On A Night Like This (The Callaways) (30 page)

Emma was right. It was his turn.

"Don't you dare let her leave without telling her how you really feel," Emma continued.

"This really isn't your business," he said.

"You're my brother, and Sara is my friend. This is totally my business," Emma snapped. "I know you like to play the bachelor, but you have a woman who is worth a long-term commitment, and if you let her go, you are out of your mind. You will not find anyone better than Sara."

* * *

Sara walked into her father's hospital room feeling strangely calm and oddly confident. For the first time in her entire life, she felt like they were equals. In fact, to be honest, she felt like she was better than him. He couldn't intimidate her any more. He couldn't manipulate her by withholding love. She no longer cared what he thought about her. She only cared about the truth.

He set down the newspaper, his expression growing wary as she approached.

"I thought you'd gone home," he said.

"I was going to, but before I left I wanted to go through the box I found in the basement a few days ago – the one you were probably trying to get when you ran down the stairs and broke your leg."

Her father's face paled, and his lips tightened. "You had no business going through my personal things."

She ignored his protest. "I was touched at first that you'd kept photos of me, even if you had stored them in the basement. But then I realized that most of the pictures were not of me, but of someone else, a baby I didn't recognize, a toddler I'd never seen before. What was even more odd was that he had your name and your eyes and even your smile. The smile was actually unfamiliar to me, as you never looked at me like that, but after more intense scrutiny I came to the conclusion that it was actually you in the pictures."

"Sara, stop."

At one time the forceful determination in his eyes would have scared her into quiet, but not today. "I'm not going to stop, not until we're done. You and Mom had a baby, a boy, my brother." She took the pictures of her bag, dropping them in a pile on the bed.

Her father glanced away.

"Look at him," she demanded. "Look at Stephen Davidson, Jr., and tell me why you kept his life a secret from me."

Her father finally turned his head. He stared down at the photos and then lifted his gaze to meet Sara's. There was no longer anger in his eyes but agony. The raw pain shocked her, but she was also infuriated that almost thirty years later he could have so much emotion for a son he'd only shared four and a half years with and yet feel nothing for her.

"He died," her father said finally.

Two short words that meant so much.

"Why did you keep his life a secret?"

"Because he died."

She stared at him for a long minute. "You have to tell me more. I need more."

For a moment there was a battle of silent will.

Finally, he continued. "We were living in Portola Valley at the time. I was planting a bush in the front yard. I accidentally left the front door unlatched when I went outside. I didn’t realize that Stephen had come into the yard until I heard a squeal of brakes and saw my son –" His voice shook with pain. "My son was on the ground."

She put a hand to her mouth, wanting to tell him to stop now. She'd heard enough.

But the dam had been opened. The rush of words continued.

"I ran to him. I could hear your mother screaming behind me. Stephen wasn't breathing. I tried to revive him. I blew into his mouth. But he was so limp in my arms. I could hear the fire engines coming. I prayed they would be in time. I kept telling my boy to hang on, that help was on the way. But it was too late. It had always been too late. He was killed on impact."

"Dad," she breathed. "You can stop."

He cut her off with a glare. "You wanted to know, so you'll know. We moved out of that house two months later. I couldn't stand being there, seeing that damn bush I'd wanted to plant, walking down that street. The blood stain on the street was there for days."

She felt sick at his words.

"We got an apartment in San Francisco. I didn't want a yard. I didn't want to see kids playing in a neighborhood." He paused. "But mostly I didn't want to have another baby."

His gaze met hers, and for the first time in her life he wasn't even trying to pretend that he loved her.

"Why did you have me then?" she asked.

"Because your mom stopped her birth control without telling me. After two years of intense loneliness, she wanted another baby and she was tired of waiting for me to change my mind."

"So she had me, even though you didn't want me."

"I
couldn't
want you. I didn't have anything left to give you. My heart was destroyed. It died on the street with my son. Your mom said she'd do everything and that she'd love you enough for both of us. And I know she tried. I did my part by providing for you. You had everything you needed to succeed in life. I made sure that you got good grades and could get into a good school and make a career for yourself."

"You wanted to make sure I could be independent, so that I wouldn't need you."

"I never wanted to hurt you, Sara."

"You just couldn't love me the way you loved him," she said, the truth finally clear. "You can pretend that you didn't hurt me, but you did. Your constant rejection shaped who I was. You made me feel uncertain about myself. You made me think I wasn't good enough. But I was good enough—for everyone but you. How dare you act like providing for me was enough? You may have put a roof over my head, but I deserved a lot more than that from my father."

"I couldn't let myself care about you. I didn't know how your mother could love you. How she didn't panic every time you weren't where you were supposed to be? How she tucked you in at night, knowing that no matter how tight she made the covers, they still couldn't protect you? How she let you walk outside and cross the street?" He shook his head, his lips tight, his face pale, his eyes dark with pain. "I didn't know how she did it. I just knew that I couldn't. So I pushed you away, but you kept coming back."

"What a fool I was," she said, her eyes blurring with tears. "I just don’t understand why Mom stayed with you."

"I don't know either. You weren't the only one I couldn't love. That's why I worked all the time. At work I felt right. At home, everything was wrong. I was a terrible parent, not just to you, but also to Stephen. I didn't keep him safe. I wasn't meant to be a father."

"Why did you keep Stephen's life a secret?"

"Because it hurt too much to talk about him. Your mother wanted to, but I wouldn't let her. And I wouldn't let anyone else talk about him either. We moved away. We had new friends. No one knew we had lost a child, and that's the way I wanted to keep it."

"And everyone agreed? Even Grandma and Grandpa?"

"They protested at first. They probably talked to your Mom about Stephen, but it had been a few years by the time you were born, and when I asked them to respect my wishes, they reluctantly agreed. Everyone decided that you would be better off not growing up in the shadow of tragedy."

"I don't believe you kept the secret to protect me," she said. "It was all about you." She paused for a long moment. "Do you ever think about him?"

"More than I want to," he replied. "It's been worse since your Mom died and you moved away. The house is very quiet. I can't hide from my thoughts the way I used to."

"Why keep the photos in the basement? You're the only one in the house now."

"I promised your mother right before she died that I wouldn't throw them away. She wanted me to tell you the truth, but I couldn't make that promise. I didn’t move them upstairs, because I was afraid you'd stumble upon them."

"But you had to know that one day I'd find the photos."

"I was hoping I'd be gone by then," he said frankly. "Is that it, Sara? Have I answered all your questions?"

She stared at him for a long minute. "When I saw the pictures, it wasn't the child who shocked me the most, it was you—it was your face, your smile. Don't you ever want to feel like that again? Don't you miss feeling good? Having a family? Enjoying your life?"

He shook his head. "I'll never be that man again."

"You could be."

"Why would you care if I'm happy or not? We both know I've treated you badly."

"You have been terrible to me," she agreed. "And I realize now that you wanted to make sure that I hated you. Because my hate was easier to take than my love."

He drew in a ragged breath. "When you were a little girl, before you realized what kind of father you had, you used to look at me with this sweet smile. You wanted to hold my hand. You wanted me to tell you a story. And I knew you were going to break what was left of my heart, and I couldn't let you do that. I just couldn't, Sara. I was holding on by a thread, and you were going to snap that thread. I couldn't let that happen."

His eyes glittered with moisture. Tears, she wondered in amazement. Was it possible this ice cold man could actually cry?

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the father you deserved."

His apology brought tears to her eyes. "And I'm sorry about Stephen. I wish I'd known him. I wish you hadn't kept his life from me, because he was my brother. He was four years old when he died. He had a personality. He had a life. And I wish I'd known about it, because he was part of our family."

"Stephen was impulsive and fun-loving, very imaginative," her father said. "He had to explore. He was so curious. That's why he left the house. He wanted to see what I was doing. It was my fault he was out there."

"You didn't close a door. That's not a crime. It's just a mistake. A tragic mistake."

"You're letting me off too easily."

"I doubt anyone could free you of your guilt. I'm sure my mother tried, and she obviously failed."

"So what now?" he asked.

She let out a breath. "I have no idea. But the relationship we had is over. I'm done with that."

He nodded. "I understand."

"But…" She couldn't believe what she was about to say. "If you want to try to get to know each other as adults, I'm open to it."

A glint of admiration entered his eyes. "You're a strong woman, Sara."

"I am," she said, meeting his gaze. "And ironically some of my strength is due to you."

He met her gaze, and she thought that for the first time he was actually seeing her, and not the agonizing pain that he associated with being a father.

"I can hear your mother in my head," he said. "She's telling me not to be a fool. My daughter is giving me a second chance, and I should take it."

"I may not give you another one. I need to move on with my life. Your expectations have weighed me down for far too long."

"I would like to get to know you," he said slowly.

"Okay then," she said.

Silence followed her words. Neither one of them had any idea how to move forward. "Can we start tomorrow?" she asked a moment later. "Or maybe next week?"

"Absolutely," he said with relief. "Whenever you want."

She walked to the door, then paused. She gave him a smug smile. "By the way, Aiden and I drank the wine I brought for your birthday. It was really, really good."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sara left her father's room feeling ten pounds lighter. The painfully honest conversation had been extremely cathartic. She had no idea what the future would hold, but the past was done. She was moving on with a clear head and a free spirit, and it felt good.

When she left the hospital, her spirits improved even more. Aiden was sitting on a bench waiting for her. He got to his feet when he saw her, his gaze dark and unreadable. Had he come to offer support or to finally say goodbye?

She slowly walked over to join him.

"How did it go?' he asked.

"It started out bad, then got worse, and finally ended a little better. I'm kind of shocked of how forthcoming he was. Part of me still wonders if I imagined the entire conversation."

He gave her a compassionate smile. "Did he tell you what happened?"

"Yes. He didn't want to, but I demanded answers. You should have seen me in there. I was very impressive."

"I have no doubt about that."

"It's a sad story," she said, relating the basic facts of what had happened.

"That's horrendous," Aiden said. "I almost feel sorry for your father."

"I admit to feeling a pang of sympathy, too."

"But he still was an asshole to you. You can't forget that."

"I haven't, and I told him that. I couldn't believe the words that came out of my mouth. I said everything I'd ever dreamed about saying to him. I couldn't stop myself. The words just kept coming."

"I'm proud of you, Sara."

"I'm proud of me, too. I used to be so damn scared of my father. Now I can see him for who he really is, and that's a sad, angry, lonely man."

"You're not thinking of trying to fix him?" Aiden questioned, doubt in his eyes.

"I don't think that's possible, but—"

"I knew there was a but," Aiden said with a nod.

"I did tell him I would be open to getting to know each other as adults," she admitted, hoping that didn't make her sound like a complete fool. "But any new relationship has to be on my terms, and he'd have to treat me a lot better than he has in the past."

"What did he say?"

"He seemed a little stunned, but he was open to the idea. Now that the truth is out, he has nothing left to hide from me. I think the reason he treated me so badly was because he didn't want me to like him. He wanted to push me away. He just couldn't believe I kept coming back."

"Because you don't give up on people," Aiden said, his gaze turning serious. "I hope you haven't given up on me, Sara."

Her heart skipped a beat. She was riding such a wave of emotion she didn't want to let herself think that Aiden had come for any other reason than to make sure she was all right after having spoken to her father. But there was something in his gaze that told her there was more behind his actions. She really hoped she wasn't imagining things.