She wondered if he had felt fatherly towards her, too. It wouldn’t surprise her if he had.

  The Mercedes left the freeway. The houses they were passing were large, set well back

  from the streets on big lots. It was a neighborhood of professionals, Layne thought, with a doctor or a lawyer in every four-bedroom ranch. They were twice as large as the tract houses Robbie was used to, and in nearly every driveway was a motorcycle or a van or a boat.

  “Is Wheatlands like this, Dad?” Robbie questioned eagerly.

  A teasing smile played over Kyle’s face. “Not quite, son.”

  “Oh,” Robbie looked a bit disappointed, then returned to eagerly inspecting each house they passed.

  “Kyle, are you being fair?” Layne asked softly. It hadn’t occurred to her to warn Robbie about the house they were going to; she had assumed that Kyle had told him all about

  Wheatlands.

  He shrugged. “I hadn’t considered whether it’s fair. I do know it will be fun to see his face when he first sees the house.”

  Layne let it drop. It was a little late to warn Robbie now.

  “Did you do anything about my furniture and car?” she asked. Kyle had dismissed the

  whole mess with a wave of his hand and announced that a crew of Emco’s employees would take care of everything she had left behind.

  “Yes. The furniture is in storage till you need it in the autumn, and the dog is at

  Wheatlands. The car went directly to the repair shop. The man who drove it didn’t like the way the brakes felt.”

  “I won’t have a car to drive?” The brakes had been fine the last time she drove it, Layne thought. And it had just been in the repair garage a few weeks ago. Surely they would have noticed.

  “Only for a little while. It shouldn’t take long, even if it requires a complete brake job.”

  “Wait a minute! I can’t afford to put new brakes on The Tank. I realize it isn’t much of a car, but it is mine. And it’s paid for, unless I have to take a loan out on it so I can afford the repairs.”

  He looked over at her for a moment, frowning. “I would say that you can’t afford not to repair the brakes. But you may consider it my treat.”

  “That sign said Mission Hills,” Robbie announced from the back seat.

  “Indeed it did, Rob. You’re almost home.” Kyle smiled at him in the mirror.

  “I don’t want any favors from you,” Layne said stiffly.

  “And I don’t want you driving an unsafe car, so it’s going to be checked over from

  headlights to muffler.”

  “When will I have it back?”

  “When the garage has pronounced it totally safe to drive.”

  “But…” To be stranded in Mission Hills, miles from anywhere, without transportation, was an invitation to mental illness.

  “Mom! Look at the houses!” Robbie’s tone was rapt. He had obviously not heard a word of the exchange in the front seat.

  Layne had always thought Mission Hills was one of the most beautiful residential areas in the country. Every urban area had its stately homes, but usually they were in a small district.

  Mission Hills, however, was an entire town of lovely old mansions. Many of the families, Kyle’s included, had lived in these houses for generations. Wheatlands had been built by Kyle’s grandfather, after he had amassed a fortune from the wheat farms in western Kansas.

  Kyle turned the Mercedes on to a winding street and pulled up to the curb. “Robbie,” he said, “that’s Wheatlands.”

  The child craned his neck for the best possible view of his new home, and when she saw the look on his face, Layne had to turn away. It was easier to look at the house than it was to watch the delight play across Robbie’s face. His eyes held something akin to recognition, she thought. Robbie was a true Emerson. Wheatlands was in his blood.

  She looked across a little valley to where an enormous red brick house stood proudly on the hillside, its stone trim gleaming in the late-morning sunshine. Tall bay windows jutted out from the façade on the first and second floors. On one end of the house, above the entranceway that could shelter a car while its passengers got out, there was an open porch, and on the other end were two closed-in sun rooms, one above the other. Ivy crept up one wall, its huge waxy leaves shading some of the lower floor windows. Several chimneys peeked over the steep roof.

  “We’re going to live there?” Robbie breathed. “Oh, Mom!”

  “For as long as you like,” Kyle told him. And his eyes, meeting Layne’s, reminded her that her invitation was good only until the first week of September.

  He released the brake and the car rolled quietly forward, down the little slope and then up to the big house. It was scarcely stopped before Robbie — cast, crutches and all — had flung himself out of the car.

  But it seemed that, once on the grounds of Wheatlands, he didn’t know what to do. For

  there he stood, just staring up at the house, silent and looking so small and uncertain that Layne’s heart ached.

  Kyle shut the engine off and came around to open her door. “My father will be waiting to have lunch with us,” he said. “He’s anxious to meet Robbie.”

  It was all she could do to force herself out of the car. On the front steps, she froze, unable to move another inch. She stared at the heavy front door with its intricate carving and wished that she could just close her eyes and vanish.

  Kyle turned at the door to watch her hesitation. “If you’d like, I could carry you over the threshold,” he said finally.

  Layne’s face flushed as she remembered their wedding day, when he had carried her into Wheatlands to be greeted by applause from the household staff waiting in the front hall. “No, thanks,” she said tartly. Her indignation gave her strength, and she patted Robbie’s shoulder and stepped through the doorway to face Stephen Emerson.

  The hall was dim, and after the sunlit outdoors it took an instant for her eyes to adjust. In that moment, a rich, deep voice said, “You’re prettier than ever, Layne. And this must be my grandson.”

  It startled Layne, for the voice seemed to come from somewhere near her left elbow. She jumped and turned, and then had to look down. Kyle’s father was sitting in a wheelchair, his hands folded in his lap. It shocked her; Kyle had said nothing about his father being an invalid, and the Stephen Emerson she remembered had been active and healthy.

  “Hello, sir,” she said.

  Stephen frowned. “Layne, I thought we agreed years ago that if you couldn’t manage Dad, you’d call me Stephen,” he scolded.

  Layne said, “Yes, sir,” caught herself, and smiled. This old man had been a good friend to her father, despite their many differences of opinion. She had always felt that he wanted to be close to her, but something had kept her from confiding in him. Perhaps it had just been that, after losing Lucky, she had been unwilling to risk letting anyone else take his place.

  “That will be enough of that, my dear,” he said. Then his gaze slid, as if caught by a magnet, to the child beside her. “So this is Robbie,” he murmured,
and cleared his throat. Layne wasn’t surprised; she was fighting off tears herself. “Come here, child.”

  Robbie, uncharacteristically quiet, hopped over beside the chair.

  “Quite a pair, aren’t we?” Stephen said, pointing first to Robbie’s crutches, then to his own wheelchair. “I guess we’ll just have to be invalids together this summer.”

  “Yes, sir,” Robbie said uncertainly.

  Stephen smiled. “Do you know, Robbie, I’ve been waiting to read Treasure Island again, but it seems a foolish thing for a seventy-year-old man to do. But if you’ll be kind enough to listen, I can pretend that I’m doing it for your benefit.”

  Robbie giggled. “Yes, sir.”

  Kyle glanced at his watch. “Lunch is waiting,” he commented.

  “I’ll take Robbie to wash,” Layne volunteered, suddenly anxious to be by herself for a few minutes.

  “I just had a bath,” Robbie protested, but he swung down the hall at her side.

  She found the small powder room easily enough; it was in the same place, but it had been redecorated. Jessica Tate’s work? she wondered as she stood in the hallway, staring out over the acre of lawn through heavily-leaded casement windows as she waited for Robbie to wash his face and hands.

  He came back with ears almost gleaming. “How did you know where to go, Mom?”

  Layne ruffled his hair. “I thought you knew that I lived here a long time ago. Before you were born.”

  He thought about it, then asked the question that she had always known would come

  someday. “Why did you leave?”

  “We’ll talk about that when we have more time,” Layne said steadily. “They’re waiting for us in the dining room, and I think on our first day here...”

  Robbie never missed a meal if he could help it. “Okay. Why is he in a wheelchair?”

  “I don’t know. Your father didn’t tell me about that.”

  “Can I ask him?”

  “I don’t see why not. But I think you should wait till you’re alone with him, and not pester him at lunch. And Robbie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Lunch at Wheatlands is going to be a little different than it is at home. So...”

  “I’ll mind my manners.”

  “Thank you. And I think after lunch a nap would be in order for you.”

  “Mom! I’m not a baby,” Robbie protested.

  “Of course not. But you did have surgery just a couple of days ago. Remember?”

  “Mother...”

  A maid uniformed in powder blue with a white cap and apron was waiting for them near

  the dining room. “Lunch will be served in the solarium, ma’am,” she said. “If you’ll follow me?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Layne told her gently. “I can find my way.”

  The girl nodded and disappeared down the hall.

  Robbie craned his neck to see where she had gone. “Was that a maid, Mom?” he asked in a stage whisper.

  “Yes, Robbie,” Layne said dryly and tugged him towards the solarium. The first week will be the hardest, she told herself. After that, he’ll be an old pro at this.

  The solarium windows were open, and a gentle breeze was sweeping over the glass-topped table, set casually for five. Four wicker chairs were drawn up to the round table, as was Stephen Emerson’s wheelchair. Across the room, staring moodily out over the grounds, stood Kyle, arms folded across his chest.

  And next to him, hand on his arm and whispering fiercely into his ear, was Jessica Tate.

  Kyle turned at the sound of Robbie’s voice and came quickly across the room. He always had beautiful manners, Layne thought. Even though there is nothing he wants less to do than touch me, he will not violate the gentleman’s code — a lady must not seat herself without assistance.

  He held her chair, then let his hands rest casually on her shoulders for a moment while he answered a question of Robbie’s. Layne tensed under his touch, and his hands tightened in warning. She caught a twinkle in Stephen’s eyes as he watched them, and knew with sudden anger that Kyle had planned it. Kyle had never been public with demonstrations of his affection; his hands so casually possessive of her would be far more convincing to his father than the most passionate of kisses. Layne told herself that she was glad that a possessive touch would be all she had to suffer.

  He seated Jessica next to himself, while Layne was almost opposite him. And the blonde’s red-tipped fingers only left his arm when it was necessary to pick up her spoon. Why was she here, anyway? Had she invited herself? Or perhaps Kyle was doing a balancing act, indicating to his father that all was well between husband and wife, but also taking this quick way of making sure Layne knew that he didn’t intend to give up Jessica.

  In any case, Layne decided, she didn’t care. She’d do her best to be a lady, and Jessica could do as she liked.

  “Jessica, I’d like you to meet my son Robbie,” Kyle told her as he shook out his napkin.

  “Robbie, this is Miss Tate.”

  “Oh, please call me Aunt Jessica. After all, I’m a very close friend of your father’s.” Her eyes were hard as she studied the child. Then she turned to Layne. “He certainly looks like Kyle, doesn’t he? How fortunate for you.”

  Robbie looked up at Layne, sensitive to the tone of Jessica’s voice but obviously not

  understanding why she sounded angry.

  Layne patted his knee under the table, and Robbie relaxed and dug into his soup.

  He was across the table from his grandfather, who seemed to be unable to take his eyes off the child. “I don’t know, Jessica,” Stephen said finally. “I think the person he looks most like is Kyle’s mother. She was a true beauty, with the same heart-shaped face and that unusual coloring.

  Kyle has a lot of me, but Robbie is a boyish version of his grandmother.” He looked steadily at Jessica as he finished, and she muttered something unintelligible and stared at her plate.

  What a perfect way to put her in her place, Layne thought. With one quick comparison,

  Stephen had made it plain not only that there was not a shred of doubt about who Robbie’s father was, but that the subject wasn’t to be raised again. Bless your heart, she thought, and hoped that she and Stephen could work on developing that friendship they had only begun all those years ago.

  “Marvelous soup, isn’t it?” Stephen asked her. His eyes twinkled as he savored a bite with exaggerated gusto. “Mrs. Andrews is an excellent cook.”

  Layne laughed with a suddenly lighter heart. Perhaps, she thought, this isn’t going to be so impossible after all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  By the time lunch was over, Robbie’s eyelids were drooping, and Layne could see the

  ferocious struggle he was making to stay awake.

  Stephen saw it, too, and before Layne had a chance to suggest a nap, he said, “It looks to me as if it’s time for us to retire for a siesta, Robbie.” He yawned. Layne wasn’t quite sure if it was pretended or not.

  “Do you take naps too?” Robbie asked.

  “Every day. Just coming down for lunch makes me tired.”

  “Does it really?” Robbie looked a little doubtful.

  Jessica looked disgusted. It was a fleeting expression, and Layne just happened to be

  looking her way, or she’d have missed it. But Kyle had seen it, too, she noticed, and he looked disappointed in Jessica. Well, of course he was, Layne thought, and decided that if she was a true lady, she’d warn Jessica that the surest way to Kyle Emerson’s heart right now lay directly through his small son.

  But there are limits to being a lady, she concluded. Then she nearly dropped her fork as she realized for the first time that Jessica Tate would very likely be Robbie’s stepmother.

  The poor child, she thought, and was again glad that she had come to Wheatlands. At least this way, when she left, Robbie would be able to call her or see her anytime he wanted, and she could help him adjust to the rough times. If she hadn’t come, Kyle would never have
let her see him again.

  Stephen pushed his chair back from the table. “Are you going to the office today?” he

  asked Kyle.

  Kyle shook his head. “I’m going to shut myself in my study and catch up on my

  paperwork.”

  “Then perhaps you’d like to come with me,” Stephen told Layne. “We have a few years to catch up on.”

  “I thought you were going to take a nap,” Robbie accused.

  “Layne’s review of the last few years will probably put him to sleep,” Jessica murmured.

  “Kyle, you have a few minutes for me, don’t you?” She tucked one hand confidingly into his arm and gestured prettily with the other. “I need to talk to you about the governor’s visit. It’s only a month away, you know, and Cam deserves the very best party we can put on.” Her voice trailed off as they left the room.

  Kyle had not said a word directly to Layne all through lunch. She tried to dismiss it from her mind, but it wouldn’t go away. He was the one who wanted this to look good, she thought, and then to pull a stunt like that in the first hour she was in the house...

  Their pace was slow, allowing for the purr of the motorized wheelchair and Robbie’s less-than-enthusiastic progress. “It’s a slower life than the one you’re used to, Layne,” Stephen commented as he pushed the button to summon a tiny elevator.

  Robbie was delighted, and in the midst of his questions Layne didn’t have to respond. On the second floor, Stephen turned his chair to the right. It made scarcely any noise on the carpeting. Layne glanced at the floor and realized that this was all different from what she remembered. The hall carpet had been a deep pile; now it was all tightly woven and flat to give the least trouble to the wheelchair. The downstairs halls had been like that too, she realized. So Stephen’s confinement to the chair was neither a new thing nor a temporary one, if Kyle had re-carpeted what had always seemed to her to be miles of hallway.

  “Here is your room, my dear,” the old man said, drawing the chair to a silent halt outside a closed door.

  “Things have changed at Wheatlands,” she said lightly. “It was your room before.”

  “Yes. But the new arrangement is much more practical for me. I’m at the other end of the hall, in the last room.” He gestured. “It opens on to the sun porch, and now that it’s so inconvenient for me to go outside, the porch is my most precious possession.” He turned the chair. “Robbie will be right across the hall from you, Layne. I hope you’ll come down to see me after he’s settled.”