CHAPTER NINE
JEFFERSON SAT BACK in the new green silk chair, part of the ensemble that had replaced the leather furniture he’d taken with him when he’d moved out, and watched his life play before his eyes. He’d poured himself a scotch. It was sitting on the cherry end table beside him.
Kevin was asleep in his room down the hall. Had been for more than an hour. Jefferson could have called their regular baby-sitter, a girl who lived in the building, to come and stay with the boy until Erica got home.
He was sure Erica expected him to do that. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t.
Not even when he heard her key in the lock and knew she’d be wondering why he was still there.
“Hi,” he said from his seat in the dark. The wall of floor-to-ceiling windows in front of him overlooked the city. The myriad lights in the cityscape were comforting.
“Jefferson?” She came into the room, dropping her purse on the Victorian sideboard on her way in. Whenever Erica was in the house, that was where she put her purse. During their marriage, whenever they’d been out late at separate meetings, Jefferson immediately glanced at that sideboard on his return home to see if her purse was there. Telling him either that she was safely home or that he’d arrived first. In the latter case he’d usually pour himself a drink, go into the den and wait for her key in the lock.
Until tonight it had been a welcome sound.
“Why are you still here?” The question came just as he’d predicted. “Is everything okay? Kevin’s not sick, is he?”
“Everything’s fine.”
He ached inside when she came over and sat on the floor at his feet, gazing up at him through the haze of lights. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing. Everything. He’d divorced her to get rid of this feeling of failure. This constant ache of loss. And now, because they were divorced, he ached more than ever. Everything was crazy. Spinning out of control. Impossible to set right.
“You had a date.” There was no accusation in his voice. Or in his heart.
“Sort of.”
Jefferson took a sip of his scotch, then set the glass back on the leather coaster. It wasn’t like her to be evasive with him.
She’d just told him she was going out for dinner. When she’d said she was going to the Prime Rib, he’d assumed it was a business meal.
“Kevin said you were with a man named Jack.”
The pang that shot through him when she bowed her head was almost more than he could bear. “I was.”
“The Jack?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been seeing him?”
“I ran into him this afternoon when I took Kevin out for his picnic. It’s the first I’ve seen or spoken to him since that week in New York.”
Jefferson wasn’t sure her answer made him feel any better. She’d just run into the man that afternoon and already they’d gone out. From her description of their time in New York, it had been the same way then.
Part of him was delighted for her. Relieved. Another part just plain hurt.
He looked down at her dark hair. “Is he living in the city now?” It was a comfort having her there with him, on the floor by him, where she’d sat so often over the years. They used to solve all the problems of the world this way, talking long into the night.
From the time he’d first known her, Erica had preferred to sit on the floor.
“He might be moving here.” She answered him with only the slightest hesitation. Jefferson had no doubt that Erica would tell him anything he wanted to know. She’d always been honest with him.
“He’s had an offer to head up a crisis-training center. They’d train not only for hostage situations but other types of crises, as well.”
He was vaguely aware of the plans for this program. Government funds had been readily granted, the government wanted its citizens protected in all possible ways. Protected and prepared.
Jefferson had been unaware that Jack Shaw was involved. “Is he planning to accept the position?”
“He doesn’t know yet.” She shifted, hugged her knees to her chest.
“Do you want a drink? A glass of wine?” he asked before he remembered that this was no longer his house. He was playing host to her in her own home.
“No, thanks, I had a couple of glasses at dinner.”
Since Kevin’s birth, a glass or two of wine was the most she ever had. She’d said she wanted to be sober and capable at all times, because with children you never knew when an emergency might arise.
Jefferson had curtailed his drinking, as well. One a night was all he usually allowed himself.
“Did you tell him about Kevin?”
“Of course not!” A hand on his knee accompanied the words. Without any forethought, Jefferson covered her hand with his own and wasn’t surprised when she leaned her cheek against his leg.
They sat quietly for several minutes. Jefferson watched the lights from outside, some blinking, some coming on, others going off, still others never changing. Why couldn’t his relationship with Erica have been like those never-changing lights? They’d had a good life together. A relatively happy life until that fateful week in New York.
Or maybe only one of them had been happy….
Rising to her knees, she kissed his hand where it lay, still entwined with hers. She was so young. So beautiful. Where his skin was lined, his eyes surrounded by crow’s feet, her features were perfect. Smooth. Pure.
“I gotta tell you, Jeff,” she whispered, resting her head on his thigh. “I miss you so much.”
“I miss you, too, honey.” It was the first time he’d admitted as much to her, despite the wakeful nights he’d spent, longing for her presence.
Her head lifted; she leaned forward on his lap, her face almost level with his chin. “Why couldn’t we have just been happy with what we had?” she said, her eyes clear even in the darkness. But her voice carried the pain she wouldn’t let him see.
God, he’d never meant to hurt her. It was the one thing he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do. And lately he couldn’t seem to do anything else.
How could he love her so much, and yet feel so adamant about being through with their marriage? How could he love her so much and love Pamela, too?
“Because what we had wasn’t enough,” he told her. Was there no end to the pain? For any of them?
“Why?” Her voice revealed a hint of tears, but he knew she’d never let them fall. “Because of Pamela?”
“Partially.” He had to be honest with her. “But more because of you, Erica. I know I’m not the right man for you.”
“I’m old enough to make that decision.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m discovering that age has nothing to do with one’s ability to fool oneself. I know what a woman’s supposed to feel when she sleeps with a man, honey, and you didn’t feel it when you slept with me.”
“Does Pamela?”
“She wants me, yes.”
Erica slid back down to the floor, but she didn’t let go of his hand.
“Kevin and I need you.”
Not nearly as much as he needed them.
“Let me ask you this, Erica. When you were with that man tonight, did you think about going to bed with him?”
“Yes.” Though he’d been fully prepared, the word cut into him.
“Because you wanted…Jack?” The way Pamela wants me?
She took too long to answer. Fighting a mixture of rage and despair, Jefferson sat there, holding her hand, swallowing back tears.
“Yes.” He could have been forgiven for forgetting the question, so long had it taken her to answer.
But he hadn’t forgotten.
Pamela should be at her condo soon. He’d rented a place in her building. She’d be expecting his call. A call he very much wanted to make.
Which made no sense to him, considering how tempted he was to stay right here in the place he’d shared with his young wife for more than seven years.
“Wh
at we had was much more important than bed, Jeff,” she said. “Love. Respect.”
He noticed she left out a word she’d always included when she defined their relationship in the past. A crucial word. Trust.
She no longer trusted him. He’d betrayed her.
“And that didn’t keep either one of us faithful to the other.”
He hadn’t meant to hit so low, but he was getting desperately close to begging her to give them another chance. He had the crazy feeling she’d go for it. But not because she was any more in love with him now than she’d ever been.
He was tempted to beg, anyway. And knew that doing so would be dead wrong.
She released his hand. Went back to hugging her knees. He’d won his battle.
It was the emptiest victory he’d ever known.
JACK CALLED Friday morning. Erica met him for dinner that night and the next couple of nights as well. They met at restaurants, nowhere private. Always after Kevin was tucked into bed and asleep for the night. They caught up on the past six years of their lives, observations they’d made, things they’d learned. It was as though they’d always known each other, from before time began. They shared an understanding that was uncanny.
There was so much to catch up on, so much to say, that day-to-day details were often forgotten or ignored. But that certainly didn’t hinder their enjoyment of each other or the hours they spent together.
As in New York, before the final night, there was no sex. Other than that first night here in Washington, there wasn’t even any kissing. Just tender touches now and then. Looks.
Maybe some unspoken desires.
It was a time out of time once again. An interlude. When Jack got a call, he’d be gone. Maybe never to return.
Sunday night Erica was smiling when she let herself into the condo. For the first time in months she had a bounce in her step, excitement in her heart. Jack was good for her.
Her smile faded when she saw Kevin sitting on one of the new chairs in the den, his little legs sticking straight out in front of him. He was fully dressed, slacks, shirt—buttoned crookedly—and his brown dress shoes. She’d left him in Power Ranger pajamas, sound asleep in his bed. The first thing that struck her was that he hadn’t put on the tie. The second was the relieved look on the baby-sitter’s face.
Katie, a cute blonde from downstairs, was in the chair opposite him, leaning toward him as though they’d been in earnest conversation.
“What’s going on?” Erica asked, keeping her voice light as her mind jumped ahead to possible crises.
Katie sat back. “I was in the other room watching TV when I thought I heard something. I came looking and he was just sitting here. I can’t get him to talk to me, other than to say he’s waiting for you.”
Watching her son, who looked perfectly normal—if sitting up fully dressed, staring out a wall of windows after eleven o’clock at night, could be considered normal for a five-year-old—Erica forced herself to remain calm.
Approaching the chair, she knelt down, putting both arms across her son’s lap. “Kevin?”
“Hi, Mom,” he said. “I’m really tired. Can I go to bed now?”
“Of course,” she said, picking him up to carry him back to his room. She nodded to Katie to let herself out, mouthing that she’d pay her in the morning. “Mind telling me why you got up to begin with?” she asked Kevin as they made their way down the hall to his room.
“I woke up.”
“And you couldn’t get back to sleep?”
He leaned back in her arms, playing with the Madonna-and-child charm on her necklace. “You weren’t here.”
“But Katie was.”
“Yes, but she’s not one of us, you know, who cares about our things.”
Setting her son down on his unmade bed, Erica took off his shoes, dropping them on the floor. “She’s one of us while she’s here,” Erica said. “She takes good care of you.”
“But I’m the man now,” he said sleepily, submitting without argument as Erica helped him out of his clothes and back into the pajamas she’d found in a heap on the floor.
That pair of little-kid pajamas was almost Erica’s undoing. There were so few things that were still childish about her son.
“No, Kevin,” she said, pulling the pajama bottoms up and settling them around his waist. “You’re the little boy.”
With a yawn, he lay back on his pillow and allowed her to tuck him in.
“You let Mommy take care of you for now, okay?”
He nodded. Gave her a hug so strong it hurt her neck.
Feeling a little better, if not completely without apprehension, Erica checked to make certain the Power Ranger night-light was on before flipping off Kevin’s lamp. His eyes were already closed. With a long look back, she tiptoed to the door.
“It’s okay, Mom.” His sleepy voice stopped her in her tracks. “If you want to go out, I don’t mind sitting in the chair till you get home, like Daddy used to do. It’s not hard. I was just scared I might go to sleep….” His voice trailed off. In another few seconds, his breathing had grown slow and even.
Erica was thankful he’d fallen asleep so he couldn’t know how badly his adult words—spoken in that childish voice—made her want to cry.
“YOU STILL SEEING Jack?” Jefferson was sitting in Erica’s office. Having just come from a particularly grueling session with party leaders, he’d stopped by to fill her in on the stand he’d taken, and the possible damage control she’d need to do.
“He was called away on a job a couple of weeks ago.” Two weeks and three days since she’d last seen him—the night she’d come home to find Kevin waiting up for her.
Jefferson’s eyes narrowed. “So he didn’t take the job here?”
“He hasn’t decided yet.”
“You’ve been in touch with him since he left?”
“He’s called a couple of times.” She wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“Something he didn’t do before,” Jefferson noted. He was turned slightly sideways in the leather armchair in front of her desk, one knee crossed over the other.
“I know.”
“Pretty significant, wouldn’t you say?”
Looking at her ex-husband, the man she’d never have divorced if he hadn’t insisted on it, Erica wanted to scream.
“It’s just a couple of phone calls, Jeff.” That was what she’d been telling herself, too.
“You gave him your number.” It was unlisted.
She shook her head. “He calls me here.”
“Does he ever ask about Kevin?”
She frowned at him, trying not to feel defensive. “Why should he?”
“He hasn’t?”
“No.” But then, she’d purposely mentioned her son as little as possible.
“Maybe you should tell him.”
“No.” She hated this. Discussing the cause of the greatest pain she’d ever inflicted on anyone.
“Not now, of course,” Jefferson said. “We can’t risk it while Kevin’s still so fragile. But eventually—”
“No. He’s your son, Jeff. Let’s leave it at that.” She picked up her pen and pulled a legal-size yellow notepad toward her. “Now tell me exactly what happened this morning….”
Jefferson filled her in on the latest dispute over nuclear-weapons funding—a dispute that was growing more fervent, thanks to renewed fear of nuclear destruction. Jefferson opposed all funding for the rebuilding of nuclear weapons, and he was completely at odds with anyone who supported it. Not only would stockpiling these weapons heighten anxiety and intensify the threat of war, but nuclear storage facilities were far too damaging to the environment and to the people who lived near them. Long after they’d discussed strategies for presenting his view to the press, long after he’d left, their earlier conversation was ringing in Erica’s ears.
Jefferson thought Jack’s phone calls meant something.
And they couldn’t.
ERICA WAS AT HER DESK, editing a speech Je
fferson was due to give later that Thursday afternoon, when there was a tap on her door.
“Hi, Rudy.” She smiled as she recognized the indefatigable reporter. “Come on in.”
He was a small man who almost crackled with energy. He bounded into her office and into her leather chair.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, glad to see him. She and Rudy had developed a professional friendship over the past few years based on mutual respect and a shared distaste for Rudolf Valentino—Rudy’s namesake.
Rudy was good at what he did. So was she. And somehow they managed to get their jobs done without stepping on each other’s toes.
“You’re not going to like it.”
He didn’t quite meet her eyes. A first for him.
“What garbage have you picked up out of the gutter this time?” Her voice was carefully nonchalant. All senses were on alert.
He shook his head, casually resting his chin on his knuckles, his bright gaze the only indication of his intensity. “I didn’t get it off the streets, and this time, it’s not garbage. I have proof.”
Her stomach dropped. But not far. She knew Jefferson inside and out, and there was nothing for any reporter to find.
“Spill it, Rudy, so I can dispel whatever misinformation you’ve got and carry on with my day. It’s a busy one.”
“Kevin isn’t Jefferson’s son.”
“Of course he is.” Erica had no idea how she managed the words. Wasn’t sure they even mattered. Rudy must have noticed how the blood had rushed from her face.
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head again. “Jefferson Cooley’s sterile. Mumps. His senior year in college. He missed a semester. Saw Dr. Hubert Langdon.”
Mind scrambling, Erica did her best to look calm. To feel calm. Damage control. That was what she needed.
“I don’t know where you’re getting your information,” she said as though it couldn’t possibly be credible, “but more importantly, I don’t know why. What in the world could you want with my husband’s medical records?”
“Ex-husband.”
“Ex-husband,” Erica murmured. She thumbed through the papers on her desk, the speech Jeff was waiting for.
“So you don’t deny it? Jefferson Cooley’s sterile?”
The Secret Son Page 9