A Son's Tale

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  She stared at him, completely open to whatever was coming.

  “A mother shows a young man how to love, Morgan.” He spoke so softly she barely heard him. His throat sounded dry. Choked. And she sat still, as if to move would break something that was priceless.

  “My father was the best dad I’ve ever known or seen. His unconditional and selfless love for me, his sacrifice, can never be matched and I owe him my life. But even with all of that, I’m not sure I ever learned how to love.”

  “You obviously love your father.”

  “Of course I do. I’m talking about intimate love. Man-woman type of love.”

  Confused, Morgan chose her words carefully. Was he telling her he was gay? Because he was raised in an all-male world? She’d never believe it.

  “What about Kelsey Barber?” she asked. And there’d been women before her. Morgan had heard the rumors.

  “I don’t lack female companionship,” he told her, and somehow coming from him it didn’t sound like bragging at all. “I enjoy women. I sleep with them—one relationship at a time. But I don’t love them. I choose women who are willing to date monogamously without long-term commitment. Women who value their independence and freedom more than they value me.”

  “That sounds horrible.”

  “Up until recently, I thought it sounded perfect.”

  “And now?”

  He looked away and she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. She didn’t blame him. They’d somehow gone from her parenting skills to a place they shouldn’t be. She wasn’t even sure how they got there.

  “Looking back, I realize there was always something missing in my relationships.”

  “What brought about the change?”

  “I have no idea,” he said, gazing back at her. That lost look in his eyes reminded her of Sammie, when he was trying so hard to understand why he couldn’t have his way. “I just know that the other night, with Kelsey…” He shook his head. “Anyway, I broke things off with her.”

  Morgan’s heart started to pound.

  “You broke up with her and you don’t even know why?”

  He shrugged. “Sounds crazy, huh? But yeah, that’s about how it went.”

  “I’ll bet she had something to say about that.” Morgan felt a little bit like smiling, but she felt sorry for the woman, too.

  “Not really.” Cal slid down until his neck rested against the back of her couch, his feet out in front of him, his hands on his stomach. “She told me I could stay or go and then went for her nightly swim.”

  She had to ask. “What did you do?”

  “I left.”

  “You want a glass of wine?” She had a sudden need for one.

  “You plan to join me?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Then thank you. I’ll have one glass of wine before I head home to bed.”

  Bed.

  The word held the world right then. Promise and danger. Hope and fear. And something delicious that was as forbidden as it was compelling.

  * * *

  CAL FOLLOWED HER OUT to the kitchen. As much time as they’d spent together in her home that dreadful night Sammie had disappeared, they’d never been in the kitchen together. He filled the place and then some.

  And she felt next to naked in her old sweat shorts and tank top. She wasn’t even wearing a bra.

  “Let me get that,” he said, reaching for the bottle of pinot grigio that she’d pulled out of the refrigerator. Her father would turn his back as soon as he saw the exclusive wine come from a refrigerator rack instead of a properly chilled wine cooler.

  “It was a Christmas gift from my mother. Part of my father’s private stock.”

  Cal opened the bottle. She got glasses down. He poured. And she wondered if he was regretting the intimacy of their recent conversation.

  Self-conscious, she pulled the elastic out of her hair, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders.

  He held up his glass. “To good friends.”

  “To good friends.” The glasses clinked. She sipped. And resisted the urge to sip again. Rapidly.

  “And good wine,” he said, with a questioning tilt of his head.

  “When I was growing up we always had a glass of wine at dinner.”

  “When you were growing up?”

  “Yeah. I switched from milk to wine on my thirteenth birthday. Which sounds terrible, I guess.” She leaned back against the counter, facing him, the arm holding her wineglass propped up on the arm around her stomach. “But I’m not so sure it was. My father taught me to appreciate and respect fine wine. Alcohol was never a mystery to me. I think partially because of that, I never went out drinking with friends. Even in my most rebellious high school days. I never saw the thrill, or the benefit that was worth the risk of getting caught and being in trouble.”

  “Speaking from experience, there was no benefit worth the trouble. Or thrill that was worth the hangover.” Cal leaned against the counter opposite her in the galley-style kitchen, one ankle crossed over the other. She was sink side, he was stove side. And he was grinning.

  “You indulged, huh?”

  “A time or two.”

  “Any serious repercussions?”

  “Got suspended from school once. No DUIs or court appearances. Truthfully, the worst consequence, as far as I was concerned, was the disappointment in my father’s eyes.”

  Morgan had had the hots for this man for four years. The more she got to know him, the worse it got, because the more she knew about him, the more there was to like.

  But she didn’t date.

  They were only a couple of years apart in age.

  But he was her college professor.

  “I love hearing about you and your dad,” she said, opening up to him in spite of herself. “Frank is so completely different from my father.”

  “My dad has always had a way with kids,” Cal told her. “He relates to them, understands them.”

  “He genuinely likes them.”

  “He should have had a houseful of them.” His voice took on a hint of bitterness that wasn’t usual for him.

  “Why didn’t he ever remarry after your mother died?”

  Cal shrugged. Took a sip of wine and stared into his glass. “It’s not something we ever talk about, but I suspect that he never found a woman who could fill the void she left.”

  Morgan wasn’t sure he was being completely honest with her. A first with him.

  She sipped. And put his reticence down to too much intimate conversation for one night. Cal had a right to preserve his father’s privacy.

  “I think we need to talk,” he said, and when she glanced up, he was studying her intently.

  Gulping, Morgan felt like a schoolkid all of a sudden. One who’d been called to the principal’s office.

  “Okay.” The way he was looking at her, all personal and close, she knew that they were about to address the conversation they’d had in the living room. Bracing herself, she waited for him to say what was on his mind.

  Backtracking would be fine. A bit of a letdown, but probably for the best.

  “I’m finding myself drawn to you.”

  She waited to find out where he was going.

  “I don’t think I’m alone here.”

  Morgan wanted a sip of her wine in the worst way. And was afraid to move.

  “Am I?” It was the hint of insecurity that got to her. Caleb Whittier was the most se
lf-possessed man she’d ever met.

  “N—” She coughed. Took a sip of wine, looked him in the eye, and tried again. “No.”

  He drank. Nodded. His gaze was focused exclusively on her. And intense. “You want to help me out here?”

  “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

  “So take it where you want to go with it.”

  The conversation? Or the friendship?

  “You’re my professor. I’m your student.”

  “Not here, I’m not. And you’re not. We’re in your home, Morgan. Two consenting adults. Equals. Tell me what you want from me.”

  Liquid heat spread through her skin and up to her face. She couldn’t believe she was blushing. “I can’t do that.” She absolutely could not tell the man he was the sole star of every single one of her fantasies. Let’s see, how would that go? Well, last night, in my dreams… Or how about, Last week, in class, when you were…I was…

  “Why not? Because of class? It’s over in a couple of weeks.”

  She was in way over her head. “By your own admission, you’ve had a lot of…female companions… .”

  “Lovers, you mean.”

  “Yes. Right. Okay.”

  “I’ve had my share.”

  And then some, she was sure. Cal was thirty-two and every woman’s dream man. At least every woman at Wallace University that she’d ever heard speak about him.

  “I haven’t,” she blurted. “I mean, I’ve probably had my share, but I’ve only slept with two men in my life. My husband and the one man from Daddy’s company that I dated shortly after Sammie was born.”

  He smiled. “I’m not sorry to hear that.”

  “Well, since you’ve got more experience, and since you started this conversation, you should say what’s on your mind.”

  There was a glint in his eye as he peered over at her. Her private parts responded.

  “I believe we are about to become more than friends.”

  Oh, God. She started to shake, little tremors that rushed through the blood in her veins. Her fantasies were coming to life and she had no idea what to do.

  “Do you disagree?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ve never wanted a woman like I want you.”

  All her fantasies, dreams, faded, far surpassed by real life careening out of control.

  “Do you want me, too?”

  Trying desperately to get a grip, to hold on to her self-control, Morgan nodded.

  Cal frowned. “You sure about that?” He leaned back against the counter again. Took another sip of wine. “You don’t have to pretend something you don’t feel just because I’m your teacher, Morgan. Surely you know that I would never, ever let personal life interfere with a grade. Either way.”

  “Of course I know that.” Thank God, she could talk again. “And I’d never, ever pretend to feel something for anyone,” she added. And then, even as she cringed at what she was saying, she didn’t stop. “I am absolutely certain that I’m attracted to you, Caleb Whittier. I’ve got four years’ worth of fantasies to back me up on that fact.”

  His grin was instant. And huge. He took the couple of steps between the counters, stopping with half an inch between their bodies. “Four years?”

  “Yes.” She’d put it right out there. No point in acting like she hadn’t.

  “What kind of fantasies?”

  “Uh-uh. You have to do some time before you get to share my fantasies,” she told him, smiling in spite of the fire raging through her. In spite of the confusion.

  “I’ve got time.”

  “Good, because I have to wait until I finish your class before I can go any further here.”

  “Agreed.”

  And I don’t date, she wanted to add. But it was too late. And Leslie had told her that if she ever had the opportunity to, she didn’t have to say no for Sammie’s sake.

  But then Leslie hadn’t heard about Morgan’s other two disastrous attempts at having a relationship with a man.

  Judge Marks had.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  MORGAN FELT AS THOUGH she’d been made love to. She hadn’t been touched. Not even a brief kiss good-night, or a friendly hug.

  And yet she was in a committed relationship as surely as if she was wearing a ring.

  Just one that hadn’t started yet. Or wasn’t physical yet. Or…something.

  “Why are you smiling?” Sammie asked as she drove him to school Wednesday morning.

  “Because the sun is shining and I’m glad you’re here with me and we’re healthy and—”

  “Last night when you took me to see Leslie after you picked me up from Frank’s, I told her that the judge hadn’t decided yet where I’m going to live.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing. She doesn’t usually say nothing about anything.”

  “Anything,” she corrected automatically. Then had a momentary pang of regret, thinking she should apologize, and then decided to let the correction stand.

  “‘Anything.’ And I told her that I wanted to live with you, Mom.”

  Putting the car carefully into Park as she pulled up in front of Sammie’s school, Morgan turned toward her son. “You did?”

  He nodded. “I just wanted you to know.”

  Tears would upset him. She knew that. So Morgan smiled, kissed her son goodbye, told him she loved him as best she could with a lump in her throat and then let the tears well as she watched him trudge into the building.

  With a heart filled to capacity she drove to the university and, getting there fifteen minutes early, sat in her car, picked up her phone and called her mother.

  “Morgan? Good morning, dear. I’m so sorry I missed your call last night. I tried to call you all afternoon and you never picked up.”

  She concentrated on her fellow students walking across the campus, on their way to wherever they were headed. “I needed time to think.”

  “I understand, sweetie. You have no idea how horrible I felt all day. I didn’t sleep at all last night. I love you, baby. You know that.”

  “I know, Mom.” She wasn’t surprised that Grace regretted her actions the day before. Her mother was firmly under George’s control. She loved the man. Morgan didn’t understand it, but she accepted it.

  “I didn’t see that you’d called until this morning. My phone had gone dead after trying you all afternoon… .”

  And talking to George, too, Morgan was sure. Her father would have kept in particularly close contact with his wife yesterday afternoon. He’d have known Grace’s state of mind and would make sure that she stayed solidly certain that she’d done the right thing.

  “I forgot last night was theater night.”

  “Oh, we didn’t go to the theater, honey. Your father gave those tickets away. Neither one of us felt like socializing. We just stayed here at home. Had a quiet dinner. And talked.”

  Dare she hope? “What did you talk about?”

  “How our lives were going to change when Sammie came to live with us. Redoing his room. Where he’s going to go to school. Your father called the Hayward Academy this morning and was lucky enough to get a spot, even at this late notice.”

  Hayward Academy. A very elite school for boys. Where they wore uniforms. One that was academically focused and had only intramural sports teams.

  Sammie told Leslie he wanted to live with Morgan. Cal supported her. Julie supported her. “I wanted to speak with
you about that, Mom.”

  “Oh, yes, dear, I’m sorry. We should have talked to you, as well. We’ll have to work on that. To be sure and include you in all of the decisions regarding Sammie’s life… .”

  “No, Mom, I want to talk to you about the whole custody suit.”

  “Okay.” Her mother sounded hopeful. And, strangely enough, that strengthened Morgan’s resolve.

  “I want you to talk to Daddy about the possibility of a compromise,” she said, both hands on her steering wheel. “I’d talk to him myself, but I make him angry and then he doesn’t hear what I have to say.”

  “What kind of compromise, Morgan?” Doubt entered her mother’s voice.

  “I’ll agree to change some things, agree to twenty-four-hour security, extended visits with you all, to include you in any major decisions I make to get your opinion in case I miss something, and in exchange, Daddy drops his case.”

  Silence hung on the line.

  “Sammie is my son, Mom. He belongs with me.” She stopped short of telling her mother that Sammie wanted her, that her son had officially chosen her. She wouldn’t put Sammie in that position with his grandparents.

  “I’ll talk to your father, Morgan, but I can tell you right now, you’re only making things more difficult on yourself. You’re just proving your father’s point. You can’t see what’s best for Sammie.”

  Shored up by the two men in her life, and by her own heart, Morgan said, “I believe I do see, Mom.”

  Maybe she didn’t always see others clearly, but she knew her own heart and she knew that no one would look out for Sammie more fervently than she would. Yes, she’d made some bad choices when she was younger. Yes, she’d been a little over-the-top where bucking her father was concerned.

  She’d matured. She had her eyes wide open.

  Morgan was smiling again by the time she walked up the stairs to Cal’s class.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CAL STAYED BUSY that next week. He had papers coming in from both of his classes and while he had a month to get his grades in, he wanted his calendar clear the second the semester ended. The days until then—and until Morgan’s next hearing—loomed interminably. And yet, he couldn’t remember a time he’d caught himself whistling so much.