by LAURA GALE
“Alana, baby, what are you doing?” His voice was slurred, from what, Lucas chose not to consider. “Come back to bed, sweetheart.”
Alana gasped softly. Only then did Arnold Neuman notice his son leaning against the kitchen counter.
Arnold seem flustered for a brief second before bellowing out, “Why are you here, Lucas? As you can see, Alana and I are busy. We don’t need your help.”
“I wouldn’t offer my help, although it seems to me you need somebody’s. I actually had a little business with Alana, Dad. As you know, she wasn’t in the office.”
“Her business is with me at the moment, son.”
“Share your business with her all you want, Dad. I certainly don’t want it.”
Lucas turned away from his father, disgust roiling in his stomach. Looking at Alana hardly offered any relief. He needed to do what he’d come for—and get out. He could feel bile rising in his throat. He didn’t know how long he could suppress it.
“Here,” he said, slamming the documents down on the counter. “My name’s off as owner. It’s Neuman Industries’ property now.” He looked at Alana, who had let herself be pulled into his father’s grasp. “If you want your name on the papers, Alana, you’ll have to negotiate with them. I’m out of the picture. Here’s my key. I have no use for it.”
Dropping it on top of the papers, Lucas briefly registered satisfaction at Alana’s dumbfounded expression. She’d apparently been certain Lucas’s arrival had meant something different and she had been wildly rising to the challenge of entertaining both him and his father at the same time. An involuntary shudder rippled through him—he couldn’t think of anything more repugnant than passing time that way.
Lucas strode briskly toward the door, his father bustling after him, Alana standing limply in the kitchen, fingering the paperwork Lucas had left there.
“Don’t go all superior on me, son. You turned to Alana, too, when you needed a woman. Why shouldn’t I?”
Lucas didn’t dignify that with a response. The image of sharing a woman with his father made Lucas nauseous. Rachel’s comments on his father’s behavior came to him with a new clarity. His stomach lurched again. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead. He felt weak.
“Ah, come now,” his father sputtered when Lucas didn’t respond. “You know how it is. I have needs, Lucas. Your mother and I haven’t had that kind of relationship, hell, since you were born. She knows I have other women. It’s okay with her. I’ve explained that to you man-to-man.” He brushed back his thinning, too-long hair. “So don’t try some self-righteous, holier-than-thou routine with me. I’m not buying it. You did the same thing.”
Lucas wanted to leave, but something his father had said gave him pause. “What do you mean, I did the same thing?”
“You turned to Alana for diversion.”
“Not until after Rachel had left.”
“Yeah, right, son. All those trips. All those hotels. All those exotic locations. I’m not a fool and neither are you. I know you, I know Alana. Figuring out what you were doing together—hell, boy, that sure ain’t rocket science. Or brain surgery. Although—” he chuckled, anticipating his own wit “—it could be called playing doctor, I guess.”
Knowing his father wouldn’t believe him, Lucas tried again, anyway. “I wasn’t with Alana until Rachel was gone. I didn’t cheat on Rachel. Ever.” Lucas had never said that before. He hadn’t realized the explanation, the distinction, wasn’t clear to everyone. And yet, here was more proof of what people had been thinking.
People had assumed the obvious.
Only, it hadn’t been obvious to Lucas, not at the time.
“Like I said, yeah, right.” Arnold’s beady black eyes peered out of his puffy face, sizing up his son. “Well, this time, I didn’t come to Alana until your mother told me to leave. So my story is nearly the same as yours. Just like I said.”
His father had his full attention now. He kept talking, even without encouragement from Lucas.
“Told me to get out, she did. So I left. Of course I came to Alana. She knows how to take care of a man. I’m feeling much better, too. What a difference Alana makes.” He chuckled, again impressed with his wit. “Your mother will come to her senses in a few days and then I’ll go home. But in the meantime—” He grinned slyly, winking at Lucas, Lucas staring back at his father’s face.
It occurred to him then that he had inherited his father’s eyes. That Michaela had inherited those eyes, as well. But Michaela’s eyes, despite her illness, were clear and pure. His father’s were dead and flat. They held no life. Lucas felt the sudden urge to know how his eyes looked—what did they say about the state of his soul? What would he see there? What did others see?
How close am I to becoming my father? The thought was new to him, and did nothing to appease his lurching stomach. Lucas could stand it no longer. He had to get out of there.
He escaped the condo, but not before his churning stomach decided it was going to punish him. He was going to be sick, no doubt about it. He nearly slipped on the stairs in his haste to get back to his car. A hedge of bougainvillea bordering the parking lot had to serve as camouflage for his problem.
He felt a pang of regret for the magnificent lunch he’d eaten with Diego, knowing he wouldn’t want a chimichanga for a while.
Diego. God, has it only been a few hours since we had lunch together? Lucas tried to laugh but found it came out more like a moan. He wondered if Diego would consider this due punishment for the lessons he had to learn, or if he’d just consider it a waste of a good lunch.
Chapter 11
God, what a hellish encounter. How did such a great day go so wrong?
Leaving behind the condo as he drove away, the images Lucas had so recently viewed wouldn’t leave his head. Of course, now he vividly understood that Rachel’s claims regarding his father had not been exaggerated. They’d had the ring of authenticity about them, certainly, when she’d told him. Now he knew. There was no more room for doubt or questioning. He could no longer avoid the truth about his father.
And yes, this is my father, for God’s sake. For better or for worse. Of course I didn’t want to side with Rachel when she tried to tell me what was happening. But how many times did I tell her she was overreacting?
Over and over, he knew.
At least I never called her a liar. It wasn’t much to cling to, to prove to himself that he’d been decent to Rachel on this subject, but it was all Lucas had.
So now he faced the truth about his father, about what kind of man he was. Rachel had called him a lecherous pig. Rick had called him a snake. Even Diego had been highly unflattering in his description of Arnold Neuman, suggesting he was a “bad man.” Lucas tried to raise a defense for his father, but found it impossible.
He had driven automatically, mechanically, and was surprised to find himself at his parents’ estate in Paradise Valley. Or maybe, he considered, maybe it’s just Mother’s place now.
He parked the Lexus and went in search of his mother.
“Hello, Lucas,” she called from the garden where she was trimming roses. Sophie Neuman loved flowers. She’d always contributed to the gardens in a hands-on way, winning the respect of the gardeners not only because she cared but also because she knew what she was talking about. She said the flowers brought a bit of beauty into her life. Lucas thought maybe she had needed that more than he had ever realized.
“I decided I wanted some fresh flowers at dinnertime. Will you be staying?”
“Sure, Mother,” he said, kissing her cheek as manners, and habit, dictated. Truthfully, Lucas felt anything but hungry. “I’ll go in and wash up.”
Sometime later, surprising himself by doing justice to some sort of exotic chicken preparation, Lucas found himself sitting in the sunroom with his mother. Another magnificent Arizona sunset had just finished its act. Sophie had her cappuccino, her preferred after-dinner drink. Lucas had chosen brandy.
“I saw Dad today.” Lucas couldn’t
be sure why he introduced the topic, other than that he couldn’t get it off his mind. And he needed to know if what his father had said was true, if his mother had thrown him out. But etiquette stood in the way—Lucas had no idea how to actually ask his mother such a thing.
“Was he with her?” she asked lightly, her eyes turned toward the water fountain in the garden. At night it was lit up, its spray rippling in iridescent waves. Another of Sophie’s favorite things.
“Who?” Lucas caught the undertone of distaste in her voice, but wasn’t sure what she was asking.
His mother laughed. “Alana.”
“Well, yes, actually, he was…with her.” Lucas was too surprised to lie—and he couldn’t see the point, anyway.
“I figured that’s where he’d go. He’s been looking for a reason to stay with her. The difficulty this time will be when he tries to come home.”
“Don’t you want him to?”
“No, dear, definitely not.” She was calm and cool, as usual, but Lucas could tell she was serious. She inhaled deeply. “Lucas, I want to know my granddaughter. I want to be a grandmother. That will not be possible with your father in the picture.”
“He’s told you this?”
Sophie’s laughter tinkled again. “No, not exactly. But Rachel was right to want to protect her daughter, Lucas. We, your father and I, haven’t treated Rachel very well. It’s not surprising she would assume the same treatment would be directed toward her daughter. It shames me to admit it, but she’s right. Arnold will never behave toward Rachel…in a healthy way. He would never care for the child, other than to use her as a weapon against Rachel.”
“But, Mother, you talked that way, too.” There was no purpose in hiding from the truth at this point, Lucas decided.
“Yes,” Sophie agreed, surprising Lucas, “and I’m not proud of it. I was…supporting your father. Fulfilling my role, you know.” She paused, gazing at her fountain, drawing strength and serenity from it. “Much like Rachel, I have tolerated a lot from Arnold. But, where Rachel created the room to be free of him, I didn’t. I couldn’t. Or so I thought. Having a grandchild has changed things. I’ve missed out on enough because it was what Arnold wanted.”
“Missed out? What do you mean? You have what many women would want.”
“I’ve never had a loving marriage, Lucas. I did my duty. I married and I produced an heir. I haven’t been with your father since then. He disgusts me that way. He’s never been faithful to me.” At Lucas’s raised eyebrows, she laughed lightly.
Lucas was surprised—not that she knew but that she would admit it to him so easily. Apparently, Sophie had also decided it was the time for truth.
She confirmed it again. “Oh, yes, Lucas, I knew. I also made sure there would not be children by any other woman. That’s the only thing I demanded of him. Now I will require his absence. He will not deprive me of my granddaughter.”
Lucas studied his brandy, startled to realize he hadn’t even tasted it yet. He knew it would be exceptionally good—his father wouldn’t stock anything less.
“Lucas, I know what your father is. So do you.” She stood up and walked over to the switch that controlled the lighting on the fountain, flipping it off.
Returning to Lucas, she put a finger beneath his chin, tipping his face up. “You have some thinking to do, Lucas. My greatest happiness has come from you, my son. I wanted you to have everything and be everything you wanted to be. I wanted better for you than I had. You married for love. Rachel was not who I would have chosen for you, but I could see you were happy with her. Happiness is something my marriage never brought me. I was horrified when I realized that your marriage had turned into what I had. I also regret, more than I can tell you, my role in seeing that your marriage fell apart. I know I contributed. I should have stood up to your father. None of what he expected of you with Alana or for the company was really required—or right. None of it. His demands were, quite simply, wrong. I’d never thought about it until I heard Rachel at the hospital. She was right.”
She took a deep breath. “It hurt me the other night, Lucas, when you told me what you think of me. It made me take a long look at myself. I didn’t like what I saw. I’ve done what I was taught I was supposed to do, yes, but I never meant to lose myself when I did it. I’ve only just realized that that’s what happened. But those were decisions I made. I can’t blame them on anyone else. I can only try to do better from now on.”
Her green eyes were soft, misty with tears. “I had no idea that having a grandchild would be so…important to me, Lucas. I’d never really considered how it would make me feel. When I found out about her, at first, I just kept thinking of her…as a possession, I guess. Something we needed to obtain. Then, when I was standing in that hospital, and it was sinking in that she was there, that she was sick, and that I might never see her. Then I knew.” She cleared her throat, her voice suddenly thick. “What does she have, Lucas?”
“Leukemia.”
“Oh,” she answered, “I see. And she is receiving the best treatment, the best care?”
“Without a doubt, Mother. I told you, Rachel has been a good mom to her. That she is a nurse hasn’t hurt. We just have to wait and see. And hope. And pray.” Lucas wondered if his mother did that sort of thing.
“Of course,” she agreed immediately.
She let her hand drop away from his chin, but her eyes never left his face. “I love you, Lucas. I’ve probably not told you that often enough. I was trained not to. But I want you to know it. I want you to love your child the way I love you, and I want you to do better for your child, as a parent, than I did for you. I made mistakes, Lucas, plenty of them. Don’t make the same mistakes I’ve made. I’m happy to see what your daughter means to you—and that you can admit it, act like it. Now what are you going to do about your wife?” She patted him on the head, as only a mother can do, regardless of her child’s age. “Think about it, Lucas.”
She left then, leaving Lucas in the dark.
This is hopeless, Rachel decided, sitting in her office. Alone.
She tossed the deck of cards down on the table, letting them scatter where they fell. She’d been playing solitaire—winning at solitaire, since she preferred to adapt the rules in her favor as she went—for nearly two hours now. She had soft music playing on her little radio, trying to avoid some of the ghastly late-night call-in talk shows. It was 12:15 a.m., she noticed. And she couldn’t sleep.
Insomnia. Her frequent companion, right along with tension, worry, fear and hope. And fatigue. What a bunch they were.
But this time Rachel was also caught in trying to retrain her body to accept nighttime hours as the time for sleeping. She’d worked the night shift for so long that switching to a more normal schedule was not agreeing with her.
And a tendency toward insomnia didn’t help the situation.
Rachel accepted that the insomnia was an outlet for her body, that it allowed her to cope with all the emotions she lived with but wouldn’t show. That skill—the ability to mask what she was feeling—had been valuable when she and Michaela began battling leukemia. Since the diagnosis, Rachel had existed in a suspended emotional state, one that allowed her to always be braced for bad news. As a result, she just…didn’t feel, whenever it was possible. Just the way she’d managed to deal with Lucas. And leaving Lucas.
But the emotions would not always agree to be buried. They protested when she shut her eyes.
How can I be so tired yet so completely unable to sleep?
Lying down on her bed, she tried to relax. After another twenty minutes, Rachel sat up, admitting defeat. Sleep would not be coming anytime soon.
With a sigh she got up. At her bathroom sink, she splashed cold water over her face, patting it dry on the towel. She picked up her toothbrush, trying to decide if she should get dressed just as she would when beginning any other day. Or whether she should get ready for bed a second time, trying to fool her body into sleep.
Unable to make up he
r mind, she brushed her teeth. That could be a first-thing-in-the-morning or a last-thing-at-night activity, so it didn’t commit her either way. Picking up a brush, running it through her hair, she decided to call it a new day. She slipped on a pair of jeans, obviously unprofessional attire, but her favorites nevertheless.
“And I’m not working right now—this is my own time,” she told the darkness, attempting to reassure herself. “I’m supposed to be sleeping, anyway, so if I want to wear my jeans, I will.”
Rachel slipped out of her nightgown, rejecting the notion of wearing a bra and quickly grabbed a white lab coat from her wardrobe. She buttoned it up the front, more demurely than she normally would, given that she wore nothing underneath it this time.
Quickly, she prepared herself a cup of tea. Steaming mug in hand, face scrubbed clean, she stepped toward her office door.
Suddenly she realized that she had decided to go sit with Michaela and also that she was not wearing any makeup. She never entered the outside world without the protective mask it offered. Hesitating momentarily, she spoke aloud. “Dios mio, Rachel, it’s two in the morning. No one will care that you’re not in full makeup.” She drank as much tea as she wanted, then headed down the corridor, toward her daughter’s room.
Standing beside Michaela, watching her sleep, Rachel swallowed a lump in her throat.
“La niñita más linda del mundo,” she whispered, believing it, knowing it was true, despite how ill Michaela looked. And it was awful, seeing her like this. It shook Rachel—no matter how she tried, she couldn’t help it.
Of course, Rachel Neuman, the nurse, had seen many patients at this stage of their treatment. She knew they all looked like this, more or less. Frail, abnormally pale, hairless. Nearly lifeless.
Yes, it was the normal state, but seeing it on her own little girl was something she didn’t care for.
Rachel gave herself a mental shake. Michaela looks normal…normal, Rachel, normal for the circumstances. She emphasized the word to herself, drilled it into her soul.