by Janet Dean
The feelings she’d tamped down all her life, the pain of abandonment, throbbed anew in her. Something must exist in her, something ugly, detestable, that made the men she cared about discard her, either in the flesh, or inside a bottle. What difference did it make?
She’d learned her lesson, or so she’d thought, but apparently some lessons didn’t stick.
No more.
She’d never, ever trust a man again.
How could she? Under her skirt Mary’s foot jiggled up and down, resisting the urge to grab her sons and run as far from Luke Jacobs and his parents as she could get.
She’d prayed, trying with every particle of her being to release Ben’s life to God, but fear kept its solid hold on her. Perhaps her sister-in-law could give her hope to cling to.
Addie set a steaming cup of tea in front of Mary. “William and Emma are upstairs. They’ll be disappointed you didn’t bring their cousins.”
“I took the boys to the Foleys’. I can’t stay long.”
“I can tell you’re upset. Has something happened between you and Luke?”
Tears filled Mary’s eyes. “More than you can imagine.”
“And none of it good.”
A rubber band tightened around Mary’s throat, tensing her neck muscles, shooting pain into her head. “Luke is…Ben’s father.”
Addie gasped then dropped into her chair, watching her intently. “How? Who?”
Mary clasped her hands tightly in her lap as she related the details. When she finished, Mary took a deep breath. An innocent little boy faced a horrifying prospect she’d never experienced and couldn’t imagine, being ripped from the arms of those he knew and loved. Again. “Oh, Addie, Luke claims he won’t take my precious boy.” Her words ended on a sob. “But how can I trust him?”
“But the Children’s Aid Society awarded you guardianship—”
Mary bit her lip to quell its trembling. “That was before Luke showed up, looking for his son.”
“I can’t imagine he’d take Ben from you.”
“He says he won’t, but he has a legal right to Ben. Worse, even if he doesn’t claim Ben, his parents are in town and may fight for custody.”
Addie’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“I haven’t told the boys that Luke is Ben’s father.” She rubbed her temples. “At some point we’ll have to tell him.”
She took her sister-in-law’s hand. Asking for help hadn’t been her way, but when it came to her children…“Pray, Addie. Pray for my boy.”
“I will. So will Charles.”
“Ben will probably be thrilled Luke is his father until he realizes Luke plans to leave him behind. Or worse, take him to New York. Either way, it will break Ben’s heart.”
Please God, if it’s Your will, let me keep my son. Her breath caught and tears flooded her eyes. She had to put Ben first. Help me to want whatever is best for Ben.
“If Luke says he won’t take him, believe him. He wouldn’t lie about something that important.”
Mary jumped to her feet and paced the room. “His entire life has been a lie since the moment he drove into town.”
“I’d hoped…” Addie choked back a sob. “I thought he loved you.”
Mary laughed, the sound hollow and sad. “I’ve been such a fool, Addie. I fell for him. Fell hard.”
Fell for another charmer.
Chapter Sixteen
Luke stood in Mary’s living room, the tension so thick he could cut it with a scalpel, no, more like an ax. The sense of belonging he’d felt here had vanished. He’d probably never find it again, like dropping a rare coin into a churning sea.
The faint aroma of the evening meal lingered in the air, a meal he’d not been invited to share. In the hall, the ticking of the grandfather clock drummed at him, a relentless reminder that his parents cooled their heels at the Becker House. That in less than a week he had to make his decision about Ben.
If only he knew what would be best for his son.
He glanced at Mary. The glint in her eyes, her rigid posture and icy demeanor proved she merely tolerated his presence for Ben’s sake. His gaze moved to his son. Ben looked innocent, happy and full of life, but in a matter of minutes, he and Mary would reveal Luke’s fatherhood. How would his son react to hearing the truth? Would the admission of yet another secret add to Michael and Philip’s problems? Dread settled in his limbs.
Lord, help us do this.
Mary sat on the couch, all three boys crowded in beside her, leaving not one inch of room between them. If the situation wasn’t so serious, Luke would have enjoyed the boys’ adoration of their mother. Steeling himself for what he must do, Luke forced his body into motion, pulling up a chair in front of them.
“We need to…talk,” Mary began.
Michael sighed. “We’ve forgotten to do our chores. Right?”
“No, ah…what we have to tell you…” Luke swallowed hard, turning to Mary, seeking her help with words that would not come.
The troubled look in her eyes reflected his disquiet. With trembling hands, Mary cupped Ben’s chin, meeting the boy’s gaze. “Ben, I have something to tell you that’s going to surprise you at first. Something about your father.”
Ben’s big brown eyes widened. “I don’t have a dad.”
Reaching across the space between them, Luke took Ben’s smaller hand in his. “Actually, you do.” All three boys stared at Luke as if he’d grown two heads. “I’m…your dad.”
The words had been hard to say, had torn at him, reminding him of how much he’d failed this boy. But now that Luke had said them, he wanted to keep saying them. I’m Ben’s dad. Ben’s dad.
“But dads live with kids.”
Mary cringed, her eyes bleak. She probably worried Luke would do that very thing. Why must this put him and Mary at odds? They both loved Ben.
The backs of Luke’s eyes stung. “Most of the time they do, but not always.”
Ben screwed up his face in thought, struggling to understand Luke’s claim. “You’re my dad?”
Luke nodded.
A smile took over Ben’s face, and he leapt from the sofa onto Luke’s lap, throwing his arms around Luke’s neck. “You’re my dad!” He turned to Michael and Philip, who watched with wide, startled eyes. “Luke’s my dad!”
Michael frowned, his dumbfounded expression twisting into one of resentment. Philip stared at Luke with accusing eyes. Was he remembering the time he’d asked Luke to marry his mother?
Ben leaned back, gazing up at Luke, eyes shining with adoration. Then his brow furrowed and he cupped his hands around Luke’s jaw. “You didn’t tell me. How come?”
Mary’s gaze drilled into him, striking every nerve. A lump rose in his throat. How could he explain his past to a child? “I should’ve told you sooner. I didn’t mean to hurt you, any of you,” he said, more to Mary than to Ben. “I heard you were in an orphanage and had been sent out here on the train.” Luke stroked Ben’s hair. “I came to find you, but when I saw you were happy, I didn’t want to ruin the family you have with Mary and Philip and Michael.”
Pulling away from Luke, Ben raced to Mary and buried his face in her lap. “I don’t want to leave my mom,” he said, his words muffled in the folds of her skirt, but plain enough to stab at Luke’s heart.
Michael jerked to his feet and pivoted to his mother. “You said Ben would always live with us. You lied!”
“I didn’t tell a lie, Michael. Ben will always be—”
“I won’t take Ben from you.” Luke met Mary’s eyes now brimming with tears. “In a few days, I’ll be going back to New York.”
Ben whirled toward him, his face crumpling. “You don’t want to live with me?”
Tears slid down Michael’s cheeks. “Everybody lies in this family.” He swatted a hand at Mary. “You lied about Ben, and you said my father was a good man and he wasn’t.”
Before Mary could react, Michael darted out the back door, slamming it behind him.
&
nbsp; Mary started to rise when beside her Philip groaned, clutching his belly. “My stomach hurts.” She reached for him, but he shrugged away and trudged down the hall toward his bedroom.
Ben wheezed and huddled beside Mary, her face ashen, his head buried in her lap. She met Luke’s gaze, her eyes hard and cold. What had he done to this family?
“I’ll get his medicine.” Mary handed Ben to Luke and hurried to the kitchen.
Hugging Ben close, Luke moved to the sofa, then sat the boy on his lap, cradling the wheezing child in his arms. “Don’t be frightened, Ben. I’d never take you away from your mother and brothers.” Luke sought words to comfort his son, to calm his fears and ease his breathing. “Everything will be all right. I’ll visit you. And when you’re older maybe you can come to New York to see me.”
The hollowness of his assurances stung at the back of Luke’s eyes.
Mary returned. “I’ve put a kettle of eucalyptus water on the stove. It’s already starting to boil.”
“The steam will ease your breathing, Ben.” Luke glanced at Mary. “Do you need me to help?”
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
Her meaning was clear. Luke handed Ben to Mary, took one last look at the two of them and then strode out the door. Inside he felt dry, hollow, a shell of a man. He’d thought nothing would ever hurt him as much as watching Joseph die. But to watch a family disintegrate in front of his eyes hurt far worse.
Because this time the fault of the demise lay at his feet. And his alone.
He wasn’t a man who could be trusted with such a monumental job as parenting. Luke knew, oh, he surely knew how easily that job could go awry. How a child could pay the price for a father’s mistakes.
He refused to let that happen to Ben. Even as walking away tore a hole in his heart so large and so jagged, he knew it would never heal.
He loved the boy, loved him more than life itself. Fierce longing for Ben, for Mary and her sons knifed through him. But he couldn’t be their father or Mary’s husband. He’d leave that job to Sloan.
With Frank, they’d have a safe, comfortable life. He must do all he could to see that Mary had happiness, the life she deserved.
Ben’s breathing had stabilized, and he slept peacefully. With her older boys preparing for bed, Mary slid off the sofa to her knees, propping her elbows on the cushion, gripping her hands in supplication. “God, I entrust all those I love, my very life to You.” She took a deep, cleansing breath. “Give me the words to talk to my hurting sons.”
Philip’s most recent stomachache undoubtedly stemmed from his world once again shifting beneath his feet. If only she knew what other worries beset her son.
Luke had been right. Anxiety caused her son’s stomachaches. She couldn’t continue to coddle Philip and ignore what made him sick. Nor could she deny Sam’s compulsive drinking and allow Michael to face accusations on his own. If she hoped to help her sons, she must talk to them.
She’d learned her lesson in the last two days. Keeping secrets only meant they’d leap out at the worst possible moment and hurt the people you loved most. The days of avoiding tough problems had ended.
The boys tramped into the room wearing their pajamas. Perhaps under the night sky, they would feel God’s presence more clearly. Mary suggested they don jackets and head to the back porch. Outside, the wind had kicked up, and dark clouds scuttled across the sky. In the distance, a storm was brewing. Odd for October but somehow fitting with the turmoil inside her.
Mary plopped onto the steps. Philip cuddled beside her, but Michael scooted as far away as the support post allowed.
She kissed Philip’s forehead, close to his cowlick, inhaling the soapy fresh scent of his skin. She’d given him a dose of Luke’s medicine earlier. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
“I wish Luke was my dad too.” Philip’s sorrowful tone banged against Mary’s heart.
“What difference does it make? He’s going to leave,” Michael said, his eyes accusing.
“Luke cares about you and Michael. It’ll all be fine. Just wait and see.” If only she believed what she’d said. Maybe she should put off this discussion until her sons had time to adjust to Luke being Ben’s father.
Coward. No, she had to act.
“You know, Philip, you’ve had stomachaches a long time…ever since your father died.” She gave him a squeeze. “I want to help.”
Philip’s gaze found the wooden planks of the porch floor. His hands twisted in his lap. Mary ran her fingers through her son’s silky hair. “You don’t have an illness, but something is making your stomach hurt. Maybe if we talk, we’ll understand what’s bothering you.” Philip leaned into her, avoiding her suggestion. Mary bit back a sigh and looked at her other hurting son.
Elbows on his drawn-up knees, chin resting in his hands, Michael stared into the darkness beyond. Even in the soft light from the kitchen window, he looked glum.
“How are things with you and Jimmy, Michael?” Mary asked softly.
“Jimmy still says Daddy was a…” He stopped, most likely unwilling to speak the word in front of his brother.
“It’s okay. You can say the word here with your family.” She tilted Michael’s chin with her fingertips. “How are you handling what Jimmy says?”
Michael sighed. “I can’t keep hitting him.”
“No, hitting doesn’t solve a thing.” Did the boys remember Sam’s drinking? Had she deceived herself about their innocence? Her heart squeezed. Children were perceptive, even small children.
Mary reached out and gathered her elder son close, wrapping his narrow frame in the circle of an arm. This time he didn’t resist. “It’s true. Your father…” She took a deep breath. “…drank…a lot.”
Turning to her with condemning eyes, Michael jerked away. “I knew you lied.”
Mary’s hands turned icy. “I thought you weren’t old enough to understand, but I was wrong and I’m sorry.” She looked first at Michael, then at Philip. “Do you think you’re both old enough to talk about this?”
They nodded—their expressions solemn, looking at her, hanging on to her words.
“You’re right. I haven’t been honest with you. I’m very sorry about that.” She took a deep breath. “God wants me to tell the truth, and I want that too. But honesty isn’t always easy, especially when the truth is hard to hear.”
Mary’s own words stabbed at her self-righteous condemnation of Luke. She’d railed at him for living a lie when she’d done the same for most of her adult life. But her boys needed her now. Thoughts about what to do about Luke would have to wait.
Michael’s face twisted, struggling not to cry. “Why was Daddy a drunk?”
Not wanting to speak the words, she bit her lip, but say them she must. “Daddy was trying to forget,” she said, barely able to push them past her clogged throat.
A puzzled look came over Philip’s face. “Forget what?”
“His childhood.”
Philip’s mouth gaped. Mary knew her son had no idea a home could be a scary place. How much should she tell them?
Lord, give me wisdom. Give me the words.
No need to tell these sweet boys their grandfather, Adam Graves, hit and kicked and threw his wife and two sons against walls, breaking their bones, leaving them with gashes and bruises, evidence of abuse no one questioned. “Daddy’s father wasn’t a nice man.” Please, Lord, don’t let this knowledge damage my sons. “He hurt Daddy, not only on the outside but on the inside too, deep in his heart and soul.”
She pushed back the hair dipping over her son’s forehead. Michael’s bruises from his fight with Jimmy had faded. She mustn’t say anything to justify Sam’s drinking. To do so might lead her sons to find answers for tough situations in the bottom of a glass.
Nor had her attempt to do it all, to give her all, hiding behind a facade of perfection, solved anything in her life. She’d buried herself alive in good works, in causes, covering up the root of her problem—a sense of failu
re.
She’d failed Sam.
Yet her sons had not. She must make them see they’d had no part in their father’s behavior. She looked into Michael’s eyes. “The important thing you and Philip need to know is none of Daddy’s drinking was your fault. You didn’t cause it. You couldn’t have stopped it. You are wonderful sons, and I’m proud of who you are, so very proud. Your dad had problems, but he was proud of you too.” She kissed their furrowed brows. “And he loved you both very, very much.”
A sob escaped Michael’s throat. “I loved him.”
“Me too,” Philip said.
Mary smiled. “Never stop loving your father’s memory, precious boys.”
Philip sighed. “Why can’t Luke be our dad?”
The sky lit with a bolt of lightning. A few moments later, thunder answered. How should she respond to Philip’s question? Why had Luke come into their life? How could she sort this out for her sons when she didn’t understand it herself?
“Ben’s scared Luke will take him away from us,” Michael said.
What assurance could she give when she feared the same?
“I’m scared…you’ll die,” a small voice said beside her.
Mary’s stomach lurched. Was this the cause of Philip’s stomachaches? The fear he’d lose her as he had his father? She’d not allow this to fester. “I’m not going anywhere, sweet boy,” she said, running a finger down Philip’s nose, tapping the tip playfully.
Giggling, the tension in Philip’s shoulders eased, and he tucked himself closer to her side.
“What about Ben?” Michael said.
She kissed the top of Michael’s head. “Luke promised he won’t take Ben away, and I believe him.”
“You do?” Philip said.
A deep certainty filled Mary. Luke would never hurt these children. If only she knew his parents wouldn’t claim Ben. “Yes, I do. I’m positive.” She took a deep breath. “I want you boys to know there’ll be scary times in life. God is with us during those times, even when nothing is truly scary except our thoughts. Talk to me when you’re frightened. And talk to God. He’ll help you.”