A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  "I told you I don't want to see you anymore, Jon," Emma said. "It's done. We're over. Accept it and move on."

  "You have to give me another chance. This wasn't all my fault."

  She shook her head. "You've had all the chances I can give you. Just go, please."

  "Em, baby."

  "Stop! I'm not your baby. I'm not your anything. We were not good together. You're just feeling lonely. You miss having a girlfriend, but it's not me you miss."

  "That's not true."

  "It is true, and we both know it."

  Emma turned to go, but the guy grabbed her arm.

  Sara ran over to them. They looked at her in surprise. "Everything okay?" she asked.

  "It's fine," Emma said, pulling her arm free. "Jon was just leaving."

  "We're not done talking," he protested. "I know I hurt you, but you hurt me, too."

  "I'm not doing this with you. I've said all I had to say. Go home."

  Jon gave her an angry glare. "You can be such a bitch." He strode to his car, got in and pulled away, the tires squealing.

  Sara looked back at Emma and saw her mouth tremble just a little before she quickly forced back the emotion. "Who was that?" she asked.

  "My ex," she said. "Jon Wickmore the third."

  "Did he hurt you?"

  "Not today," she said with a humorless laugh.

  "But before…"

  "He didn't hit me," Emma said. "He just cheated on me. We'd been living together for almost a year, and I had no idea that when I was at work, he was sleeping with other women. Of course he's sorry now, but I'm not going back to him, because the cheating wasn't the whole issue. He didn't like my job. He thought I put it before him, and to be fair, I did sometimes. Anyway, it's over."

  "It sounds like it's for the best."

  "I think so." Emma gave her a painful smile. "I just thought I was in love with him, that's before I saw him for who he really was. I was too caught up in lust and passion to see what was right in front of me. I won't make that mistake. That's why I've sworn off men for at least a year." She paused, her gaze narrowing as she noted Sara's sweat pants. "So, you're a runner now? Aren't you the girl who would use any excuse to get out of P.E.?"

  "I don't like to run, but I try to get in a little exercise because I spend so much time sitting. And I'm coordinated enough to put one foot in front of the other. All those other sports that involve balls and rackets and clubs are not for me."

  "You should have called me. I would have gone with you."

  "It was a spur of the moment decision."

  "What happened with Aiden last night?"

  "Nothing," she said quickly.

  "Really?" Emma gave her a suspicious look. "Then why are you blushing?"

  "I'm just red from my run."

  "I know you two didn't come home right away, because Aiden's truck was not here when I got back from rescuing Shayla."

  "We took a drive. We talked. That's it. There's nothing else to say."

  "Got it. So what are you doing today?"

  "Trying to decide whether or not I should go home."

  Emma's brows knit together in a frown. "Let me make that decision for you—don't go. We're just getting reacquainted. I don't want to say goodbye yet."

  "I'd love to stay a few days," she said slowly. The idea had been going around in her head for most of the last twenty-four hours "But then I think what's the point? My dad doesn't want me here. He wants me gone."

  "Screw what he wants. He's going to be in the hospital for a while anyway, so it's not like you'll be tripping over each other."

  "That's true."

  "He should be happy the house isn't sitting empty."

  "I'm not sure happy is an emotion my father feels very often." She paused. "I sometimes wonder if he has any friends. I know he has colleagues at work and he spends most of his time there, but have you ever seen anyone at his house? Does he ever have any parties, barbecues, or people over for dinner?"

  "My mom has asked him to come over to our house a few times and he always declines. I've never seen any party action."

  "It's weird to think anyone would be happy being that alone."

  "Your father is just different, Sara. I obviously don’t know him as well as you do, but he just seems like a shadow of a person."

  "That's a good way to put it," she said.

  "So think about staying. It would be fun to have you around. We can call Julia and Kristine. They'd love to see you," Emma added, referring to some of their old friends.

  "I haven't talked to them since high school."

  "They're actually nicer now," Emma said.

  "I'll think about it. What are you up to today?"

  "The family is heading to church in about an hour. You could come with us. And then join us for the traditional Callaway Sunday lunch."

  "Your family still does that?" she asked in surprise. The Callaways had always invited family and friends to come for lunch after the noon service at St. Andrews. It was a long-honored tradition.

  "It's not as big of a crowd as it used to be, but there's always good food. If you don't want to join us for church, just come for lunch. Aiden might be there," she added with a twinkle in her eye.

  "That's not necessarily a plus," she said dryly.

  "Oh, I'm betting it is," Emma said with a laugh. "I never totally understood your crush on my brother, but last night, for the first time, I saw Aiden look at you the way you always looked at him. Maybe think about that while you're deciding whether or not to make that flight tonight."

  ***

  Sara couldn't help but think about Emma's words. They ran around and around in her head. She'd seen that same look in Aiden's eyes, but it was nice to have it confirmed by a third party. But she didn't know what to do about it. Should she stay in San Francisco for a few more days? See where things went with Aiden? Spend time with Emma? Maybe try to have another conversation with her dad?

  Or should she go back to the life she knew, the one she excelled in, the one that was a little bit lonely? If it was lonely, she only had herself to blame. She couldn't make friends in the outside world if she never left her cubicle. She didn't need to move back to San Francisco to make some changes.

  Frowning at the chaotic confusion in her head, she distracted herself with more immediate work. She grabbed a half dozen garbage bags and headed into the kitchen to start the cleanup. When they were full, she realized she'd barely made a dent. But it was a start.

  When the lingering stench of smoke got to be too much, she went upstairs and jumped in the shower. She'd always done some good thinking in the shower, but she was still dithering when she stepped out, toweled off and dried her hair. She put on some clean clothes and then stared at her open suitcase. She could pack, or she could unpack.

  Maybe she should toss a coin. It was not a bad option. She certainly wasn't going to ask her father again. He'd made his viewpoint clear yesterday. So if she didn't stay for him, then who was she staying for? Aiden?

  That was crazy. She could not turn her life upside down for him.

  She just wished the taste of his mouth didn't still linger on her lips.

  Shaking her head, she told herself to stop it, and looked for another distraction. She found it in the box of photographs she'd discovered in the basement. Maybe she should go through those, find a couple that she really wanted and take them back to New York with her.

  Happy to have some sort of a plan, even if it was a short-term activity, she grabbed the box, plopped it in the middle of the bed and sat down.

  The first few pictures she found were from her elementary school years. She'd been such an awkward child, braces on her teeth, hair that never parted evenly, pale skin from all the time she'd spend indoors, her nose buried in a book.

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she pulled out a photo of her and her mom when she was about five years old. She had her hand in her mother's, and it was clear she was holding on tight. She looked like she was about
to cry, and her mother was trying to reassure her. She wondered who had taken that photo, and if it was her father who'd made her cry.

  Sighing, she put the picture aside and turned the box upside down, shaking the photos out so she could see all of them at once.

  A very old photo caught her attention. Her parents held a baby in a white baptismal gown. But the baby didn't look like her. In fact, she didn't remember seeing this photo before, and when she was a kid, she'd helped her mother compile many a family photo album.

  Very weird. An uneasy feeling tightened her muscles. She picked up another photograph. This one was more shocking than the last. Her father was at the park. He was pushing a toddler in a swing, and he was smiling at the camera. It was the biggest grin she'd ever seen on his face. It almost didn't even look like him.

  Maybe he had loved her when she was a baby.

  But as her gaze settled on the child, she didn't feel any sense of recognition. The toddler had on blue shorts and a t-shirt with a big dinosaur on it. She'd never worn those clothes. That kid wasn't her. In fact, she was pretty sure it was a boy.

  Her uneasiness deepened. Who was the child? Why was her father with some strange kid at a park? He'd never taken her to the park, pushed her on a swing, or helped her down a slide. She didn't have any cousins. The little boy had to belong to one of her dad's friends.

  She shuffled through more photographs, more pictures of her mom and dad and a baby, then a toddler, that she didn't recognize. But the three of them were always together. They looked like a family—a happy family.

  Where the hell was she?

  Her stomach turned over. She wanted to take the photos, shove them back into the box, and put it back where she'd found it – in the basement.

  Had her father risked his life to get these pictures?

  With trembling fingers, she rearranged a series of photos, trying to put together a timeline. There was a house she didn't remember, a car that she hadn't seen before. Her parents seemed really young and very happy. These were not the people she'd grown up with. It was as if she had entered an alternate world, one where they existed, and she didn't.

  She turned one of the pictures over. There was a date. The shot had been taken four years before she was born. No wonder she didn't recognize any of the details.

  But who was the child? Her parents had never talked about watching anyone else's son.

  She rifled through more of the pictures, looking for clues. Finally, another date, and this time a name—Stephen, Jr.

  Her heart pounded against her chest. Stephen, Jr.? A child named after her father?

  It didn't make sense. She was the first born, the only child. No one had ever told her about another baby – not her father or her mother or her grandparents. Had they all conspired to keep a secret? Why?

  Something bad must have happened.

  She flew through the rest of the photographs. There were no pictures of the child past the age of three or four, no school pictures, no family shots.

  A million questions raced through her head.

  The analytical part of her brain screamed at her to pay attention to what was right in front of her, to stop trying to pretend that this was some crazy daydream. Her parents had had another child. Maybe it wasn't their birth child. Maybe it was a kid they adopted or cared for while the parent or parents were gone. That thought made her feel marginally better.

  But then she remembered the name, Stephen, Jr.

  Getting up from the bed, she moved over to the desk and opened her computer. She typed in Stephen Davidson, Jr., and ran through the results. Both first and last name were very common, so there were literally hundreds of names. She entered more data, San Francisco, the date on the photograph. Nothing definitive.

  She tried a new search for birth records in San Francisco over a couple years.

  And there it was.

  Stephen Davidson, Jr., father Stephen Davidson, mother Valerie Laura Davidson.

  Sara sat back in her chair, stunned beyond belief. The date was six years before she was born. She'd once asked her mother why they'd waited eight years to have a baby. Her mom had mumbled something about not being ready. But they'd been ready. They'd had a kid together, a child they hadn't told her about.

  Anger and pain ripped through her along with a terrible sense of betrayal. The rush of emotions made her head spin.

  What had happened to the baby? To her brother?

  Nausea swept through her. She ran to the bathroom and threw up. When she finally rose, she was shaking. She ran cold water over her face and then pressed a dry towel against her forehead and over her eyes. With her eyes closed, she could almost pretend that nothing had changed, but that wasn't true. Everything had changed.

  She had an older brother. Where was he?

  Setting down the towel, she returned to the bedroom, knowing that there was only one explanation. It wasn't the answer she wanted to find, but there seemed to be no alternative.

  She checked death records, obituaries, and there it was.

  Stephen Davidson, Jr., age 4, survived by his loving parents, Stephen and Valerie Davidson.

  There was no mention of how he'd died, and the date was two years before she was born. She walked back to the bed and stared at the photos, especially the ones of her dad smiling. He'd been a happy father then. He'd obviously loved his son. And she'd just figured out why her father had risked his life to rescue a box of photos, why he hadn't wanted her to go through his things, why he'd been almost desperate in his desire to get her out of his house. He hadn't wanted her to find out about her brother.

  She flopped on her back and stared at the ceiling. She didn't want to cry, but she suddenly felt very emotional. Tears began to stream down her face, and she wasn't even sure exactly what she was sad about. She'd never met her brother, so how could she grieve for him. She was angry with her mother for never telling her about her brother. But her mother was gone. There would be no confessions, no truth between them now.

  And then there was her father …

  He'd loved that child. He'd been able to be a dad to his son, but not to his daughter.

  He hadn't loved her. He hadn't wanted her.

  She'd known it all along, but now she had proof, hard evidence.

  And the tears kept coming…

  Chapter Fourteen

  "We need to have a talk, son," Jack Callaway told Aiden as he joined him at the buffet table.

  The Callaway lunch was in full swing. Dozens of relatives were gathered in the house. Aiden had hoped the crowd of extended family and friends would have prevented a conversation with his father, but apparently not.

  "Now is not a good time," he said.

  "Tonight, after everyone goes home," Jack said, meeting his gaze. "We need to discuss your future."

  "My future is my business."

  "You've made it everyone's business," Jack retorted. "You're not just dragging yourself down in the mud, you're taking the family name with you. Now Burke tells me you don't remember what happened. That's some information that needs to be shared with other people." He paused as Lynda interrupted them.

  "Whatever you two are talking about can wait," she said firmly. "We've got a house full of people, and I need your help in the kitchen, Jack."

  "Tonight, Aiden," his father said. "Don't make me come looking for you."

  He didn't bother to reply. He'd get some lunch and then decide whether or not he wanted to have that conversation with his father. Except for possibly Burke, Jack didn’t seem able to accept that his children were adults and could live their own lives. Not that he'd been doing a great job with his life lately, but that was still his business.

  He picked up a plate, grabbed two sandwiches, and a generous helping of potato salad and moved into the living room. Two of his aunts were on the sofa, his grandmother sat across from them in an armchair. She didn't seem to be all that interested in their conversation, nor did she pay him any attention either. Her somewhat vacant smile reminded him
a little of Brandon. He wondered what was going on with her. He was going to sit down next to her, but his cousin, Anne, nabbed the seat before him, so he headed across the room and sat down on the bench in front of the piano.

  A few moments later, Emma joined him. "What are you doing all by yourself?" she asked.

  "Hardly by myself," he said dryly. "Half the neighborhood is in this house."

  "It is a big turnout today. Tons of great food, too."

  He nodded, his gaze catching on a group of people walking up to the front door. For a moment he thought he saw Sara, but it wasn't her. He wondered where she was. He'd thought she'd come by for lunch, if not to see him, then to see Emma. Or she could be avoiding him. Once again, he'd let himself get carried away with her. Only this time, he hadn't had any intention of calling a halt. If they hadn't been interrupted, who knows how far they would have gone.

  "Earth to Aiden," Emma said dryly.

  "What?"

  "You're somewhere else today. Are you looking for Sara?"

  "Is she coming?"

  "I invited her earlier. She was noncommittal. She told me nothing happened last night, that you just gave her a ride home. Care to confirm that story?"

  "You should mind your own business."

  "Sara is my business. She's my friend."

  "And a grown woman," he pointed out.

  "I just don't want either one of you to get hurt."

  "We can take care of ourselves. If you want to worry about someone, maybe you should worry about Grandma. She's been staring into space for five minutes. And now she appears to be talking to herself.

  "I am worried about Grandma. Mom said that Grandpa is taking her in for some tests this week. She's been confused and forgetful. It's kind of scary, Aiden."

  He nodded, worried even more now that his suspicions had been confirmed. His father's mother, Eleanor, had always been a sweet and loving grandmother to all of them, and he couldn't imagine his grandfather without her. The two of them had been married for almost sixty years.