“I know he is.”
Trent stared. “With who?”
“I think it’s Kyra Jones.”
“From church? The one with the six-five dad who looks like he eats tractors for dinner?”
“Yeah. She and Amari are on the same acolyte team, and the past two Sundays I noticed him peeking at her, a lot, and her peeking back, a lot.”
“How come I didn’t notice?”
“Because you’re not his mama. Mamas always know who’s trying to get next to their sons.”
“She seems nice.”
“Yes. Way quiet, though. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say more than two or three words, but then Amari talks enough for everybody in town. Going to be interesting to see how this plays out.”
Trent thought so too, but wondered how the six-five tractor eater would react.
Lily’s voice broke into his thoughts. “What did Bobby want to talk to you about? He looked pretty upset.”
He told her about the conversation in Mal’s office.
“He thought you were hitting on him?” she asked, laughing.
“Told him he wasn’t that cute.”
“Definitely not as cute as your wife.”
He put his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close, and then related the rest of the talk they’d had. When he’d finished, Lily asked seriously, “Do you think he’ll show up in the morning?”
“What do you think?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know him well enough to even speculate, but I hope he does.”
“So do I.”
CHAPTER
6
Sitting on the bed in her motel room, Rita Lynn knew if she wanted to get past the hurt brought on by the letter, forgiving her parents was paramount. But it was difficult. They’d loved her and did what they felt was best for her future, but that future was impacting the present with a heartache so consuming she was finding it hard to sleep. Because of their decision, so much was owed, but after the passage of forty years, did it matter? Had she been written off—forgotten? Worrying about how she’d be received couldn’t be a factor. That she’d played no part in her parents’ actions couldn’t be a factor either—it didn’t banish the guilt plaguing her, nor salve her overwhelming sense of loss.
The loss, more than anything, brought forth such a tremendous rage that her fists balled, and she shook with the urge to scream, but that wouldn’t change anything. The past was done. She had only the future, which meant returning to the place where it all began. There was no other choice.
She put on her coat, locked the door of the motel room, and, pulling her roller bag after her, headed down the open walk to the rental car she’d picked up yesterday evening at the airport. Having lived in California most of her adult life, she’d forgotten how cold the Kansas plains could be in early December, especially at dawn. She blew on her freezing hands and shivered as she waited for the heat to cut the chill in the car’s interior.
She hadn’t slept well last night. She hadn’t expected to. Worries about how she’d be received kept resurfacing, but she fought them down, reminding herself this was the only way.
The rental car was fairly new, so it didn’t take long for the warmth to rise or the defrosters to take care of the iced-over front and back windshields. Once she could see clearly, she activated the GPS on her phone and let the electronic voice guide her out of the parking lot and onto Highway 183. Heading north, she swallowed her fears. “Dear God,” she said aloud, “Please see me through this day. Amen.” Hoping the small prayer would be answered, she settled in for the drive to Henry Adams.
An hour later, she pulled up in front of the house and studied it. The big porch looked the same, but the outside had undergone some renovations. The old shutters were no longer on the upstairs windows, and the roof looked new. She had no way of knowing if the person she sought was still the owner. Common sense said she should’ve called before leaving California and traveling all this way, but after her mother’s letter, her determination to come back to Henry Adams and share the truth had overridden rational thinking.
The drapes on the front windows moved. Someone inside was checking out the car, so she gathered her nerves, picked up her purse, and walked to the porch. Climbing the steps brought back memories of how many times she’d done this before. Girding herself, she knocked.
The door opened, and there she stood. Older, of course. The passage of time had turned her hair silver, but the dark eyes were still keen and the bearing just as proud. “Ms. July. I’m—”
“Rita Lynn. I know. We’ve been waiting for you a long time. Come in.”
Tears filled Rita’s eyes.
“Come on,” Tamar invited softly. “You’re here. Nothing else matters.”
Inside, Rita wiped at her tears and noted that the home’s interior had undergone some changes as well. It was larger, more airy. The old furniture she remembered had been replaced with modern pieces.
“Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Then join me. We’ll talk while we eat.”
Rita opened her purse and took out the letter. “I need you to read this first. My mother died two weeks ago. She left it for me.”
Tamar viewed her curiously, but took it and began to read. Shock claimed her face, and she stared at Rita. “Oh, my lord,” she whispered. “I need to sit down.” She sat on the sofa and resumed reading.
When she looked up at Rita again, Tamar’s voice shook with rage. “Ida told you he was dead?”
Too overcome to speak, Rita nodded.
“That bitch! She brought him to me like he was something she’d found in a sewer. Her only words were ‘Here’s your grandson.’ And she drove off. All these years I thought . . .”
“I’d abandoned him, or didn’t care?”
“Both.”
“No,” Rita assured her softly. “They told me he’d died a few hours after birth.”
“My god,” Tamar whispered.
“Is my son still here? I don’t even know his name.” That lack pierced her heart.
“Yes, he’s here. In fact, he’s the mayor. Name’s Trenton. We named him for my father. Mal’s still here, too.”
“Ms. July, I am so sorry.” Rita broke down.
Tears rolled unchecked down Tamar’s cheeks as she stood and gathered her close. ”You’ve nothing to apologize for, Rita Lynn. Nothing.”
And for the next few moments the two women connected to Trent since birth cried out the pain and loss caused by a terrible lie kept secret for forty-five years.
“Let’s call Mal,” Tamar said softly.
Over at the Power Plant, Trent stuck his head in Bernadine’s office door. As always, she’d beaten him in to work and was seated at her desk drinking coffee. “Morning, Bernadine.”
She looked up. “Good morning.”
“Came to grab some coffee.”
“Help yourself.”
He never bothered making coffee in his own office because hers was always available. As he picked up the carafe and poured the dark brew into his mug that read “My Dad Rocks!”—a gift from Devon for Father’s Day—she said, “I was surprised by your announcement last night about Bobby.”
He shrugged. “Need to get him a job doing something. Figured why not?”
“Do you think he can handle it?”
“No idea.” He took a sip. “May take him a while to get up to speed, but I do need the help, and he’s the only one in town not already wearing six hats.”
“True.”
“He’s supposed to let me know this morning whether he’s going to take me up on the offer.” He checked his watch. “Told him to be here at eight sharp.” It was seven thirty.
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
“Lil’s over at the school with
Jack, trying to find a room for the library. Said to tell you she’d be in as soon as they were done.”
“Okay.”
They spent a few more minutes talking about their individual agendas for the day. Just as Trent was preparing to head down the hall to his own office, Bobby appeared.
“Morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” Trent replied, pleased.
Bernadine echoed his greeting. She looked pleased as well.
“I’m ready to go to work,” Bobby said.
“Then grab some coffee if you want, and let’s get going.”
It turned out that the young man wasn’t a coffee drinker, so with a departing nod to Bernadine, he followed Trent out to begin his first day.
“Glad you decided to take the offer,” Trent said, watching him over his cup as he hung his coat on the free-standing rack.
“Didn’t make sense not to. This is why Kiki and I moved here.”
“Ever read a blueprint?
“No.”
“Then we’ll start with that.”
Trent was explaining the basics when Mal walked in. His face was somber, and Trent could have sworn he’d been crying. “Dad? You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Trent’s first thought was Tamar. Had something happened? Was she hurt? He willed himself to remain calm. “Tamar okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. Need to talk to you.” Mal nodded at Bobby. They’d met last night after the meeting. “Morning, Bobby.”
“Morning, Mr. July.”
“Trent, can you come out into the hall for a minute?”
“Sure.” His confusion was high. Excusing himself, he followed his dad.
Out in the hallway, Mal asked, “Is there someplace private where we can talk?”
“Dad, what’s going on?”
“Your mother’s here.”
Trent froze, studying his father’s face for signs of joking. “Not funny.”
“No, it isn’t. She’s out at Tamar’s. I just talked with Rita. Came to get you.”
A million questions screamed in his head. He drew in a deep breath, hoping it would slow his racing heart. “Let me send Bobby home.” Stunned, he walked back into the office.
Bobby took one look at his face and asked, “You okay, man?”
Trent’s brain was stuck on Your mother’s here. “No. I mean yeah, but I need to talk to my dad. Take the day off. I’ll probably be tied up most of the day.”
“Everybody okay? Your wife, kids, Tamar?”
Trent nodded. “Yeah. Just something needing my attention. I’ll pay you for the full day. Go on home. I’ll give you a call later.”
Still viewing him with concern, Bobby put on his coat. “If you need anything, let me know.”
“I will.”
After Bobby had gone, Mal stepped back in and closed the door.
“So why is she here after all this time?” Trent asked. The bitterness of being abandoned crept up even as he fought to keep it from claiming him. “Does she want forgiveness? Money? A kidney?” The sadness in Mal’s eyes was something he’d rarely seen, and it made him pause. “What? Tell me.”
“Up until recently, she thought you’d died at birth.”
Trent’s heart stopped.
Mal nodded. “Her mother told her you were stillborn.”
Trent’s eyes widened. Horror overrode bitterness.
“It’s in a letter her mother left for her to read after she died a few weeks back. She has it with her.”
Trent’s knees were so watery he thought he might fall. He dropped into a chair. All these years, he’d never imagined anything close to this. “Why would her mother have done that?”
“Shame, I guess. Rita Lynn was seventeen. Out-of-wedlock babies were the ultimate disgrace back then. Her parents thought they were doing the right thing.”
“God, Dad, look at my hands. I’m shaking.”
“It almost put me on the floor when she told me, too. Tamar wanted me to come and get you because she wasn’t sure you’d be able to drive safely.”
He wanted to say he was fine and could manage on his own, but it was a lie. Your mother’s here.
“She’s waiting to meet you, Trent. Do you want to see her?”
Focusing was difficult, so he drew in another deep breath. “Yes.”
“Okay. I’m going to let Bernadine know what’s going on, if that’s all right with you.”
“That’s fine.”
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”
Like a man entranced, Trent stood alone for a moment in the silent office, not knowing what to say, think, or do. His world had been turned upside down. Nothing in life had prepared him for this. She thought you’d died at birth.
Minutes later he was in the passenger seat of Mal’s souped-up red Ford truck being driven to Tamar’s. He had so many questions. “Did she come alone?”
“Yes. She’s married, but came by herself.”
“Where’s she live?”
Mal looked his way. “California. Parents moved there after they left here. I guess they wanted to get as far away from the scene of the crime as possible.”
“All this time, I thought . . .” He stopped, not wanting the angst tied to forty-five years of being without her to rise again.
“I know what you thought. Me, I was damn mad that she never reached out. I know I wasn’t ready for prime time back then, but you were a baby. Hers and mine.”
“Tamar raised me well.”
“Yes, she did. But a kid needs his mother. I cursed her every day for turning her back on you the way I thought she did.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No. You two have a lot to catch up on.”
“So it’s okay with you—she and I connecting?”
“Yes, but even if it wasn’t, you’re her son, too.”
He noted the tears shining in his father’s eyes. They mirrored his own.
Mal stopped the truck in front of Tamar’s house.
“Are you coming in?” Trent asked.
“No. She and I visited a little earlier, and we will again later. It’s your turn now.”
Trent looked up at the house, wondering what his mother might be thinking as she waited. He opened the door.
“Trent?”
He looked back. “Yeah, Dad?”
“A man couldn’t ask for a better son. I’m so proud of you. Even prouder of the way you’re raising your sons. You’re much better at it than I ever was. Rita’s going to be proud of you, too.”
In spite of Mal’s faults of the past—the years of drinking, the womanizing, and all the worrying he’d caused family and friends—Trent had loved him, and he loved this new and improved version even more. “We’ll talk later.”
“Okay.”
As he climbed the steps to the porch, Mal drove away.
Tamar met him at the door. “She’s in the kitchen. I’ll look in on you two later.”
He looked into his grandmother’s familiar eyes and suddenly, there were so many things he wanted to say to her. He wanted to thank her for raising him and being the strong rudder he’d often needed to keep him on course in life. She, who drove her ancient truck Olivia as if they were qualifying for the pole at Indy, who’d taught him to catch fish and ice skate and made him paint the Jefferson fence twice one summer for what she called “stupid boy tricks,” was the main reason he was standing there today. She meant so much, he’d love her until night turned into day.
“I’ll see you in a little while.” He walked into the kitchen.
She was wearing a soft gray sweater and matching gray slacks. “Trenton?”
“Yes,” he replied softly.
Her eyes welled up, and the tears spilled down her brown cheeks. Her hand covered her mou
th as if she were too overwhelmed to speak.
“Please don’t cry,” he whispered, even as his own eyes filled up. He’d had no idea what he’d planned to say to her, but realized there was no script, only emotion. He went to her, she stood, he took her in his arms and held her like the treasure he’d been searching for his entire life while she held him like she never wanted to let him go. They rocked. She sobbed brokenly. He cried silently.
She whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”
“What you must’ve thought of me,” she countered “Oh, my son. My son . . . All the years I’ve missed, but I didn’t know.”
“You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” And for him it was. It must have taken great courage for her to come back, not knowing whether she’d be embraced or stoned, even though none of it had been her fault. But she’d come anyway, and that told him all he needed to know. He eased back a bit and met her watery gaze. “The past is the past. I’m so glad to see you.”
“I’m glad to see you, too.”
“Let’s go forward. Okay? You and me.”
She placed her hand against his cheek. “So wise. That must’ve come from your grandmother, because you certainly didn’t get it from me or Mal.”
The sarcasm caught him off guard.
Her wet eyes glowed with twinkling mischief, and he threw back his head and laughed.
From that moment on, things went well. After making liberal use of the box of tissues on the table, she had a thousand and one questions about him and his life. And he had just as many for her. He told her about Lily and the boys and their adoptions.
“I have two grandsons?” she replied eagerly.
“Yes, Devon is twelve, and Amari is fourteen.”
“You and your Lily are very special people to open your hearts and home that way. I can’t wait to meet them all.” She quieted for moment as if thinking on that, then echoed in a proud voice, “Two grandsons. Paul is going to be ecstatic.”
Trent knew from what she’d told him that Paul was her husband. He also knew that she and Paul had a daughter named Val, who was ten years younger than Trent and a high-powered criminal attorney.
For Your Love Page 7