by Wayne Jordan
Tomorrow was Monday, another day, another possibility. Her attitude tonight was only a minor setback.
Nothing would stop him from accomplishing his goal.
Nothing.
Chapter 9
Morning came with its startling, tropical beauty. Outside, the pale gray of the early dawn morphed into bright orange and red before settling into the brilliant blue of daytime.
Rachel stumbled up the driveway and stopped when she reached the steps of the verandah.
Her breath came in ragged, labored sounds. The niggling of pain in her side had worsened. Her attempt to take a short walk had seemed a good idea, but she had pushed herself too much.
Last night she had been unable to sleep. She’d tossed and turned and tossed some more until finally slipping into a restless sleep. She had awakened just before five o’clock, deciding to venture outdoors for a short, brisk walk. She missed her daily morning run, but since the doctor had recommended only light exercises, a short walk seemed reasonable.
A week had passed since she’d last spoken to George, yet she could not forget the fact that she’d been so mean to him. She’d been challenged by a desire to do the right thing.
On her walk, she’d decided that she’d tell George about their son. She only hoped that the inevitable anger would be replaced by joy to know him.
Rachel took the key from her pocket and unlocked the door. The sound of the television greeted her. Gregory was already up. From the direction of the kitchen, the piquant aroma of freshly brewed coffee titillated her nostrils.
She headed to her room. She’d take her bath and then come back for breakfast. She was hungry and her mother’s promise of fluffy bakes and codfish cakes had tickled her taste buds. She had been requesting the local breakfast delicacies since her return to the island.
Five minutes later, feeling totally refreshed, she entered the kitchen, clad in a tube top and shorts. She could get accustomed to this life of leisure, but in a week, said the doctor, she should be able to return to work, if she promised to take it easy. This morning she had already broken her promise.
A part of her missed the energy of the prosecutor’s office, but catching up on her pile of novels and watching some of her favorite movies on AMC was enough to send her searching for a rich man to take care of her.
When she entered the kitchen, Gregory was already there, his plate stacked with his codfish cakes and bakes.
“Good morning,” she greeted Grace cheerfully then turned to her son. “Gregory, you’re not going to eat all those pancakes, are you? You’re going to have a stomachache if you eat so many.”
“Grandma says I can leave two of them to eat later when I’m hungry. She said that my stomach must have a maw worm.”
“If you’re not careful you’ll blow up to the size of a whale,” she replied, stretching her hands wide apart to show him the size.
He giggled.
“Let the boy eat what he wants,” Grace said, chuckling. “He’s a growing boy. He’ll burn that off in a couple of hours. You sit and let me fill your plate. You know you’re no better when it comes to pancakes. He’s just like you in that respect. When you were young, you ate like a horse too. I kept wondering if you would even slow down.”
“Yeah, that’s why I was so chubby when I entered high school. Luckily, I realized that I had to moderate things and get some exercise.”
“How was your walk? I would have loved to come, but I really can’t get up at that godforsaken hour. I need my beauty sleep—unless there are some eligible aging bachelors walking too.”
“Mom, behave yourself!”
“I assure you I am, but that doesn’t mean that blood isn’t still flowing through my veins. I may be getting old but I’m not dead.”
“Mom!” Rachel admonished again, glancing in Gregory’s direction.
“He’s a big boy. I am sure he knows more about the facts of life than you think.”
Gregory was grinning from ear to ear.
Oh my God, she thought. Her son was growing up right before her and she didn’t even realize it. How on Earth was she going to explain the facts of life and his raging hormones to him? His father would be able to tell him all he needed to know.
“Okay, I understand, Mom,” Rachel said, continuing to stare at her son curiously.
Like his father, he was not going to be too tall, but already his body was developing the same kind of physique.
“Anything planned for the day, Gregory?”
“Not really, Mom. Can Jonathan hang out here today and play video games? We have a project we have to work on too.”
“That’s fine. As long as your grandmother says it’s okay, I’ll call Marjorie.”
“It’s fine with me,” Grace consented. “I won’t be here for most of the morning, but I’ll bring in pizza for the boys and Chinese for us from this wonderful new restaurant that opened last week. Marjorie told me the food is divine.”
“That settles it. I’ll call Marjorie as soon as I finish breakfast,” Rachel replied.
Rachel picked up two of the pancakes from the platter. Today was going to be a good day. She planned on spending the day reading and watching television.
Later tonight she would decide how and when she would tell George about his son.
* * *
George cleared his desk and placed the files he wanted to work on that night in his briefcase. Although it was Saturday, he’d come into the office to work on the final preparations for a trial that would be starting on Monday. He’d worked all morning and was ready to head home.
But before he did he planned on making a stop to visit Rachel’s mother. He knew he should call Mrs. Davis first but suspected that Rachel would not approve. Rachel would continue to keep him at arm’s length, but he had no intention of allowing her barriers to remain standing. Tonight, at least, she would have no choice but to invite him in.
Ten minutes later he was driving toward the parish of Christ Church where she lived.
He’d always loved her home and quiet neighborhood, which contrasted with the noisy village where he’d grown up. He had long left the village life, and Rachel’s home had always made him aspire to have that type of house. He hoped his aspirations hadn’t made him into a snob, but he enjoyed the comforts of his current lifestyle.
The truth was…he wanted to see Rachel. His workload had increased so much in the past week he’d tried to push her to the back of his mind. It was the only way he could focus on his cases. Not that his attempt had been totally successful. Rachel’s image had an uncanny way of reappearing when he least expected it to.
As he neared Rachel’s district, he experienced a moment of trepidation and wondered if he should turn back. Was he trying to make something out of nothing? Something buried in the past that should stay there?
Despite his reasoning, his car seemed to have a will of its own, and he turned onto the street flanked by two massive royal palms.
Memories of the joyous days he had spent there came rushing back. Here, under the canopy of a mahogany tree, he’d kissed Rachel for the first time. He’d kissed her with a fervor he’d not experienced before. He had whispered “I love you” as the moon’s rays had caressed them tenderly.
As his car drew nearer to her house, he saw two boys playing outside. One of the boys was batting while the other had made his run-up and was about to bowl the ball.
The batsman struck the ball and it flew into the air, going a long way across the wide lawn before it landed just where he’d stopped his car.
He stepped out of the car, reached down and picked up the ball before the bowler could retrieve it.
He wondered who the boys were but assumed they were the sons of residents, even though the batsman seemed oddly familiar.
<
br /> “Thanks for getting our ball, mister,” the batsman said politely, putting his hand out as if to challenge him.
He handed the ball over, admiring the boy’s spunk. He liked how he looked at him, his stare unwavering.
“Who you looking for, mister?” the other boy asked.
“I’m looking for Grace Davis. She lives here.”
“She isn’t at home right now,” he responded.
“What about her daughter?”
“She’s not feeling well and she’s sleeping. You want me to wake her up?” the batsman asked. Who was this boy? George wondered.
“No, that’s fine. I’ll call back later. Thanks for your information.” He moved to walk away and then turned back.
“Can I ask your names?”
“You can,” the batsman replied but did not provide them. George shrugged, but then the boy answered. “I’m Gregory and this is my best friend, Jonathan. Rachel Davis is my mom.”
George felt the color drain from his face.
“How old are you, son?” he asked.
“Why do you want to know?” Gregory challenged.
“Just curious,” he replied.
“Twelve.”
George turned away without another word but stopped and searched in his pocket, eventually finding one of his business cards in his wallet.
He handed it to Gregory. “Give this to your mother for me.”
“No problem” was the reply.
He didn’t know how he got into the car, didn’t know how he got home, but in the quiet of his house, strange, crazy thoughts crowded his mind.
The questions hovered at the edge of his consciousness, but he didn’t give them completeness…not until he pulled out an album of photos of himself from a storage box he kept in a drawer in his office.
As he held the album, his hands trembled.
He slipped the cover open, his eyes searching hungrily for the photos. There were none on the first page, but a few pages forward the image he sought confirmed his suspicions.
The boy in the photo staring back at him was almost the spitting image of the boy he had seen.
Was Gregory his son?
A stupid question. The evidence was right there before him.
George stifled the urge to get up and drive back over there.
During the next few hours a range of emotions washed over him. Anger, acceptance, then fear. How the hell was he going to handle this? He had a son. He knew nothing about being a father.
He wasn’t even sure what Rachel’s reaction would be. What if the boy didn’t like him? He could force her to let him see Gregory. He could have a DNA test, prove that Gregory was his son.
But then what?
What he’d seen today explained her reactions to him. The times she’d refused his offer to visit her mother. The reluctance to be his friend.
Her deceit answered all of his questions.
He picked up the phone and called Troy. Of the three friends, George was always the calm, controlled one, but this evening he felt different.
Troy answered the phone on the first ring.
“What’s up, man?” Troy greeted.
“Are you busy, Troy? Can you pass by here sometime today? I have something important to discuss with you.”
“Sure, I’m leaving work in an hour or so. I’ll come right over. Have any food?”
“Yeah, I’ll cook something. What do you feel like eating? Pasta?”
“Now, how did I know that would be it? Boy, you need to learn how to cook other things. I’ll see you in a bit.”
He hung the phone up and headed to the kitchen. Maybe cooking would keep his mind off this messed-up situation.
For the next hour, he focused on the task before him. While the saucepans were bubbling furiously away, he showered quickly and returned downstairs to add the finishing touches. He couldn’t cook most stuff, but he loved pasta and there were enough varieties of the product and different recipes to keep his palate happy. He’d picked up quite a few recipes on the Food Network.
Troy arrived about two hours later. By then the meal was done, minus the few mouthfuls he’d eaten.
“I hope what we have to talk about can wait until I’ve finished eating.”
“We can talk while we eat.”
“I prefer to eat. I’m so hungry. I was so glad when you called and offered dinner. Sandra and the kids went to spend the evening at Tamara’s, along with Carla and her kids. A girls’ night out, I was told. I always imagine them talking about our abilities in bed.”
When George didn’t laugh, he paused briefly, then said, “I think we better talk about this thing that’s bothering you while we eat.”
“I think I have a son,” he said without hesitation.
“Shit,” Troy replied. “Okay, I expected something big, but not so humongous.”
“His name is Gregory. He’s twelve and he looks just like me,” he said.
“Rachel?” Troy asked.
“Yes. She had my son and didn’t even tell me.”
“When did you find out?”
“I went over to Rachel’s home this evening. Her mother was out and Rachel was taking a rest. The boy was playing cricket outside.” He opened the album on the table. “See that photo? He looks just like me.”
“Holy shit!” Troy exclaimed. “This is amazing. What are you going to do?”
“Going to do? That’s why I called you over here. I don’t have a clue what to do. I have to claim him. He’s my son, but how on Earth am I going to father a kid? I don’t know a thing about fatherhood.”
“Okay, okay, let’s eat and calm down. We’ll talk rationally about this. You’re going to have to talk to Rachel. Let her know that you know.”
George snorted.
“You could just leave things as they are,” Troy suggested.
“I can’t do that. I can’t just pretend that he doesn’t exist. Just because she hasn’t put me on any birth certificate doesn’t make him any less mine.”
“I am here to support you in any way you want. But talk to her, George. I know it’s not going to be easy. Maybe she plans on telling you. I don’t think she would expect you not to see him. The island is too small. Meeting him would be inevitable.”
“But how could she do this to me? He’s twelve years old,” George said, slamming his hand on the table.
“I know Rachel. There is more to this. Maybe she found out just after she left the island. There are so many possible explanations. When you broke up with her, you made it clear you didn’t want any commitment—that you wanted to focus on the job.”
“But I should have been told. He’s my son. She has denied me almost thirteen years of his life. How am I expected to feel?”
“I will say this—at least you have the rest of your life with him. What if she had not come back? You’d have never known.”
George went silent. He was too confused, too emotional about this.
“Thanks for the advice. By tomorrow I’ll be fine. It’s just the shock of seeing my son for the first time. I wasn’t prepared for it. Boy, if I had a weak heart, I would have expired right there,” he said, laughing drily.
“At least you didn’t. You sure you don’t want me to stay for the night? I’m sure Sandra won’t mind.”
“No, I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep this off.”
“And promise me you won’t do anything rash or silly. Just look at this as a blessing. You have a son. Each of you is going to have to deal with this situation maturely. The only feelings you should be concerned about are his.”
“That’s true,” George said passively. “Thanks for stopping by, bro.”
Troy stood to l
eave, and George followed him. At the front door, Troy gave him a strong bear hug. “Everything is going to be fine. Just take each day one step at a time.”
George nodded and watched as his best friend walked away. When the car disappeared down the driveway he returned to the kitchen. He washed the dishes and headed for his room.
A quick shower later, he was in bed, his Kindle opened to the latest Patterson.
Reading always seemed to calm him. For now, he just wanted to clear his mind of his troubles. Tomorrow would be another day. Tomorrow, he knew they’d have to talk.
* * *
“Mom, I forgot to tell Grandma that some man, a friend of hers, dropped by today while she was out. You were sleeping so I didn’t wake you.”
“He came to the door?”
“No, we were…outside playing cricket,” he mumbled.
“Gregory, I thought I told you not to go outside in the sun so early. You promised me.”
“I’m sorry, Mom, but outside was perfect for a good knock.”
“But you disobeyed me. We’ll talk about this later. I’ll tell you how long you’re grounded for.”
“Aw, Mom,” he whined.
“Don’t you ‘aw, Mom’ me! I have one rule. Obey me. You tell me about this man. Did he leave his name?”
“I’m not sure, but I had this strange feeling like I know him. Oh, he did give me his business card. It’s in my pocket.” He pulled it out and handed it to her.
Rachel grew pale. It was George. His message was clear. He knew. Damn it, he knew.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Gregory asked.
“Nothing, honey. I’ll be fine.”
“You want me to bring you a glass of water?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
She sat while he went to the kitchen and filled a glass.
She had known it was inevitable, but she’d not expected it to come so soon. She was surprised he hadn’t called, but then she realized this was George. He’d deal with his anger and then he’d call. He had to be in control. That was the George she knew.
So for now this would be a waiting game. He’d call when he was ready.