"I thought you were through with blame," Matt said.
"I'm trying to be honest."
"You're always honest. I don't know where you get that from. Everyone else in the family lies through their teeth."
Jenny stood up. "Let's go see Danny."
Matt hesitated. "I'm not good in hospitals, not since my leg got busted up. I still remember that goddamned doctor telling me my career was over."
Jenny fumed at yet another display of his selfishness. "Oh, for God's sake, this isn't about you. I'm not afraid Danny won't be able to play a sport, I'm afraid he won't wake up. Don't you get it?"
Matt stared at her in shock.
"Where have you been, Matt?" she demanded "Where the hell have you been? Getting drunk? I needed you this weekend, and you let me down."
"I'm sorry. I wasn't in any condition to come over here. I thought I'd make things worse."
"Maybe you're right. Maybe you shouldn't be here. Maybe you should be drowning yourself in a bottle of beer. That's your answer to everything, isn't it?"
"I've had a rough couple of years."
"Tough. Grow up, Matt. I need a big brother I can depend on."
Matt stood up. "I'll get out of your way."
"No, you won't get out of my way!" she shouted. "You won't run away from this. You can't. I need you. Danny needs you."
"I'll come back later," Matt said desperately.
"Later? After you've had a couple more drinks? For once in your life, think about someone besides yourself, Matt. Think about your family." She walked away.
I am. Matt wanted to scream the words. He wanted to tell her he was worried about Danny and terrified about what he might have done. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, but she was gone. And he didn't know how to get her back -- how to get anything in his life back.
* * *
"Have you thought about what this will do to your parents?" Denise asked.
Luke gripped the steering wheel, using the traffic as an excuse not to answer her question. Of course he had thought about his parents. They had been on his mind since the accident. That's why he had decided to take off work for the day and drive down the coast to Carmel. He wanted to tell them in person, not over the telephone.
Charles and Beverly Sheridan would not be happy that he had fathered a child, especially not with Jenny as the mother. They had disliked Jenny on sight. She had been too carefree for them, too unspoiled, too honest.
His father had picked apart Jenny's lack of education, her lack of goals. His mother had derided Jenny's clothes, her table manners, her naivete. They had made it clear that they wanted someone entirely different for him, and like everything else in his life, Luke had gone along with their plans.
As an only child, he had been their sole focus outside of medicine. Every minute of his day had been monitored. He was tutored in math and science from the time he was six years old until he graduated from high school, class valedictorian. He never needed the tutor to keep up, but to get ahead and to stay ahead.
Being first, the best, the most important, was all that mattered to his parents. They had both been over-achievers, both valedictorian of their classes. Living up to their standard had sometimes seemed impossible. He had tried. Lord, he had tried, in so many different ways.
For a long time he had wanted what they wanted. Their teachings had completely filled his head, and because they isolated him from outside distractions, he never had the time or the inclination to question their values. Until that summer so many years ago, until a slender, wild-eyed girl had taught him there was so much more to life.
Luke wearily rubbed the back of his neck. He cast a side glance at Denise. After having received no response to her question, she was looking idly out the window.
Luke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the traffic slowed yet again. Why had he surrounded himself with so many ambitious people? Denise was just another example. Although she wasn't a doctor, she did have a college degree in communications from UCLA, and had been working as an account executive at a public relations firm when they had met. And while Denise's parents weren't rich, they were both business people, white collar.
His parents had admired Denise's savvy, her public relations expertise and total dedication to advancing Luke's career, at the expense of her own. They had fallen in love with Denise before he had. Sometimes, he thought he had married her just to please them.
What a bastard he was. He had to change. He had to put things right for all of them, especially Danny.
His son. The thought filled his heart with joy. They could do so much together. He would be a real father to Danny. They would go to ball games and go fishing -- of course he would have to learn how to fish first, but he could study it, research it -- maybe he would even learn how to play video games. He would be nothing like his father. He would listen, care, not try to change Danny but simply accept him.
"Did you talk to her last night?" Denise pulled out a nail file and began to work on her pinky finger.
"Yes."
"Is she happy to have you back in her life?"
Luke smiled grimly. "I wouldn't say she's happy about much of anything right now -- especially not me."
"I don't know. You're rich. She's not. Sounds like she'd be very interested in you."
"Jenny was never interested in my money."
"Maybe not at eighteen. Things are different now."
"Not for Jenny. She has too much pride."
Luke sighed with relief as they made their way out of the Santa Cruz mountains. The ocean came into view over the horizon. The ocean had always brought him peace. Thirteen summers ago it had also brought him love and passion, the first he had ever known, the deepest he had ever felt.
Maybe he could recapture it with Denise. Show her another side of himself. Bring them closer together. He signaled to pull off the highway.
Denise looked at him in surprise. "What are you doing? This isn't the exit."
"The ocean is right there." He pointed out the window.
Her expression told him she had thought he had lost his mind. "So?"
"Let's walk along the beach, feel the sand between our toes."
"Are you crazy? I'm wearing hose."
"Take them off. Go barefoot."
"It's November, Luke. It's cold. No one goes to the beach in November." She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
Luke pulled up at the stoplight, grinning as he watched a carload of teenagers pull through the McDonald's drive-thru on the corner. To be that young again. To be that free ...
The beach was just ahead. He pulled into a parking space and got out. Every breath he took reminded him of the past. It was glorious. The air was cold and salty. The wind blew the cobwebs from his mind.
He looked over his shoulder. Denise was still sitting in the car -- annoyed.
Luke walked over to the passenger door and pulled it open. "Come on, it's gorgeous out."
"It's windy. I'll mess up my hair. I want to look nice for your parents. And if we don't leave right this second, we'll be late. You know Charles hates it when you're late." She tapped her fingernail against the solid gold Rolex watch on her wrist.
"You should have been their child, not me," Luke replied. "I'm taking a walk. Are you coming?"
"What is this, Luke? Are you regressing or something?"
"Or something," he replied. "Suit yourself, Denise."
He kicked off his leather dress shoes and his black socks. The sand and gravel grated against skin that rarely saw the bare floor much less a sandy beach. Luke started to walk, then run. His heart began to pound. His mind took flight and suddenly Jenny was right beside him, and they were young again.
"I'll race you, Luke," Jenny said with a laughing smile. "On your mark, get set ... oh, look, a hang glider."
Luke turned his head. Jenny took off like a bird in flight. She was fast on her feet, poetry in motion. He could have watched her run for the rest of his life and count
ed himself happy. But the challenging look she flung over her shoulder forced him to run faster. He caught her, tackled her. They landed hard in the sand.
Jenny's body was under him. Her heart beat against his chest. Her breath came in short, rapid gasps. Her brown eyes danced with excitement.
"Kiss me," she said.
It was what he wanted to do, but a little devil inside made him tease her. "Good girls wait to be asked."
"I'm a good girl. Kiss me and see."
"Why should I?"
"Because you're crazy about me."
He brushed the hair away from her forehead and cupped her face between his hands, loving everything about her. "I am crazy."
"For me."
"For you," he admitted. "We're wrong for each other, you know."
"I know. Your parents hate me. I'm not smart enough or pretty enough. I'm middle-class and going nowhere fast."
"That's not true."
"It is to them."
"Well, your sister hates me. Thinks I'm a snob, arrogant, and looking for a summer fling."
"We're like Romeo and Juliet." Jenny traced his lips with her finger. "Would you die for me?"
"I don't think so."
She punched him in the arm. "Wrong answer."
He grinned, but his words were serious. "I'm not hero material, Jenny. I can't carry you off on my white horse and promise we'll live happily ever after."
"Who asked you to?"
"No one, but when I'm with you, that's what I want to do. You make me want to change everything."
"You think too much."
"You don't think enough."
"Kiss me, and neither one of us will have to think."
He lowered his head and touched her lips with his mouth. She was delicious, like a cold beer on a hot day, like a burst of watermelon in the middle of summer, like every sweet candy he had ever denied himself.
The memories mixed together. The past became the present, and Luke fell in a breathless heap on the sand. Thirteen years later, and he could almost taste her again. Why couldn't he get her out of his head?
For years he had kept her image, her voice, her scent away from conscious thought. Once in a while she had entered his dreams, but he had worked so many long hours that eventually he stopped dreaming altogether.
Now, Jenny was back, as potent as she had been the first time he met her.
It had been the wrong time then. It was the wrong time now. His eyes filled with tears. Luke couldn't believe it. He blinked them away. They came again. He didn't cry. Never, not even as a child.
Luke stood up and ran back toward the car, hoping the sea breeze would explain the moisture on his face.
* * *
An hour later, Luke pulled into the private driveway that led to his parents' home in Carmel. It was their retirement dream house, a stately looking home with four bedrooms, a formal dining room, den, and a patio/garden/deck that overlooked the Pacific Ocean.
Charles and Beverly were waiting on the deck when they arrived. His father was reading the Wall Street Journal, and his mother was leafing through a scientific journal. It was the way Luke often found them, wrapped up in their pursuit of knowledge, of success.
Charles turned the page without acknowledging his presence. "You're late," he said.
"We hit some traffic."
Luke looked at Denise, wondering if she would deny his excuse, but she simply leaned over to kiss his mother hello. Denise had been furious when he had arrived back at the car. He had been too emotionally drained to give her more than lip service, and eventually she had fallen silent. He had a feeling that was about to end.
Beverly put down her magazine and reached for a bottle of Chardonnay cooling in an ice bucket. "Wine?"
"None for me," Luke said.
"I'd love a glass," Denise replied, sitting down in the chair next to his mother.
Beverly poured three glasses of wine. "Why don't you put down your paper, Charles? Luke obviously wants to speak to us about something important. After all, we just saw you yesterday."
"If he'd gotten here on time, we wouldn't be rushed. Your mother and I have plans for this evening," Charles said. Reluctantly he put his paper down on the table and tapped his fingers together in front of his face.
Luke pulled out a chair and sat down. They were certainly off to a great start. "Maybe I'll have a glass of wine after all."
His mother poured him a glass without comment.
"Well, speak your mind," Charles said.
Luke cleared his throat. "I don't know if you remember, but right before I went to medical school, I was involved with a young woman. Her name was Jenny St. Claire." Luke watched as his parents exchanged a long look. "I see that you do remember."
"Of course. We're not senile," Charles replied. "What does she have to do with anything?"
Luke took a breath and plowed ahead. "She had a baby, my baby, twelve years ago. His name is Danny."
"On, my." Beverly put a hand to her heart.
Charles froze.
Denise looked out at the ocean.
"I suppose she's come after you for money," Charles said finally. "You'll have to pay her off. We can't have that kind of information going out to the press."
"This isn't about money," Luke said, knowing that his protest was futile because to Charles everything was about money, even medicine. His father, the doctor, had coldheartedly gone into the profession to be rich and respected. He had achieved both.
"Of course, it's about money," Charles replied, echoing Luke's thoughts. "How much does she want? A million?"
"She doesn't want money. She doesn't want anything. Her son -- my son," he corrected, "was hit by a car on Friday night. He's in intensive care."
"What are his injuries?" Beverly asked. She wasn't as coldhearted as his father, but sometimes she could be just as clinical.
"Subdural hematoma. They removed the clot, but he hasn't regained consciousness."
"And it's been how long? Three days?"
"Yes."
"Not a good sign." Beverly looked over at Denise. "Are you all right, Denise?"
Denise nodded, donning a bright, false smile. "I'm fine. The news was a bit of a shock, but it happened a long time ago, before Luke and I met. It doesn't mean anything."
Of course it meant something, Luke wanted to shout. It meant everything. He had a son -- a son. He opened his mouth, then closed it, waiting.
"So, what does she want?" Charles asked again.
"She doesn't want anything. I do. I want to get to know my son."
"If he's unconscious, you won't have much chance of that," Charles said.
"I'm hoping he'll recover." Luke tried desperately to hang on to his temper. He wondered when his father's logic had become so irritating. "He's your grandson. I thought you'd want to know."
"Of course we want to know," Beverly interjected, putting a hand on Charles' arm. "You were right to tell us. After all, if he's your child, that's important.
But are you sure, Luke? Are you absolutely sure he is your child?"
"Yes, I am."
"Have you run a DNA test?"
Luke sighed. "No, but Jenny told me I was the father, and I believe her."
"For Christ's sake, Luke. Did I raise you to be a fool?" Charles demanded. "You're a wealthy man. Of course, you're the father. There are probably a dozen other women waiting to make that claim."
"I certainly hope not," Denise said flatly.
Beverly gave Charles an irritated look, then patted Denise's hand. "He didn't mean that the way it sounded. Why don't we have lunch?"
"That's it? That's all you can say?" Luke asked in amazement. "You have a grandson. Aren't you the slightest bit curious about him? Don't you want to know what he looks like?"
"I -- I -- " Beverly looked desperately at Charles. "I don't think this is the best time, Luke."
Charles pushed back his chair and stood up. "Pay her off, Luke. Set up a trust fund for the child, and keep your distance. You don
't want to get dragged into this woman's problems. The boy could rack up all kinds of medical bills that she can't pay, and you'll be left holding the bag."
"Danny looks just like me," Luke said. "Blue eyes, sandy blond hair, freckles. He's a Sheridan. He deserves our name, our love."
"Stop, please." Denise held up her hand. There was pain in her eyes. "I can't listen to this right now, and I don't think your parents can either."
"She's right, Luke. We need time," Beverly said.
Luke got to his feet. "You don't have time, Mother. Danny may be dying. If you want to see your grandson, you'll have to go back with us today."
"I don't know. Charles?"
His father shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line.
"Danny might be your only grandchild. Are you really willing to look the other way?" Luke asked.
"Don't be silly. You and Denise will have children," Beverly said. "Isn't that right, dear?"
Denise took another sip of wine. "I don't know."
Luke shook his head in disgust at Denise's evasive answer. Of course, she didn't want to tell his parents about her deceit.
Charles walked toward the house, pausing by the door. "If you think we're going to drive two hours to see some kid we've never met just because you were stupid enough to impregnate that woman, you're a damn fool. And this sure as hell better not interfere with Sheri-Tech. I gave you my company. I gave you my home. Don't you dare bring shame to this family."
Luke glared at his father, feeling so much anger that he thought he might explode.
"That kid is my son. If you don't want to acknowledge that fact, fine. He doesn't need you. He needs me. And I will not walk away from him."
Charles stormed into the house.
"Oh, Luke. This isn't good for his heart, you know." Beverly went into the house, leaving Luke and Denise alone.
Denise set down her glass of wine. "Gee, that went well."
"How can they be so unfeeling? How can they not care?"
"How can you care so much?" Denise countered. "You don't even know this child. He might be a spoiled brat. It's not like he's a tiny, cuddly baby and you can tickle his toes. He's an adolescent teenager with hormones raging and probably a smart-ass attitude."
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