Barefoot in the Sun (20 page)

“Was there a chance of that?”

“There’s always a chance of that. The reason it’s good in this case is because they can focus on the soft tissues. I know you have other oncologists giving outside opinions on the test results, but assuming they agree, there’s going to be a T-cell transfusion here tomorrow.” She reached for Zoe’s arm. “That’s historic and exciting for all of us. Thank you for giving us this chance.”

Zoe took the nurse’s hand. “Thank you for being so kind to her and making her comfortable. It’s made everything so much easier.”

“Oh, I haven’t done much,” Wanda said. “She really has a good attitude.”

Some laughter came from the room, reminding Zoe that Evan had a lot to do with Pasha’s change in attitude.

“You can’t underestimate how important that is,” the nurse continued. “Especially after what she’s been through, it’s understandable.”

Had Pasha told this nurse what she’d been through? Impossible. “You mean collapsing and going to the ER the other night?”

“She told me everything.”

“Everything?”

Wanda waved her hand. “Don’t be shocked. People tell me stuff all the time. I think it’s the combination of the dark test room and the lorazepam. That stuff’s like truth serum. No surprise she’d mention her son.”

“Her
son
?” Zoe had to be sure she’d heard that right.

“Well, I guess he’d be your uncle, if she’s your great-aunt.”

But she’s not my great-aunt.
“My…uncle?”

“She said he died when he was seven, so obviously you never knew him but, oh, what a tragedy. It’s no wonder sometimes she wants to end it all and be with him, but today she seemed quite happy about being alive.”

Zoe had no idea what the nurse was talking about. “He died when he was seven?” she asked.

Wanda gave her big eyes. “And how awful that he was murdered.”

Murdered?
For a second it felt like the world slipped away and left Zoe behind. All she could hear was the sheriff’s words.

But she was cleared of that murder.

He’d been talking about another Patricia Hobarth.
Hadn’t he?
Cold trickled through her veins.

“Don’t look so stricken, honey. The drugs bring out all the skeletons.” Wanda patted her arm. “Really, don’t worry. Secrets are safe with me. I won’t even remind her that she told me her real name is Patricia.”

All the happiness and hope started to seep out of the balloon that she’d dared let fill her chest.

“Zoe, there you are.”

She turned to see Oliver’s masculine silhouette moving down the hall, backlit by the window streaming morning light. Another wave of dizziness threatened, but this one was more primal and feminine, caused by the width of his shoulders, the certainty in his stride.

“Hey.” It was all she could manage in the face of the onslaught.

He reached her and gave a slight, secret smile. Had he forgiven her for disappearing last night? Hell, had she forgiven herself for the little temper tantrum? She’d certainly suffered for it overnight.

From the looks of his face, he hadn’t suffered at all.

“I bet Wanda told you the good news.”

Wanda laughed as she walked away. “I’m lousy with a secret.”

Then would she be spreading the news about…
Pasha’s son
?

“We’ll progress with the transfusion as soon as the oncologist reports are in.” Oliver reached to touch her shoulder. “You okay?”

“I am,” she finally said, forcing a smile. “I’m…I’m really sorry,” she said suddenly. “I shouldn’t have left.”

He angled his head, a rare look of uncertainty on his face—rare at least in these surroundings, where he never looked less than sure of everything.

“I freaked out,” she admitted before he could answer. “It was really intense and I—”

Evan stepped into the hallway, interrupting the conversation. “She’s asleep!” He announced, devastated.

“That’s what we want, son,” Oliver told him. “I’ve given her something to keep her resting today. Tomorrow’s going to be the biggest day of her life.” He turned to Zoe, a spark of warmth in his eyes. “First day of the rest of it, I hope.”

“What should I do, Dad?”

Zoe knew what
she
wanted to do. Internet searches for…the truth.

“Well, I guess you could hang around here or…” Oliver gave a beseeching look to Zoe.

She pulled herself together and looked down at the little boy. The one Pasha called
Matthew
. She
had
to know more about what that nurse had told her.

“You know what?” Oliver said suddenly. “I’ve put everything aside for Pasha today and we’re ready to roll tomorrow.” He put an arm around Zoe and reached for Evan’s hand. “Let’s do something together.”

Oh, the fantasy balloon was inflating again, damn it.

“Like what, Dad?”

“Anything you want,” Oliver replied.

Evan looked up at Zoe with a longing so clear she could practically hear him barking his plea to her:
Tell him I want a dog!

Zoe inched back, shaking her head. “You two go off and have a father-and-son day. I’ve got…stuff to do.”

Disappointment flickered in Oliver’s eyes. Of course he thought she was running away, bailing before things got too stable and steady.

But that wasn’t true. Still, she couldn’t tell him. Not until she knew more.

“You go.” She eased away, toward the door. “I’m going to whisper good-bye to Pasha.” She escaped before either one could argue, slipping into the room where Pasha slept.

She hesitated for a second, then walked to the bed, taking in the peaceful countenance of a woman she thought she knew.

Pasha wasn’t capable of murder; Zoe would bet her life on that.

But then, hadn’t Zoe bet her life on everything Pasha said and did? Hadn’t she let this woman make every call and dictate every move and insist on a lifetime of lying?

Had Pasha given up everything for Zoe, or had Zoe given up everything for her?
Everything
.

The fairy tale. The family. The love of a good man.
Everything
.

What was she
doing
? Oliver was offering it to her again. And her answer? To run, of course. Maybe she thought she was running to smooth out this new wrinkle—whatever it was, however it affected them—but she was running nonetheless.

Damn it. When would she stop? When would she run
to
something wonderful instead of
away
?

With one last glance at Pasha, Zoe spun around and darted to the door, looking down the hall to catch that same silhouette and a much smaller one right next to it.

“Oliver! Evan!”

They both turned.

“Wait for me!”

O
liver actually heard his own breath hiss through his teeth when he turned and saw Zoe running down the clinic hall, her eyes shiny and sparkling.

“Dog,” she said, a little breathless.

“What?”

“Yes! We’re getting a dog!” Evan jumped noisily.

Oliver opened his mouth to protest, but when Zoe slipped her slender fingers into his hand and tugged him, any chance of saying no to anyone about anything disappeared.

“We’re getting a dog?” He echoed Evan’s statement, only less enthusiastically.

Zoe didn’t answer, but fished her keys out of her pocket. “We’ll take my Jeep so there’s room to get a crate and all the stuff and…” She looked at Evan. “A nice big pooch.”

He jumped again and Oliver finally found his common sense. “Whoa, just one second.” He shook his head, hard. “Not so fast.”

“Dad!”

She looked from one to the other, settling on Oliver. “Okay, what exactly are your issues with a dog?”

“Taking care of it.”

“I will!” Evan said.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “What about when you go back to Chicago in the fall?”

“I’ll bring it with me.”

Oh, that would go over big with Adele. “Uh, your mother is not a fan of dogs.”

“She’ll
love
my dog.”

“Not its pee on her white carpets.”

Evan giggled. “We’ll house-train it before I go back.”

“You think we can have a dog at the villa?” Oliver asked.

“Yes, Miss Lacey already told me I could.” Evan looked downright smug.

“Dogs are a responsibility, Evan. This isn’t a stuffed animal. It’s a living, breathing creature who needs attention and love and devotion…” His gaze shifted to Zoe, his chest suddenly tight. “That’s an awfully big commitment that some people can’t imagine making.”

She barely flinched at the not-so-subtle dig.

“I can do it, Dad.” Evan squeezed his other hand. “I promise I’ll take care of it, I’ll walk it, I’ll feed it, I’ll do everything, I’ll love it. And it can sleep in my room. I promise. Dad, please? Please?”

Zoe smiled. “How can you say no to that face?”

Knowing he had what he wanted, Evan slathered it on, grinning his most adorable smile.

Shit. “You can’t change your mind, Ev,” he said. “You can’t take it back if it turns out to be more than you can handle.”

He held up his right hand, the image of solemnity. “I swear, Dad. I swear to you.”

Oliver let out a sigh and dug around for anything at all that could counter that. Nothing showed up.

“All right, then,” Zoe said, scrolling through her phone. “Let’s find the local rescue shelters.”

This time Evan froze. “I want a puppy.”

“Well, they have puppies. Sometimes.”

He frowned, seeking support from Dad. “Don’t you want a puppy?”

“I think I’ve made my feelings clear on the subject. And if it’s your dog, you can get whatever you want.”

“Oliver!” Zoe’s eyes were wide. “There are rescue dogs who need homes.”

But Evan stepped forward to make his own argument. “Zoe, I want a puppy. There’s a pet store in the mall about ten minutes from here. I already Googled it.”

“Of course you did,” she said. “And you’re right. It’s your dog. Let’s go see what they’ve got.”

Half an hour later the three of them stood in front of a glass partition, looking at about fifteen puppies of various shapes and breeds, sleeping, eating, and generally looking adorable in their little cages.

Zoe leaned against the glass, watching as Evan walked back and forth, eyeing each critically, completely involved in the selection process. Oliver let his son go and stood next to her.

“So what changed your mind?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Pasha was sleeping and I had nothing else to do.”

“I meant last night, when you disappeared.”

“You know…things got dicey.”

He took her chin and tilted her face up to him, lost for a moment in inviting green eyes. “Things get dicey in life, Zoe. You can’t always—”

“I can’t decide!” Evan popped in front of them. “I love the Yorkie, but that’s not a very big dog.”

“Little is good,” Oliver said.

“But there’s that fluffy white thing.”

“American Eskimo.” Zoe nodded. “Pretty dog, too.”

Evan sighed. “I also like him.” He pointed to a black-and-white rat terrier, sound asleep and looking far more peaceful than he probably was when awake.

“Rat terrier? Sounds like he might bring home some unwanted friends,” Oliver mused. “But you pick the dog who speaks to you.”

Still pondering, Evan walked back down the glass, leaving them alone again.

“You were saying?” Zoe asked.

“I was saying you shouldn’t have left.”

“It was time.”

On whose clock? “I want you to spend the night.”

She gestured toward the dogs. “Gonna get crowded in that house.”

“I want to sleep with you next to me, Zoe.”

She inched away as if the very idea gave her claustrophobia. “Not tonight. You have a big day tomorrow.”

“We’re all ready, and so is Pasha.”

At the first mention of her aunt’s name, a shadow crossed over Zoe’s face. Instantly she walked away to join Evan. “Did you see that little dachshund?”

“Yeah, he’s cute, too.” He put his hands on the glass and shook his head. “I can’t pick.”

Oliver stood behind them, the urge to put a protective hand on both of their shoulders surprisingly strong. But Zoe would just duck and run.

“Listen, Evan, the man who owns the store has a lot of information about each dog, including how big they’ll be and what their temperaments are. Why don’t we get a copy of that and take it to lunch and you can make a more informed decision?”

Zoe turned and smiled. “Such an Oliver-like idea.”

“Logical and sound,” he agreed. “What do you say, Evan?”

He hesitated, his attention darting from dog to dog; he was clearly overwhelmed with the weight of the doggie decision. “ ’Kay. I’m hungry.”

The inability to pick a breed lingered over lunch at the mall deli, distracting Evan enough that he barely ate his burger. Side by side in a booth with Zoe, Evan pored over the list from the pet store, troubled.

Zoe asked him questions and helped the boy hone in on what was important, while Oliver relished the connection between them, enjoying her quips and the sight of his son next to the woman he…

No. It didn’t matter how he felt. He could love Zoe from now until he took his last breath—and, damn it, he might—but would that ever be enough to hold on to a woman like her? No matter what her circumstances? How many times would he come out of the bathroom to find an empty bed? Home from work to find an empty house?

Zoe pushed the paper away from Evan. “Stop thinking so hard, kid. Eat your food and think about something else and the right answer will come to you. You, too, Dad.” She winked at Oliver, obviously aware he wasn’t listening to this conversation.

“Is that what you do? Think about something else when you have a problem?” Evan asked.

No, she runs off.

Zoe shrugged. “No, but you’re not me. You’re way smarter and you have too much information now, and you’re no longer going on your gut. Plus, it doesn’t matter.” She picked up an onion ring and used it to point at him. “You’re going to love this dog no matter what you get.”

“Do you have a dog?” he asked.

She shook her head and dipped the ring in ketchup. “I move around too much.”

Like, constantly. Oliver swallowed the retort along with some iced tea.

“Did you have one when you were a kid?” Evan asked.

She shook her head, then stopped as if reconsidering that. “Actually, one place had a beagle. …” Zoe’s voice trailed off as she caught herself. She shared a look with Oliver.

She’d told him earlier that she’d finally come clean with her friends. Would that honesty extend to others now, too? To Evan? Oliver sat perfectly still as he waited to find out.

“One place? You mean you don’t remember?” Evan asked.

Zoe put down the onion ring without eating it, brushing her fingers so some crumbs fell on her plate. “I…” She took a slow breath, her eyes cast down. “I lived in a lot of places.”

“Did your parents move a lot?” he asked.

Oliver held his sandwich poised in the air, watching and waiting and wondering what was going on in Zoe’s head. She still didn’t meet his gaze.

“My parents…” She swallowed. “I didn’t really have parents.”

Evan looked up, ready to argue, but then his expression softened. “Aunt Pasha raised you, right?”

There, she had her usual out. Oliver waited for her to take it, to quip about life with her gypsy aunt, to mention that her parents died in a car crash when she was ten.

Basically, he waited for her to lie to his son.

“She did raise me,” Zoe said. “But before that I lived in foster homes.”

Something in Oliver’s chest slipped.

“Like, you were an orphan?” Evan asked.

Zoe nodded. “Yep. Little Orphan Zoe.” But the humor didn’t ring true. And he could feel discomfort rolling off her in waves. Oliver wanted to step in, help her out, change the subject, anything to take the agony out of her eyes, but something told him not to.

This was Zoe’s confession to make and all he could do was love her for making it.

“What was that like?” Evan asked, a little tentative, as if he knew it wasn’t polite to ask questions about being an orphan.

Zoe tried for a casual shrug, but her shoulder stayed up and her expression dissolved from a woman about to make a joke to…a face he saw so rarely. Her eyes, which normally glittered with her easy smile, looked wide and sad.

“It sucked,” she said quietly. “Hope I can use that word in front of your son.”

“He’s said worse.”

“Much,” Evan agreed, but his attention was riveted on Zoe. “How come nobody adopted you?”

Finally that shoulder dropped in a slow slump. “I got too old and most people want babies.”

“But you’re so much fun.”

She gave him an elbow nudge. “Just like the dogs in the shelter that you don’t want to consider.”

Evan’s expression changed as that hit home. “How many houses did you live in?” he asked.

Oliver stepped in to save her. “Hey, it’s personal business, Ev, so—”

“It’s okay.” She waved him off as if she were trying to convince herself as much as them. “Really, I’m ready…it’s okay.” She leaned back and took a second to compose herself, then said, “I lost count after fifteen families. Sometimes I was only at one for a few weeks, sometimes longer. I never knew when the call would come that I had to move on. And so I wasn’t really nice to those people because I figured if I got too…” She closed her eyes.

“Zoe, you don’t have to—”

She caught the hand that Oliver held out. “I want to. I want to tell him this.” She added a smile. “But thanks.”

“Zoe doesn’t tell a lot of people this, Evan,” he said softly.

“But I’m telling him, now.” She let go of Oliver’s hand and turned to Evan. “The hardest part was that I didn’t want to get too comfortable. If I felt like something was mine—like my closet or my drawer or my bed or my fa
mi
ly—then, sure enough, some old bag would show up at the door and tell me I had to leave.”

Evan was silent, mesmerized. And Oliver simply wanted to punch a wall. How had he never considered this aspect of her life?

She’d said she always wanted to get away from that last horrific home, and he’d accepted that as her reason for running. But it was even deeper than that. Staying—staying
anywhere
—meant getting hurt.

“So, as you can imagine,” she said, fighting for that light tone of hers and losing the battle, “it’s always been easier for me”—she shifted her gaze to Oliver, slicing him in two with the sincerity of it—“to not get attached. That way, when I left the closet or the drawer or the bed I liked so much, I didn’t miss it too badly.”

Of course. It made perfect sense. Now all he had to do was figure out how to convince her that wouldn’t happen. And trust her to love and not leave.

Was that even possible with a woman as damaged as Zoe?

“But then you got with Aunt Pasha,” Evan said, like a child determined to find the happy ending. “And it was like somebody took you home, huh?”

Zoe shook her head. “Not exactly, but it was better.” She reached across the table to touch Oliver’s hand, as if she understood that her message had finally sunk into Oliver’s skull.

Evan pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Oliver asked.

“Googling.”

“Foster homes?” Zoe smiled. “You want to know everything about everything, don’t you, little Einstein?”

He tapped a few buttons and scrolled on the screen. “I want to find the closest animal rescue shelter.” His finger paused and he looked up at her. “I bet we could find a dog that needs a real home.”

“I bet we could.” Zoe beamed at Oliver, her eyes brimming with tears. “Mission accomplished.”

Zoe ended what had felt like a nearly perfect day by pouring a heavy-on-the-vodka-with-a-molecule-of-tonic and settling onto her bed with an open laptop. Oliver had practically begged her to stay after dinner and she’d been so tempted, but the siren call of the Internet was too strong.

She had to know more.

Her fingers touched the keys, ready to type.
Patricia Hobarth…Corpus Christi…Matthew Hobarth.

Matthew Hobarth? Was that even his name? How would Zoe know? Because the one person she loved and trusted and depended on for everything had
failed to tell her
.

How? How could Pasha have had a son and never even told Zoe about it?

A white-hot spurt of betrayal shot through her, and not for the first time that day. She’d managed to run from the heartache and escape to something better with Oliver and Evan, even with her honest admissions over lunch.

She was tired of hiding the truth about her life. But, evidently, Pasha was not.

Had Pasha lied to Zoe all these years? Whether out of omission, fear, or just plain guilt—God, no, please. Not that.

She had to know.