His mother's eyes got very wide. She opened and closed her mouth as if she were having trouble breathing. Felix tensed, prepared to rush around the desk if she did something so out of character as faint.
"Brian Greco?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper, as if she were using her last breath to get the words out. A hand went to her chest while her eyes widened even further. "You think Brian Greco is your father?"
Felix's eyes narrowed. Her horror looked genuine. As if...the idea were inconceivable. He felt himself slipping into a zone of unreality as he asked, "Isn't he?"
With one hand still on her chest, his mother pointed with her other to her office door. "Take a right down the hall," she croaked. "Third door on the left."
Felix stared at her, baffled. Why was she directing him down the hall, third door on the left? But he turned. He headed toward her door. With his ears ringing, he opened it and turned right. His whole head was buzzing. He counted doors. At the third one, he stopped. Gold lettering, the same type that was on his mother's office door, spelled out, "Honorable William Johnson, Federal District Court Judge."
She'd directed him to the office door of another judge. That...was odd.
Deciding there was no percentage in knocking, Felix simply opened the door. He found an office similar in size to his mother's, but outfitted like a Gilded Age library, with heavy cherrywood furniture, burgundy upholstery, and velvet drapes.
A man sat at a desk of the same ilk. His hair was white, his age around seventy. He was carefully studying some document laid before him on the desk. When Felix walked in, he looked up with a scowl. "Yes? What is it?"
Felix came further into the room. The man looked studious, sedentary, sober. He wore a pair of wire-frame glasses and clear annoyance.
"Judge Roman sent me." Having admitted this, Felix scrambled for a reason his mother might have done so. Improvising, he said, "She wants...to borrow a ream of white paper."
"Oh, for heaven's—" Ill-temperedly, the man half rose and pointed to a printer in one corner of the room. Shelves beside the printer held piles of different colored paper. "Over there." He settled back into his chair and bent again over the document on his desk. He picked up a pencil and poised it over the paper.
This? This office jockey with an attitude? A federal judge? This was the man his mother had wanted him to see? Dazed, Felix walked over to fetch a ream of white paper. With the paper in his hands, he turned. His head was buzzing so badly he thought it would explode. Deliberately, he interrupted the other man again. "Oh, by the way, I'm Judge Roman's son."
The man glanced up. He looked at Felix for a fraction of a second longer than such information would warrant for a complete stranger. Just a fraction. Then he went back to reading.
But he knew. Felix knew that he knew from the way his hand tightened on his pencil.
And then Felix knew, too.
Judge William Johnson didn't say a word, though. Didn't even spare Felix another glance. Unwilling to acknowledge the truth. Not now. Not for the past thirty-eight years. Ignoring a being for whom he should have felt clear responsibility, at the very least.
In the midst of Felix's inner confusion, one fact glared clear. This was not a route Felix would take. Ever. In a million years.
The truth was staring him in the face.
Felix was not like his father. Not like him at all.
"Thanks for the paper," Felix said, then let himself out the door.
He found his mother still standing behind her desk. On the outside, she continued to resemble the consummate professional woman, but she looked very small all of the sudden, and very vulnerable, as he closed the door behind himself.
Walking up to her, Felix discovered he actually had only one question. He set the paper on her desk and asked, "Why?"
His mother twisted her hands together. She understood what Felix meant. "He said he was going to leave his wife. I thought it would be safe to get... Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I was trying to force his hand."
"But it wouldn't be forced."
She shook her head. "He never had the intention of leaving her for me. Ever." Somehow, she seemed to shrink. For the first time in his life, Felix saw something he'd never seen in his mother.
Need.
He felt the fleeting urge to go around and take her in his arms. He didn't submit to the urge. Anger warred with disbelief, laid over with a strong sense of unreality. All this time he'd thought it was Brian Greco...
"I was so disgusted with myself." His mother's knuckles were white as she wrung her hands. "Falling for the oldest line in the book."
"You didn't want anyone to know what a fool you'd made of yourself." Felix tilted his head. "Even me."
She lifted her chin with a mixture of defiance and apology. "Especially not you."
A hollow laugh escaped him. No, she hadn't wanted him to know what a fool she'd been. Instead, he'd assumed a violent gangster was his father. He'd lived with that stigma for most of his life.
And there stood his mother, battered but sticking to her guns.
Felix laughed again. Why had he always imagined he would resemble his unknown father? He wasn't like either one of them, not the one he'd imagined nor the one he'd just discovered.
He was like her. Tough, stubborn, standoffish. Unwilling to trust. Unwilling to unburden herself to another human being. Unwilling to accept a damn thing from anyone.
This wasn't something he'd inherited, however. Hell no. He knew exactly how he'd picked this up—by example. He'd learned this behavior at his mother's knee. He'd learned it well.
But as he stood there, getting dizzy again, Felix realized something elemental.
He wasn't stuck with this. Clearly, he wasn't stuck. He bore no resemblance whatsoever to his father. He didn't have to resemble his mother, either. Not if he didn't want to.
No, he didn't have to do or be any of it. He was a free agent.
The dizziness cleared. He'd felt light before. He felt like he was standing on air now. He didn't have to be like this or like that. Nothing constrained him: not the myth of a villainous father, not the irresponsible callousness of his true father. Not even the present image of his mother, cold and alienated, sure that others thought the worst of her.
It was up to him. A choice.
He could choose whatever he wanted. He could choose connection instead of distance. He could choose courage instead of cowardice. If he wanted, he could...reach out. He could accept.
"Well?" his mother demanded. Her hands were still wringing each other. "Is that what you wanted to know? Did you get what you came for?"
Felix felt himself smile. The darkness, that surging swamp that had abandoned him, came sweeping back. It felt like an old friend, especially now that Felix understood what it really was.
Emotional vulnerability.
All this time he'd thought the darkness was something evil. Oh, it was dangerous, all right, but not evil. It was human need, one person for another—that's what his darkness was all about.
Was there anything more frightening?
"Did I get what I came for?" Felix asked. He walked around the desk.
His mother watched him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Her small body trembled.
He gave in to the urge then, the urge of the darkness. He took her in his arms.
She remained stiff and unyielding, but still he held her. It was his choice. And it felt good.
The smile that spread over his face also felt good, deep and real.
"No, I didn't get what I came for," Felix told his mother. "I got more."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"It's a good crowd," Aunt Rosa said approvingly. Her wide-brimmed party hat shaded Aletheia's shoulder as Rosa peered ahead at the people grouped upon the expansive porch surrounding the San Bernardino courthouse. "So many folks showing up for my debut."
Aletheia, pushing Aunt Penelope's wheelchair over the uneven stone paving, felt her stomach somersault at the sight of so many people, all gathered to bid o
n foreclosed properties.
Why was this happening? Felix, responsible Felix, had immediately sent her a cashier's check for the fifty thousand dollars she'd earned by turning Benjamin over to him. The money had already been waiting for her by the time she'd returned home from Boston. No note had accompanied the money, of course. A strict adherence to duty was all one could deduce from the single sheet of paper in the envelope. He clearly did not intend to retreat from the position he'd taken. He didn't love her.
Not that Aletheia had expected him to retreat.
Now pushing Aunt Penelope across the porch, Aletheia muttered, "This is a mistake."
"I don't see how we could have stayed away," Aunt Penelope argued. "Not the way Parker's been going on about how we have to attend."
Apparently the rest of the family agreed with her, trailing behind Aletheia and her two aunts. Sophie and Cousin George padded along side by side, followed by Aletheia's father. Parker brought up the rear, wearing a pair of black chinos, a button-down shirt, and a paisley tie—dressed to the nines, for him.
As an example of the crazy world Aletheia lived in, Parker had been telling her for weeks now that he'd taken care of everything, not to worry about the house.
Oh, right. Then why was the house still up for auction? But her cousin Parker only smiled when she asked that question, and told her to trust him. Acting cheerful, as if the end of the world were not in sight.
"We must rise above," Aunt Rosa remarked, appearing to agree with Parker's nutty attitude as she lifted her chin. "Especially if that wretched theater critic chooses to attend the performance."
"Oh." Aletheia now saw Jim Blodger, standing among a crowd surrounding a heavyset man wearing a straw hat. Jim had his hands in his pockets and a satisfied smile on his face.
"That must be our auctioneer next to Jim," Aunt Pen dryly observed.
"I think you're right." If anything could make the situation worse, it was the idea of Jim Blodger buying their house.
Looking over, he saw them and his smile spread, oily and smug. Blodger would probably elect to turn them out personally, and at the earliest possible legal opportunity.
"Why wouldn't the bank take my money?" Aletheia wanted to know, for the thousandth time. The day she'd gotten the check from Felix she'd hurried in to the bank with it. Sam, her friend at the bank, had promised her making up the fifty thousand owed was all it would take to save the house. But when she'd come in, he'd only glanced at the check she held out to him and then looked back at her with a strange little smile. "I'm afraid it's too late for that."
"What? How—?"
"It's all taken care of."
"It is? But how?"
Sam had sucked in his lips. "I can't tell you that."
"You can't?" Aletheia didn't understand this.
"Just—go to the auction," Sam had advised, folding his hands on top of his desk, looking content, looking...happy. "Everything is settled."
"But—if there's an auction, then it's not settled." Aletheia still remembered her exasperation. How could the overdue mortgage be taken care of if she hadn't taken care of it?
But Sam wouldn't say another word. "I promised," he claimed, as if that made any sense.
"Oh, look!" Sophie called, and pointed toward an area of the courthouse porch. "There's Uncle Benjamin and Aunt Zara."
Standing a safe distance from Jim Blodger, Benjamin raised a hand to Aletheia. His other arm curved around the pretty woman who was fast becoming one of the family.
"Not that your brother can be much help," Aunt Pen muttered. "Out of a job and with legal expenses mounting, he doesn't have two pennies to rub together."
Aletheia eyed Benjamin's casual embrace of Zara and the loving coziness like an aura between them. "He has what he needs to give us emotional support."
Penelope snorted. Meanwhile, Sophie shot past them to go hug Zara. Benjamin's shy girlfriend seemed both surprised and pleased. Soon the whole family was gathered together a few feet from the auctioneer.
Surrounded by all of the people who depended on her, Aletheia felt her stomach take another slow dive. What would she do? What were they all going to do? She could not bear to lose her family. But then, how could she prevent it? Panic rose up her throat.
Blodger had the sense to give the family a wide berth, but Parker strolled straight over to him, hand outstretched. "Nice morning, isn't it?" Parker grinned.
"Whatever," Blodger muttered, and ignored Parker's hand. Wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead, he turned to the auctioneer. "Can we get started already?"
"If you ask me that one more time, I'll have you removed from the bidding." The man in the straw hat kept his gaze on a long list in his hands. "We start at ten a.m. Not a minute before."
"Behave yourself," Parker amiably warned Blodger. "I wouldn't want you to miss this."
While Blodger glared at Parker, Aletheia shook her head. "What's up with you?" she asked, once Parker had strolled back to their position. "If he buys our house, that's it. There'll be no second chances or negotiation with the owner."
"No doubt true." Parker was grinning again. "If he could buy the house."
Aletheia glared at Parker. "And why couldn't he?"
Parker tsked. "I've told you and told you. The house is safe."
"Then why are we here?" The panic in her throat made it hard to breathe. She wondered if, on top of everything, Parker was picking up some of Aunt Rosa's delusional psychosis. That would be just what they all needed: more problems. Taking in a ragged breath, she turned her head.
That's when she saw Felix.
Her breath caught in her throat, jammed together there with her heart. Felix? She'd concluded she was never going to see him again, but...here he was.
Looking straight at her, his face a mask, he came striding across the courthouse porch. By his side was his office manager, Meredith.
"Well, well, well." Parker appeared to have noticed the pair's arrival as well. He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "So she decided to come down with him."
Aletheia shot him a sharp look. "You knew Felix was coming."
Parker glanced at her blandly. "I asked him to."
"You asked him to come?" Aletheia was incredulous. Then it all came together, why everyone was assuming the house was safe. They'd planned this. They wanted to force Felix to come help her.
As if that would change his attitude! Oh, her ridiculous, wonderful family. They had no idea Felix's over-developed sense of honor would have him come riding to the rescue no matter what. He could spend a fortune bidding for her house, while denying with his last breath he had any feelings for her. He'd never admit he loved her.
Feeling the old frustration, she turned away, but Parker gazed in the direction she'd just spurned. Any smugness in his expression vanished. "Of course, I was hoping she'd come. That's why I—" He stopped and shook his head. "Hell, it probably won't make a difference anyway."
"What are you talking about?" Aletheia's legs were unsteady. Even if she wasn't looking at Felix, she could feel the vibrations of his presence, the hum of his particular male energy. "Of course it's going to make a difference. The house won't go to Blodger." Felix would never let that happen. Aletheia could count on him for that, if not for other, deeper things...like letting her do anything for him.
God. If he wasn't going to let her love him, couldn't he at least stay away, so she could figure out how to get past him? And if he ended up bidding the house away from Jim Blodger with some inflated amount of money, what was she going to do then? How was she going to wind down her unwanted feelings if he went and did something super big and romantic like that?
"Okay, looks like we've hit ten o'clock," the auctioneer announced, glancing at his watch. "Let's get started."
"Oh, goody!" Aunt Rosa exclaimed. "I'm on."
~~~
This was a mistake. Meredith tugged at the lapel of her peach linen suit, clothes far too heavy for the desert weather, and wished she'd had the
sense to refuse Felix's invitation to come to the auction with him. After one glance at Parker, she made sure not to look in his direction again.
"I'm a glutton for punishment," Meredith muttered.
"What's that?" Felix, with his gaze on Aletheia, tilted his head politely toward Meredith.
"Never mind." She pulled at the hem of her jacket.
Who'd have thought Parker could look even better than her memory of him? So clean and vital. Spiffed up, he looked more in control of his world than ever. And he'd stared at Meredith like she was the last person in the world he'd expected to see.
Or wanted to see.
If only she had that invisible cloaking device, so she could disappear.
Judging by Parker's expression, she wasn't going to be able to fulfill her stupid fantasy to tell him what she hadn't gotten a chance to tell him last August: he was okay. He was just right the way he was. Turned out she was almost okay, herself. Oh, she wasn't easygoing, like Parker. She'd come to terms with that reality. She did have ambition. She wanted to get ahead, progress somewhere in life.
But she needed something more than that, too. Something deeper, and more lasting.
"One-seven-five-eight Mockingbird Lane," the auctioneer said. "Continued, by mutual consent of the parties." He went on reciting addresses, adding after each of them that the action was being continued. Apparently this meant the properties were not to be auctioned that day.
Meredith kept her gaze on the auctioneer. Beside her, she sensed Felix shift weight. She knew he'd done something dire to get enough cash together to bid on the Cooper house, something regarding his condo and a loan from old Albert Morrison, his former partner and friend.
"Thirty twenty-five Elmwood Drive," the auctioneer said. Around him, a dozen people straightened and leaned forward: the Cooper family plus a bald, sweating man who'd earlier eyeballed Felix with plain dislike.
The auctioneer looked up, apparently bemused by so much attention. "Off-calendar," he said.
Utter silence greeted this statement. Off-calendar, Meredith thought? What the heck did that mean?
"Excuse me," blustered the bald, sweating man. "I've been waiting a month to buy that house. Whaddaya mean it's 'off-calendar?'"
I Gotta Feeling Page 27