Faithful to Laura (32 page)

He shut the cabinet and turned around. Cora’s purse lay on the counter. He was surprised she hadn’t taken it to her room. He stared at it, arguing with his conscience. He’d never gone through someone else’s personal belongings in his life, with the exception of things he’d found in the Mullets’ barn. But he’d been desperate then.

Wasn’t he desperate now?

His grandmother hadn’t kept her promises, and he had a right to know what she was so determined to hide. Ignoring the stab of guilt, he glanced around for Manuela. She was nowhere in sight. Cautiously he picked up Cora’s purse and began looking through it.

He took out her wallet first—soft leather, matching the pale pink purse. She’d been holding out on him. Five hundreddollar bills, plus a few twenties and a ten. He shrugged and moved on to the card pockets. She must have every credit card ever produced. Nothing here. He was about to snap the wallet shut when he noticed a white card poking out, as if it had been hastily shoved inside. He pulled it out.

Dr. Frederick Henry. Neurologist
.

A neurologist? He flipped the card over. An appointment for next week was written on the back. Why would she be seeing a neurologist? He tucked the card back in the slot, careful to make sure it was askew the way he found it, and shut the wallet.

Frustration and curiosity gave way to concern.

Maybe she was sick. Seriously ill. Then again, she was over sixty. Maybe a neurological checkup was normal for a woman her age.

He was about to abandon his search and close the purse when he saw her checkbook. He looked around. No Cora. No Manuela. He opened the checkbook. On top lay a carbon copy of the last check she had written. He froze at the name written on the line.

Laura Stutzman.

Sawyer stared at the check. Gaped at the amount. Why on earth would his grandmother have given Laura money? And so much?

But he knew exactly why. She had paid Laura off. Paid her to go away and leave Sawyer alone. Now she had the money she needed to pay her parents back. She could go home.

Fury welled up in him. He didn’t blame Laura for taking the check. He blamed his grandmother for doing something so vile and underhanded.

Sawyer tossed the checkbook back into her purse and headed for her bedroom. As he neared, he could hear Cora talking, her voice faint through the partly open door.

“Kenneth, I don’t know how long I can stall him. I thought once he came to the city he would realize his place here.”

Sawyer crept to the door and leaned his ear as close as he dared.

“I know he’s an adult. You’ve made it very clear I don’t have a legal right to keep him here. But I have to do something. He’s ready to leave.”

He peered through the crack. She was sitting on her bed, her back to the door. Her back was straight and tense. She barely moved as she talked.

“I can’t tell him about Kerry yet. Why? Because it’s not the right time!”

“Mr. Thompson?”

Sawyer jumped at the sound of Manuela’s voice. He stepped away from the door. “Um, hi.”

“Do you need something?”

“I was checking to see if my grandmother was up from her nap.” He moved farther from her room.

“Is she?”

“Yes, but she’s on the phone.”

Manuela nodded. “I will get started on lunch. Is there anything special you want, Mr. Thompson?”

To go home
. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

She turned, then stopped. “Mr. Thompson, I . . .” Manuela looked at her white leather shoes. “I . . .”

“What is it?”

The maid lifted her gaze. “I really don’t want to pry into Señora Easley’s business.”

“I understand.” He stepped forward. “But if you have something to tell me, I promise I won’t let my grandmother know we talked. I’ll make sure you won’t lose your job.”

“I’m not worried about that.” Manuela scratched the back of her hand. “I care about Señora Easley. She’s not the easiest woman I’ve worked for, but life has been difficult for her.”

Sawyer doubted that. How hard could life be when you had enough money and power to do anything you wanted? To make people do your bidding? But she hadn’t been able to control his mother. “I’m glad she has someone looking out for her,” he said.

“
Sí
. I know she won’t like this, but I think you should have them.”

He frowned. “Have what?”

“Wait here.”

A few moments later, she returned holding a packet of letters wrapped in a rubber band. She handed them to him. “These are from your mother.”

Sawyer took them. He pulled one out of the package. It was unopened. He flipped through the rest of them. Still sealed.

“She never read them?”

Manuela shook her head.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But I think you should read them.”

Sawyer looked at the letters. His pulse started to pound. He might find the answers he’d been searching for—without Cora’s help. “Thank you, Manuela.” Without waiting for a response he rushed into the guest bedroom, shut the door, and sat on the edge of the bed. He opened the first letter.

Dear Mother .
. .

C
HAPTER
27

Cora hung up the phone. The call to Kenneth had been pointless. Her attorney couldn’t help her with Sawyer. And Cora could tell her grandson couldn’t wait to leave.

She thought the party might have broken the ice between them. But Sawyer had kept to himself. He was polite when spoken to. Smiled when necessary. She was impressed with his manners. Yet he was clearly ill at ease not only around the guests but in her apartment as well.

She’d also hoped that exploring the city on his own might have piqued his curiosity. Instead, he seemed more irritated than ever. But she couldn’t blame his mood solely on being away from home. She was putting him off, and he didn’t hesitate to let his frustration show.

Cora stood and walked to the bathroom. The pain in her hips had increased over the past few days. After downing two pain relievers, she looked in the mirror. Tried to discern what the doctor claimed he saw during her appointment. She looked normal. Maybe she needed a little more Botox to keep her brow line lifted, but nothing alarming. Nothing to warrant the battery of blood work and tests the physician insisted on.

As she turned away from the mirror, she pushed her pain and physical issues out of her mind. Sawyer was her priority. Somehow she had to say or do something to convince him to stay. A private tour of the city, perhaps. She had access to places most New Yorkers only dreamed of seeing. During the tour she could find out what his interests were. Get to know him better.

A chill ran through her. She’d have to tell Manuela to turn up the heat. Her hands trembled as she pulled her cashmere cardigan closer to her body and left her bedroom. She’d treat Sawyer to lunch, anywhere he wanted to go. Anything he desired. Whatever it would take to keep her grandson in New York, she was willing to do it.

Anything but tell him the truth.

She gathered her reserves and walked into the living room. “Sawyer?” she called. Then she saw him, sitting in the chair near the cold fireplace.

She crossed the room. “You can turn this on whenever you—” The chill in her body shot straight to her heart. Her gaze went to the letters in her lap. “Where did you get those?”

“Does it matter?” His jaw tightened, the muscle pulsing back and forth.

“Yes, it does.” She walked over and reached for the letters. He pulled them out of her reach. “That is my personal property. You have no right—”

“No right to know the real reason my parents left?” He held up the letters. “Too late. I already know. And I’m sure you weren’t planning to tell me.”

She grasped at any remnant of calm, trying to maintain her composure. But confronted with the truth she’d tried to hide not only from everyone else but from herself as well, she couldn’t maintain her control.

She dropped to the chair. “I threw those letters away.” Then the truth hit her. “Manuela!” she gasped.

“Don’t blame her.”

“I will fire her this instant.”

Sawyer held up his hand. “If you do, I will walk out that door.”

Cora paused. She could see he was serious. “All right. I won’t fire her.”
Not yet.

“How could you do this?” He stood. Paced in front of the fireplace. Stopped and glared at her. “How could you throw away my mother’s letters?”

She gripped the arms of the chair. “I was . . . I was angry with her.”

“She reached out to you.” Sawyer snatched a letter from the chair.
“ ‘Dear Mother. This is my fifth letter to you. I know you must be angry with me, but I had hoped to hear from you by now. I shouldn’t have left the way I did. I apologize. But I love Ray. I didn’t love Trenton Babbitt. Our marriage would have been a sham.’ ”

“She didn’t even give him a chance.” Cora looked at Sawyer. “She left the morning of the wedding. Ran off with that ragamuffin of a man.”

“That man was my father.” Sawyer’s voice shook. “He was a good man. He took care of me and Mom. We didn’t have all this.” He gestured to the penthouse. “But we had fun together. We had love. That’s all my mother wanted, was to love and be loved.” He clenched the letter. “But you didn’t care about that.”

“I cared!” Cora rose. “I cared about her welfare. Her future. I didn’t want her to struggle. With Trenton she would never be—”

“Poor?” Sawyer tossed down the letter. “She wouldn’t have been happy either.”

“Happiness isn’t everything. It isn’t security. And she could have learned to love Trenton, and her place in society.” Cora looked away. “She never appreciated what I tried to give her.”

“Oh, but she did.” Sawyer’s razor-sharp tone cut through the air. He picked up another letter. “She said so right here.

‘Mother, I now understand what you were trying to do for me. I have to be honest, I never would have married Trenton. But I miss you. I want us to be a family again. I have a son. His name is Sawyer.’ ”

Sawyer paused.
“‘He’s three now. Soon he’ll want to know about his grandmother. His family. I want you to meet him. Please say you forgive me. If not for my sake, for your grandson’s.’ ”

Cora felt the color drain from her face. Out of anger and betrayal she had thrown away Kerry’s letters. Her embarrassment over her daughter’s behavior had encased her heart in layers of bitterness over the years.

Her daughter had wanted forgiveness. But it was Cora who needed it. “Oh, Kerry,” she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. “What have I done?”

She heard Sawyer sigh. He went to her. Knelt down in front of her. “Grandmother,” he said.

Her gaze lifted. Through her tears she smiled. “You haven’t called me that before.”

“I know.”

“Does this mean you’re staying?”

He shook his head. “I can’t stay. I don’t want to.”

“Oh.” She reached for a tissue in the box on the glass end table. “After what you know, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

“I don’t belong here. This penthouse. This city. Everything about this place proves I should be in Middlefield. With the Bylers.”

“Your
real
family.” She blew her nose.

“Yes. They’re my family.” He suddenly reached for her hand. “But you’re my family too. And even though I’m angry with what you’ve done, I know my mother would want us to have a relationship. For her sake, I will do that.”

Hope sprang within Cora. “Does that mean you’ll be back?”

“In due time.” He let go of her hand.

“Irritating phrase, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Sawyer. If I’d only opened those letters . . .”

Sawyer stood up. He gathered the letters and brought them to her. “They’re open now. Read them. This is how I remember my mother. Kind. Funny. And sometimes a little sad. Now I understand why.”

Cora took the letters. She put them in her lap, running her hand over her daughter’s handwriting. She looked up at Sawyer. “You’ll be leaving soon, then?”