Daniel's Gift

by Barbara Freethy

  "Where have you been?" Denise asked.

  "At the office."

  "I thought you might have been at the hospital."

  "I was there for a while."

  "How is he?"

  "The same."

  Silence fell between them. Luke undressed, stripping down to his briefs. He went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, slapped water on his face, and returned to the bedroom. Denise was still playing cards, and the television blared the annoying sound of laughter.

  "Mind if I turn that off?" He reached for the controls.

  "As a matter of fact, I do."

  "Fine." Luke slid into bed and pulled the covers up to his shoulders. He turned on his side, facing the door to their bedroom. He was tired, weary from too many emotions. He was used to compartmentalizing his feelings, making sense of them. But he couldn't make sense of Danny's condition, or of his overwhelming love for a child he didn't even know.

  Nor could he make sense of his passion for Jenny, a woman he had walked away from thirteen years earlier. How could he want her now, when he had put her so successfully out of his mind for so many years?

  It was as if a dam had built up in his mind. Danny's accident had opened the floodgates. His feelings were now completely out of control. If Jenny hadn't called a halt earlier, he would have made love to her right there on the kitchen table. And he wasn't a man who did things like that. Spontaneity was not his style.

  "I want you to take me to the hospital the next time you go," Denise said. She turned off the television.

  Now that the noise was gone, Luke wished it back. Anything was preferable to a discussion with Denise when his thinking was completely muddled.

  "Luke, did you hear me?" She rested her head on the back of his shoulders.

  "I heard you. Are you sure it fits into your schedule?"

  "That isn't fair."

  Luke sighed. "We'll go tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow is Thanksgiving."

  "You always have an excuse."

  "Ifs not an excuse. It's Thanksgiving. Your parents will be here. I asked the Willoughbys to stop by for cocktails before they drive up to Tahoe. We can't slip out and go to the hospital. It would be rude." She paused. "I am trying, Luke. You sprung a kid on me. That takes some getting used to."

  He stared at the wall. "You sprung a tubal ligation on me. I'd say we're even."

  She didn't say a word for a long moment. "Maybe I could have it undone."

  It took a moment for Luke to understand her words. He rolled onto his back. "Would you really do that?"

  Denise avoided direct eye contact. "I might. I didn't realize having a child was so important to you."

  "I have a child now," Luke said quietly. "A boy. Maybe it would be enough if you could accept him as a part of our family. Can you do that?"

  "Of course. I can do anything you want. Anything. I love being your wife. I don't want to lose you."

  Luke picked up on her choice of words. Loved being his wife. But did she love him? Or just what he could offer her?

  Denise ran her fingernails down his arm. "I wanted to be with you tonight. I wanted us to hold each other, comfort each other. The champagne is warm now, but we can still make love."

  Her red hair drifted down against his bare chest. She looked beautiful but cold. At least, he felt cold, and he couldn't imagine drumming up enough energy to make love to her. With Jenny so fresh in his mind, it would be impossible to touch Denise without thinking of Jenny. It wouldn't be fair to either of them. "I'm tired."

  Her eyes narrowed at his excuse. "Okay. We have a big day tomorrow anyway."

  "Yes."

  "It will be nice to have everyone together."

  "Not everyone. Not Danny." He didn't mean to say the words aloud, they just came. Because the thought of Thanksgiving, of pretending to be a happy family without his son, was almost more than Luke could bear.

  Denise threw up her hands in frustration. "Good heavens, Luke. It's been just the four of us for the past eight years. You've never complained before. We've always had wonderful holidays."

  Because before, the holidays had been an opportunity to bask in his parents' appreciation, to be rewarded for his efforts to please them. Now, he didn't give a damn about what they thought of him or his decisions. He suddenly realized that he had passed over a threshold. He no longer saw himself as the child, but as the father. His relationship with his parents was secondary to his relationship with Danny.

  "I never knew I had a son before," he said slowly. "You can't pretend that things are the same, Denise." He looked at her, knowing that she did want to pretend, because she hated to look at anything depressing, refused to even watch the news at night, because she didn't want to be reminded of how harsh the world could be.

  "Even if Danny were completely healthy, he wouldn't be sitting at our table for Thanksgiving," she said. "He would be with his mother."

  It was a logical point, and Luke was a logical man. He could admit she was right, and he would, if only to end the conversation. The truth was he would rather be at Jenny and Danny's table, not that they would welcome him. In fact, he didn't fit in anywhere, not in Jenny's life, not in his own.

  * * *

  "I don't belong here," Matt said as he looked at his sister's elegant dining room table. Everything was set for a perfect family Thanksgiving, from the china and silver to the tiny Pilgrim napkin holders. Merrilee had even spread red and gold leaves down the center of the table.

  "Of course you should be here." Merrilee set the butter dish and olive tray on the table. "We're a family. Families should be together. Now what can I get you to drink? I have some lovely hot apple cider."

  Matt grimaced. "How about a beer in a nice cold mug?"

  "It's only three o'clock."

  "So?"

  "I don't want you drunk before dinner."

  "That's it. I'm out of here."

  Matt turned to leave, but Merrilee stopped him. "You're not going anywhere. I had to go all the way down to your house to stop Alan from throwing you into jail. The least you can do is sit at my table and be polite."

  "Alan wasn't going to throw me in jail. GI Joe was just making a point." Matt glared at her. "He's not coming here for dinner, is he?"

  "Of course, he is. Alan is going to marry Jenny. He's practically part of the family."

  "Shit."

  "Watch your language."

  "I didn't like him before, and I like him even less now, trying to pin Danny's accident on me. Jesus, what kind of a person does he think I am?"

  "Don't make me answer that, Matthew."

  "And what the hell does Jenny see in the guy, anyway?"

  "Maybe she sees dependability, comfort, companionship. It's about time she settled down and gave Danny a father figure."

  Matt snorted his disgust. "Danny can't stand the dude."

  "Danny doesn't know what's good for him."

  The doorbell rang, and Merrilee pushed Matt toward the family room. "Go in and socialize. Richard's watching a football game."

  "Great, another thing I'd love to do, sit around and watch everyone playing what I can't play anymore."

  Merrilee ignored him and went to answer the front door. Her father was standing on the doorstep, arms crossed in front of his chest and an expression on his face that told her he'd rather be anywhere else but here.

  "Daddy. Come in."

  He shuffled past her and paused at the entrance to the dining room. Merrilee waited for a compliment on her exquisite table, but none came. "What do you think?" she asked, determined that someone would appreciate her efforts.

  "It's nice."

  "Nice? I spent two hours setting the table."

  "Your mother could have done it in ten minutes. Had a knack, she did."

  Merrilee's joy at the holiday vanished like spit on a hot candle. She could never compete with her mother, at least not in her father's mind. She didn't know why she bothered to try.

  "Got any whiskey?" John asked. "I could us
e a shot."

  Merrilee sighed. Great. With both John and Matt drinking, she would be lucky if anyone was sober enough to taste the turkey.

  "Coming right up," she said.

  Constance entered the room wearing a pair of blue jeans that were ripped at the knees and at the thighs. John raised an eyebrow and muttered something under his breath. Constance sent him a defiant look, which she redirected toward her mother. "I'm going over to Cassie's house for a while. I'll be back for dinner."

  "Absolutely not. It's Thanksgiving. Your uncle is in the family room, and your grandfather is here. You'll spend the day with us, young lady."

  "It's only for an hour, Mom. What's the big deal? They're watching some stupid football game. I'm bored."

  "No."

  Constance flounced out of the room.

  "That one's got a mouth on her."

  "She's sixteen. Everything is a trial."

  John shuffled his feet and picked a speck of lint off his sleeve. He cleared his throat. "Jenny coming?"

  "She said she'd try." Merrilee sent him a pointed look. "Have you been to the hospital yet?"

  "Your sister doesn't want me there."

  "Of course she does."

  "Then why doesn't she call and ask me?"

  Was that hurt in his voice, disappointment? Merrilee studied his face, but he was a difficult man to read. "She's wrapped up in Danny. She hasn't called anyone. But I'm sure she'd like to see you."

  "Where's that whiskey?"

  "Dad." He didn't look at her, and Merrilee hesitated. She didn't want to ruin Thanksgiving but she had to try to get through to him. "After dinner, I'm going to the hospital. Why don't you come with me? We're a family."

  "We haven't been a family since your mother died. And your sister, well, she wanted to dance, now she has to pay the piper. I got nothing to say to her."

  How about "I love you. I forgive you." Merrilee itched to say the words, but her father looked hard and unreachable. He had so many walls up, she couldn't possibly climb them all.

  "How about that whiskey?" John asked. He didn't wait for an answer, just headed into the family room to make himself at home.

  Merrilee went to the kitchen and poured herself a brandy. It was going to be a long day.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Charles Sheridan bowed his head. "Let us give thanks."

  Luke obediently closed his eyes, as he'd done every Thanksgiving of his life. His father said his usual prayer, thanking God for food, family, and friends. The words had lost their power over the years, maybe because they were always the same words, nothing new, nothing different.

  "Amen," Charles said.

  The word was echoed around the table. Luke opened his eyes. He picked up his knife and cut into his piece of turkey. It tasted like sawdust. He chewed, swallowed, and made polite conversation.

  The meal seemed to go on for hours. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn bread, salad. His stomach revolted at the litany of food items that ran through his head. He set his fork down before he had half finished his meal.

  His mother observed his gesture and offered him a brilliant, dazzling smile. He felt like taking a spoonful of mashed potatoes and flinging them in her face. For the first time that day, a smile crossed his lips.

  "Denise tells us you're going to be on the cover of Fortune magazine," Beverly said. "I am so proud of you."

  "You should be proud of Malcolm. He's very good at public relations."

  "They're calling you Midas, because everything you touch turns to gold. Your work at McAuley Perkins is consistently praised, and now that you're at Sheri-Tech, the sky is the limit." Beverly exchanged a proud look with Charles. "I knew from the minute he was born, he would be a genius."

  "How could he be otherwise with our genes?" Charles asked with a laugh. "There's something to be said for good breeding."

  Good breeding? They were talking about him as if he were a horse they were going to run at Golden Gate Fields.

  "I knew the day I married Luke that I had the most brilliant husband in the world." Denise looked at Beverly. "I wouldn't have picked him otherwise."

  The laughter began again. They were so alike. Luke glanced from Denise to Beverly, saw the same superficial smile, the same sophistication, the same arrogance.

  Good God, he had married his mother!

  The thought struck him like a blow to the head. Luke felt faint. Why hadn't he seen the resemblance before? Why hadn't he realized that the things he disliked about Denise were the same things he disliked in his mother? Denise wasn't as well educated, but she was just as slick and ambitious, the iron hand in the velvet glove.

  Of course, that's why Beverly had encouraged him to marry Denise from Day One. She had obviously seen an ally.

  "Luke, I asked you a question."

  He looked up in a daze as his father's sharp voice commanded his attention. "What?"

  "Do you want to come to Lake Tahoe with us tomorrow? There's plenty of room in the cabin. Should be some great skiing after last week's storm."

  Luke shook his head. "I don't think so."

  "Why not, Luke? It would be fun," Denise said. "We haven't skied in ages. You know how you love it."

  Did he? Or was that just another decision they had all made for him? They were running together in his mind. He was losing himself in his family. Their love surrounded him like quicksand. He wanted to get out, but he couldn't move.

  In his mind, he saw Jenny and Danny, holding out a stick, a chance to break free if he dared to take it. But leaving the quicksand meant leaving everything that was familiar, everything that was important to him. Could he walk away from the very people he had spent his life trying to please? Did he have the guts?

  "I think we should go, Luke," Denise persisted. "A couple of days in the mountain air will be good for all of us."

  Luke set his napkin down on the table. "I can't leave town right now. I think you all know why."

  "You promised not to bring that up." Denise sent him an annoyed look. "It's Thanksgiving."

  "You can pretend if you want to, Denise. Hell, you can all pretend. But I have a son who's fighting for his life. I'm not going skiing or anywhere else."

  Luke pushed back his chair and strode out of the room. Charles set his coffee cup down in the saucer with an irritated clatter. "Damn fool."

  "He'll get over this," Denise said with confidence. "He just needs time. After all, Luke has never been all that fond of kids. The reality of having a son is unknown to him. He's just having a midlife crisis."

  Charles studied her thoughtfully. "You have a point. But that woman. She -- she -- " He searched for the right word. "She has some sort of power over him. Years ago, I was afraid he might decide not to go to medical school, after all we'd done for him. Thank God, he came to his senses and walked away from her."

  Denise folded her hands in her lap, tense at the mention of the other woman. It was almost easier to ignore the fact that Luke had a son than ignore the fact that he had loved another woman.

  "What was she like?" Denise asked, unable to resist the opportunity to learn more about her competition. "Was she pretty?"

  "In a frisky puppy sort of way. At least she was then," Charles said grumpily. "I wonder if we could buy her out of Luke's life. I think it'd be worth it. This child will only cause trouble. You should have a son, Denise. Then Luke would be satisfied."

  Denise looked down at her plate. She couldn't tell them the truth. Thank God, Luke hadn't said anything. They wouldn't be happy about her decision. They wanted children to carry on the Sheridan name. She had hoped to get around the problem by convincing them that Luke didn't want children or that she was sterile or something, but now -- now she was caught neatly in a trap of her own making.

  "He's right, Denise." Beverly looked at her with a soft smile. "A baby would be a nice addition to our lives. Just seeing you pregnant would make Luke happy." Beverly paused, turning to her husband. "I'm not happy about this situation, Char
les, but I have to admit I'm a little curious about this boy, and I do feel badly for his mother. I know what it's like to have a child, to love him, to be afraid of losing him. I'm afraid of losing Luke -- over this boy. What are we going to do?"

  "Do?" Charles asked in amazement. "We're not going to do anything. We're going to wait for Luke to come to his senses."

  "And what if that doesn't happen?" Beverly asked.

  "I'll make it happen," Charles replied.

  The housekeeper entered into the dining room with a tray in her hands. "Are we ready for pie?"

  Charles muttered under his breath and pushed back his chair. "I need some air."

  "I'll come with you." Beverly followed him out of the room.

  The housekeeper looked at Denise. "Ma'am?"

  Denise shook her head. Left alone, she felt like crying. Her beautiful Thanksgiving dinner was a complete disaster. Damn Luke. And damn that woman for ruining everything. Denise had half a mind to go to the hospital and tell that Jenny to stay the hell out of their lives.

  * * *

  Jenny slipped a pair of earphones onto Danny's head, sticking the padded ends gently into his ears. She turned the volume down to a comfortable listening level and pushed Play. She could faintly hear the sounds of Nirvana pulsing through the Walkman.

  It was Danny's favorite tape. She could still see him dancing around the living room like a rock star, playing an imaginary guitar, singing his heart out. God bless him. He had inherited her voice, and musical it was not.

  She sat down in the chair next to the bed and studied his still form. He was lying on his back, still connected to the ventilator, because every time the doctor removed it, Danny stopped breathing. The pressure in his head was still there, not going down, not going up.

  In other words, Danny was in a holding pattern, like an airplane circling over the airport, waiting for clearance to land. Only the call never came.

  Six days of waiting. Six days of hoping. Six days of fear.