by Sandy James
I shifted my purse to my other shoulder because it was already too heavy. That change wouldn’t last long because it felt too awkward on the wrong shoulder, but I didn’t want a backache, so I’d be moving it back and forth all day. My fault for bringing two cameras and several spare batteries along in addition to the other junk I tended to haul all over the place, but Eli would regret it if we didn’t take pictures he could show Stephanie. Plus, I’d have pictures—real pictures!—of my son. Maybe we’d even get someone to take one of us together.
I’d dressed in business casual, but Eli still wore that teenage grunge outfit of which he had several incarnations. At least he didn’t sag his pants, but he definitely screamed “skater boy.” I wondered for a moment if he actually skateboarded. I really didn’t know much about him at all.
I fished a camera out of my purse. “Here.” I pointed at the glass doors of the entrance. “Let me take your picture.”
Evidently, he wasn’t camera shy. I snapped a couple of good poses. He then went to the visitors’ desk and grabbed a map. “Look.” He pointed out the display of classic comics. “Let’s start there.”
He flitted from case to case, oohing and aahing over things I’d never seen before. When he stopped and gazed into a case with the awe of someone having a religious experience, I caught up to him.
“First issue of The Amazing Spiderman,” Eli said, a bit breathless.
I could have sworn I had one like that years ago until my son told me it came out in 1963. I was old, but I wasn’t that old. I’d always been a major pack rat. Perhaps whatever comics I’d ever read and kept through the years were stored in boxes somewhere the condo or back at Mom and Daddy’s house. Eli would probably like to plow through them to see if there was anything worth any money or that might interest him.
Mom. Shit. I still hadn’t called her. I hadn’t even bothered to check my silenced cell phone again. Last time I looked, there were twelve missed calls from her and five voicemails. The only reason I didn’t have a dozen messages was because the box had to be full by now. I simply wasn’t ready to talk to her yet and I couldn’t even make myself listen to her voice. I was having too much trouble handling the crippling guilt of my deception, and talking to my mother would probably open a floodgate of emotions I wasn’t ready to address.
Eli’s excitement kept me glued to the graphic novels. I hadn’t realized how many famous graphic novels had been made into movies I liked. I’d seen Watchmen a thousand times. I started running through stories I’d written and even a few I’d planned to see if they could be adapted to graphic novel form. Maybe that would impress Eli.
Now I was getting desperate.
“So you’re really into this?” I stupidly asked as we finally finished walking through the exhibit.
“I have notebooks full of stuff I’ve drawn.”
“You can draw like that?”
The narrowed eyes and thin lips told me the question irritated him as much as when people asked me if I could really write books. Of course I could. So of course he could too.
I tried a different tack as I led the way toward the de Kooning exhibit. “Could I see some of them sometime?”
He shrugged. “They’re back in Pittsville.”
“Pottsville.”
“Same dif.”
He had me there, and I couldn’t help but smile. Then I had an epiphany on how to get him to like me. I could buy his affection. “Wanna stop at an art shop on the way home and get some supplies?”
Eli’s whole demeanor changed. “Really? After what I did, you’d do that for me?”
“Sure.” We were in the best modern art museum in the country. There had to be someplace close that sold art supplies. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to buy his love, but…
I was.
Trying to look at and appreciate twentieth-century art became difficult because my sixteen-year-old had grown as antsy as a three-year-old waiting for the clown to arrive at his birthday party. Since Eli was so seriously excited about going shopping for art supplies, we took a few more pictures, bid MoMA goodbye and went on our quest.
The art store we finally found smelled like paint and turpentine, probably because there was a small studio in the back where four people were evidently taking lessons as they fussed over easels, painting a live model. Thank God, she had her clothes on, because I sure didn’t want to see a teenaged boy’s reaction to a nude female.
Eli led the way to an area that held supplies for people who sketched. After a long visual sweep, he started picking up things left and right. Several pads of paper. Some pens. Some pencils. All of a sudden, he stopped and looked to me. “How much can I spend?”
I wanted to tell him the sky was the limit, but first-class parents needed to set confines. “No more than a hundred.”
“A hundred? Seriously?” A frown darkened his features as he glanced away. Then he took one of the pads and put it back on the display. “Dad always said I wasted too much money on this junk anyway.”
Talking about his father could only be good, but my heart broke at the notion that the man hadn’t encouraged Eli to pursue a talent. My parents had always been so supportive of my writing. If they’d told me I was wasting my time or money, I would have been devastated. All creative people needed encouragement. My son would get all he could handle from me.
I picked the pad back up and dropped it back on his pile. “It’s not junk if it makes you happy. How about a hundred fifty?”
His smile was hundred-watt. As we shopped, he started mentioning little things about Sean Robertson, almost in an absentminded fashion. His dad used to play catch with him when he was little. His dad liked to let him help change the oil on the family minivan. His dad read to him at night when he was a kid. It was only the last year or so that Sean had grown distant, probably because he’d been busy fishing in somebody else’s pond.
The one thing that made me pause and swallow hard was when he said, “I wish I’d had time to say goodbye. Just a minute or so to hug him and tell him I…I…loved him.” The last two words were so quiet, they couldn’t even be called a whisper.
Bargaining. Wasn’t that what Scott said came next? “I’m sure he knows you loved him.”
“I did. I just didn’t like what happened. How much he hurt Mom with what he did to her.”
To both of them. “I understand.”
That’s all he would say about the horrible way his father had died. Another life destroyed by drinking and driving.
What was supposed to come after bargaining? I’d have to ask Scott because I couldn’t remember.
Ninety minutes later, we were back in my condo, both doing what we evidently loved best. After I ground out a couple of thousand words on my laptop, I glanced over my shoulder to watch Eli draw with his new supplies. He looked so much like me, I shivered. He even let his tongue slip to the corner of his lips as he concentrated.
“Whatcha working on?” I asked.
“A surprise.” A short pause. “For you.”
My hand flew to my chest as I got choked up. “For…me?”
“Yeah.” Putting aside the pad, he smiled at me, the first genuine smile I think I’d seen cross his face. “Thanks, Maddie. You know, for all this stuff. For letting me come to New York.”
“You’re welcome.” Damn, but I didn’t want to cry in front of him. “Scott should be here soon.”
“Oh, yeah. You two are going out, right?”
I nodded. “I need to call for some takeout for you. Want pizza? Chinese? Sorry I don’t have much here. I don’t eat home very often.”
A shrug but no answer.
“I can get just about anything you want.”
“I could walk around and find something.”
How was I supposed to tell him I didn’t think it was a good idea for him to wander around alone? That would sound like I didn’t trust him. I wasn’t sure if I did or if I didn’t, and I didn’t like being backed into a corner to have to make that choice. “
Seriously. Everyone gets delivery in New York. It’s a way of life.”
“I won’t bring anyone back again. And I’ve only used pot twice in my whole life. I promised you I’d behave. Remember?” Eli’s voice had taken on a hard edge.
Shit, how would a good parent handle this? I was clueless as to the best next move. Not knowing what to say, I simply sat there until the silence between us grew almost unbearable. Just about to give in, I breathed a relieved sigh when the buzzer saved the day. “That’s got to be Scott.” I ran to hit the button to let him in the building.
“Can I go out?”
I took the chickenshit way out again and passed the buck. “Let’s see what Scott says.” I was stupid enough to open the door without checking the peephole. Thank the Lord, my boyfriend was just coming down the hall.
He brushed a kiss on my lips as he strode in. When he smiled as he gave me a quick visual appraisal, I assumed the outfit I wore to the MoMA was acceptable for dinner. His was wrinkled, but it still looked good on him. “Ready?”
“Just about. We’re trying to decide what to get Eli for dinner.”
“Almost every place delivers,” Scott replied.
I couldn’t help but smile. Scott was supporting me and didn’t even know it. I flashed a grin at my son. “Told you.”
“I wanted to go pick up something on my own,” Eli countered.
Scott considered for a moment then nodded. “You’ll go and come right back? If we call, you’ll be here?”
So much for support.
Eli gave an indignant huff. “I already promised, didn’t I?”
Before I’d figured out why Scott had taken out his wallet, he fished out a couple of twenty-dollar bills and handed them to Eli. “I want change, and this better go for food.”
“And Coke. The soda kind,” Eli said with a smirk. “You’ll get change.”
I laid the spare key on the bar. “No more than half an hour, right?”
My son nodded. “Less than that. Grab the food. Run right home. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.”
Besides trying to let Eli know I’d put the past behind us by trusting him to stay on his own at the condo again, I really wanted to talk to Scott alone. Maybe this was for the best after all.
“Fine,” I finally said as if I’d even had a say in the matter. And on Eli’s promise, I let Scott lead me out the door.
* * *
The steakhouse was crowded, but I’d called ahead for reservations, so the hostess seated us right away. Once we found ourselves alone at a small table, I couldn’t make myself stop staring at Scott. Tonight, he not only looked handsome, he looked too handsome for a plain someone like me.
He’d come to mean so much to me. I trusted him more than I’d trusted any man I’d ever known, and I was pretty sure I was ready to walk out on that shaky limb and ask him if he wanted to move in with me. It might take a few mimosas for false courage, but I was going to force myself to ask Scott the question that permanently changed relationships for better or for worse. The fact I was dying of curiosity to find out what he did for a living only made me more anxious to get him alone.
This could end up being a memorable night.
Scott pored over the menu. I noticed the small beads of sweat on his brow. The guy was nervous.
I wasn’t used to that at all. He’d been alpha male from the day we met at Trixie’s, and to see him timid and shy seemed odd.
What could he have to tell me that would bother me so much he turned into a basket case with worry? I already knew he was a slob. I was aware sports could make him forget I was sitting right next to him. He snored like a drunk and hogged the blanket. Worst thing I could think of was that he wasn’t employed at all and was spending whatever he’d saved for retirement. So what? In this shitty economy, there were lots of good, hard-working people who couldn’t find jobs. Besides, it might make my invitation to share the condo more appealing.
Employed or not, Scott had shown me his true character from the moment we’d met. The way he made sure I got home safely when I’d had too much to drink. The way he’d comforted me when I’d shared the shame of the rape. The way he’d dealt with all the ghosts from my past I’d laid in his path, including a teenage son who seemed wont to find trouble anywhere he went.
Scott Brady was truly my hero.
Once we’d placed our orders, he pushed all the stupid advertisements and votive candles aside and reached for my hand. His palm was sweaty. “So…”
“So…”
He took a long, deep breath. “I know what you think about me, what you think I do for a living. Ever since we met, you decided I was nothing but blue collar.”
I shrugged to show him his income was irrelevant. “Doesn’t matter to me. You told me it was honest work. That’s all that matters.”
His chuckle came as a surprise, and the grip he had on my hand relaxed. “Not sure everyone thinks it’s honest.”
I hated not being in on whatever joke Scott was making, so I tucked that little comment away to ponder later in the evening when he’d revealed whatever deep, dark secret was bothering him. “Look, I write romance novels. Everyone frowns on the genre, calls it smut, except the women who are smart enough to read it. What could you possibly do to make money that would be any worse?”
“Okay. Here goes. Maddie, I know you’ve got some…prejudices, but I might be able to explain some things that will help you get past them.”
“I told you, I don’t care—”
“Will you please let me finish? This is hard enough—”
“It doesn’t have to be hard. I don’t care if you dig ditches or lay cable or repair engines. I don’t care if you’re unemployed.”
His scowl could have frozen an ocean. “I’m not a deadbeat.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“Look, I’ve worked since I was old enough to get a job. I had three siblings to raise, and I made damn sure they had what they needed. I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“And I admire that more than you’ll ever know.”
My words softened his features. “All right. I’m just gonna come out and say it.” Scott took a steadying breath that might have helped him but did nothing but raise my anxiety. “Maddie, I’m a—”
His cell phone rang. Damn, but my timing in life had been nothing but poor since I’d arrived in the world two weeks late—according to my mother, the two longest weeks of her life because I was a nine-pound August baby. He reached for the phone but didn’t pop it off his belt, seeming hesitant to answer.
The thought that it might be Eli and he might need something crossed my mind. “It’s okay,” I said. “We’ve got all night. Go ahead and answer it.”
At least he understood. Just another reason I loved him so much. Or had he seen the call as a reprieve?
“Scott Brady…Elijah Robertson? Yes, I know Eli. I’m here with his—”
At the mention of my son’s name, my heart leaped in my chest, pounding a fast, rough tempo. “It’s Eli?”
A few tense moments passed as Scott’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing. “Absolutely not!” His loud words caused several people to turn our direction and stare. “I’m a defense attorney with Conwell and Sloane, and I represent Eli. He’s invoking his right to counsel, so tell your guys to back off. No more questions. Where are you holding him?”
“Defense attorney? You’re a defense attorney?” My stomach started to roil as my brother Jack’s face swam in my hazy vision, blending with an image of my son, handcuffed and being pushed into the back of a squad car. “Eli was arrested? What the hell’s going on?”
Scott didn’t answer me as he concentrated on the person on the other end of the phone. The whoosh-whoosh of my heart in my ears drowned out the sounds of the restaurant and almost every word coming out of Scott’s mouth. When he said, “I’ll be there as fast as I can,” and ended the call, I faced him with every ounce of anger and pain flowing through me.
“Where’s Eli?”
“At Bridges Detention. He got caught in a drug sweep, but don’t worry. I’ll get him out.”
“You’re a lawyer?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
Son of bitch! No wonder Scott had been hesitant to tell me after we’d been to my parents’ house. He was everything I despised. Shit, but I had to keep swallowing hard not to throw up right there on the rough-hewn table.
How could he not tell me! Especially after my telling him about Jack. “You defend drunk drivers?”
“From time to time.” He motioned to our waiter, who hurried to the table. “Please pack the stuff to go. We’ve gotta leave.”
“Yes, sir.” The twenty-something guy scurried away.
“A lawyer?”
“Yeah, angel. A lawyer.” Scott came around to my side of the table and pulled my chair back. I couldn’t seem to let go of the edges of the thick table. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
“Why?”
“Why what? Why am I a lawyer?”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted him to yell, “April Fool!” I should have picked up my drink and hurled it in his deceitful face. “Why couldn’t you be honest with me? You let me think—after I told you about Jack, you still didn’t tell me! How…how could you?”
“Look, Maddie, I know we need to talk, but right now Eli needs us. There are a hundred things I want to say to you, but he comes first.”
“Damn right he comes first!” Sucking up my anger and fear, I grabbed my purse, threw some bills on the table despite Scott’s frown, and stood up. I had no idea where we were going, and I suddenly feared I had no idea who the man taking me there was. But I had no choice. Eli was in trouble. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Seventeen