“What do you want?” he shot back, dreading her answer even though he had to hear it.
She turned back to face the table and folded her hands, as though praying. “I keep thinking about how his son is dying,” she said, her voice muted but steady.
“His daughter would have been dead if you’d done what he’d told you to do all those years ago.” The words sounded brutal, but he didn’t care. “If you’d done what Foster asked back then, Claudia would never even have existed.”
“Here’s the thing, Bobby.” Her voice remained calm, her eyes dry, but she clasped her hands tighter, turning her knuckles white. “Imagine if it was Claudia who was sick today. Imagine the only thing that could save her was a bone marrow transplant from a sibling.”
“She’s got two brothers.”
“Imagine they weren’t a match.” She seemed to be addressing a molecule of air directly in front of her. “Imagine her life was at stake. If there was the slightest chance that Drew might have gone on to have other children who would be her half brothers or half sisters…You know as well as I do that we’d be hiring a detective to find him. If the shoe was on the other foot, we’d do exactly what he did.”
Bobby opened his mouth and then shut it. Joelle was right. He hated her for being right, but he couldn’t argue. If Claudia was dying, Bobby would try anything, go anywhere, destroy any family if that was what it took to cure her.
“What happened then happened then,” Joelle said. “Now we’ve got to deal with today. A young man is dying, and there’s a chance Claudia can save his life.”
Joelle’s words and all they implied enraged him. He wanted to hit things, break things. He wanted to confront the doctors treating Drew’s son and tell them to come up with some other treatment so he wouldn’t have the burden of that boy’s life pressing on his back.
He wanted to preserve his family. He wanted to protect his daughter. He wanted to keep on living the lie. It had been a good lie. It had worked for all these years.
He gazed down at Joelle. Seated, she should have looked small. But her spine was straight, her eyes clear, her chin raised. A piece of his soul shriveled inside him as he considered his choice.
If he said no, he’d lose her. If he said yes, he’d lose everything his life had been about up to this minute.
Closing his eyes, he saw red.
CLAUDIA LIVED SOUTH OF Gray Hill in Fairfield County. Her husband was an attorney—he made too much money to be a mere lawyer—and Claudia had been a well-paid marketing consultant until she gave birth to Jeremy four years ago. She’d contemplated returning to work when Jeremy was six months old, but she’d been so reluctant that Gary had urged her to be a full-time mother for a few years. They could live well on his income alone. And two years later, Kristin was born.
So Claudia was still a full-time mother, though she often told Joelle she intended to return to paying work someday. “Women who work outside the home can be terrific mothers,” she often said. “Look at you. You’re a teacher, and you were a terrific mother.”
After tonight, Joelle thought, Claudia would hardly think Joelle was terrific. This was probably a huge mistake. She should tell Bobby to turn the truck around and drive home. She should forget that Drew Foster’s shadow had ever darkened her front porch.
It was too late to turn around. Seated beside her in the driver’s seat of his truck, Bobby appeared grim and determined as he steered south toward Claudia’s house. Joelle had done too good a job of convincing him that this was the correct thing to do, that Drew’s son didn’t deserve to die just because Drew and Joelle had been young and stupid.
“Claudia has a right to know the truth,” she said, wishing she could convince herself the way she’d convinced Bobby. “We probably should have told her years ago.”
“Told her what?” He stared through the windshield at the headlight beams illuminating the road. “That I’m not her father?”
“Stop saying that, Bobby. You are her father. Even Drew understands that.”
“If Drew understands it, then I guess it must be true.”
His sarcasm implied just how bitter he was. She hadn’t meant to cause him pain—not now, not ever. But she didn’t see how continuing the lies would help, especially when a young man’s life hung in the balance.
Claudia should have learned about her genetic heritage years ago, for her own benefit. Better for her to find out from her parents than from some doctor should a crisis arise, like the one Drew’s son was facing.
But Joelle and Bobby had never told her. The secret had simply gotten buried by daily life. One year had rolled into the next until the truth had grown invisible, just one blade of grass in a thick green lawn.
“She’ll never stop loving you,” Joelle reassured Bobby. “You’re her daddy. She’s named after your mother, for God’s sake.”
He glanced at her. His hair was too long, but she liked it that way, a remnant of his rebellious youth. Strands of silver had infiltrated the dark waves and the outdoor work he did had weathered his face. Unlike Drew, Bobby hadn’t gone soft at all. His body was still sinewy, his jaw defiant. He’d started using reading glasses a few years ago, but even when he was wearing them, he looked tough and brimming with energy, ready to take on the world.
“Are you going to explain everything?” he asked. “Or should I?”
“I will.”
“What if she kicks us out of her house?”
Joelle didn’t want to consider that possibility. “I’ll tell her it’s all my fault. Let her blame me, Bobby.”
“I don’t want her blaming you,” he muttered. “You’re her real mother.”
And I’m not her real father. The words lingered unspoken in the snug cab of the truck.
Joelle had already told him countless times that he was Claudia’s father. She wasn’t going to say it again. She felt sick, her stomach clenching, her head thumping. Turn around, she thought, but she couldn’t force out the words.
Just as Drew’s son deserved a chance to live, Claudia deserved her parents’ honesty.
Bobby pulled into Claudia’s driveway, which led to a spacious colonial in a ritzy subdivision. The porch lights had been left on for them. Joelle wondered if this would be the last time Claudia ever welcomed them into her home. Even braced for the worst, she wondered if she’d survive her daughter’s reaction.
Gary opened the door for them. A tall, affable man, he greeted them with a warm smile. “You’re lucky you caught us home tonight,” he said as he ushered them into the house. “Saturday night we’re usually out carousing.”
“Ha!” Claudia commented from the kitchen. “We can barely keep our eyes open after 9:00 p.m. The kids wear us out.” She waltzed down the hall and hugged Joelle. Claudia resembled Joelle—the same slender build, the blond hair, thee legantly hollow cheeks—except that she had brown eyes. She’d always claimed she had her father’s eyes, but now, as Joelle peered into them, she saw Drew as much as Bobby in those mocha-brown irises.
“I’ve got to admit, we were surprised you asked to stop by so late,” Gary said. “Usually you don’t even want to see us. You just come to play with the kids.”
“That’s not true,” Joelle said, her tone more defensive than she’d intended. She knew Gary was joking. He and Claudia always kidded that their sole value to Bobby and Joelle was as the people who’d supplied them grandchildren.
Tonight, though, Joelle had told Claudia they would be stopping by after Jeremy and Kristin were in bed. This was not a visit for which the children should be awake. Lowering her tone, she said, “I’m sorry we’re keeping you awake past your bedtime.”
“Not a problem,” Claudia insisted, wrapping Bobby in a hug. Claudia’s hair was cut in a chic, angular style and her outfit, a wrinkly cotton shirt of turquoise, with slacks the same vivid fabric, probably cost more than Joelle’s entire summer ward-robe. “Dad, you look terrible. Are you feeling okay?”
“It’s been a rough day,” he said cryptically.
“Why don’t we sit down,” Joelle suggested, gesturing toward the living room. “We have to talk, Claudia.”
Claudia eyed Gary. “I don’t like the sound of this,” she said through a tight smile.
“Hey, it’s Saturday night. No bad news allowed.” Gary grinned at Joelle and Bobby. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Bobby answered for both of them. “No, thanks.” He sat in the wingback chair in Claudia’s impeccably decorated living room.
Gary took the other wingback chair and Joelle settled on the couch with Claudia. She wanted to be close to her daughter. In fact, she wanted to gather Claudia up, hold her on her lap and hug her, the way she had when Claudia had been a little girl. She wanted to cling to her baby and assure her that nothing bad would ever happen to her. Her own mistakes had brought so much pain to Bobby, and now they would bring pain to Claudia, too—and this wasn’t a pain she could kiss away, like the scrapes and bruises Claudia had suffered as a child.
Just get it over with, she ordered herself, then added a stern mental reminder that Claudia deserved the truth. “We had a visitor today,” she said. “Someone Dad and I went to high school with. In fact, he was my boyfriend senior year.”
“I thought Dad was your boyfriend,” Claudia said.
“I adored Dad. He was my best friend.” She felt Bobby’s gaze on her, cool and condemning. Swallowing, she pressed on. “This old classmate of ours is married now, and he has a son. His son is sick with a kind of leukemia. He has to receive a bone marrow transplant.”
Claudia’s smile faded. She glanced away—at Bobby or Gary, Joelle didn’t know—and then turned back to her mother. Her eyes were filled with questions. “How tragic.”
“Yes. It’s tragic. Claudia…that man, that old boyfriend…” Joelle drew in a deep breath. She tasted the salt of tears at the back of her throat and swallowed. “He believes you might be a match for his son as a donor.”
Claudia’s mouth tensed. Her eyes hardened. She didn’t need Joelle to spell it out. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.
“We probably should have told you years ago, but…There never seemed to be any need. We’re your parents, you’re our daughter and nothing else mattered. So we just never said anything. But now, with his son so sick—he begged us to discuss this with you.”
Claudia spun away, seeking her husband. Gary started to rise, but before he was standing, Claudia had twisted back to her mother. “Who is this man?” she demanded. “Who is this old boyfriend of yours?”
“He was someone from our hometown, Claudia. A classmate of ours.”
“What’s his name?” Claudia’s voice was as cold as stone.
“Drew Foster.”
Claudia mouthed his name, as if testing the syllables. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe…” She glanced at Bobby. “You knew about this?”
From the corner of her eyes, Joelle saw him nod.
“But you never—you always—” Again Claudia shook her head. Her eyes glinted with moisture. “How could you?” she asked, directing her question into the air rather than toward Joelle or Bobby. “How could you keep this from me? How could you let me think…” Her voice trailed off.
“Think what, Claudia?” Joelle asked.
Gazing desperately at her, Claudia gestured toward Bobby. “Think he’s my father.”
Joelle felt her heart crack in two. She couldn’t bear to look at Bobby, to witness how badly Claudia’s words wounded him. “He is your father. He’s the only father you have.”
“But this other man—this Drew Foster—”
“Asked me to get an abortion. I wanted you so much, Claudia. I couldn’t do that. And your dad—” she dared to peek at Bobby, whose face was frozen except for his dark, turbulent eyes “—wanted you, too, every bit as much as I did. So we raised you, and we loved you and we still love you, more than you can imagine.”
“But you never told me this.” Claudia’s anguish carried an undertone of hysteria. “You never told me some other man was my father. My God. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
The sobs in Joelle’s throat threatened to choke her. She wouldn’t let herself cry, though. Not in front of Claudia and Gary, not in front of Bobby. Yes, she’d made mistakes in her life. But she would never believe that giving birth to Claudia had been a mistake. Not even now, when she felt as if the pain in her heart would kill her.
Abruptly Claudia stood and stalked out of the living room. In the stillness she left behind, Joelle could hear the tread of her footsteps as she climbed the stairs, followed by the click of a door closing.
Gary shoved to his feet and glowered at them. “You can show yourselves out,” he said as he stalked out of the living room. In less than a minute Joelle heard that upstairs door open and shut again, sounding miles away.
IN THE SUMMER, BOBBY slept nude. If Joelle’s body were as sleek and youthful as his, she might sleep nude, too, but she was too self-conscious about the droop of her breasts, the way the skin of her abdomen sagged between the points of her hip bones, the damage left by fifty-six years of living. So she slept in an oversize T-shirt. Her sons had outgrown so many T-shirts over the years that she had several wardrobes’ worth of castoffs from them.
Tonight she was wearing a striped cotton shirt Mike had worn constantly throughout high school, until in one of those odd adolescent spurts he’d awakened one morning to discover that he’d grown two inches and his shoulders were straining the shirt’s seams. The cotton fabric felt soft against her skin, but she couldn’t find a comfortable position between the sheets. When Bobby finished washing and joined her, he eased himself onto the bed, making sure not to touch her.
Usually he stretched out on his side facing her and slung one arm around her. Their bed was their refuge, their haven. In bed they were united. Husband and wife. No disagreements, no resentments, no bullshit. Just the two of them, JoJo and Bobby D, unbreakable.
Tonight he kept his distance.
She lay in the darkness until his silence began to feel like an actual presence, a stranger in their bed. Damn it, she wouldn’t allow Drew to tear her and Bobby apart. No matter what had happened today, no matter how Claudia dealt with what Joelle had told her, she was not going to sacrifice her marriage.
She breached the chasm between her and Bobby—only a couple of inches, yet wide enough to contain the ugly truth they had carefully avoided until today—and stroked her hand down his chest. His skin was warm, the hair on his chest springy. When he didn’t move, she shifted closer to him, snuggled up to him, skimmed her lips against the underside of his jaw.
He lay as still as a stone.
Sitting, she yanked off the T-shirt. She needed Bobby tonight. She needed him to know how much she loved him. She needed proof that they could survive this as they’d survived so much else in their lives.
She grazed his chin again, caressed the length of his torso, raised herself to kiss his cheek. He seemed to struggle against her invitation, against his own reflexes, but he was able to resist her only so long. When her hand slid downward to stroke him, she found him fully aroused.
With a curse, he pushed her fingers away—then cupped his hand around her head and pulled her down to him. His kisses were hard and angry, his tongue subduing her, his hand fisting in her hair so tightly she could feel his knuckles against her scalp. There was nothing tender or seductive in his kiss, in the way his free hand clamped onto her hip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. After a moment, he tore his mouth from hers. Breathing heavily, he swore again.
“Bobby,” she murmured. They’d gotten through bad times in the past by reaching for each other, using their bodies to communicate when they had no words. She knew that when Bobby was uneasy or afraid, he withdrew—and when he withdrew, she could bring him back this way, through touch, through sex. He wasn’t much for talking. He was a physical man. He could close himself off, but she knew how to open him up again.
She b
rushed her fingertips against his lips, as if she could wipe away his coarse language and the emotion behind it. He jerked his head, recoiling from her gentle touch, then reared up and pushed her onto her back against the mattress. Her vision had adjusted to the darkness and she could make out the rage and sorrow in his eyes, the resentment tightening his jaw. He ran his hands down her body, his motions rough, his chest pumping as though breathing was a struggle.
Everything about him seemed to be struggling. She arched her arms around his shoulders and urged him onto her. It’s all right, she wanted to tell him. I need this. We both need this. Not seduction, not tenderness—just connection. Just the knowledge that they were still together, that not even the truth could tear them apart.
He took her, his thrusts fierce and fast. When he came, his groan was tremulous, almost like a sob. She circled him with her arms, holding him on top of her, refusing to let him withdraw as her body pulsed around him. Had this been love or rage? Desperation? Fear?
He let out a long breath and with it another curse. It’s all right, she assured herself, even though the past few minutes had failed to convince her anything was all right.
After a minute, he rolled away from her and flung an arm across his eyes, as if he didn’t want to risk glimpsing her. “Sorry,” he muttered.
She cupped his jaw. He recoiled from her touch, and she let her hand fall. “If anyone should apologize, it’s me,” she said. She’d started this, after all. She’d started the whole thing by telling Claudia about her parentage. She’d started it by allowing Drew Foster to enter her home. She’d started it thirty-seven years ago by foolishly believing she was in love with Drew.
Bobby’s breathing was still ragged, his skin steamy, the sheet bunched around his hips. Despite the dark, she could see the sharp outline of his nose, the angle of his chin.
Hope Street: Hope StreetThe Marriage Bed Page 26