by Lynda Chance
His aunt answered, “She’s okay, baby. She’s in her room.”
Josh looked from his aunt to his uncle, and to the bottle of Jim Beam that was never, ever touched but that now sat in front of David Turner. His uncle reached for the highball glass in front of him with hands that shook. He took a sip and then cleared his throat. “Sit down, Josh.” The tone he used was, by far, the most gentle voice that Josh could ever remember hearing from his uncle.
Terror snaked down his spine, but he couldn’t sit. He stood completely still, his stomach muscles knotted in panic. “Just tell me.”
Diana reached over and took a hold of her husband’s hand, and she gave him a tiny, infinitesimal nod as if to do it.
Josh steeled his nerves as his uncle’s red-rimmed eyes met his own. “Your father’s dead.”
The words hit Josh like an iron fist to his throat, but just as soon as they did, his emotions dried up and he froze inside. He felt an edge of pain, and then a touch of panic, but he couldn’t explain why. Mostly, he just felt numb. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, his gaze focused on the only real father he’d ever known. He looked at his uncle who had raised him during his formative years, and he knew that the older man was in far more pain than he was. David had just lost his brother, and a brother that he’d never been proud of, but one who his uncle had always hoped could be redeemed.
But now that could never happen.
Josh swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
At his words, even more pain showed in his uncle’s eyes before he closed them. His fist hit the table in a display of violent emotion that jolted the glass and the bottle sitting there. His eyes flew open and he looked at Josh again. “You’re sorry? You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, son. I’m sorry. We’re sorry.” He motioned between him and his wife. “We’re sorry that your life has been shit and that my own brother” his voice broke, “a man who I used to love could treat you—”
His words dried up as another sob escaped his throat. Josh stood frozen at the depth of agony his uncle was feeling. That hurt worse than anything. Josh knew in the back of his mind that he would have shit to resolve about all of this. He figured he’d probably even feel hurt before he got past this, after the shock that was keeping him anesthetized for the moment wore off. Hell, his father had made his life a living misery. With a vague feeling of guilt, Josh had a glimmer of hope that with his death, the pain would all go away. Maybe this was the last time his father would cause any of them pain.
Josh watched his uncle closely and couldn’t imagine what the older man was feeling, but he tried to mitigate the hurt. “This is not your fault. It’s never been your fault. You’re not like him, and I’m not like him. You can’t blame yourself for what he did to me.”
Black emotion ravaged his uncle’s countenance. “Do you remember how many years you suffered before we even knew what was happening? And then how long it took us to prove it and to get the law behind us?”
Josh obviously knew he’d been thirteen when he came to live here with his aunt and uncle, but that didn’t seem to be the question his uncle was asking. It was as if his uncle were feeling a gut wrenching pain for every year that Josh had been forced to live with his father. “I—no, I don’t.”
“Too many years to count. We should have had you sooner. There’s no excuse for you living like you did for thirteen years. Thirteen fucking years! Yeah, I blame myself. I’ll blame myself until the day I die.” Diana jerked in her seat when her husband used that word, and Josh knew why. David Turner never cussed. He never raised his voice; he never raised his hand.
Josh shook his head and cleared his throat, trying to keep his tangled emotions strong and in control. “We have to move past this … as a family. Somehow, someday, we’ve got to figure out how to get past what he did to all of us.”
Diana started to softly cry. “If only your mother had lived.”
Josh jerked his head with a start and stared at his aunt. A hard knot of confusion settled in his stomach as he studied his aunt’s tear-drenched face. “What did you say?”
Her eyebrows creased and her breath hitched as she stared at him, obviously shaken. “If your mother had lived—”
Josh cut her off. “How do you know she’s dead?” He couldn’t control his tone; his voice was hard, abrasive. But he couldn’t help it, the shock he was feeling was strong and it was layered by an arrow of agony through the region of his heart.
Diana looked between Josh and David in utter confusion and then settled her gaze on Josh again. “She died when you were born, baby,” she answered softly.
The pain that Josh had been holding back exploded in his brain and settled in his gut like a piece of burning lava. The shock of discovery hit him full force, and he had no control over his reaction. He turned abruptly and picked his truck keys up off the counter where he’d dropped them when he’d first walked into the room. He had one thought and that was to get out of there, now.
He stalled once more, another shaft of pain and anger burning through him, as he tried to give them a reason for his actions. “He told me she left. My father,” he spit the word out, “told me my entire life that my mother didn’t want me and that she left him because she didn’t want me.”
Diana started crying, rivers of tears running down her face as she shook her head frantically from side to side. “No!” She put her hand to her mouth and looked at her husband who’d gone a paler shade of white. She turned back to Josh and sucked in a breath. “Sweetheart, she loved you. Your mother wanted you more than life itself.” His aunt reached out a hand to touch him, but he wasn’t close enough and she dropped it to her side. “She knew you were going to be a boy, she named you Josh. She loved that name. She held you in her arms as she drifted in and out of consciousness while they tried to save her.”
White hot anger at the dead man who’d damn near ruined his life filled Josh. Pain like he’d never felt when being beaten slammed down his spine and almost crippled him. He felt for his aunt and uncle, he really did. But if he wanted to retain any sanity at all, he had to get out of there for a while. But he had one question first. “Where is she? Is she buried around here?”
“No, baby. She had no family to speak of, and your father had her cremated.”
“And the ashes?”
Diana shook her head. “We have no idea. I’m sorry.” A fresh batch of tears welled in her eyes. “I had no idea he’d lied to you about her. We should have spoken of it sooner. I always tried to … tried to protect you from further pain, you know?”
Josh reached out and pulled her to his chest and hugged her, and then kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you for that.” He cleared his throat. “You know I love you, right?” He looked over her head to his uncle as his eyes blurred. “Both of you. You know that, right?”
His aunt began nodding her head frantically and his uncle’s eyes swam with tears. “We know, baby. We love you, too.”
“I’ve got to go now, okay? I’ll be home after while. Don’t worry about me. I just have to go.”
Diana’s eyes were frantic as she clung to him. “Where are you going to go?”
Josh released her gently but firmly and walked to the back door. “Hannah’s. I need Hannah.”
The panic receded from her eyes but then a different expression took hold of her as another look passed between his aunt and uncle. Josh absorbed their non-verbal cues with another sharp feeling of panic and demanded an answer, “What?”
“Sweetheart, you never asked how he died.” She licked her lips and continued, “It was a car wreck and… and Cindy McIntyre died also.”
And still another shaft of emotion hit Josh, but he wouldn’t let it stop him from getting to Hannah. Damn it all. Damn everything to hell. He had to see Hannah. Damn her curfew and damn it if Zach McIntyre was there. Damn them all. Just let somebody try to keep him from seeing Hannah tonight. “Do they know? Do the McIntyres know that they’re dead?”
“Yes, I called
them earlier. I told Janet not to tell you if she saw you because you didn’t know yet. She will have told Hannah by now.”
He nodded his head once and slipped out the door.
****
It was almost one in the morning and raining torrentially when Josh rang Hannah’s doorbell. He realized he should have called her first, texted her, something. But he hadn’t. He’d just gotten in his truck and put it in drive. The emotions churning inside his gut were crucifying, and all he could think about was the way Hannah smelled, being close to her, getting her in his arms. If he couldn’t have that, like this very second, he didn’t know what would happen. He needed her now so that he wouldn’t break in half. His breathing was erratic as he pressed on the doorbell a second time and then clenched his hands behind his head, lacing his fingers together, to keep from ringing it again.
When the door opened, Mrs. McIntyre stood in the portal with tears in her eyes, and as she studied him, she whispered, “Sweetheart.” Josh closed his eyes briefly, letting her sympathy rush through him, and when he lifted his eyelids again, she’d pushed the door wide in invitation and her arms were held open to him.
Surprising himself, he took what she was offering and moved into her arms for a tight hug. Her display of maternal sympathy, maternal love, swept over him and it bore a striking resemblance to the way he felt when his aunt embraced him. Immediately the new knowledge he’d gained tonight of a mother who had loved him, hit him hard again, and he experienced a feeling of loss that he’d never known before. He couldn’t explain it, and maybe it was ridiculous, but he was feeling as if he’d only now lost his mother. It was crazy; it was his father who had died, and all Josh could feel was a great big hole, a loss, for a mother he’d never known.
As Josh fought tears, he heard a masculine cough coming from within the room, and he lifted his head and stepped back from Hannah’s mom. Mr. McIntyre walked toward him, but stalled before he was halfway across the room, and the man wore a tortured expression on his face. “What do you want?” The words weren’t exactly unkind, but they were brisk enough that Janet McIntyre whirled around and gave her husband a quelling stare.
Josh bowed his head briefly and then looked up again and met the other man’s eyes. “Hannah. Just Hannah.”
From his peripheral vision, Josh saw Hannah come from the hallway that led to the bedrooms and stand completely still in the entrance of the living room. He didn’t take his eyes from her father, because the second he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand still and just look at her. Already, the need to hold her was causing him to grip his hands into fists at his sides.
Hannah’s father looked at his daughter and then back to Josh with an anguished expression on his face. “We lost our grandchild tonight.” The words were dry and caustic, and if they’d been meant to hurt, they’d succeeded as Josh felt another jolt of both fury at his father and pain for the despair he could see in the other man’s eyes.
Josh stiffened his spine and lifted his chin. Hannah had been his for six months now, ever since that first kiss, and by God, he needed her now. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry for your loss.” Josh knew it couldn’t help that he looked exactly as his father had twenty years ago; he’d seen the pictures. And Mr. McIntyre had always been in the county; he had to be registering the resemblance even now.
Josh’s heart banged heavily in his chest as he waited for a reply. “It’s after one o’clock. You should come back in the morning.”
“Daddy!” Hannah’s angry shout came from across the room, and after an abbreviated look of horror at her father, she ran across the room and threw herself at Josh’s chest.
His arms reached out and enclosed her, and he dropped his head into the crook of her shoulder. He held tight and then rocked her, to and fro, and let the essence of Hannah spread through him and calm his stretched nerves.
In the back of his brain, he was aware of Mrs. McIntyre closing the front door, and then moving toward her husband. As he shut his eyes and held Hannah, Mr. McIntyre grunted, “Stay in this room.” He cleared his throat. “Hannah … you hear me? He can stay, but you two have to stay in here, understand?”
Hannah nodded her head and mumbled an affirmative answer, and then she took Josh by the hand and they went to sit on the sofa. He was aware of her parents walking out of the room and into the kitchen, and when they were out of sight, he picked Hannah up until she straddled him and then he wrapped his arms around her and held on tightly.
He squeezed her to him, and in that instant, the deeper feelings he’d been holding back came to the surface. He’d never said it before, had never said it to any girl. But he’d been feeling it for months now, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. Josh lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “I love you, Hannah.”
Her eyes flared and became brilliant with unshed tears. “I love you, too.”
As they stared at each other, Josh memorized every detail of her face. He was keenly aware of the connection that pulsed between them; it was so strong it seemed to be almost tangible. He ran his fingers through her hair and she blinked, and after a moment, laid her head on his shoulder.
Josh didn’t know how long he held her, but finally, she lifted her head and put her hands to his cheeks and examined him carefully. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered softly.
His vision blurred and he viciously fought for control. He hadn’t cried since he was ten years old, and he wasn’t about to start now, at least, not for someone as worthless as his father. He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
Her gaze left his and her eyes wandered over his face and she pressed a delicate finger over the scar that separated his eyebrow and gently smoothed it down the side of his face until her touch landed on another scar. It was one of the most atrocious scars on his face, one of the cigarette burns his father had inflicted, and as Hannah’s finger landed there her eyes hardened. “I’m glad he’s dead. I hate him for what he did to you. He deserved to die. I hope he suffered.”
Shocked at the utter rage he recognized in her eyes, Josh’s lips flattened into a sort of twisted smile. He smoothed his hand down her long hair and played with the tips that curled at her spine. “Let it go, baby. Let the anger go; you can’t dwell on it. The last thing I want is that motherfucker spoiling your sweetness.”
She exhaled a deep sigh. “How do you do it, Josh?”
He shook his head while he thought about it. “I don’t know. It’s just something I decided a long time ago. We only have one life, you know? I could either let him ruin mine entirely, or I could focus on the good stuff and try to move past it. I could have ended up dead years ago, or in an orphanage or something. But I didn’t. I was given a great family who love me, we have the land that’s been in the family for years, and I feel part of that, you know?”
“Yeah,” she agreed softly.
“I know what we have isn’t comparable to what your family has, but the feeling is the same. Maybe you don’t feel it, because you’re not a real McIntyre, I don’t know. But it’s a feeling of belonging to something, and as fucked up as my father treated me, he couldn’t take that sense of belonging away from me. I’m sure I’ve got my aunt and uncle to thank for that, and I’m grateful.”
Hannah was quiet for a long moment. “You don’t see me as a real McIntyre?”
Their eyes tangled. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“You didn’t. I just want to know why you feel that way.”
“Because you’re a Smith. Your last name is Smith-McIntyre, at least technically, right?”
“Yeah, legally. But my dad adopted me, you know that right?”
Unease slid in a twisted river and settled in Josh’s gut. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“A long time ago.”
“Why is the ‘Smith’ still attached to your name?”
“My mom always wanted me to remember that my birth father loved me.”
Josh had the feeling that now that he knew the truth about his own mother, he and
Hannah had something else in common as well. They each had a parent who had died when they were infants. But something else was uppermost in his mind. He’d always assumed that Hannah wouldn’t inherit anything from her family, because she wasn’t blood-related. But that probably wasn’t true. He absolutely didn’t want her to inherit a thing, but he wouldn’t get a choice, obviously. He didn’t care for the car she drove because it underlined the difference in her family’s money and his family’s lack of it, and he damn sure didn’t like the idea of her inheriting tons and tons of cash. Was that selfish? Obviously, he could recognize that it was. And again, there wasn’t anything he could really do about it. But he wanted only Hannah, without any encumbrances at all. It was bad enough they had this bullshit situation between their families, but he could deal with it because he had to. Hell, he had no choice in any of it. He mostly didn’t want anyone to think he wanted Hannah for any reason other than herself. That’s all he really wanted, but he’d put up with anything to have her.
That was a given.
Josh put it out of his brain and hoped for her sake, her parents would live for a long time anyway. He didn’t have to deal with any of that shit for now. He ran his hands up and down her spine. He was sure that the fact that she’d been adopted into the family gave her even more continuity, and that pleased him. “I’m glad, Hannah.”
“Are you?”
“I’m glad about anything that makes you happy.”
“You make me happy, Josh Turner.”
At the look of truth shining from her eyes, for the first time in a long time, Josh smiled, while he let go of the guilt he was feeling over the pure, unmitigated relief he felt over the death of his father.
Relief might be wrong, but that’s what he felt and he couldn’t change it.
He deserved something positive in his life, right? With both hands, he reached out and took it, as he wrapped Hannah’s face in his palms and lifted her lips to his.