by LAURA GALE
“We could offer her money, Lucas.” His mother’s voice was quiet.
“For what?” Lucas couldn’t help snapping at her.
“For the child, of course. To give you the child to raise, to break the influence of her family and to get Rachel out of your life. Finally.”
“But we’d have to demand proof of paternity—”
“We will not try to buy the child from her,” Lucas interrupted. “Rachel’s a good mom to her, and I wouldn’t let anyone say otherwise. I would fight you, Dad. And I do have proof of paternity. In a number of forms, not to mention the fact that she looks like me.” Lucas ran a hand through his hair and tried to ease the position of his hip. He reached for a can of beer, noting that his father was already making his own dent in the supply. Lucas set the can back on the table. He had dulled the pain in his hip, and had no interest in a round of drinking with his father.
“So the child is a girl.” His mother’s whispered remark was so soft that Lucas almost didn’t hear her.
“Yes, my daughter is named Michaela,” Lucas supplied. He took a deep breath. “You need to understand, perhaps, that Michaela is not well. She’s been, well, living in the hospital really. I’ve been visiting her regularly ever since Rachel came to the office.”
“Ah,” his father said knowingly. “So, you didn’t know about her. This kid is news to you.”
“I didn’t know about her before, that’s true. I’d like to think I would have made some different choices if I’d known about her. But I’m not sure I would have. I hate myself for that, but it’s the truth.” Running his hand through his hair again, he continued. “This morning, I donated bone marrow for her. I’m the only compatible donor they’ve found, and that, Dad, is very compelling proof of paternity. If I needed it, which I don’t.”
Adjusting his hip again, he said, “So, yes, Mother, I probably am a little drunk. But it’s an effort to dull the ache I’ve got in my hip where they took the bone marrow from. As an alternative to that bottle of pills—” he motioned toward the table “—that the doctor gave me. It’s not because I take time off work in order to lie around, drinking the afternoon away. It’s medicinal.” He smiled thinly. “And that’s something Dad can’t claim.”
Lucas looked at his parents then, knowing he was perhaps seeing them for the first time in his life. He could see what everyone else saw in his father. What Rachel had seen, what her brother, Rick, had obviously seen, as well. Arnold Neuman was a cold man. He thought of his own interests first. Hell, maybe he only thought of his own interests.
His father had never treated his mother very well, Lucas knew that. He’d known that as a child. When he’d been old enough to have an inkling of comprehension about sex, he’d understood that his father had not found fidelity in his marriage necessary on his part. Discretion wasn’t exactly his strong suit. Some years later Lucas had realized that his mother had been fully aware of his father’s infidelity, and that she had tolerated it because—why, exactly?
Because she’d been raised to believe that a “good” marriage was her crowning achievement in life. And that good meant a husband with the right status, preferably with money. It had nothing to do with love, or even friendly feelings towards the life partner. Lucas had never accepted that definition of a good marriage. It was why he had married Rachel. Suddenly he needed to know—he needed to ask something he’d never actually asked his parents before. He needed to hear the words, point-blank.
“Why have you always objected so strongly to Rachel as my wife?”
His parents exchanged glances.
“Because she was wrong for you, Lucas. She wasn’t one of us. Given her background, she never could be one of us.” His mother stated her answer calmly, coolly. She was again wearing the mask that Lucas knew only too well.
“Why not?”
“Why not? To begin with, they were working class, dear. It was in her mentality.” Sophie shook her head, her blond highlights shimmering slightly in the fading light. “That’s why we would need to assume responsibility for the child, Lucas, immediately. We can’t change what she actually is, but we can teach her to be something else.”
“Did you hear what you just said, Mother?” Lucas was incredulous. He’d known, of course, how they felt, but he’d never heard it stated so boldly. Or maybe he hadn’t listened quite like this.
His mother just looked at him blankly, so he changed tack. “Dad’s from working class, too, Mother. Why is that okay?’
“Because he rose above it, dear. The need to work, the manual level of work, that went out a generation or so ago. We can teach your daughter—it can be learned.” She smiled benignly.
Dismissing Rachel’s parents’ occupations, veterinarian and schoolteacher, as manual labor wasn’t appropriate, but Lucas decided not to pursue the point. His parents wouldn’t get it, anyway.
“And, besides, boy, I come from solid German stock. So does your mother, with that little bit of English mixed in. We’ve got something to work with, you know, genetically speaking.”
“Rachel is Mexican.” Sophie said the word as if it were a disease—quickly, distantly—as if she were afraid of catching something if she held it in her mouth too long. “She was always lovely in an unrefined way, but that was exactly the problem. She had no sophistication, no understanding of things. A corporate wife, a society woman, needs those qualities. Just look at Alana. Alana was raised with the proper values.”
“In other words, she understands how to be an ornament. That she should never bother anyone with thoughts she might be having, that it’s better to simply pander to her man, saying whatever she thinks he wants to hear. Or what might impress other people. She dresses well, knows the right people—but never stops to consider if any of that matters to her. It’s enough that someone else told her it matters. She’s a socialite, with the emphasis on light. In her color and in her mind.”
“Why, Lucas, what a cynical thing to say.” Sophie was taken aback. “I’m a corporate wife, Lucas. I’m a society woman. I know my place, my role. Do you see me as an ornament, someone who is nothing but a man’s accessory? A socialite?”
Lucas studied his mother a moment before answering, noticing her bubble of coiffeured ash-blond hair, her perfectly applied makeup, her exquisite jewelry that served as the ideal complement to her casually understated designer pantsuit.
“Yes, actually, Mother, it is how I see you. You are an asset to your husband. And you would never suggest that you had an independent thought, one that wouldn’t agree with your husband’s position. Yes, that’s exactly how I see you.”
God, he thought, maybe I am a little drunk. Surely it’s alcohol that’s loosened my tongue?
“Well, Lucas,” she said, “you couldn’t be more wrong. I just know who—and what—I am. I wouldn’t try to be something I’m not. I wouldn’t try to force myself on anyone outside of my proper place. Unlike Rachel. She had nerve, but that’s all I’ll say for her.” She picked up her purse. “I think we still have plenty to discuss. After all, if you have proof this little girl is your daughter, we’re her grandparents. We should have access to her, if not control over her. But I think it’s time we left you alone for the evening. I’ll just go powder my nose, then I’ll be ready to leave. Okay, Arnold?”
She disappeared down the hallway, having chosen the most delicate phrasing for her activity. As always.
Arnold drained his latest can of beer—Lucas wondering briefly if his father intended to drive—and leaned forward in his chair, toying idly with the empty container. “I know what you saw in Rachel, my boy. Any real man would see it. You married her, made her my daughter-in-law, but…well, I didn’t feel fatherly toward her. No I never did. She’s the kind of woman a man can’t help but notice. That fiery Latin temperament.” He paused, shaking his head in admiration. “Mexican women, they’re taught to be that way. It’s in their blood of course, but they are taught to please a man—”
“Dad, I told you already not to talk
about Rachel like that. I am married to her. She is the mother of my child. Don’t talk about her like she’s…cheap. She isn’t.”
“Now, don’t work yourself into a lather, boy. I’m just saying that, as a man, I see certain qualities in Rachel—you know, that I appreciate certain of her attributes.” He paused to examine the label on his beer can, thoughtfully, speculatively. “Yessirree, I appreciate her.” He took another deep look at his empty can, then finally set it down.
Lucas examined his father, noting there was a gleam in his eyes that Lucas didn’t like. It was too soon for it to be solely alcohol induced. “A woman like your mother, Lucas,” his father continued, “she’s just not going to understand the appeal of a woman like Rachel. A man, though, yeah, he will. He’ll want what she’s got. Still,” Arnold sounded philosophical, “you screwed up when you married her. You could have kept Rachel around—I’ve told you that before. There’s ways. Hell, I sure wouldn’t have let her go. Couldn’t blame you for wanting her.”
Arnold turned conspiratorial. “I know something about Mexicans, too, you know. I know what they’re like. In fact, we had a maid one time—Rosa was her name. Now she was delightful. She was with us for several years, until your mother put a stop to it. Said I could do what I liked, but not under her roof. So Rosa had to go. I was more careful after that.”
Horrified, Lucas realized he knew who his father meant. He remembered Rosa, wondered how willing a partner she had been. She hadn’t been much older than Lucas himself.
“But you don’t marry them, son. That’s not their purpose.” He winked at Lucas. Sophie returned just then and Arnold stood up.
“Look,” Lucas said, feeling compelled to state his position, “whatever you think of Rachel’s family tree, keep in mind that my daughter shares it. You’ll be polite about it.”
“Lucas, please understand we only have your best interests in mind. You have to be careful, concerned about your heirs, Lucas. That was truly the main reason you shouldn’t have married Rachel. But—” his mother inclined her head “—there is a child now, a child you are willing to claim, so we’ll have to do what we can to mask her…heritage.”
“No, Mother, we will not mask her heritage. I am not ashamed, in any way, of Rachel or Michaela.”
“Blood will tell, son. You’ve been sprung from our line. You’ll see right. You have before, after all. You’ve just got stars in your eyes because of this kid. That’ll fade.” Arnold held out his arm to escort Sophie to the door. “Don’t bother to get up. We’ll talk again when you’re feeling more yourself.”
He was alone again. The silence was deafening. It made his thoughts seem louder. Again he wondered about Rachel and his father. He had known prejudice existed, but it had never occurred to him before that part of his father’s bias was sexual. Had he ever acted on the attraction? Lucas couldn’t consider it.
Rachel was on his mind again. Rachel had changed. Rick had said so, had given examples. Had blamed Lucas for those changes.
But Rick had mentioned something else, too, something that gave Lucas pause. Rick had said that the changes in Rachel weren’t obvious on the outside. But that those who loved her could see the difference. He, Lucas, had seen the difference, almost immediately.
What did that mean?
Chapter 8
“So, Rachel,” said Dr. Paul Graham, “is Michaela settling into her new abode?”
Rachel was sitting with Michaela, watching her daughter sleep. Her new abode was the private room where she would be staying following her BMT procedure, until she was sufficiently recovered to go home. Traffic from other patients, staff and visitors, would be minimal, and those would did enter would be required to wear protective clothing—including face masks—for Michaela’s benefit.
“Yes,” Rachel answered, “I think she knows this is her place for a while. She’s just so…” Her voice trailed away as her eyes wandered back to her sleeping child.
“I know,” Paul said, patting Rachel on the shoulder.
The bond between Paul and Rachel was strong. Paul was an attractive man, his fitness and blond good looks suggesting he could easily be younger than his fifty-two years. But Rachel had never noticed that. She simply saw Paul as her friend, had immediately placed him as a sort of adopted uncle—as familia. Michaela, as young as she was, understood familia, and knew that Paul belonged there, too.
“Everything’s set to begin in the morning, Rachel.” Paul moved to stand in front of her. “Rachel, look at me.” She turned her head, and he continued. “You know that you are not working tonight. You must sleep. You will sleep.”
“Yes, I know,” Rachel said, nodding her head slightly. She knew Paul was talking about more than just this night. “I know I need to take some leave, Paul. I’ve arranged it, but I’ve also left an option to work if I really need to. Working has saved my sanity through this, and I may need that again.”
Sensing that Paul was about to argue with her, she continued quickly, “I know I can’t be her primary nurse, Paul, even when she gets home. I know I’ll need to sleep sometimes. My family will help me. They always have. But I need to get through this a little bit at a time. I have to deal with the moment as best I can. Anything else has to wait.”
Paul looked at her thoughtfully, then nodded. “Okay, Rachel.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Get some reasonable sleep tonight. I mean it.” His smile removed the sternness from the words, and yet—he did mean it. Rachel knew it.
Not for the first time, thankfulness rushed over her. The circle of family and friends who had stood by her and helped her was special indeed. She knew some very good people.
As Paul moved toward the door, Rachel glanced behind him into the reception area. A commotion had caught her eye. As she made sense of the situation the color drained from her face.
“No,” she whispered, jumping to her feet and pushing past Paul, out of Michaela’s room, automatically shutting the miniblinds on her way out. “Dios mio, no. No, no, no, no.”
She yanked the mask away from her face, nearly running to the reception desk, a worried and baffled Paul right behind her.
“No!” she cried, her voice strangled, as she approached. “No. These two people—” she motioned toward Arnold and Sophie Neuman, who stood with Lucas beside the reception counter “—these two people are not allowed in here. Paul—” she turned to face him “—I’m not joking. They will not be Michaela’s visitors. They will not.”
“Of course, Rachel,” he responded without hesitation.
“Oh, now, girl.” Arnold’s voice rumbled over everyone else. “No need to act like that. We’re family and we’re here to see that child. You can’t stop us. We’ve got rights. You should know that.”
“Actually, Arnold, I can stop you. And I am.”
“Don’t push me, girl.” Arnold waggled a finger in Rachel’s face.
Slapping his hand away, Rachel said, “Do not threaten me, Arnold. Do not even pretend to touch me. Do you understand?”
Looking at Lucas, who had apparently brought his parents, she said, “In my office, Lucas, now. All three of you.” Looking at Paul, knowing his support would be needed to resolve the situation, she said, “Please come, too.”
Once inside her office, Rachel made the necessary introductions. “These are Lucas’s parents, Paul. Arnold and Sophie Neuman. And they are not to visit Michaela, not under any circumstances.”
Arnold moved closer to Rachel, sliding his arm around her shoulder. “Now, now—”
With a finesse that could only come from long practice, Rachel whirled out of the attempted embrace, her hand shooting out to smack Arnold across the face. “I told you, you lecherous pig, do not touch me. I have tolerated a lot from you, Arnold, and we both know it. I refuse to put up with you anymore. Do you understand? No more.”
Looking at Sophie, including her in her remarks, she said, “I don’t owe you two anything. I know you’re not here because you suddenly have warm
, grandparently feelings for my daughter. The last thing she needs, the very last thing she needs, is to be paraded in front of anyone like some sort of zoo animal. I will not allow it.”
“Don’t try to throw your weight around, girl,” Arnold began. “You don’t have that kind of power.”
“First, Arnold, my name is Rachel. Secondly, I do have that kind of power. Thirdly, I am using it. You will not be granted access to Michaela.”
As Arnold began to sputter again, Paul cut off his attempt to speak. “Actually, Mr. Neuman, Rachel’s right. She is the patient’s parent. She is also head of nursing at PCH. She has that power, Mr. Neuman. As Michaela’s doctor, I wholly support Rachel’s opinion on that matter. She is exactly right. The patient’s well-being is my first concern. If Rachel believes your presence would be counterproductive, then you won’t be allowed in.”
“Now, really,” Arnold boomed, his finger wagging in Paul’s face this time. “I’ll talk to my lawyer about this.”
“You’re certainly at liberty to do that, Mr. Neuman. However, you will find that the courts are very reluctant to authorize anyone to threaten a patient’s well-being, particularly when the patient is a child. They follow our counsel in these matters. This type of situation is not new to us, Mr. Neuman, but it appears to be new to you. You do not understand your position.”
Now Rachel was facing Lucas. “And you! Dios mio, Lucas, what were you thinking? No, wait—” she held up her hand, traffic-cop fashion “—I know better than to ask you that—because you never think, do you? Why should you bother to think when you have your parents to do it for you?”
Rage that had been bottled up for years was spilling out. “You waltz in here, proclaiming you want to do right as Michaela’s father and then you do this? Is it possible, somehow, that you do not understand Michaela’s situation? Why the hell would you bring them—” she gestured accusingly at his parents “—two people who have never caused anything but strife between us? Why bring them here, so that they can terrorize our daughter the way they have always done me? Think, Lucas, for once. See what’s actually there! Take off those damn blinders!”