Wednesday's Child

by Leigh Michaels

  “I will.” There were plenty of questions she’d like to ask, though she didn’t know if

  Stephen would answer them.

  Robbie’s room looked out over the huge lawn. From this angle, it looked as if Wheatlands stood alone, instead of being surrounded by other houses discreetly tucked into the hills.

  It was obvious to Layne that the room had been redecorated just for Robbie. She certainly didn’t remember it having blue plaid wallpaper and a set of bunk beds. Kyle hadn’t wasted any time in producing a young boy’s heaven.

  Robbie was exploring feverishly. “Mom, all my clothes are here.”

  “Of course, dear. The maids unpacked for you. That does not mean, however, that you no longer have to pick up your things.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Robbie grinned. “And two window seats! I’ve always

  wanted one, but to have two...” He sat down on one of them. “Where’s Beast?”

  “I don’t know.” Layne had forgotten the dog. “I expected him to come bounding up when

  we arrived. But your father said he’s here, so after your nap, you may go look for him.”

  “I’m not sleepy now,” Robbie announced.

  Layne put her hands on her hips. “Robert, there’s the bed. No more arguments.”

  Robbie gave in. “Can I use the top bunk?”

  “Can you get up and down the ladder with your cast?” She watched as he demonstrated.

  “Why did I even ask? Have a good rest, Robbie. I’ll come back to check on you later.”

  He kicked off his shoe and it bounced on the blue carpet. “Oh, I wish I could stretch my other toes,” he complained. “This cast itches already.”

  “Be patient, honey. Maybe in a couple of weeks you’ll have a walking cast, and then the crutches can go.”

  “I can’t wait.” But his voice was already dragging with sleep.

  She found Stephen on the enclosed sun porch, looking out over the wide lawn. A young

  man was with him, arranging water jug, glass and the latest bestseller on a table beside the wheelchair.

  “I’m sorry,” Layne said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Stephen laughed. “Come in, Layne. This is Dave, my keeper.”

  The young man looked up with a smile. “He’s exaggerating, of course, Mrs. Emerson. I’m just a nurse, actually.”

  “Listen to him, saying he’s just a nurse,” Stephen said sadly. “That’s why I’ve titled him a keeper. It’s actually a term of respect. He keeps me under control, keeps me sane...” He looked up at Layne and gestured towards a chair. “Dave, Mrs. Emerson will sit with me for a while.

  Won’t you, dear?”

  “I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” Dave said and quietly let himself out.

  Layne watched as Stephen carefully shifted himself in the wheelchair, obviously with a great deal of pain. “Kyle didn’t tell me that you had been ill.”

  “Kyle refuses to believe that I might never get better,” Stephen said. “Oh, he’s faced reality enough to replace the carpet and build ramps and install the elevator, but he still doesn’t believe that a little thing like arthritis could keep me in a wheelchair. My son has a great deal of faith in me.”

  “It’s rheumatoid arthritis?”

  “Yes. I had to get the nasty kind. And I didn’t help matters along. Work has always been a cure-all for me, Layne. When I had the flu, I sweated it out on the job site. When I had a headache, work was my aspirin. When Kyle’s mother died, I drowned my depression in my

  business. So when my doctor told me I had arthritis and to slow down and rest, I laughed at him, and worked all the harder. It wasn’t a masculine thing to do, to take naps. So here I am.”

  “It must be very difficult for you.”

  He smiled. “I’ve learned to accept it. There are still things I can do, and I must be grateful for those. If I can no longer be with the men when they lay the last steel beam at the top of a building, then crying about it won’t change it. The one it’s really hard on is Kyle. He hates seeing me tied to this chair.”

  Yes, Layne thought, Kyle would hate that. He never sat still for an instant, and neither had his father — in the old days. “I thought arthritis patients all moved to Arizona,” she said lightly.

  “I considered it. But my rheumatologist thought the stress of the move would be even

  worse for me. Of course I’d have had to go alone, because Kyle certainly can’t move Emco. So I stay here.”

  “Is there any hope for improvement?”

  “Some delaying tactics, at least. They gave me new hips last spring. In the autumn, after I’ve fully recovered from that surgery, they’ll replace my knee joints. The doctors hope that I’ll be able to walk then, but I’ll have to borrow Robbie’s crutches, no doubt.”

  Layne smiled. “I’m sure Robbie will be delighted to be rid of them.”

  “Can’t say that I blame him. He’s a beautiful boy, Layne. His manners are unusual in so young a child.”

  “Well — if I were you I’d reserve judgment. When the new wears off, he may be a bit

  difficult. But I’ve tried to raise him the way Kyle would have wanted.” Now what had made her say that? It certainly hadn’t been in her mind.

  Stephen looked at her closely, and Layne dropped her eyes and suddenly became very

  interested in the design in her skirt fabric.

  Then he said gently, “I wouldn’t worry about Jessica, my dear. She was an adolescent

  passion of Kyle’s, no more than that. But now that you’re back...”

  Now that I’m back—what? Layne wondered. Obviously Stephen’s love for Kyle was of the blind variety, if he couldn’t see that Jessica Tate was not exactly a passing fancy.

  “Why is she calling herself Miss Tate now?” Layne asked.

  “Oh, it’s just a little affectation she’s picked up lately. Hal died several years ago. She wore black for months.”

  “Only because she looks charming in black, I’m sure.”

  Stephen smiled but didn’t answer.

  “I thought perhaps she’d gotten a divorce. When did she start the boutiques?”

  “Not till after he died. She said he hadn’t left her very well off, and she had to turn a profit somehow.” Stephen shrugged. “I find Jessica a bore.”

  “What’s this about the governor?” she asked. “Didn’t she say he was going to visit?”

  “It’s part of his next campaign, I suppose. To a politician, there is always an election year coming, and Cameron Howard was born a politician. He’s been leaning on Kyle to help draft legislation for greater safety in the building trade.”

  “I didn’t know Kyle was interested in politics.”

  “He isn’t, and it’s a good thing, because after Kyle has done the work, Cam Howard will present it as his own brainchild. But Kyle doesn’t seem to mind. He’s only interested in results, he says.” Stephen tried to hide a yawn. “And Jessica is interested in Cam. I think she’d like to be the First Lady of the state, if she could persuade Cam to see it the same way.”

  Another bit of self-deception? Layne jumped up. “You need your rest, Stephen, and I feel a little worn out too,” she said. “I’ve spent the last couple of nights with Robbie in the hospital, and it isn’t the most restful place to sleep. Shall I call Dave for you?”

  “No need.” He indicated the small electric bell at his elbow. “You’re right, of course; I do need my rest. There will be all kinds of time for us to talk. Please stop by my room, Layne. I get lonely up here.”

  Suddenly touched, she leaned over him and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “I will.”

  “I’d like to have Robbie join me for some of his meals,” Stephen added. “I usually have a breakfast tray and then come down for lunch, but I don’t like to eat dinner as late as Kyle does. I keep nursery hours up here. It would probably be more to Robbie’s taste than waiting till eight o’clock.”

  Layne laughed. “Yes, Robbi
e likes his meals on time. I think he’d love to join you.”

  “And you and Kyle will want to have your evenings to yourselves, anyway.”

  That was a prospect that hadn’t occurred to Layne. Two months of evenings alone with

  Kyle...

  She shrugged it off. He’d figure out a way to avoid it, she knew. And she could do her part, too. She wondered if he would let her rearrange one of the extra bedrooms so she could have a place to work.

  She peeked into a few of the rooms. Most of them were obviously unused, with curtains

  drawn to shut out the hot summer sunlight. But all were kept scrupulously clean, and they could be ready for a guest at a moment’s notice.

  “It would be wiser not to explore, Layne,” she muttered to herself. She might stumble on to something she’d rather not know about — a stock of Jessica’s lingerie, for instance. But she doubted that Kyle would flaunt his romance in front of his father; there were much easier ways to carry on an intrigue. And at any rate, she thought, if Jessica was leaving clothes at Wheatlands, Layne knew which room they would be in. The corner one. Kyle’s room.

  The one that had been hers, as well as his. She stopped outside the big corner bedroom, staring at the closed door. Did he still have that huge antique bed where they had snuggled together on those cool autumn mornings — the bed where Robbie had been conceived? She put a hand to her flushed cheek and shook her head at her own foolishness.

  What difference did a room make, after all? Any room would change in nine years, and

  Kyle had probably set out to change it as much as possible. Layne told herself firmly that it would be a relief to walk into that room and realize that it was nothing like it had been when she left. It would help to put to rest some of those old ghosts.

  But she couldn’t force herself to open the door. Instead, she smiled ruefully, shook her head, and walked back down the hall to the room Stephen had showed her. Someday soon,

  perhaps, she could go into that other room. But not today.

  Her bedroom was large and airy and cool. Lightweight curtains were drawn against the

  strong afternoon sun. On the dressing table was a milk glass vase containing a dozen yellow roses, their heavy perfume scenting the air, droplets of water still clinging to the delicate petals.

  She leaned over them and took a deep breath. Someone had been very thoughtful. Or had Kyle just been doing what was expected of him?

  The card peeked out between the flowers, and she tugged at it. Welcome home, my

  daughter, it said.

  It was sweet of Stephen to remember how much she liked yellow roses. Why should she

  care that the flowers hadn’t come from Kyle? She wanted no complications in this impossible situation. She wanted nothing at all from Kyle.

  A row of doors along one wall concealed all the wardrobe space a woman could want, she knew, but Layne couldn’t work up the enthusiasm to look inside. It would, after all, be only her own clothes hanging there. She wished for a moment that she had taken Clare’s advice and the last of her money and gone on a shopping spree. Perhaps she’d feel a little less like a poor mouse next to Jessica Tate.

  Then she shook her head. “Face it, Layne,” she told herself firmly. “You will always feel like a poor mouse next to her. Because you are. And don’t let yourself forget it. If you do, Kyle will remind you that you are no competition.”

  The big bed was mahogany, rubbed to a gleam, with canopy and side curtains of a tiny blue and brown print on an ivory background. It was a restful print, and the bed looked so

  comfortable that Layne kicked off her shoes and tossed herself down. At least in sleep, she reminded herself, she could forget.

  *****

  “Mom?” a small, plaintive voice asked. “Mom, aren’t you ever going to wake up?”

  Layne struggled up through the depths of sleep. “Robbie, go away,” she said faintly.

  “You’re going to sleep through dinner.”

  “Good.” But she opened her eyes. “I thought I told you to take a nap.”

  “I did. A two-hour nap. But you’ve been asleep even longer than that.” His tone was

  offended. How could anyone who wasn’t forced actually sleep in the middle of the day, Robbie seemed to be asking. He sat down on the edge of the canopied bed and, forgetting his

  disappointment with her, plunged into a one-sided conversation.

  Resigned, Layne plumped up her pillow and propped herself against the headboard.

  “There’s a swimming pool, Mom. Out behind the house. A great big swimming pool. If I put my cast in a plastic bag...”

  “No, Robbie. No swimming with a cast on.”

  “Can I at least ask the doctor?”

  “Yes, as long as you promise to stay out of the pool in the meantime.”

  “Okay. And there’s a bike path. And Dad said he’d teach me to play golf at his country club as soon as the cast comes off. He said I can even use the clubs he had when he was a kid.”

  “That’s a switch. It’s not like him to be cheap,” Layne muttered.

  “And there are some great climbing trees. Big ones! Wait till Tony comes to visit.”

  “Wait till the cast comes off.” She’d recited the phrase a hundred times, and she was tired of hearing it, but someone had to remind Robbie that he did in fact face some limitations.

  But Robbie seemed not to have heard. “There’s one that could hold a big tree house. I’ve always wanted a tree house, but all we’ve ever had is little trees.”

  “I think you’d better take that up with your father before you start construction. Did you find Beast?”

  Robbie’s face fell. “Yeah. He’s out behind the house. He’s got a pen and a run, but...”

  A first-class kennel, Layne interpreted. That made sense; a run-of-the-mill doghouse would not fit into the architectural style of the community. “But?” she prompted.

  “He can’t come in the house. Why not, Mom? He never broke anything in our old house.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say he never did,” Layne parried. “And Wheatlands isn’t quite the same as our old house, Robbie.”

  “But Dad said I could keep him.” Tears were starting to form in Robbie’s eyes.

  Layne wanted to go downstairs to Kyle’s study and take him apart. Robbie’s dog was

  terribly important to him; couldn’t Kyle understand that Beast was not just a pet? Then she sighed. Her intervention would do no good; if she tried, Kyle would be only more adamant.

  “Perhaps he doesn’t realize how strongly you feel about Beast,” she said gently. “If you tell him about it...”

  Robbie dashed the tears out of his eyes. “Then will Dad let Beast come in?”

  “He might. But even if he doesn’t, you’ll have done everything you can.”

  Robbie’s face was still sad.

  Layne ruffled his hair. “The fresh air will do Beast good,” she said. “And you, too, when you go see him.”

  “But who’s going to walk him? He needs exercise.”

  “We’ll walk him,” Layne promised.

  Robbie rubbed his eyes. “Is this a mansion?” he asked suddenly.

  “Yes, I think you could call Wheatlands a mansion.” Layne glanced at the mantel clock and pushed herself up off the bed. Time to be getting ready for dinner, even if she would rather plead a slight case of leprosy and stay in bed. If there was one thing she didn’t feel ready for, it was dinner with Kyle. She wondered if Jessica would be there, or if she’d be on her own. “It’s about time to get ready for dinner, Robbie. I think you should dress up tonight.”

  “I already had dinner with Grandpa.”

  That was progress – from sir to Grandpa in six hours.

  “And he doesn’t make me change clothes,” Robbie added with a touch of defiance.

  “I’m sure that’s much more comfortable for you. I’m going to go take a shower, Rob. I’ll be back in a few minutes if you want to stay and talk to me whi
le I get ready.”

  She was still in the bathroom, just pulling Clare’s orange dress over her head, when Robbie said from the other side of the door, “And what good is a mansion, anyway, if I can’t even have my dog?”

  Layne refused to get excited. “You still have the dog. He just isn’t sleeping on your bed anymore.” She came out of the bathroom, tugging at the zipper. “Rob, would you help me get this zipped?”

  The door opened and Kyle came in. “Did everybody have a good nap?” he asked no one in

  particular, and started to unbutton his shirt.

  Layne was too stunned to move.

  Robbie had no such qualms. “Dad!” he cried and flung himself on Kyle, who wrestled the child to the floor and tickled him.

  “Unfair!” Robbie declared. “I’m handicapped.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m doing it now.” Kyle got up and tossed his shirt over the arm of a chair. Then he seemed to see Layne for the first time. “Shall I zip your dress?”

  Ever the polite gentleman, she thought. He even asks permission. She turned round obediently, and suffered in silence the gentle brush of his fingers up her spine as he closed the zipper.

  “You wore this when we went to Felicity’s,” he said.

  “Congratulations. You may go to the head of the class.”

  “Don’t you own anything else? Or is it just your favorite?”

  Layne looked at him steadily. “Yes, it is my favorite, primarily because I don’t own

  anything else. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t have this one but Clare decided it looked better on me than it did on her after she loaned it to me that evening.”

  Kyle grunted. “She’s right, you know. She’s too blonde to carry off flaming orange. It looks a lot better on you, with those big brown eyes.”

  “I’m glad to see that something about me has your approval. I might warn you that you

  may get tired of seeing this dress by the first week of September.”