He shook her hand, then, under Bishop’s watchful eye, drew back.
“So … Alanna got that stubborn jaw from you.”
“Or you.”
“And those high cheekbones … Berry and I would have loved to have bones like that.” After another silence, she bluntly said, “You can’t take her away from us.”
Of course that would be one of her concerns. She had sacrificed everything for those kids, and to risk losing one now to the father who hadn’t given a damn … “That’s not why I’m here.” Not that he didn’t like the idea of someday having a home and a family—Alanna and Lynda and any kids they might have. But that was just a dream. He might be Alanna’s father, but the Daltons and the Bishops were her family.
“Then why?”
“I was pretty much raised by my grandmother, Emmaline Bodine. Emmaline always wanted to meet her only great-grandchild. When her health started failing, I hired a private detective, but she died before he found Alanna. Her last wish was for Alanna to have her locket. It dates back to the Civil War, and it’s the only thing the Bodine family ever had worth keeping.”
“So you came here to deliver the locket and …?”
He glanced at the two men, then fixed his gaze on Emilie again. “You understand the importance of family better than Berry or I ever did. It took the death of the only person who ever gave a damn about me to make me realize what I’d done all those years ago, to make me understand that … being alone is not an easy thing. I came here intending to give the locket to you, then go back to Georgia, but the first night I was in town, I met Alanna and … she was real. In all those years, she’d never been real to me. She was this faceless, shapeless problem that all I had to do to get rid of was break up with Berry. But then I met her and …” He broke off and shrugged.
“What is it you want?”
“To apologize to her. To get to know her.”
“You understand she may not have any interest in knowing you.”
Though her quiet remark caused a stab of pain, he didn’t let it show. “I know, and I wouldn’t blame her at all. But I’d still like to try if … if you think it’s all right.”
Emilie looked at Nathan. It was clear from his expression what he thought. Given a choice, Bishop would escort him to the state line, with orders to never return under threat of imprisonment. Ben couldn’t blame him, either. How hard would it be for a cop who loved a stranger’s child as his own to let that stranger waltz back in, especially with a string of arrests and character flaws dogging his every step?
“I’ll be honest with you, Ben,” Emilie said. “This is a difficult time for Alanna. She’s developed a fair amount of anger and hostility toward her mother, and I’m not sure it’s the best time to introduce her to her father. But, if you have no objection, I’ll talk to a friend of ours who’s a psychiatrist. His specialty is children, and he knows ours quite well.” She smiled at the implication and clarified, “Though not as patients. If J.D. sees no problem with it, then we’ll decide where to go from there. Fair enough?”
Ben nodded. J.D. must be Dr. J.D., Bud Grayson’s son, young Caleb’s father.
“If J.D. wants to talk to you first, would you be willing?”
“Sure.” He’d never been on a shrink’s couch before, but there was a first time for everything. Like wanting to be a father. Volunteering to accept responsibility for himself. Falling in love.
Emilie nodded once, then stood. Ben and Mitch Walker did the same.
“Am I free to go now?” Ben asked.
“Yes,” Walker replied. “I can give you a ride back to your car.”
“No, thanks. I’d rather walk.” He acknowledged them all with a curt nod, then left. One step outside the courthouse doors, and the night felt warmer, the air smelled sweeter, and life was better. He’d spent way too much time in police stations, jail cells, and courtrooms, but no more. He was too old for it. Too tired of it. Too sure he wanted more.
Chapter Fifteen
Melina was right about the stars, Lynda thought. Bethlehem did have far more than its share. They brightened every inch of the night sky, from horizon to horizon, shining brightly here, barely twinkling there. They offered comforting constancy—there tonight, tomorrow night, and ten thousand nights from tomorrow.
Too bad people weren’t as reliable.
She was lying in one of two Adirondack chairs dragged into the center of the backyard, legs stretched out, head tilted back to the sky. Beside her Melina occupied the second chair, snoring softly under the cover of a navy-blue sheet.
The sound of the GTO’s engine carried in the still night before it was even halfway up the hill. She automatically glanced at her watch, though it was too dark to see the time. It was about nine, she estimated, maybe later.
What was Ben’s excuse for missing dinner? Was it going to be as hurtful as Sebastian’s?
His headlights swept across her and Melina as he parked between their cars. The instant the engine shut off, heavy silence fell over the hillside again, broken a moment later by the closing of the car door.
He came across the yard to stand at the foot of her chair, so close that if she stretched her toes out, they would brush his khaki trousers. His white dress shirt glowed with moonlight, but his face was in shadow as he studied her.
She crossed one leg over the other, leaving room for him to sit, then calmly said, “I must say, Ben Foster, my dates with you are certainly … different.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he sat down. He rested one hand outside her legs, where her knee brushed the inside of his wrist. “I’m sorry.”
“I figured you were.”
With a nod, he indicated Melina. “Is she all right?”
“She’s sleeping off the effects of three glasses of wine at the restaurant, four beers when we got back here, and … oh, yes, half a bottle of scotch that a grateful associate gave me last spring.”
“Hasn’t she ever heard that you shouldn’t mix your alcohols?”
“She’ll have a pretty strong reminder in the morning.” She glanced at Melina, curled in a position sure to give her a backache and a stiff neck to go with the hangover. “Did you know Sebastian was going to dump her?”
“You’re kidding. I thought he really liked her.”
“He liked having sex with her. Once he’d gotten enough, he wrote her off. He didn’t show up for dinner this evening because he figured that would be the easiest way to get the message across—easiest for him.” After a moment, she leaned forward, touched his hand. “Why didn’t you show up?”
He turned his hand to lace his fingers with her. “Not because I wanted a way to write you off.” His tone was hard, fierce, challenging her to not believe him. Then, with a heavy sigh, he went on. “I’ve spent the evening in the company of several of Bethlehem’s finest.”
“You were arrested?”
“No. Just questioned.”
“About what?”
He was silent for a long time, as if debating what to tell her, or maybe how. With another of those weighted sighs, he began. “I told you my daughter lives here. I happened to meet her my first night in town, at the band concert, and I—I’ve gone out of my way to see her from time to time. I was just curious and … a little overwhelmed. But eventually someone realized there was a strange man conveniently running into a twelve-year-old girl, and they called the police.”
A perfectly understandable response, Lynda thought. “So you were watching her this evening?”
“No. Yes. Not deliberately. Sophy asked me to take her home and wait while she changed. Her house is across the street from the soccer field, and the team was practicing. I had no idea, I swear. I was just waiting for Sophy, and I glanced across the street and …” He ended with a shrug.
“You told the police the truth?” Of course he did, or he wouldn’t be sitting there. He would be locked up in one of the cells underneath the courthouse and the key would have already been thrown away. “And they … what? Called her
parents?”
“I think it was her uncle who had me picked up. He’s a cop—Nathan Bishop.”
Lynda stared at him in the dim light. “Alanna? Alanna Dalton is your daughter?”
He nodded once.
Alanna Dalton. It was perfectly logical—she was the right age, she had Ben’s coloring, her mother and her aunt were from Atlanta, and it was common knowledge that all three Dalton children’s fathers had abandoned them either before or shortly after their births.
Still, it was hard to grasp that she knew his daughter. That he was one of the parents everyone condemned for the children’s abysmal experiences. That he hadn’t turned his back on a young woman who’d been forced to grow up quickly, accept responsibility for his child, and love her, raise her, and sacrifice for her. He’d walked away from Berry Dalton, an alcoholic, drug-addicted, self-absorbed, despicable excuse for a person. Because he hadn’t wanted to be bothered, he’d left his baby in the care of a woman incapable of caring for anyone but herself, and not even that half the time.
“Well …” Her voice sounded shaky even to her. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“That’s my last one.”
“Good. I’m not sure how many more I could take.”
He seemed to sense that she wasn’t merely teasing, and his mood grew somber. After the silence drew out, one minute into another, he abruptly said, “Come around front with me.”
“But Melina—”
“She’ll be all right.” He stood up and offered his hand. When she didn’t take it right away, he relented. “I’ll carry her inside to the sofa, okay?”
“Thank you.” Lynda let him help her up, then watched as he picked up her friend’s limp body. Melina’s head rolled back, and her arm flopped nervelessly before settling around his neck. Leave it to Melina, even unconscious, to know when a handsome man was nearby and to grab hold.
“She looks like she might weigh seventy-five pounds soaking wet,” Ben said with a grunt as he got a better grip on her. “But this ain’t no seventy-five pounds.”
Lynda hurried up the steps and opened, then closed, the door for him. Once he dropped his load on the couch, he looked at her. “You’re a good woman, Lynda.”
It was a simple compliment, but she couldn’t recall ever hearing it before. It made her smile unsteady but warm. “Thank you.”
“Now come out front with me.” He started to straighten, but Melina grabbed his wrist.
“It’s okay, S’bastian,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against his hand. “I still love you, even if you are a bastard.”
Ben gently freed his hand, then combed her hair back from her face. “Go to sleep, darlin’. If you’re lucky, you’ll be so sick in the morning, you’ll hate everyone, including Sebastian. At least that’ll get you through the first few hours.” After tucking the sheet around her, he followed Lynda out the front door and down the steps. He gestured toward the promontory where they’d shared their picnic—and their first kiss—and they strolled in that direction.
Thinking about how gentle he’d been with Melina, she asked, “Have you ever had your heart broken before?”
“Only when Emmaline died.” At the bottom of the steps cut into the hillside, Lynda sat down on the retaining wall on one side. He sat on the other side, facing her. “But I have this funny feeling that you’re about to teach me all about it.”
Because she didn’t believe such a thing was remotely possible, she brushed off the comment and changed the subject—or maybe it was just a different aspect of the same subject. “What was Berry Dalton like when you lived with her?”
He took a moment to consider his answer. “She was funny. Sexy. A hell of a lot more experienced than I was. She was wild, reckless, and always ready to take a chance. And she was needy. She was raised in foster homes and had virtually no contact with Emilie until they were both grown. Where Emilie came out of it strong and independent, Berry had learned that the way to make people happy was to do anything and everything they wanted. She’d been sleeping with foster fathers and foster brothers and any other guy who wanted since she was fourteen. She was the easiest, neediest, most difficult person I’ve ever known.”
“She drank.”
“She liked to party. Most girls her age did.”
“And she used drugs.”
Gazing out over the valley, he nodded. “She had a lot to deal with, and for her the easiest way to do it was to escape. When she was wasted, she didn’t have to be poor Berry Dalton, abandoned by her mother in death and her father in indifference, and used, then discarded, by practically every other person in her life.”
“And did you use drugs with her?”
He smiled, but there was nothing pleasant or amused about it. “Beer had been good enough for generations of Bodines and Fosters before me, and by God, it was good enough for me, too. Besides, I had enough run-ins with the police without adding illegal substances into the mix.” After studying her a moment, he asked, “Why don’t you go ahead and say it, Lyn?”
“Say what?”
“What you’re trying so hard not to say. ‘She was a sick, sad, sorry woman. She wasn’t capable of caring for herself, much less a helpless baby. How could you leave her to take care of your child alone? My God, what kind of man are you?’ ” The silence was still, expectant, as if he’d caught his breath and was holding it. The tightness in her chest felt the same way. Then he loudly exhaled. “Does that about cover it?”
Tears filled her eyes. “I guess it does.”
He knelt on the grass in front of her. “Berry had some problems I recognized, some I didn’t, and some I just didn’t care much about. Our relationship, on my part, at least, was your typical nineteen-year-old-getting-laid-regularly thing. I didn’t love her. Sometimes I didn’t even like her. Mostly I just used her, and mostly she was just using me. If that makes me less of a man today in your eyes, I’m sorry, but it’s in the past. I can’t change it. But I can tell you that I’m not that kid anymore. I’ve been telling you that … but you just don’t seem to agree.”
For a moment, Lynda thought the lump in her throat would prevent her from speaking, but she managed. “It’s not that I don’t agree, Ben. I just need time.…”
“Time for what? To accept that I made a mistake thirteen years ago? To acknowledge that I’m trying to make it right? Or to determine whether you made a mistake in getting involved with me?”
She didn’t have an answer.
And that was answer enough for him. He sat back on his heels and stared at her for a long time, then breathed out heavily. “Maybe the mistake wasn’t yours. Maybe it was mine for thinking a woman like you could have an honest relationship with someone like me. Well, don’t worry about it, darlin’. I’ve been dumped enough times to know how it works. But it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it? Now you can find somebody more suitable, and I can find someone less perfect and more human, and we’ll both be happier for it.”
He stood up, slid his fingers around her neck, then bent to kiss her. Not a simple, chaste good-bye kiss, but a hungry, demanding I-want-you sort of kiss, and she kissed him back in the same way. And then he walked away.
As she sat there, eyes closed, tears silently streaming down her cheeks, she knew he was wrong. Her mistake hadn’t been getting involved with him. It was letting him go. And she had no doubt in her heart she would live to regret it.
Melina awoke to the sound of a low, tortured moan, and slowly reached the realization that it was coming from her. Opening one eye, she winced at the spotlight aimed at her face. Sunlight, coming through the god-awful lead glass Lyn insisted on keeping in her windows. Antique, schmantique, it distorted everything and increased the brilliance of a sunbeam to blinding, aneurysm-inducing intensity.
Why did she feel like something fallen off the back of a garbage truck, and why was she fully dressed and sacked out on the sofa? Had she been stricken by some bug that left her too sick to climb the stairs last night? Had that incredi
ble dessert given her food poisoning? That would explain her headache, queasy stomach, and the stiffness in her joints.
Then she burped—oh, so ladylike—and knew it was no virus or ice-cream attack. She was hungover. But she wasn’t a heavy drinker, and she hadn’t had a hangover since finding out about Rico the rat, and that—
A whimper escaped her as she remembered. Dinner, a double date, a double stand-up, and Sebastian … He was worse than Rico the rat had ever been. He was a rat bastard, and she hated him.
“Are you awake?”
With one eye still tightly closed, she turned to see Lyn sitting a half-dozen feet away. “I don’t know. Do you have a pile of fuzzy purple strings in your lap?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then I’m awake.” Holding her head with both hands, Melina slowly sat up. When she tried to scoot back on the couch, her legs slid out from under her and she landed on her butt on the floor, the sofa at her back. It was good enough for the moment.
“You look awful.”
She worked her other eye open to scowl at Lynda. “You’re no prize this morning, either. Still in your jammies, and the sun’s high, high, in the sky. Did that rat bastard Ben dump you, too?”
“Oh, no. She dumped him.” That came from Gloria, dusting a corner cabinet filled with Lladró. Melina winced, wishing she would do it more quietly.
“My head’s awfully stuffy. It sounded like she said you dumped Ben.”
“I did,” Gloria replied, “and so did she.”
“Why?” Melina winced again at her own shriek. “What did he do?”
“Got a girl pregnant, then turned his back on her.” Gloria stabbed the air with her feather duster. “Didn’t marry her, didn’t stick around until his baby was born and take her away from her mama, and didn’t give up everything to go off and ruin his life along with her mama.”
“Gloria.”
“Sorry, Ms. Lydia.”
Melina looked from one to the other. “Ben got someone pregnant? He hasn’t even been in town very long.”
“Not here. In Atlanta.”
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