A Father for Philip (10 page)

“This is the first time I’ve actually
been in this room, Ellie. I like it. Should we keep the place for odd weekends
when we want to get away?”

“What?”

“When we’re married, Ellie. Come on,
don’t play dumb with me. You said you missed me.”

“But—”

“But nothing. You said you’d been
lonely. I don’t want you to be lonely anymore, Ellie. I don’t want to be lonely
myself. We’re good together. You have to admit that.”

“But I haven’t agreed to marry you. I
can’t,” she said. “Could you bring me some more aspirin, please, Grant? God,
but my head hurts! Even my eyes ache.”

He brought it to her, along with a glass
of water, handing it to her from arm’s length. “Maybe you should go to the
hospital.”

“I can’t,” she said. “Who’d look after
Philip?”

“I would,” he said. “Probably do him a
world of good.”

She recoiled at the thought. “No. I’m
not that sick.” She lay back down. “I should have asked. How did your plans go
in Kamloops?”

He snorted and sat again in her chair.
“They fell through.”

“I’m sorry. What will you do now?”

His gaze shifted away from her. He
studied the toes of his wingtips. “I have… other options,” he said, then
slapped his hands on his knees and stood. “But don’t you worry about that now.
Get some rest. I’ll stay here and look after things till you’re feeling
better.”

She thought about arguing, but merely
closed her eyes. It was easier not to buck Grant at this point. He believed
what he wanted to believe, and she didn’t have the physical or emotional
stamina to make him see reason.

“I’m going to make some lunch for you in
an hour or so, and you are going to eat every bit of it. Where’s the kid?”

“Philip,” she said, deliberately
stressing her son’s name, “is out in the woods playing. He has a puppy. I got
it from Ralph Exley for Phil’s birthday. He’ll be back in time for lunch.
Lately he’s had a built-in clock and comes home in time to feed Casey.”

“Casey being the dog?” Grant said
coldly.

“Yes,” she nodded. “He’s a cute pup,
Grant. You’ll like him.”

“Not bloody likely,” he snapped. “Dogs
aren’t my thing at all. You know that, Ellie. He better not get too attached to
it. I won’t have a dogs in my home. They’re dirty, noisy and for the most part,
untrainable.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing he lives
in
my
home,” she said.

“When we’re married, your home will be
my home. Or, rather, my home will be yours, but there will be no dogs in it.”

“So, if I were to marry you, you’d
expect me to make him give—”

Eleanor broke off as she heard the slam
of the screen door, the pounding of footsteps across the kitchen floor which
heralded Philip’s arrival. “Hey, Mom? Where are you?”

Before Eleanor could answer, Grant
stepped out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. “Shut up!” Eleanor
heard him snarl.” Don’t you know your mother’s sick? All this noise isn’t going
to make her feel any better. Get that mutt out of here, too. I just finished
vacuuming the hall.”

Grant’s voice faded and became
indistinct as he went into the kitchen. Eleanor could hear her son’s piping
voice raised in protest and the deeper rumble of Grant, still berating him. She
swung her feet over the side of the bed, intending to go and intervene. She
swayed dizzily as she came upright then sank back down onto the bed.

No, she told herself. I have to let them
have it out. I can’t interfere, if I do decided to let Grant help me raise
Philip, I won’t be able to interfere each time I think Grant’s being too hard
on him. We’d never have any peace. But how hard it is! Why can’t Grant have a
little more compassion, empathy? Why? Why? She lay back down on her pillows and
pulled the blanket up high around her shoulders, feeling dreadful as she
listened to the muffled wrangling in the kitchen.

Presently Grant returned with neatly
laid tray bearing a bowl of soup, crisp fingers of Melba toast and a tall cool
looking glass of orange juice. There was a single spray of babies’ breath in a
bud vase on one corner of the tray. “Here you are,” said Grant bracingly. “Sit
up straighter and hold onto the tray while I fix your pillows.” He did so,
keeping his face carefully averted from hers, she noticed, trying to feel
amused, but managing to feel only an odd sense of contempt he truly didn’t
deserve.

“This is lovely, Grant,” she smiled,
hoping to make up for nasty thoughts. “I don’t have the words to tell you how
much I appreciate it.”

“When you’re better, you can show me. In
fact, it weren’t for my job… Care of the traveling public, you know… I’d make
you show me right now! You look so kissable, Ellie, red nose and all.”

“Oh, Grant, I know how you feel about
germs, and I do understand.” As if Grant personally dealt with the traveling
public. He did not. He had staff who took care of the hotel guests—unless they
were VIPs. It was the same in the restaurant.

“Germs, schmerms,” Grant responded.
“I’ve a good mind to say to heck with the germs, and kiss you anyway.” He
bestowed a loving look upon her. “It’s not every day the girl of my dreams
agrees to become my wife.”

“But I—”

He interrupted. “After all, they’re your
germs. What’s yours is mine” but Eleanor noticed he made no attempt to kiss
her, for all his brave words.

“Sort of, love me, love my germs?, she
asked, tasting the chicken soup he had brought. It tasted like warm water, and
when Grant gave her a smile and a nod, she went on, touching on the subject she
had been wondering how to approach with tact. “Then don’t you think to could
try to love my son a little, Grant?”

“Oh, Ellie…” Grant sounded genuinely
contrite. He rubbed a hand over his immaculate hair, mussing it, giving himself
an oddly boyish look. “I just can’t seem to get through to him,” he said
worriedly. “He doesn’t like me, you know, and that makes it doubly difficult
for me to talk to him. I’ve never been good with kids, and knowing he dislikes
me, resents me, makes it worse. The kid seems to get my back up every time he
opens his mouth,” Grant said, then went on hopefully, “but it will all work
out. All the boy needs is a little firm discipline, as I’ve pointed out before.
Take lunchtime, for example, I had a salami sandwich made for him, and then he
decided he wanted peanut butter. He put up a bit of a battle, but when he saw I
meant business, he ate the salami. Now he’s gone outside to play.”

“But Grant!” Eleanor cried indignantly.
“You know we can’t eat salami. Did you give him a choice, or did you just
arbitrarily force the salami on him?”

“It was already made. You simply can’t
let a six-year-old waste food on a whim.”

“Oh, darn you! You know it’s too spicy
for him.” This subject had come up once before on a picnic for which Grant’s
cook prepared the meal. Philip had eaten the sliced meat and become ill. “And
he’s no longer a six-year-old. He has a birthday while you were away.” And you
didn’t so much as acknowledge it. She wondered if he would have had he not been
away. She couldn’t recall his ever so much as saying ‘Happy Birthday’ to her
son on previous years.

“The kid has to learn to do things he
doesn’t like, and to eat things he doesn’t like. Those are just simple facts of
life, Ellie, and the sooner he learns it, the better will be for all of us. Do
you think I like making him, and therefore you, unhappy?”

Him,
yes!
Maybe not me, but I fully believe that you go out of your way to antagonize
Philip. The thought popped into Eleanor’s mind before she could squelch it. She
felt ashamed at once. Aloud, she said, “Grant, I have not agreed to marry you,
and my decision regarding any future between you and me hinges largely upon
Philip’s acceptance of you as a possible stepfather. I really think if you try
a bit more tact and patience, you’d have been eating out of your hand just as
you do your horses. Look how gentle and kind you are with me. And I’m a grown
woman, accustomed to fighting my own battles. Why not see if you could try a
little of the same treatment on a small boy who will, if we ever marry, be
seeing the world, as he knows it, falling apart?”

“Now look here, Ellie,” said Grant said
severely, standing up and glaring down at her. “Don’t go using that kid as an
excuse to put off making a decision about us one moment longer than you legally
must. I’ve made my decision, and I’ve made my intentions clear. It’s time for
you to do the same. Think about this. That boy of yours will be gone in another
eleven or twelve years and then you’ll be a sad, lonely woman if you allow him
to rule your life now.”

He walked out, leaving her to her now
cold soup, for which she had no appetite anyway. Eleanor nibbled at a strip of
toast, drank some of the juice and put the tray on the nightstand. She lay back
trying to think, but her fever-befuddled brain refused to cooperate.

When Grant returned an hour later, his
mood seemed to have improved. “Hello, dear-heart,” he greeted from the doorway.
Eleanor opened her eyes, wishing he would let her sleep a bit longer. He
didn’t. He sat down again.

“I like this room. Actually, I like this
little house of yours. I could use it as a pattern for the new ones I plan to
build. Not honeymoon-places, but family cabins. That, at least, would encourage
people to rent them instead of hotel suites when they insist on bringing their
children on vacation.”

“But you built the waterslides,” she
said. “Wasn’t that to attract families with children?”

“Well, I did think they’d come more for
day-trips, than actually stay in the hotel,” he said. “Children are very unruly
and disturb legitimate guests. They find it irritating.”

Eleanor thought of the over-liquored
guests she’d encountered the odd times when she and Grant had stayed overnight
in the city. They didn’t appear to irritate Grant when they came noisily
through corridors at three o’clock in the morning. Maybe he slept more soundly
than she did.

“But that’s not what I want to discuss,”
he said, breaking into her wandering thoughts, jerking her unhappily back to
what he wanted to talk about. “I think we should keep this place just for us. A
private little hideaway. That nice row of Lombardy poplars does give it an air
of seclusion from the rest of the property—just what I’ve always wanted—a house
beside the ninth hole.” He nodded with satisfaction at his own idea. “All we’d
need in the way of renovations is an en-suite bathroom. This bedroom is plenty
big enough for the two of us.” He smiled. “The bed is, too. The second bedroom
would make a nice home office for when—”

“No!” The word popped out before Eleanor
could stop it. She recoiled at the idea of sharing this house, this bedroom,
this bed, with anyone but David, which she knew might be irrational, but still…
“Grant. If you married, wouldn’t you want to start fresh with your wife, in a
place with no… past?”

“Heck, no! If you mean your memories,
I’d soon put those right out of your mind. Here, drink your juice. This cottage
is as good a place as any. But there is one thing I want to do, Ellie, after
we’re married, and that is get rid of Bill Robbins. This setup you have with
him is ridiculous. It would make more sense to raze that old house, sell off
the cows and chickens and whatever else he has up there and put in a golf
course. Talk about revenue!” His eyes gleamed. “How you ever came to that
stupid arrangement with him in the first place, is something I don’t
understand. But no woman,” he added kindly, “should be expected to have as much
business sense.”

Eleanor felt her hackles rise, felt her
nostrils begin to flare, she tried and failed to control herself. “It’s a
damned good agreement I have with Kathy and Bill! It works out well for all of
us! They pay me an excellent rent for the use of both the house and the land,
and you have to admit that, as long as farmers work the land for themselves—and
they do work, hard—they put more into it than if they were just on salary. I
want this place cared for properly for Philip’s sake. It will be his one day if
he wants it, and if he doesn’t, the way Bill and Kathy look after it, continue
to develop it, build it up, it’s going to have great resale value if they ever
want out. But I’d sell it as a dairy farm. Not a golf course.”

“But you don’t understand the financial
end of it, dear-heart,” explained Grant with great patience. “Do you get any
more rent from him if the yield is particularly good, or milk prices go up in
any given year?”

“Maybe not,” she responded wearily, “but
on the other hand, when the year is a bad one, I don’t get less, either.” She
put the orange juice glass, still half full, on the tray. “If it wasn’t for
this farm, where would your chef get all the good fresh dairy products and
vegetables he likes? The things you advertise? Make money from?”

“There’s more than one place to get
fresh produce and dairy products,” he said, “and many more ways to make a
profit.”

“Then go do it somewhere else, Grant.”

The exhaustion in her voice must’ve
tweaked nerve of contrition in Grant’s soul, for he patted her knees, which
were humped up under the covers. “Ellie, when we’re married, you can let me
make all these decisions for you. You’re tired of all this, and you need me to
do it for you. I want to look after you. You know that, don’t you?”