by Wayne Jordan
Until he did, she would have to wonder what approach he’d take. What would be the consequences of her deceit?
She took the glass from Gregory and downed it, wishing it were something a lot stronger. She needed something strong to calm her nerves.
“Are you feeling better?” Gregory asked.
“I’m better. Just a slight dizzy spell. Nothing to worry about. You go up to your room and take a shower. I expect lights out by nine.”
“Yes, Mom. And I’m sorry I disobeyed you.”
“Okay, you run on up.” She pulled him to her, kissing him on his cheek. He hugged her. She wondered how much longer his displays of affection would continue. He was getting older. Those kisses would probably end while he battled with his masculinity and peer pressure.
She stood finally and took her time cleaning the kitchen, making sure she left everything spick-and-span.
She walked to her room. Tonight would be a long night, but it was the thought of tomorrow that she dreaded more.
Chapter 10
In contrast to the previous day, Sunday morning brought misty showers.
Rachel frowned but immediately stopped. She didn’t want to encourage furrows on her forehead. She stretched, attempting to work the wariness from her body. She groaned, the slight ache in her side a reminder of her walk the day before.
She’d wanted to go walking again this morning, but dark clouds in the east, a promise of rain, had deterred her from leaving.
There was a knock on the door and her mother entered.
“Good morning, honey. How are you feeling this morning?”
“Fine, Mom.”
“Why the gloomy face? I hope the rain is not already having an effect on you.” Her mother smiled encouragingly.
“He knows, Mom,” she blurted out.
“Who knows? Knows what? What are you taking about, child?”
“George knows. He came by to visit you yesterday. You weren’t here and I was asleep. He saw Gregory.”
“He would be a fool not to realize Gregory was his. What are you going to do? Call him?”
“I think that may be the best thing to do. I had made up my mind just the other day to let him know. He must be so angry.”
“What man wouldn’t be? He has a twelve-year-old son. What did you expect? Smiles? Immediate forgiveness? I warned you this was going to happen.”
“I don’t want to lose my son.”
“I’m sure you won’t. The George I know would be angry for a while, but he won’t take Gregory away from you. He may want joint custody.”
“Joint custody?” she asked, but she knew that it was a strong possibility. A possibility she dreaded.
“Rachel, you have to accept the inevitable. George will want to see his son.”
She shrugged. What her mother said was true. She only hoped he’d give Gregory time to adjust to the truth. She’d have to talk to Gregory. She just hoped he wouldn’t hate her for her deception.
At that moment, the phone rang. It was George. She was sure of it.
Her mother answered and indicated that the call was for her.
She took it, glad when her mother left the room.
“Yes, this is Rachel,” she said. Her voice sounded strange. It didn’t seem like hers.
“We have to talk,” he said. His voice was calm, controlled.
“Okay.”
“When is good for you?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
“Your home?”
“No, somewhere neutral.”
“Okay, I’ll call in the morning, but I’ll pick you up some time in the late evening.”
He hung up.
Rachel shivered. She could feel the cold. His voice had been distant, expressionless.
She could tell he had no intention of making this easy for her. Maybe she deserved it.
She put the phone down, walked toward the bed and lay down.
When the tears came she could not stop them. She cried and cried until she couldn’t anymore.
Exhausted, she fell asleep.
* * *
When she woke several hours later, her son was staring down at her.
She smiled. She loved him. He was the one true thing in her life.
“You all right, Mom?”
“I’m fine, Gregory. I’m just a bit tired. Want to come lie with me and talk, maybe watch a movie?”
“We could, but Grandma said we need to come eat lunch. And I’m hungry.”
Her stomach grumbled. He laughed.
“Tell her I’ll be there in a bit. You’ve finished your homework?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You get to choose the movie.”
“I know exactly what we’re going to watch. Toy Story 3.”
“Good choice. Your grandma was waiting until you were ready to watch it. You want to call Jonathan and ask him to come over?”
“Sure, Mom. I’ll call him right now.”
“He can come for lunch if his mother doesn’t mind. I’m sure your grandmother cooked enough.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Rachel watched as Gregory raced out of the room. Didn’t he ever get tired? He was changing. He was slowly adapting to being on the island. Finding a good friend next door had helped. Jonathan was a good boy and she was glad for that.
In the bathroom, she washed her face and went downstairs.
Having an afternoon of television and fun with her mother and son was a great way to deal with what was going on in her life.
Tomorrow would come soon, but for now she tried to forget the impending meeting with George.
* * *
George visited his mother each Sunday morning, but it was something he hated doing. She no longer knew him. He still felt guilty at placing her here at the home, but reasoning from Shayne and Troy had made him realize that he didn’t have the qualifications or the know-how to take care of her. He’d watched his mother deteriorate from the vibrant hardworking single mother she’d been to a woman who didn’t even know her son.
When he walked into her room, she was sitting in her usual chair. Physically, his mother had not aged much. She was still the beautiful woman he remembered. His mother had been the perfect wife and housewife. She reminded him of Bree on Desperate Housewives. She always had to be perfectly courteous and she could never be caught outside without wearing immaculately applied makeup. Even now.
He knew it was silly, but he paid for her to be taken to have her hair and nails done each week. He didn’t care. He wanted her to be happy, even if she no longer knew what happiness was.
She looked up when she realized he was there, her eyes sparkling like midnight stars.
“Oh, hi. I’m Sylvia. It’s so nice of you to come visit me. My son came yesterday. He’s coming again in a day or two. Come and sit with me. Let me tell you about my son.” She laughed and clapped her hands.
He walked over, bending to place a kiss on her cheek before sitting. She raised her hand and rested it lightly against his cheek. “My son kisses me just like that,” she said. “He’s such a sweet boy, you know. He’s a lawyer. The best lawyer.”
“I’m sure he misses you.”
“He does…but he’s married to the sweetest girl. Her name is… What’s her name? I can’t remember, but she’s pretty, really pretty, and has a kind heart. She’s going to be a lawyer too, but she’s in Britain, or is it France? I can’t remember things sometimes.”
“That’s fine. I don’t remember things sometimes either.”
“You’re such a nice boy, too. You remind me of my son. He’s a good boy. I love him.”
He took her hand in his. “I’m sur
e he knows you love him.”
“I hope so. I’m feeling tired now. I need to lie down. You can come see me again. My name is Sylvia.”
When she stood, he took her hand and helped her to the bed.
She looked up at him with the most innocent of eyes.
“I have to kneel and say my prayers before I go to sleep. You can pray with me. I don’t always remember my prayers, so I just kneel sometimes.”
“Then I’ll pray for you tonight.”
He helped her to her knees and then joined her.
The words of the childhood prayers they said together so many years ago came to mind.
“In the little bed I lie, Heavenly Father, hear my cry… .”
By the time he reached the end, tears trickled down his cheeks.
He helped her up and back to the bed. She turned to look at him.
“There is no need to cry, son. Everything is going to be all right.”
When she was tucked in, she closed her eyes and soon drifted off to sleep, a happy look on her face.
For a while he stood watching her sleep, his memories of a better time increasing his ache for the time when he didn’t have a care in the world.
He glanced down at his watch and realized it was getting late. He’d promised Rachel he’d pick her up by six o’clock. He had about twenty minutes to get over there.
* * *
That evening, when George pulled up outside Rachel’s home, she was sitting on the patio. She stood but did not move. She seemed reluctant to join him, but eventually she walked toward the car. He got out, walked around the car and opened the door for her, waiting until she was seated before closing the door and returning to his seat.
He strapped his seat belt on and turned to her.
“How are you feeling? The wound is healing well?” he asked politely.
“Yes, I get a bit of pain sometimes, but it’s getting better,” she replied primly. He noticed she sat closer to the door.
She hesitated briefly and then added, “Can we dispel with the pleasantries and get to the purpose of this meeting?”
“I would prefer to wait until we get where I’m taking you before we talk.”
“I didn’t think we needed to. We can just talk while we drive?” she suggested.
“But you’re really in no position to negotiate,” he stated. “It’s either we do things my way or we do it in court.”
She didn’t say anything. His words were clear. She didn’t have a choice.
For the rest of the drive, there was silence, the stiff tension in her posture evidence of her disapproval.
He drove along the south coast, heading toward the city of Bridgetown, turning into the driveway of Bert’s Bar & Restaurant.
“My favorite restaurant. You’ll love it.”
He wondered if he was going about this the right way. The expression on her face told him that she didn’t much care.
He was still angry, but during the night he’d thought long and hard about their past. To be honest, he was still not totally sure what his course of action would be, but he felt that she deserved a chance to explain what she had done.
He’d dumped her like a hot potato and she would have had to make a decision on her own. He wasn’t even sure that if she had told him, he might not have recommended an abortion.
It wasn’t usual for him to come here to Bert’s on a Sunday night and this contrasting quietness with the noisy atmosphere he’d experienced on Friday was an interesting one.
A waitress greeted them immediately and led them into the interior.
When they were seated, she left them with the menus to peruse.
Rachel glanced briefly at the menu and put it back on the table.
“The ribs are to die for,” he said.
“I’d prefer not to eat,” she replied abruptly.
“You can’t refuse to sample the ribs.”
She hesitated briefly, then said, “I guess I can try them.”
“Good, that’s my girl,” he said, motioning to the waitress, who was looking in their direction. After he placed the order, he sat back in the chair, allowing his gaze to linger on her.
He noticed her shiver, but the stubborn look on her face remained.
“So why didn’t you tell me, Rachel? How could you keep my son from me?” he finally asked as he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table.
“I think you already know the answers to those questions,” she replied calmly. “Why indeed?” She laughed cynically. “Maybe it’s because I was just about to start my career and hopefully marry the man I loved, only to discover that he didn’t love or want me anymore. What was I supposed to do?”
“You could have come to me, told me,” he suggested after a slight pause.
“After you made it quite clear I was a burden, that the only way you would succeed was if we broke up? When I discovered I was pregnant, I wondered if I should tell you, but you’d already moved on. Who was I to burden you with something you had made it quite clear you didn’t want in your life then?” He could tell his questions had annoyed her. Her eyes flashed with anger.
“We could argue all around the world, but I can’t agree with you,” he stated bluntly.
“So you tell me where you want to go from here.”
He didn’t blink. “I want to know my son.”
“I suspected that would be your answer. But let me make this clear. You hurt my son in the process, you’ll have to answer to me.”
“That’s no fault of mine,” he retorted. “You allowed it to happen.”
“See, it’s all about blame?” she said bitterly. “I did what I thought was right back when you did what you thought was right for you. Now, you want to do what’s right for you without the consequences of your actions. I pray for your sake that Gregory wants you in his life.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his anger deflating. He paused. “Fine, we’ll do it your way. Just don’t deny me my son,” he pleaded.
“Let’s hold off letting him know for a few weeks until he gets accustomed to having you around. It will mean a certain level of intimacy between us, but I am willing to do this for Gregory.”
“I would like to tell him now, but your reasoning makes sense. So we have an agreement?”
“Yes,” she replied.
At the same time, the waitress reappeared, her hands laden with the two plates of ribs.
The honeyed scent of the barbequed ribs wafted in the air.
His mouth watered in anticipation.
As she placed everything on the table, he stared at Rachel. She was even more beautiful than she’d been thirteen years ago. She reminded him of a young Vanessa Williams—that slight interracial look, her eyes an unusual shade of brown. He’d always loved her eyes—and knew them well. He’d seen them flash with anger, pained with sadness and flaming with desire. In those days her eyes had been true to the maxim the eyes are the windows to the soul, and he had seen her soul. Unfortunately, he’d not let her into his.
When the waitress left with an “Enjoy your meal,” he continued to watch Rachel surreptitiously. She ate with gusto, like she always had. Not one to pick at the food on her plate, she savored each bite with relish.
When she took a succulent rib on a fork and drew it to her mouth, his arousal was spontaneous. She nibbled it neatly, but the red sauce smeared her lips. Her tongue flicked out, licking the sauce. He watched her tongue, remembered the things she had done to him with it. His body shuddered with the memory.
She stopped midbite and looked at him, realized he was not eating.
“What’s the problem?” she asked nervously. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Sorry, didn’t mean
to stare. Finish your meal,” he replied, taking a rib.
They ate in silence, each savoring the meal but still aware of each other.
When George was done, he placed his utensils on the plate and leaned back in the chair. Rachel looked up.
George’s gaze continued to linger. “You are more beautiful than you were as a teenager,” he finally said when she placed her fork on her plate. “You’ve blossomed into a stunner. Anguilla must have been good for you.”
“I liked it there. The slow pace, the quietness of the island, but I didn’t like feeling as if I was cut off from Barbados.”
“Was it easy to readjust to being back?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
“Not really. In some ways Anguilla is a lot like Barbados, but yes, there are definite differences. Anguilla is still very much about family life. Here, it’s about modernization, which in itself is not a bad thing, but when most people no longer care about each other, it’s sad.”
“But you seem to have settled back in quite well.”
“I was lucky to get the job.” She nodded, smiling briefly. “I’m enjoying it so far. Well, except for one minor incident.”
“And you’ve put that behind you?”
“Yes, I will do the right things. My office is sending me for counseling as soon as I return to work in a week. But I’ve been advised to take things easy, even when I return. A few of my cases have been reassigned.” She glanced at her watch. “I’d better get home.”
George signaled to the waitress and a few minutes later she brought the bill. Placing the money between the wallet, he left her the fee and a generous tip.
The drive back to Rachel’s house was quiet, each in their own thoughts.
He wondered what she was thinking. For all intents and purposes, things had gone better than he had expected. But maybe his handling of the situation had made things easier to talk about.
The compromise they’d reached made sense. They’d both been mature and rational about the situation.
When the car stopped, he jumped out immediately, going around to the passenger side to make sure she didn’t let herself out.
Rachel stepped out, her brow furrowed. “There was no need for you to get out. You aren’t coming in.”