Redeeming Rafe

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  Shit. “What? How?” Abby stammered.

  “How did we find out what you’ve been up to? Twang posted it to their website last night and tagged Jackson Beauford’s Twitter account—and this brothers’ accounts—Gabe and Rafe. I follow them all.”

  “Since when are you on Twitter?” And Rafe had a Twitter account? Abby’s head was spinning.

  “Since you started living in Jackson Beauford’s house and working for Rafe Beauford,” Susan said.

  “Let’s not forget that you and our grandson ended up on the cover of a tabloid where it was speculated that Phillip belonged to Jackson Beauford,” Meg said. “We felt the need to stay abreast of what you’re up to. Good thing we did.”

  Abby wanted to rant and rave and accuse them of spying on her, but her common sense reminded her that it wasn’t as if they’d broken into her room and read her diary, or even hacked her email account. They had simply read what was available to everyone via the Internet.

  “Mama! Snow Pony!” Phillip said.

  Abby set him on his feet. “Phillip. Listen. Go see Grandpa.” She pointed to her father, who clapped his hands lightly, leaned forward, and opened his arms. “He really likes you, and he’d like to hear about Snow Pony.”

  “And who is this Snow Pony?” Susan demanded.

  “Snowball. A pony Rafe bought for the children,” Abby said.

  “Phillip is riding a pony? At his age?” Meg exploded.

  “Don’t be a hypocrite, Aunt Meg,” Abby said. “You put Gregory and me on ponies at birthday parties when we weren’t much older than Phillip. And Rafe knows what he’s doing.”

  Meg took Susan’s iPad and studied the screen. “I can certainly see that,” she sneered.

  Why, why, why had she not told them?

  “I don’t understand why Twang would put up that picture. Rafe is only famous in the rodeo world, and I’m of no interest to anyone.”

  “Looks like you’re of some interest to this cowboy,” Abby’s father said. He sounded almost cheerful, but maybe that was because he’d coaxed Phillip into his lap.

  “Hayes,” Susan said. When Abby’s mother called her father by his given name instead of Trip, look out. “Abigail, the article was not about you and this cowboy. It was just an aside included in the item about the baby Jackson and Emory Beauford are expecting. There were also other pictures of people in your party—that other twin and his fiancée, the couple whose wedding you were in, and some others.”

  Meg popped her tortoise shell reading glasses on and zeroed in on the picture again. “‘On hand for the happy announcement at Beauford, Tennessee’s The Café Down On The Corner, were Jackson’s twin brothers. It seems that recently retired and reigning Professional Bull Riders World Champion, Rafe Beauford, is finding some happy of his own.’” Meg removed her glasses. “Abby, I don’t know what to say.”

  “I should have told you,” Abby said. “I shouldn’t have let you find out this way.”

  “Find out what, Abby?” Uncle Nate finally spoke. “I guess that’s what we’re here to find out. Are you deeply involved with this man? Or did the two of you just happen to share a kiss and a photo journalist caught it?” His tone begged her to choose door number two—which would be bad enough—but door number one was unthinkable for them.

  The trouble was, she didn’t have an answer.

  “I … I,” she stammered. “That is, it’s not that cut and dried.”

  “Down!” Phillip demanded.

  Abby’s father patted Phillip’s bottom and set him on the floor. Phillip, losing some of his shyness, looked from grandparent to grandparent. To Abby’s relief, they were distracted, at least for the moment.

  “Phillip, come to Grandma,” Susan said.

  “Sweetheart, come tell me about the pony,” Meg said.

  “Phillip. Come here, buddy.” Uncle Nate held out his keys.

  Meg won, and Phillip toddled to her grinning.

  “Oh!” She lifted him to her lap. “I’ve wanted to hug you for so long.”

  But Phillip was having none of it. She still held the iPad, and he knew that sometimes videos would magically appear on such a device.

  He grabbed for it. “Thomas!” And then he zeroed in on the screen. “Ohhh!” And he pointed to the picture.

  Don’t say it, Phillip, Abby silently begged.

  “Daddy!” Phillip cried—and the world stopped.

  Keys stopped rattling. Doting grandparent cooing ceased.

  Uncle Nate’s mouth fell open. Susan put a hand to her forehead. Trip closed his eyes and shook his head.

  And last, but certainly far from least, Margaret Merewether Laurence Whitman let out a keening noise that was worthy of a hired mourner at a sixteenth century Irish wake.

  “It’s not like it sounds.” Abby rose and lifted Phillip into her arms. He did not need to be here. She looked around desperately. For once, the gods smiled on her, and Sammy passed by the doorway carrying a stepladder. “Sammy,” she called.

  “Hey, Abby.” Sammy surveyed the group. “Good morning.”

  They nodded and muttered. Abby did not feel led to make introductions.

  “Sammy, will you do me a favor?” She handed Phillip to him. “Will you take Phillip to Gwen? She’s in the nursery with the girls.”

  “Abby, no!” Meg said. “Don’t take him from us.”

  Abby sighed. “I’m not taking him from you. I’m sending him from a room where he has no business being.” She motioned to the door. “Go on, Sammy. And thank you.”

  Once they were gone, Susan said, “Our flight leaves tomorrow night. We’d hoped you’d let us take Phillip back to Nashville with us for the night. We’re at the Hermitage.”

  “And you can do that, Mother. I haven’t tried to keep Phillip from you.” That mollified them, if only a small bit. She and Rafe were planning to take the children to the pumpkin patch tomorrow, but Phillip could miss it. Abby was pretty proud of herself for not pointing this out to them. She took her seat again. “About what Phillip said. It’s not like it sounds,” she repeated.

  “Then explain it to us, Abby,” Uncle Nate said. “Explain why our grandson is calling a man who is not his father Daddy. Because we truly don’t understand.”

  “We didn’t teach Phillip to call Rafe that.” Abby thought it best not to utter the word. “But that’s what Bella and Alice call their father, and Phillip picked it up. He thinks that’s Rafe’s name.”

  “That’s a reasonable explanation,” Trip said.

  “They’re babies,” Abby said. “The girls also call me Mama because Phillip does. When they’re older, they’ll understand.”

  “I don’t think much of that,” Susan said.

  And all of a sudden, if Abby had been angry, now she was furious. Who did they think they were to come down here and sit in judgment of her about things they didn’t know anything about?

  “Yeah? It’s not as if any other child is ever going to call me that. Remember?”

  “Abigail,” Susan said. “That was a horrible time for all of us! We grieved over that as much as you did.”

  “I doubt it,” Abby said.

  “Abby,” Uncle Ned said gently. “Please tell us our grandson knows who our son is.” He reached for Meg’s hand.

  “I can’t tell you that, Uncle Ned.” There was some sympathy in her voice and in her heart, despite all. “Phillip is two years old. What would you have me do? Take my baby to Gregory’s grave and show him pictures?”

  Uncle Ned nodded. “I guess I do want that. I want my grandson to know my son.”

  “That’s not going to happen right now,” she said. “When he’s older—”

  “When he’s older,” Meg interrupted. “Unless you come to your senses, Phillip will still be here, instead of with us in Boston where he ought to be, where he can see where his father grew up, go to the same schools, and enjoy the same traditions you and Gregory grew up with.”

  “And where I’ll become wispy and transparent again, and have n
o life?” Where she would be away from Rafe and the girls? Unthinkable.

  “Honey,” Trip said. “That’s not what we want. But we do want you home.”

  “Wispy and transparent?” Meg had begun to cry. Abby was surprised it had taken her this long. “I don’t even know what that means. Is it the opposite of running around with nouveau riche upstarts in bars?”

  “Wait a minute!” Abby jumped to her feet. “These people have supported me and helped me, which is more than I’ve gotten from any of you.”

  “Not fair, Abby,” Trip said. “You could have come home any time. You still can.”

  “Is it so terrible that we want to spend time with you and Phillip?” Susan asked.

  “No. Of course, not. And I have made it clear you could visit us here any time. But have you done that? No. You want everything on your own terms.”

  “In spite of all of this, we want what’s best for you,” Meg said. “You know you’re more than a daughter-in-law to us. You’re like our own. And Phillip is all Nate and I have left of Gregory. Please, Abby. We know this has been hard for you. Anyone would act out under the circumstances. Please come home. We’ll forgive you.”

  Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, that actually came out of Meg Whitman’s mouth.

  Even Susan forgot her policy to never show emotion and let her mouth fly open in surprise.

  “Now, see here, Meg—” Trip began.

  But Abby didn’t let him finish. In that moment, she knew she was no longer wispy or transparent. It wasn’t possible for wispy, transparent people to feel such rage.

  “Act out? Forgive me? For what? I haven’t done anything except move here when Gregory wanted to, and work myself to death to keep a roof over his son’s head. I guess I wasn’t supposed to have the audacity to like it here, to like the friends and the life I made.”

  Meg blotted her eyes with a handkerchief. “Abby, I don’t understand this. You’ve never spoken to anyone this way. I don’t know what Gregory would say.”

  Abby closed her eyes and summoned calm. She took ten deep breaths. She visualized lying on a fluffy cloud. She imagined stuffing her anger and frustration into balloons and watching them float away. But calm did not come. And she was going to have her say.

  Abby opened her eyes and faced them. “What would Gregory say? We don’t know that, do we? We don’t know, because he’s dead. And why is he dead? I’ll tell you. He died because, though he had never done it before, he insisted on going spelunking with an experienced group. He was so, so sure of himself. Did you know he led them to believe he was experienced? Well, he did. And do you know what he did to prepare? Watched YouTube videos. Isn’t that brilliant and responsible? And there I was, pregnant. I begged him not to go, but he did. And he died in that cave, leaving me without a husband and Phillip without a father.”

  The faces that stared at her were not angry or horrified, as she would have expected; they were blank. But that could change. She was just getting started.

  “And if that wasn’t good enough, I was in such a state that I nearly died giving birth, and now I’ll never have another baby. And do I blame that on Gregory? You’re damn skippy I do. I was having a normal, healthy pregnancy until he decided to get himself killed. But I guess that’s just fine with all of you, because what you really want is for me to move back to Boston and live like a nun and worship Gregory’s memory. I won’t do it. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t want to place my son in an environment that will make him think whatever he does is perfectly all right, no matter whose life it ruins.”

  It was when she paused to breathe that Abby felt the presence and realized the air had been sucked out of the universe as only Rafe could do. The eyes that had been on her were now fixed over her shoulder.

  Slowly, Abby turned to see who she knew would be there.

  He wore his riding clothes, including chaps, and he pushed his damp hair off his face with the hand that wasn’t holding his hat.

  She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms and beg him to take her out of the room, away from this situation.

  His blue eyes left her face briefly to dart around the room. No one moved or spoke, though Rafe nodded a tentative greeting. Finally, he cleared his throat.

  “I was about to take the kids out to ride the pony. I heard you in here. I guess this isn’t the best time.”

  “No,” Abby said. “Not the best time.”

  He paused, perhaps waiting for introductions, but she was frozen.

  “I’ll just go then,” Rafe said.

  “I’ll catch up with you soon.”

  He turned to go.

  “Rafe?” Abby said.

  He didn’t speak but turned and raised his eyebrow.

  “Phillip won’t be riding the pony today. He’s going into Nashville to spend the night with his grandparents.”

  “All right.” Rafe nodded and walked out of the room. His riding gloves were stuck in his back pocket and seemed to be waving goodbye.

  Don’t go! Or take me with you. But neither of those things was feasible.

  “He certainly could use a shower and haircut,” Susan said.

  Abby rounded on her mother. “Mother. One more crack like that, and I might say something I regret.” She only hoped Rafe hadn’t heard it.

  “You don’t mean the things you have said,” Susan said.

  Had she? Maybe, maybe not.

  “Thank you for letting us take Phillip,” Meg said. “You can come, too. We could do some shopping, have a nice dinner, and put this behind us.”

  Because, God knows, a new pair of shoes and a filet mignon would fix this mess.

  “No, Meg. I can’t. I have a job. I have little girls to take care of.” She rose. “In fact, I have to get back to them. Gwen is with them, but there’s a party here tonight that she has to get ready for. And of course you can take Phillip, so long as you don’t abscond with him again.”

  Meg closed her eyes. “I knew you weren’t over that. I’ve apologized a dozen times, and you always say you are, but you aren’t.”

  “I may not be, but what I said wasn’t fair. I know you won’t do that.”

  Abby’s father stood up. “There’s been a lot said here today that wasn’t fair, and we’ve all had a part in it. Meg, Nate, Susan, go to the car before this gets any worse. We’ll all talk to Abby again tomorrow. I’ll get our grandson and be there soon.”

  “I’ll pack a few things for him,” Abby said. “And I’ll ask Sammy to get his car seat.”

  “Right.” Trip nodded.

  How was that word for ironic?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rafe washed his face and then went to sit quietly on the sofa in Abby’s room to wait.

  Abby’s room. Somewhere along the way, he’d begun to think of this as their room, but things weren’t right anymore, so it was Abby’s room again. There had been some coming and going across the hall. She must be getting Phillip’s things together to spend the night with his grandparents. And he supposed she’d “catch up with him soon” like she’d said. But all he could do was wait.

  He hated waiting.

  Gabe wouldn’t have waited. He’d have stormed around, all up in everybody’s business until he knew what was going on. In the process, he’d probably say something stupid that would piss everyone off and get himself in all kinds of trouble, but he sure as blue flames in hell wouldn’t be waiting. And Jackson wait? On anything? Ever? There was no way to even consider that as a possibility and keep a straight face. But Jackson wouldn’t be finding out what was going on so much as dictating it, because Jackson thought he could change reality.

  Who the hell knew what Beau would do, but it was something to ponder—while he waited.

  Finally, the door opened, and she slipped in, hair messy, face sad, in that football jersey that was two sizes too big.

  “Hi,” she said sheepishly. He stood as she approached him.

  She looked as though she expected him to embrace her
, but when he didn’t, she sat down heavily on the ottoman in front him and rested her chin in her cupped hands.

  “Hi.” She looked hurt, and he hated himself for disappointing her, but he couldn’t touch her. Not yet. “Sorry about the lack of haircut and shower,” he said.

  “Don’t pay any attention to that. I happen to know you shower on a regular basis, and I love your hair.” Her hand moved a bit, like she wanted to stroke his hair but decided not to.

  “Has Phillip gone with his grandparents?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “He was okay until he realized he was going alone. But he’ll be fine. He’s adaptable.”

  “I guess it was a pretty rough morning.” He settled back onto the sofa.

  “Not to mention quite the surprise. I’m sorry you had to see that. I don’t know how much you heard.”

  “I don’t know that either,” Rafe said, “because I don’t know how much there was.”

  “Sorry I didn’t introduce you.”

  “That’s okay. You hadn’t told them about us, had you?”

  She dropped her eyes and shook her head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “Lots of reasons. What was I going to say? That we were dating? That you were my boyfriend? That’s juvenile sounding. I certainly wasn’t going to say we were sleeping together.”

  “That’s fair.”

  She nodded. “But I guess the main reason was I knew how it would go. And I wasn’t wrong.”

  “So they know now?”

  She nodded. “That Twang reporter and her Twitter-happy finger took care of that. Seems they took a picture us last night at The Café Down On The Corner.”

  “When? What were we doing?”

  She let her eyes drift to the ceiling and shook her head. “I believe it would have been when we were carefully examining each other’s tonsils. Mother follows you on Twitter by the way.”

  “Shit. I forgot I have an account. My agent, Kevin, set it up and looks after it. Or did. I should have gotten it taken down already. Sorry.”

  Abby shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Mother follows Jackson and Gabe, too. The story was also linked there. And it wasn’t like we were doing anything wrong. I told them that, too.”