by Hill, Teresa
"But, Mom?"
Caught at the door again. Would she ever make it out of this room? "Yes, Sammy?"
"Dad doesn't hate you. He told me so."
Rebecca walked out the door. She wasn't stopping this time.
* * *
"Bad night, Rebecca?"
She whirled around in the direction of an unmistakable, unforgettable male voice coming from the sidewalk across the school driveway. Her bad day had just gotten worse, and it probably showed on her face.
She hadn't slept at all last night, much of it his fault, though she'd never admit it to him.
"You made it." She should have known the new Tucker would.
"Too late to see the little guy off to school, but I was hoping I might catch him here—" He stopped and turned her face up to his. "Hey? What's this?"
Damn, she thought with a sinking feeling deep in her heart. He'd caught her crying again. Why did this always happen? He moved to brush her tears away, but she stepped aside in a panic. The morning's emotional strain threatened to overwhelm her, and she couldn't let him touch her now, not even in that small way.
She turned her head away and hastily dried her cheeks herself. "It's nothing."
His look said he knew it was a lie, and she wondered how he could always be around when she was feeling so vulnerable.
Silly question, she decided, her mood sinking even lower. He made her feel vulnerable, along with everything else in her life right now.
Every woman had a day now and then when the whole world seemed to be too much to handle, and Rebecca was having one of those days. She'd had a lot of them lately, and it wasn't like her to feel sorry for herself, but she just hadn't been able to escape it.
"It's definitely something, Rebecca."
He stared at her and waited—an old trick of his. He wouldn't say another word. He wouldn't do another thing. He'd wait, right there, until he found out what he wanted to know.
But she couldn't talk to him about this. He was the last person she wanted to talk with about this.
Rebecca felt trapped, caught up in something she couldn't understand, something that wouldn't let go.
He just kept coming back, and everything kept getting worse.
"It's silly." She shrugged and tried to make light of it.
"Then you should be laughing."
Point for him. She drew a little bit deeper inside herself. Why couldn't he leave her alone, today of all days?
"I guess I'm just a little upset at watching my baby go off to first grade. That's all." A half-truth, but maybe it would be enough for him. "He went to a little pre-school at a church nearby, and he was so happy there. They had a kindergarten program, so he did it there. This is like big-boy school."
"Oh?"
He said it so innocently, so sweetly. He could sound like that, but he'd never been innocent and seldom been sweet. Charming, handsome and a little wicked, but not sweet. She needed to remember that.
"It's not anything I want to talk to you about, Tucker."
"I know." He put an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward a wooden bench along the sidewalk. "But I'm the only one here, so you'll have to make do with me today."
Feeling like fate was conspiring against her, she sat down on a bench, one that gave them an unobstructed view of the children and a few parents streaming into school. She'd been watching for a while now. She couldn't seem to tear herself away from the sight, just as she couldn't shake the somber mood that came over her as she thought of all she'd expected her life to bring her.
"Well?" He settled himself beside her on the bench. The bench was nearly too small for both of them. The only way to sit there was to have his side pressed against hers.
She shrank away as far as the confining space would allow and wondered if someday she would feel his touch without it unsettling her so.
Then she made the mistake of looking over at him, of watching him watch the kids go into school, and she wondered if he could ever understand what she was feeling. She wondered if he ever felt this way as well.
"Sammy's growing up so fast," she said, resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to leave until he found out what was wrong.
"Yes?"
"And I just wish I could make him stop somehow. I wish I could hang on to this time a little longer, but it's slipping away."
He laughed a little, teasing her then. "Feeling old, Rebecca?"
"Not exactly." More like used up. She was feeling all used up inside, and that was so much worse than feeling old. She imagined her future spread out before her, and she didn't like what she saw.
"You're what? All of twenty-eight? That's practically ancient."
"Twenty-nine in a few months." She smiled sadly. The feeling had nothing to do with age. It was about wanting things she feared she'd never have.
Rebecca waited and watched the schoolyard. A young mother came along with her three children. The first boy, maybe eight or nine years old, was running ahead of her. The woman had a baby in her arms, and her third child, another little boy, was pushing the baby's stroller, with nothing but a doll in it.
The woman was calling to the older child not to get so far ahead of them, rubbing the baby's back and trying to convince her other son to keep the stroller on the sidewalk—all at the same time, until her husband caught up with them and pulled the two boys into line.
It looked like chaos.
And it looked like everything she'd hoped her life would be, everything it wasn't, everything it probably would never be.
Rebecca sat there and watched that woman, surrounded by her big, boisterous family, with a baby in her arms and a husband looking on, and tried hard to blink back her tears.
She had been blessed, she told herself. She had Sammy, and he was wonderful. They were healthy and happy and safe. It seemed selfish to want more than that, but some days—like today—it got to her. Some days, she couldn't help but want so much more.
She jumped up from the bench.
Tucker caught her by the hand, and all she could do was stand there beside him. "Rebecca?"
Feeling ridiculous and miserable all at the same time, she looked up at the sky and hoped the tears wouldn't overflow.
He tugged at her hand until she turned to look into his worried face. He squeezed her hand and smiled up at her. "You look so sad, Rebecca Jane. Why don't you just tell me what's wrong?"
Rebecca Jane. She almost smiled at that, almost. He used to tease her with that name. He used it to coax her into doing things she didn't want to do. Would she never learn? Would she ever escape from the power he had over her?
She sat down and pulled her hand out of his.
"It's—I can't explain this to you. You'd never understand."
"Try me."
"I'm just sad. That's all. I see Sammy growing up, and I think about what I thought my life would be like, what my family would be like—it's just not like what I'd hoped."
They were silent for a long time, lost in their own thoughts, and then he started to talk. He couldn't have surprised her more with what he said.
"So you feel a little lost."
"Yes," she admitted.
"A little empty, like there's a deep, dark space inside you that you'll never be able to fill."
"Yes."
"You feel sad, and then you realize you've felt that way forever, and the worst part is you don't see anything that's likely to change."
"Yes." That was it, exactly. "But how—"
He squeezed her hand gently, and she finally brought her eyes up to his. "Do you think you're the only one who's felt that way?"
She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time that day, and saw an understanding there that startled her.
Could he possibly know those feelings as well?
Years ago, mostly in anger and frustration, she would have sworn he didn't have any feelings, but she wasn't that bitter anymore. Still, she found it hard to believe he'd also hit that point in his life.
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nbsp; "Why do you think I'm here, Rebecca? Why do you think I had to find Sammy?"
"I—" She shook her head back and forth. "I don't know."
"For him. I saw the picture. I saw that awful sadness there, and I was worried about him. But I came for me, too."
He took her hand and pressed her palm against his chest. She felt his heart beating strongly and steadily, felt his warmth and his strength.
"There was nothing inside there, Rebecca. I thought I was so smart, that I knew exactly what I needed to fill up my life. I had the big house, the fancy clothes and that silly red toy I called a car. I couldn't have been more wrong. I finally got everything I thought I'd ever need, and then woke up one day and realized I didn't have anything. It didn't mean anything."
She let her hand stay right there, pressed against his heart, and she looked into his warm, brown eyes, looked into the face of the man she'd loved so long ago.
It was just as she remembered, and yet it wasn't. There was a sadness in him, too, a yearning. Maybe he did understand.
"It's the worst feeling in the world, right?"
"Yes," she said, and when he pulled her head down to his shoulder, she let him.
His hand stroked slowly through her hair, and she didn't move. She couldn't.
He kissed her softly on her forehead, and she stayed there for the longest time.
"Tell me what you want, Rebecca," he said finally.
As if it were that easy. She shook her head sadly.
"Tell me," he urged.
"I want Sammy to have a brother or a sister, maybe both. When I was little and went to visit my friends' houses, I used to think it would be so wonderful to have brothers and sisters to play with, to have a big, noisy, crowded house full of kids. I wanted Sammy to have that, wanted me to have it, too, but it's just not going to happen."
"Come on. You've got a few good years left. There's plenty of time for you to have more children."
It sounded so simple when he said it—just find someone and have more children—as if husbands-to-be stood on every street corner, waiting for her to come along and pick one.
"No." She'd admitted this much to him. She might as well tell him the whole thing. "It didn't work for us. It won't work with Brian and me. It's just not going to happen. I'm never going to get married again, and that means no more children."
"You and Sammy aren't going to Naples with Brian?"
"No," she admitted.
Tucker put his other arm around her and squeezed her once. Then, when she didn't protest, he did it again.
He was glad her head was on his shoulder, because he couldn't help the huge grin that spread across his face, and it wouldn't do to have her see it. He didn't want to frighten her off.
"You can't give up, Rebecca. You never know when you're going to find exactly who you've been looking for, and he'll probably want a house full of kids, too."
"I don't think so."
Tucker stayed there and simply enjoyed having her this close. He hadn't said anything to her, because he wanted to be sure this time. Too much was at stake to mess it up, not again. But it had been weeks—agonizing, wondrous weeks—and the feelings only got stronger with each passing moment.
He'd figured out what he'd been looking for all these years, what he needed to fill up that black hole where his soul was supposed to be, and it wasn't just Sammy.
It was Rebecca, too.
He closed his eyes and a smile spread across his face again. He liked saying her name and letting the memories wash over him. Rebecca.
He hadn't been the kind of man she'd deserved or needed all those years ago. But this time, he would be. This time would be different. This time, it was going to work.
"Rebecca?"
"Hmmm?" She was still right there, resting against his side with her head on his shoulder.
He pulled away, just enough so he could look down into her eyes. "I wish I could have given you that six years ago."
And then he held his tongue. He'd have time enough to beg forgiveness for the past and make promises about the future.
Chapter 10
A month later, Rebecca squeezed her Acura sedan into a space in the downtown parking garage and reluctantly headed for the Clairmont Hotel.
She was nervous.
The state's Environmental Regulatory Commission was one of the few agencies left that hadn't decided yet whether to issue a permit needed for the water-bottling plant to move forward.
As luck would have it, two new members had just been appointed to the commission. And while Rebecca had been away on business this past week, she'd heard that the commission also had a new deputy chief counsel.
Her mission today was to figure out where those people stood on the project.
Rebecca didn't care for the direction the state's environmental agencies had taken under the present governor, and she was afraid that anyone he appointed would be predisposed to come down on the side of jobs over all else.
She finally reached the main entrance to the hotel and started searching the lobby for directions to the proper meeting room.
She had reason to be worried about the new members. Two votes could be enough to swing the commission in the wrong direction. And the attorney could be just as critical. His tolerance for legal risks and his willingness to fight would go a long way toward determining whether the commission stood up and fought or rolled over to industry.
She finally found a sign that told her the reception was being held in the Parker Room. It was supposed to be a party to say goodbye to the old commission members and welcome the new ones, but she intended to work.
Parker Room? Since the hotel had been renovated, she'd been lost inside it.
"Excuse me?" she said to a man whose back was turned. "Do you know where the Parker Room—"
Rebecca never got the rest of it out. The man turned around, and she was face-to-face with Tucker Malloy.
Tucker the lawyer. Sleek, custom-made suit that hugged his strong, sleek body. Shiny designer shoes and matching briefcase. Tucker the consummate businessman.
She hadn't seen him in a long time.
And she'd forgotten this side of him in the last few months, when her attitude toward him had softened so much, when the past had been pushed further and further away, and the present—God, the Tucker of the present was scaring her to death.
"Hi," he said, smiling confidently, a little wickedly. He was up to something, and he'd turned on his charm full-blast.
At one time, she would have basked in it. Now she wanted to run from it. She wanted to run from him and from all the changes he'd brought to her life.
It seemed hard to believe now, but a few months ago she had been fairly content with her life. She had no great surprises, no great sorrows, except for those buried in her past, no great worries with which to contend. Her life had an order, a predictability, a stability that she found comforting. And she'd still been able to pretend on some level that one day she'd marry Brian and they'd be mostly happy together.
Tucker had taken all that away from her. She just hoped he wouldn't take away her hard-earned self-respect, as well.
"Hi." She had finally found her voice. "Going to the reception?"
"Yes," he said. "You, too?"
"Yes."
He put his hand at her back, guiding her around the corner. "They've really turned this old hotel around, haven't they? The room's this way."
He steered her toward the wide, curving staircase that led to the second floor.
"What are you doing here, Tucker?" she asked when they were about halfway up the staircase.
"Same as you—working."
Working? She had a sinking feeling. He was probably doing the same thing she was doing—checking out the new commissioners.
She hadn't seen Tucker at any of the other meetings or seen his name on any of the papers, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. The bottling company had an army of attorneys, and her ex-husband was one of them—again.
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bsp; He'd work for anyone who paid his outrageous hourly rate. He didn't care what they did or what they wanted him to do for them. He'd do it with a passion, if they paid him enough money. She'd never understood that. Not that he could do the work, but that he could do it with a passion equal to any other job he took. It seemed his enthusiasm could be bought quite easily.
Which had made her wonder about the intensity, the passion with which he'd seemed to pursue her so long ago.
"I can't believe you're doing this," she said, although it shouldn't surprise her. Why would she think he'd changed?
"Doing what?" He smiled when he said it—almost as if he were taunting her.
So what if his conscience finally sent him looking for the son he gave up years ago? And if he seemed genuinely troubled by what had happened in the past and honestly interested in trying to make amends?
Did that mean he'd really changed?
Because he'd claimed to understand that awful emptiness seeping into her soul? Because he'd held her in his arms and for a while the loneliness went away?
"I can't believe you're working on this project."
It came out more loudly than she expected, and as they reached the top of the stairs, a half-dozen people turned to stare at them.
Tucker didn't say a word, something that infuriated her, and he knew it, too. He walked to the bar and ordered a drink, while she seethed.
Years ago, they'd had some of their most outrageous fights about this issue. Rebecca had been fighting against the project. Tucker—who had a reputation for taking on the state's environmental agencies and winning—was one of the lead attorneys for the paper mill.
He'd defended the project passionately, relentlessly, tirelessly, as he did all his cases.
He could have argued the other side just as easily, just as passionately; it didn't matter to him. He didn't see a right side or a wrong side. He saw only the side he represented. And he would represent anyone who had enough money.
Lawyers, he explained to her cynically, were a lot like high-class hookers. They took the money; they performed a service—whatever the client wanted. That was what his job was all about, he'd told her once when they'd argued long past midnight and into the morning.