by Mary Campisi
What could be worse than telling Gloria about a secret pregnancy Nate never knew about? His ex-mother-in-law’s next words told him exactly how bad it could have been.
“That woman wanted me to tell you Patrice was pregnant when she left, but she didn’t lose the baby. Oh, no.” She gripped the armrests of her recliner. “The lie would be that she gave the child up for adoption. I think Gloria Blacksworth wanted to drive you crazy thinking your flesh and blood was out there somewhere.”
***
Grant had heard his share of worries and fears from his young patients as they prepared for brain surgery. What person wouldn’t be afraid? He’d been known as a good listener, and parents said he had a way of getting their child to relax and concentrate on something other than their fears. When William showed up on his doorstep one afternoon, Grant recognized the furrowed brows, the frown, the slumped shoulders. Something was wrong.
“Hi, William. How’s the arm?”
The boy shrugged, looked away. “Okay, I guess.”
“Want to come in? I’ve got fresh-squeezed lemonade and I just picked up a dozen peanut butter cookies from the bakery.”
William’s eyes lit up for a half second. “Okay.” He followed Grant into the kitchen, hefted himself onto one of the kitchen chairs, and said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
The boy’s voice dipped. “Do you think I’m weird?”
“What? Of course not. Why do you ask?”
“Two kids at school said I was when I solved the math problem before the teacher. I didn’t mean to, and now I almost wish I’d written down the wrong answer.” He shrugged his small shoulders, bent his head. “I don’t know.” He picked at a spot on his jeans. “Why does my brain have to work like it does? Why can’t I be like other kids and not care what a decimal is and if it’s positive or negative?”
Grant hadn’t been like other kids either, but his parents had applauded his difference, made him believe he had superior gifts that would enable him to be the best at everything. Worse, they taught him to accept nothing short of perfection, and go after the number one slot in any competition. And as his mother taught him at a young age, everything was a competition. How damn sad was that? What had he sacrificed for the ability to claim a top position? He’d lost Maggie, even if he didn’t know he wanted her, and he’d lost his son. It had taken his wife’s death and the damage to his hand to show him that success could not be measured by titles or bank accounts. Life must be lived through pain and loss, and one must never give up hope for a brighter, though often unanticipated, future. Maybe he could save William a bit of heartache, and share these truths with him. “Answer me this. Would you really want to be like the kids who called you weird?”
The boy shook his head. “No.”
“Okay then. So, you’ve got to find a way to make them want to be more like you.”
William looked up at Grant, scrunched his nose, and said, “How do I do that?”
Grant smiled. “I’ve got a few ideas.”
Later that night, as dusk gave way to the night, Maggie stormed up his porch steps, planted her hands on her hips, two feet from the wicker rocker where he sat, enjoying a scotch. “How dare you tell my son to talk to the baseball coach about keeping stats and scouting for him? Why would you do that? Do you know you’ve set him up for more ridicule?”
Grant couldn’t see her face in the darkness, but he heard the passion in her voice. Of course he knew; how could he not when he’d spent most of his life ignoring his real dreams so he could follow a path set by his parents, his teachers, everyone but himself? The goals had turned so murky he couldn’t see them, had no choice but to trust others to guide him. No one had ever told him to listen to himself, and why would they? When a person excels at a profession, isn’t it assumed he loves it, is passionate about it? Grant would not let this happen to William, and if it meant the boy had to fall down a time or two, get his feelings bruised, maybe shed a few tears, at least he’d still have feelings when he realized he didn’t care about fitting in where family and counselors and aptitude tests said he should. He would find his passion, and those who accepted him for it would be true supporters. True friends. “You can’t keep protecting him from the rest of the world. There will always be people who don’t understand him, and he’s got to learn to deal with that.”
“That’s easy for you to say, but you’ve never heard the snickers, seen him come home crying because he got picked last at school.” Her voice sparked with anger and what sounded an awful lot like despair. “He’s ten years old. What’s it going to be like for him when he’s fifteen, and what about when he heads to college? I hate that he has to go through this, and I don’t want you making it worse.”
Grant set his drink on the table next to the rocker, stood. He was close enough to touch her, but he didn’t. “Maybe he can find his way in their world, if he has the tools.” Grant kept his tone gentle, nonthreatening. “There will be those who attempt to exploit him because of his intelligence, just as there will be those who think of him as strange or weird. The key is helping William develop a strong sense of who he is, and what he wants, rather than identifying himself through the eyes of others.” His voice shifted, turned softer still. “That’s a skid into a black hole, so deep and dark, he’ll never dig his way out.”
Her breath hitched, and he waited for her to respond. Had he revealed too much? Had she figured out he was talking about himself, that he was the lost one who’d taken the wrong path? When she spoke, he had his answer. “Is that what happened to you? Did you fall into a black hole?”
He glanced away, focused on a streetlight several feet away. William could be that light; he could burst with passion and curiosity, if permitted. If guided. If not told what he should think, feel, do, achieve. If he were allowed to grow and flourish at his own rate, in his own space, his own brain, then he would have a chance for a good life. One without regret. One so different from Grant’s. He cleared his throat, pulled his gaze back to Maggie’s. “I want to help him. I know what it’s like to exist on the perimeter, to be so different you don’t know where you fit, and you wonder why you can’t fit.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, though, because you don’t fit, and if somebody doesn’t step in and guide you…somebody who cares about you, not their personal agenda, then you start believing anything, and that’s when you’re lost.”
“Grant? Did you listen to the wrong people? Did you fall into a black hole?”
He’d never told anyone how he really felt, not even Jennifer, and she’d been his wife. Admitting it would feel like a betrayal to his parents, who had insisted they only wanted to help him achieve his personal best. But it had been their dream, not his. They were both gone now, and the accident had set him free to follow his own path, wherever that took him. “You could say that.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He nodded, uncomfortable he’d actually admitted such a huge misstep to anyone, especially Maggie. But isn’t that one of the reasons he’d come here? To open up and be honest about who he really was, vulnerability and mistakes included? It was a foreign notion to him because he didn’t like weakness, or failing, or making poor choices, had spent most of his life believing he’d avoided all three. But he hadn’t, and if he stood a chance with Maggie and William, he had to acknowledge that fact, even if it made him want to choke on the words.
Maggie touched his arm, a gesture of comfort that shot through him like a double scotch. “I’m open to listening to ideas about how to help William. Thank you.”
“Sure.” He cleared his throat and stepped back, widening the distance between them and that touch so he didn’t do something off base, like try to kiss her. “Can I offer you something to drink? Iced tea? Wine?” He glanced at his own glass on the table. “Scotch?”
She laughed. “No thanks to the scotch, but I’ll take an iced tea.”
“Have a seat. I’ll be back in a minute.”
They spent the next hour c
ocooned by the darkness of the front porch, sipping their drinks, eating spinach and feta-stuffed mushrooms Grant had fixed the night before, and discussing ways to help William. Grant shared his idea of letting the boy try out for the team, but not as a player, as a statistician, maybe even scout the other teams. William knew all of the players on the Yankees roster, their batting averages, number of home runs, and RBIs. Why not let him assist the Magdalena Mets with similar information, study the other teams, learn who the big hitters were, their weak spots and strengths?
“William would become invaluable to the entire team.” Grant smiled, clicked the ice in his glass. He’d switched to iced tea instead of the scotch he’d been drinking because he wanted a clear head for this discussion.
“Do you have any idea how many baseball games are in a season? And you’re suggesting he check out the opponents as well?” She sighed. “Is he going to pack a bag and live on the baseball field?” Before Grant could reply, Maggie continued, as if warming to the thought of what a bad idea this was. “Who’s going to get him to the games? They aren’t close enough for him to walk, and I’ll be at work, and—”
“I could take him.”
She laughed as if he had no idea what he’d just said or the monumental commitment he’d made. “You don’t want to do that, trust me. Those games can be pure torture, especially in the heat, with the dirt kicking up. And the bugs. Ugh.”
“I’d love to take him.” He’d missed enough events in his son’s life; he didn’t want to miss any more. “Really.”
Maggie hesitated. “Once you commit, you’ve got to stick with it, so please think this through.”
“I did.” He paused, his voice filled with conviction when he said, “And I am.”
Chapter 10
If Maggie hadn’t decided to take a lunch break when she did, she’d never have answered the door, and the nightmare that awaited her would not have leached into her soul. She’d been working in the backyard, transplanting the coneflowers and phlox Gina had given her, thoughts of Grant Richot flitting through her brain, trying to find a home. He really did seem different from the man she’d known so many years ago. Oh, not the attractiveness or the intelligence, charm, or quick wit. Those had grown and matured, but the arrogance, the self-importance, and single mindedness were gone. At least from what Maggie could tell. And while she didn’t want to admit it, the new Grant Richot was very compelling.
When the doorbell rang, Maggie swiped her hands on the kitchen towel, made her way to the front door, and opened it. She didn’t recognize the attractive young woman with the dark hair and blue eyes, but apparently the woman knew her.
“Maggie Cartwright?” The woman flashed her a smile. “Leslie Maurice. May I have a moment?” When Maggie hesitated, she said, “It’s about Grant. I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
No, she did not want to hear what this beautiful woman had to say about Grant Richot. Certainly not. But Maggie found herself stepping aside so the woman could invade her home with her honeysuckle scent. The woman wasted no time getting to the reason behind her visit.
“You think you know Grant, don’t you?” She tilted her dark head, studied Maggie with a mix of curiosity and humor. “He’s great-looking, brilliant, a seriously good dresser, well-mannered with a boatload of charisma. Does that sound about right?”
“Pretty much.” Who was this woman and what did she want?
“Right. That’s what he shows you because that’s all he wants you to see, and most people never bother to look past the obvious. But there’s more, much more. If you look close enough, you’ll see the sadness behind the smile, the wistfulness in the eyes.” The woman tucked a dark lock of hair behind her ear, zeroed in on Maggie with a gaze that sizzled. “Grant wants to be loved and accepted for himself, not for his accomplishments, looks, money, or connections. He wants to belong, wants to be normal. But how does a person go about doing that when he’s been trained his whole life to believe that second place isn’t good enough, that nothing matters but first position? He’s Grant August Richot, and Grant doesn’t doubt anything, least of all himself. Do you know when he was a boy he scored so high on the aptitude tests that the teachers advanced him a grade and put him in an accelerated program? That made his father and mother very proud. And when he excelled in basketball and track, they were pleased with that, too. He wasn’t allowed to be ‘normal’ like the rest of the kids, hang out and play ball for the love of it, not for a win. There had to be a goal, an achievement in mind, and it had to be the best.”
Maggie listened to the woman’s story, a kernel of sympathy stirring for the young boy he’d been all those years ago. “That’s sad.”
“Sad? It’s tragic, but it was his life and he didn’t know any different. His parents loved him, but they were strict, and reserved shows of affection for his achievements. Do well, you get a hug, maybe a peck on the cheek or a handshake, and buried in the compliments were suggestions for improvement. See if you can shave a few seconds off your best run, and your college scores are good, but two points higher would be better. When he headed to college, he had a full scholarship at two universities, but his mother thought he should have had three.” She stared at the family portrait on the living room wall, her voice drifting, as if remembering. “He’d thought about engineering, but being a doctor was more prestigious and not just any doctor, a pediatric neurosurgeon.” Her lips pulled into a smile. “Operating on sick kids’ brains. Wow. That would win him a gold medal in his parents’ eyes. His mother thought of that one when she heard someone else’s son was heading into that field. You see, his father was a minister, but his mother did not understand the meaning of not coveting thy neighbor’s goods. She wanted her son to beat out that other boy, to be the best, and then she’d be proud. How could he refuse a mother with multiple sclerosis? Plus, he’d gain the praise and help kids, too. So he did it, and he was very good at it, but then he was good at everything.”
Grant had wanted to be an engineer? A few of David’s friends were engineers, and none of them were flashy or self-centered. In fact, they were almost…boring. She couldn’t picture Grant in a profession that didn’t say “Look at me. I’m the best.”
“I see the way you’re looking at me, as though you think I’m crazy.” She laughed. “Actually, I shouldn’t have said that last part about being crazy.” She laughed again. “Some doctors think I am, but I’m not.” Her voice slipped to a whisper. “At least not certifiably crazy.”
“How do you know Grant?” The woman knew too much about him to be a casual friend. Was she an ex-lover? And how had she ended up in Magdalena?
The woman’s voice burst with emotion. “He’s my brother.”
“Oh.” This was the sister Grant used to talk about? The one he said had psychological and emotional issues?
“Yeah. Oh. Grant saved my life, gave me hope for a second chance. I used to hate him because he was so perfect and I was such a screw-up. And then I realized how hard it was to be perfect all the time, how much pressure our parents put on him to be the best. Always the best. I stopped trying when I was about twelve because there was no point. Grant was king, a god, and I would never measure up.” Her eyes grew bright, brighter still. “Besides, my parents didn’t want excellence from me; they wanted a vow of chastity, something they believed in. I promised to save myself for marriage and I kept that vow, right up until that she-whore stole my fiancé from me. Then I burst and went wild.” Leslie sucked in a deep breath, blew it out. “And that was the end of my chastity.”
“I’m sorry.” What else could she say? She wanted to hear more about the young man Grant had been and the other dreams he’d suffocated to please his parents.
“We’re all sorry at one time or another, aren’t we? And when we screw up, which for me is pretty often, we’re sorry then, too. Grant stuck by my side, helped me through some dark days, but I let him down. I should have been there for him when the accident happened that ripped his life apart, and later w
hen our father died, but I wasn’t.” She met Maggie’s gaze, her voice hard, determined. “I’m not going to fail him again. My brother deserves a second chance, and you’re going to give it to him.”
“Me? What are you talking about? A second chance for what?” Maggie didn’t like the way the woman was looking at her, as though she really might be crazy.
Leslie lifted a hand, spread it wide. “For a life with you,” she paused, added, “and William.”
The words pounded through Maggie’s head, snuffed the air from the room, and made her dizzy. She pressed her fingers to her temples, tried to steady herself. “You can’t order me to share my life and my son’s with him.”
“You mean Grant’s son, don’t you?”
How did she know? Had Grant told her? Maggie opened her mouth to speak, but the woman stopped her.
“I figured it out the first time I spotted William. I doubt anyone else has guessed, but then I knew Grant when he was a little boy. Same hair, same cowlick, same inquisitive nature. Even the same ears. Maybe William will be the engineer in the family. He does seem to have a knack for building and assembling, doesn’t he?”
“Please, don’t do this.”
“I don’t want to, I really don’t.” Those blue eyes sparkled. “I’m not sure why you married another guy and let him raise William as his own. I’m wondering if Grant knew you were pregnant when you left school. Part of me says, no way, but there’s another part that thinks he might have and couldn’t get our mother to sanction an illegitimate child, let alone a marriage, not when he had so much left to achieve.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now. Grant wants to be part of your lives, and I want my brother to know a few moments of happiness, even if it’s only for a little while.”