Brad nodded and chose a chair beside his sleeping granddad. If he was in pain, it didn’t show. His rail-thin chest rose and fell, and at times, his breathing appeared to stop. Then eerily, he seemed to find some inner strength to take in more oxygen.
Brad reached for his hand. “Sorry I’m so late, Gramps. Had some trouble, but I’m here now.”
His tears fell; Brad wiped them away.
All at once, he felt a slight pressure applied to his hand. Clayton’s eyes were closed, but a tiny teardrop worked its way down his wrinkled face.
“Brad?” he gasped.
“Yeah, Gramps. I’m here. You don’t have to talk. Rest easy now.”
“Johnny? You . . . here, boy?”
“I’m here, Dad.”
Brad felt his father’s firm grasp on his shoulder.
“Is . . . Mrs. Reid with . . . you?”
Mrs. Reid? Brad glanced up at his dad and frowned.
“Faith left hours ago. Was there something you wanted to say to her?”
A racking cough seized the old man. “Wanted to . . . thank . . . her. She tried . . . save . . . me.”
“I’ll tell her. Don’t try to talk.”
“Johnny . . .”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“Tell . . . Mrs. Reid . . . I was wrong about . . . and I’m . . . sorry.”
“I’ll tell her. Don’t talk.”
“Brad?”
Still clutching his grandfather’s hand, he leaned forward. “Right here, Grandpa.”
“You love . . . that girl?”
Brad lowered his head. His grandfather had always loved Sue. Even when Brad was involved with Diana, his grandfather had made no secret he preferred Susan. “I do. She’s terrific. She was here until a few minutes ago.”
He shook his head. “Not . . . her. Di . . . ana.”
Diana? Brad studied his grandfather’s tormented face. Had his thoughts about Faith somehow triggered his memories of Diana? “I’ll always care about her, but I’m with Susan now.”
Clayton wheezed. “Tell him, Johnny.”
“Later, Dad, I give you my word. Brad and I will talk later. Rest easy.”
“Now . . . Johnny. He . . . has to . . . know.”
Suddenly the room seemed claustrophobic. Brad looked between his dad and his grandfather. What did he have to know? How had a deathbed vigil suddenly changed to a talk about Diana?
Panic welled in Brad’s chest. The usually direct John Jordan wouldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he faced the window. His voice gruff, he said, “Eight years ago, your grandfather did something reprehensible. A week after you and Diana announced your engagement, he blackmailed her into leaving.”
Brad lifted his head. He let go of his grandfather’s hand. “You . . . what? Why? Why would you do that to me?”
For interminable minutes, Brad listened to his father, who in a broken voice, recounted what he’d been through in the past week. He reminded Brad of the safety deposit key he’d shown to Brad and Neil at the pool, John’s trip to El Paso, and a meeting with a congressman the Jordan family had known a lifetime. Finally, he acquainted Brad with the contents of a file.
“Your grandfather convinced Diana, wrongly, that her father betrayed his country. The report, which looked like a damned official government document, claimed that Reid had deliberately sacrificed his crew. It read that some of his team had died, while others on the reconnaissance mission became POWs themselves. The crux of the document said that after the crash, Benton Reid went to get help. But upon his capture, he gave up his men’s location, so that he could go on living.”
No physical blow had ever hurt Brad more. His throat burned, and he could barely form the words. “Why? What did I ever—”
“For . . . you, Brad.”
Like a hornet’s nest bursting on impact, Brad’s temper exploded. He shot to his feet. “For me? You drove Diana away . . . for me? How could you hate me that much? Don’t you remember how miserable I was without her? How I blamed myself? How—” Brad fisted his hands. He fought not to strangle the remaining life from the frail man’s body. “To hell with you. I gotta get out of here.”
Brad stormed from the room. He’d already pressed the down button when his father approached and gripped him by the arm. “Brad, stop. We’ve got to talk about this.”
He shook off his father’s grasp. “Not now, Dad. Not now.”
“If not now, when? He’s dying.”
The elevator doors slid open. Brad looked between the man he respected and his much-needed escape. Reluctantly, he stepped back and let the elevator leave without him.
“At this moment, you hate him more than life itself, and you have every right. But after all this time, he knows he was wrong. Do you have any idea what a huge admission that is for a man like your grandfather? He’s trying to make this right—begging for your forgiveness.”
Brad gritted his teeth. “I don’t have it in me, Dad. You go sit with him if you want. But I’m done with the man.”
“I wish I could leave you alone, but I can’t. This isn’t just about your grandfather. This is about you, too. You let him go like this, and you may feel justified for the moment. But what about later? Your grandfather has made some lousy life choices, but you don’t have to.”
A nurse in a pastel smock interrupted them. Looking from John to Brad, she said, “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I just checked on your father. He’s in the active stages of dying. If you want to say goodbye, now would be the time.”
In horror, Brad watched his father bolt from the elevator as though he’d been suddenly split in two. How could his father love such a man? The fact remained that he did, while Brad’s newly-formed hate felt like a visceral part of his being.
Even so, seconds later, Brad stood in the doorway.
The same nurse stood in the back of the room, allowing John a semblance of privacy. Brad eased close to his dad where his grandfather momentarily opened his eyes. He wore a mask of pain and anguish, as he struggled to speak. “Brad, for . . . give . . .”
Sweat dripped from Brad’s brow. Again, he was tempted to run. But if he’d learned anything from losing Diana, and all the years he’d fought to get over her, it was that the only purpose hate served was to destroy the initiator.
In a very real sense, he was saving himself when he took hold of his grandfather’s hand, and uttered the costly words, “I forgive you.”
After that, acceptance came over his grandfather, as well as a peaceful look on his face. He heaved one final breath and died.
Chapter Forty-three
FRIDAY’S CALM appeared immeasurably better than the violent day before. Sore, but in once piece, Brad rang the doorbell to Faith Reid’s tiny three-bedroom home, determined to put one final issue to rest. A leather binder tucked beneath his arm, he turned to observe the grass had been mowed, but paint was chipping in places, and the porch screen needed repair.
He was making plans to hire a handyman when Faith pushed opened the screen door. “Good morning, Brad.”
He stepped into a home in much better condition than the outside. Heady aromas of cinnamon, yeast, and vanilla wafted from inside the kitchen. In honor of Diana’s homecoming, Faith must have made her famous cinnamon rolls.
He’d always been struck by Diana’s resemblance to her mother.
Faith eyed him closely and placed a palm to his face. “You two are matching bookends. You look as bad as she does. How can I repay you for saving her?” Faith hugged him.
He held her tight. “You have to ask? I’d never let anything happen to Diana, you know that.”
“Your father called.” Faith’s smile faded. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
His grief at war with his anger, Brad returned a terse nod. How could he accept condolences whe
n he’d wanted to kill his grandfather himself?
Looking around Faith’s house, he wondered if this was the last time he’d ever set foot inside. He and his dad had spent time brainstorming how they could make restitution for Clayton’s actions. Faith would find money insulting. She’d never exhibited a materialistic bone in her body, and she’d been nothing but a generous and giving friend.
What’s more, John and Brad had agreed that Diana should be the one to tell her mother of Clayton’s treachery. All these years, Diana had buried the secret. It was her story to tell. Unfortunately, this decision left Brad with one of the most painful jobs in his life—informing Diana that the file had been a fake, and that she’d thrown away their love and hidden away the memory of her father, for nothing.
He looked past Faith into the hallway, feeling as though he’d stepped back in time. Any moment, he expected Diana to bolt from the bedroom, tennis racket in hand, throw her arms around him, and challenge him to a match.
He shut his eyes to hold the memories at bay. Life had a warped sense of humor at times. “Is Diana here?” he asked.
“I tried to get her to sleep in,” Faith said. “But when has she ever listened to me? The first thing she did this morning was shower. Then she called her old friend Elizabeth Garcia of all people. They’ve been on the phone for a good half-hour already. Would you like coffee? A cinnamon roll while you wait? I’ll let her know you’re here.”
“Coffee would be great. And I’ve never turned down one of your cinnamon rolls in my life.”
He followed Faith through the short hallway that led to the kitchen. A bookshelf lined with Reid family mementoes stood to his right, and Brad paused to look at them. One side was dedicated to Diana from diapers to cap and gown, the other side of the shelf devoted to her father.
Brad had seen the pictures before, but the knowledge he’d gained in the hospital room late last night filled him with a regret and hatred he might hoard forever.
Benton Reid had been tall, with light brown hair and a face that bespoke intelligence and humor. The photographs depicted a soldier, a husband, and a father, and Brad mourned a man taken before his time.
One picture showed Reid in an army uniform with his arms around a very pregnant wife, while the photo beside it was of a proud papa holding a newborn.
But the item that left a particularly bitter taste in his mouth was the glass-protected bronze medal of an eagle partially concealed in a bamboo grove. Around the edge of the medal was the inscription Missing While Serving in the Defense of Freedom in Southeast Asia.
The room fairly spun, and overcome, Brad fought not to relive his anger. How could his grandfather have disparaged this man?
Faith turned in the kitchen doorway and caught Brad staring. “Such a long time ago, and yet sometimes it seems like yesterday.”
“Your husband was a fine-looking man.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I certainly think so.”
He took the coffee she offered, sat at the small kitchen table, and set the leather binder on the floor beside him. He was about to dig into the roll when Diana entered the room.
“Liz said to tell you hello and that she’ll see you the next time she comes to Diamond. Do I smell cinna—” Her gaze collided with Brad’s.
All at once, she was the only thing in existence.
How many times had he sat at this table just like now, having discussions just like these while waiting for her?
The bruise on her cheek had turned the color of eggplant. But her face was scrubbed clean, and she’d pulled her dark hair back into a ponytail. Wearing red shorts and a white top, she looked resilient and beautiful, and a weight fell from his chest.
She kissed her mother’s cheek, then, glancing at the clock, her eyes widened. “It’s after eleven already? Where has this day gone?”
Faith placed the decadent rolls on the table and wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Slow down and enjoy.” She glanced from Diana to Brad. “I’ll be in my room if you need me. I’ll leave you two to talk.”
Faith’s presence had served as a buffer between them. Although, at her departure, neither Brad nor Diana seemed to know what to say. She took a cup from the cabinet and poured from the coffee pot. Finally, she asked, “Did you speak with Gray this morning?”
Brad nodded. Coffee cup in hand, he rose and moved to the counter beside her. “Hagen and Bingham refused to cooperate until Dad hired a helicopter service to take Buddy on an aerial ride. Under advice from their counsel, they’ve cited the location of the drums.”
She slumped in relief. “And the EPA?”
“Neil decided a proactive approach was the best plan. He contacted the agency this morning. Jordan’s got a cleanup team heading for the site. Now it’s a matter of fines, a bevy of lawsuits, hoping to hell we can find a disposal area, and naturally, a criminal trial for those involved.”
Diana shook her head. “I’m sorry, Brad. This will devastate a lot of hardworking people. I hope Vic Hagen and the men who did this pay.”
Brad sipped his coffee. “Neil plans to tell my dad he wants to step down as president.”
She moved to the window and stared out into her mother’s backyard. “Who do you think—”
“My dad will run things for a while until Neil’s successor is chosen. The company is in an uproar, and there are lots of decisions to be made. But something tells me Neil wanted out even before this crisis emerged.” Brad hesitated. “Diana, I didn’t come just to inform you about Jordan Industries. You and I have to talk.”
Leaning against the counter, she sent a glance over her shoulder into the hallway. “All right, but it’s such a beautiful day. Why don’t we take our breakfast outside?” Without waiting for his reply, she grabbed the rolls and her coffee.
Brad grabbed his own roll and picked up the binder. She was already out of sight by the time he replied, “Love to.”
He followed her out of the kitchen, noting she didn’t look once at the family pictures. A few days ago in Leo’s apartment, she’d shown nostalgia over their high school yearbook. But not a nod toward her own family?
Then he remembered the MIA bracelet she used to wear. From the time they’d met in their junior year in high school until she graduated from college, she’d never been without it. Suddenly, Brad grasped the full picture.
She believed his grandfather’s lies.
At the pain Clayton Jordan had inflicted, Brad wished he’d never allowed the old man to enter the afterlife with a clearer conscience. But for myriad reasons he had, the most important of which had been his dad.
Brad joined Diana at a glass table beneath an awning, placing the cup on the table and the folder on the chair beside him.
A tire swing hung in a rambling old birch tree, a bird chirped, and beyond the fence, a couple of dogs were contestants in a barking competition.
Diana averted her gaze and drummed her fingers, and at her obvious nervousness, Brad wondered why. Over the last week, he’d believed they’d reconnected on a pretty intense level.
“I suppose you heard my grandfather passed away last night.”
Surprise lit her face. “No. I hadn’t heard. After I was released from the ER, and my rental car still hadn’t been located, Gray took me back to the Drifter’s Inn to gather my things. Afterward, he brought me here.” She inhaled a deep breath and slowly exhaled it. “Your grandfather was . . . old. I hope your family is . . . adjusting.”
Brad held back a smile. He’d never seen someone exercise such restraint over someone she disliked. Nor had he seen someone exhibit such relief. He only wished his own wouldn’t be so short-lived. “Must have been great to sleep in your old bed.”
She laughed. “It was.”
Brad lowered his head before looking up again. “Before my grandfather died, we talked. He told me the truth, Diana.�
�� Brad reached over to the chair beside him, picked up the leather binder, and placed it on the table. “Clayton made a full confession, admitting everything that he’d done to you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Or that you felt you had to go through this alone.”
Diana sat as still as a statue, her gaze planted on the binder. “What is that?” she asked in a tone void of emotion. Then adding heat to her voice, she added, “How dare you bring that into my mother’s home?”
“It’s the actual report on your father.”
“I know what it is,” she said between her teeth. “I’ve read it. Evidently you have, too. You wanted to know why I left you. Now you know.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “All I ask is, if you have any compassion, you don’t show this to my mother. She doesn’t know, nor does she deserve this.”
“Neither do you. Open it.”
“No!” Tears sprang to her eyes. “Why are you doing this? I thought that after that . . . man died, I might have a life again. What? Are all the Jordans the same?”
Brad tamped down the urge to defend himself. Perhaps after what she’d been through, he deserved the comparison. Disregarding her protests, he unzipped the folder and pulled out a Pendaflex file. “This is the real file Congressman Harrison sent to my grandfather. I don’t want you to take my word for anything, which is why I brought it. I want you to read it.”
Brad slid it toward her.
Gritting her teeth, she flipped open the file and swiped at a tear. Soon her rigid posture lessened and she looked up. “This isn’t the file that Clayton showed me.”
“No, it’s not. Because the one he gave you was a bought-and-paid-for forgery. My dad discovered what his father had done about a week ago. Dad traveled to Austin, met with the congressman who’d allegedly signed the forgery. Harrison, by the way, categorically denies signing the fake.
“He also put his staffers to work to find the real report, the one that he did sign.” Brad tapped at the file. “This is it.”
“Your father did all this?” Diana frowned. “I don’t understand. Clayton said your dad was as opposed to our marriage as he was. All these years, I assumed he hated me, too.” She shook her head. “Your grandfather was . . .”
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