Forbidden Son (17 page)

Her
question seemed to shock him out of his surprised stupor. Hooking the cane on
the corner of the desk, he lowered himself to the plush black office chair, the
steel in his voice evident. “Anything is possible, Miss Garrett. Obviously you
aren’t here for old times’ sake. I’ll ask again, what is the purpose of your
visit?”

She
drew in a deep breath, the tension leaving her. He was going to hate her guts.
Here wasn’t the place to reveal her secret.

“I
have something of extreme importance to tell you. Because of who you are and
your political position, your office may not be private enough.”

Tripp
leaned forward, and the chair squeaked loudly. “All right, out of curiosity,
I’ll play your little game. Meet me at the Lincoln Memorial in an hour.”

“There
are a lot of steps. How will I find you?”

His
voice was laced with condemnation. “One hour.”

When
he looked down at the papers on his desk, Honey Belle knew she had been
dismissed.

Chapter
Twenty-Six

The
image of Honey Belle’s ethereal beauty rose up in Tripp’s mind like a specter
to haunt him. He stared at the closed door long after she had left his office,
then leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Oh, how he had loved her,
from the first moment she had slapped his face when he’d suggested he drive her
to the beach to watch the submarine races.

He
had fully intended to take advantage of the young woman who had bared the
fullness of her breast as she had leaned out the Burger Bin’s drive-through
window to hand him his order of fries and a hamburger with double pickles, hold
the onions.

A
rich college kid used to getting his way, the slap and her refusal to accept
his apology had won his heart.

Now
a familiar grief constricted in his chest like a vise. It had been seventeen
years since he had stood on the steps of the house located on Barrington Street
only to find out that Honey Belle and her parents had never lived in the
antebellum home with the wide wraparound veranda. She had stolen his heart, she
had lied to him, and then like a wisp of wind she had disappeared.

To
his utter amazement, her features had grown more beautiful than he remembered.
Sighing, he welcomed the anger, the feeling of betrayal that twisted hot in his
gut.

The
intercom’s buzz caused him to jump. Pressing the answer button, he ground out
his response more forcefully than he intended. “What is it?”

“Shall
I order in lunch for you, Senator?”

“Not
today, Mrs. Evans. I’m going out.”

“But
Senator, you haven’t fully dictated the changes in the documents for the Arms
Committee.”

He
wanted to say,
Screw the schedule
. He didn’t. “Notify the answering
service, Mrs. Evans, that we’re closing the office—” he glanced at his watch—
“until two o’clock. We all deserve a break once in awhile, including you.”

After
a long moment, he removed his jacket, draped it over the back of his chair,
loosened the knot on his black tie, and grabbed his cane.

Outside,
he walked down the sidewalk, the soles of his shoes cushioned his steps. It
felt good to be out, to feel the heat against his back. He rolled the sleeves
of his white shirt up to his elbows.

He
had always paid attention to details. Especially when he’d begun his law
practice, and even more so while stationed in Vietnam, and now as a United
States senator. Little things, obscure things, and it had become a habit.

And
now a little detail bothered him. Honey Belle’s out-of-the-blue visit.

Detail.

Something
significant. Something important.

But
what was it?

He
stopped at Roscoe’s Dog and Suds stand and ordered two hot dogs, extra relish,
hold the onions.

“That
be all for you today, Senator?”

“Two
waters. Extra ice.”

“You
got it. Man, it’s hot enough to melt Antarctica.”

Tripp
chuckled as he accepted the sack and paid the vendor. “Let’s hope not, Bernie.”
There was a joke. Bernie Lebowitz had bought the hot dog stand ten years ago
and had never changed the name.

Moments
later, with the aid of the cane, he limped up the steps to the top of the
Lincoln Memorial. Early, he stationed himself in the shade next to the massive
statue, where he could see the comings and goings down below.

Removing
a hot dog from the sack and savoring a man-sized bite, he realized he’d
forgotten how good simple food tasted.

****

Honey
Belle felt the heat on her face as she looked up. Squinting through her
sunglasses, she scanned the steps. Her heart dropped. Tripp was nowhere in
sight.

She
glanced at her watch. On time, she’d wait a half hour. If he didn’t show, she’d
leave and never look back.

And
then she spotted him, standing far enough out of the shadows to be seen. She
wondered how long he’d been there watching her. The thought sent a shiver down
her spine—one she quickly rejected.

By
the time she reached the top of the steps, she was glad she walked every day.
She had to admit climbing steps in high heels wasn’t as easy as walking two
miles wearing sneakers. She drew a long, lung-refreshing breath and blew it
out.

Tripp
was clearly upset. She could tell by the scowl on his face. She opened her
mouth, but before she could greet him he blurted out, “I took the liberty of
bringing lunch. I hope you like hot dogs.”

Surprised,
she didn’t know how to respond. In truth, she was certain the butterflies in
her stomach would refuse anything she put in it. “Thank you. I had a large
breakfast.” She wiped a hand across her brow. “Do you have anything cold to
drink in that bag?”

They
were both stalling for time, and she knew it. She accepted the Styrofoam cup,
removed the lid. The water cooled her parched throat.

She
worried her bottom lip, wishing he wasn’t so damned handsome. “Do you mind if
we sit?”

Without
waiting for his answer, she sat on the top step relishing the coolness of the
shade. She balanced the briefcase on her knees.

She
looked up at Tripp, who was still standing. His eyes seemed involved in some
sort of inner search for understanding as to why she was here. She patted the
place next to her. “I promise not to bite.”

He
snapped his head around as he joined her. His face softened as soon as his eyes
met hers. She wanted to hold on to that gaze. She clicked the clasps on the
briefcase and opened it. She spoke no words as she handed Tripp a photograph.

She
wondered what he was thinking as he studied the image. He frowned. “A picture
of me in my senior year of high school. I don’t remember giving you this. How
did you get it?”

The
day was crisp and hot, bright with sun, blue as only a summer sky in
Washington, D.C. can be. And suddenly, sitting on the top step in shade cast by
the massive stone statue of Abraham Lincoln, Honey Belle felt confined.

She
scooted a little ways from him to better see his face. This was it. The moment
of truth. Her heart thrummed inside her ears. She didn’t know whether she was
speaking aloud. “It isn’t you, Tripp. His name is Jack Tripp Garrett. JT, for
short. He’s my son...our son.”

****

He
had a son.

Son.

The
word whispered through Tripp and stole inside his heart.

His
son.

His.

Tripp’s
heart turned over in his chest as he continued to stare at the image he’d
mistaken for his own.

Confusion
and rage coursed through him in equal measure. He didn’t know whether to sweep
Honey Belle into his arms or strangle her with his tie.

Questions
fired off inside his head like mortar rounds. He glowered at her, secretly
admiring the red blush on her cheeks. He blurted out, “Is that why you slunk
out of South Carolina? Because you were pregnant? Because you didn’t trust my
love for you?”

He
raked a hand through his hair. “My god, Honey Belle, can you imagine what I
felt when I went to the house on Barrington Street and found out you’d lied to
me? I loved you.”

“I’m
sorry.” Her voice was husky.

The
sun had reached its peak and was already inching toward the horizon. Tripp
stared out across the expanse at the Washington Monument. “Why have you waited
all these years to tell me I have a son?” His mouth twisted. “And don’t tell me
it’s complicated.”

She
closed her eyes and sighed. “JT is an exceptional young man. He excels in
everything—academics, sports, and politics. When he received the letter stating
he’d been tapped to serve as a congressional junior page, it was the happiest
day of his life, and it felt like a death sentence to me. There is no way for
either you or me to come out a winner in this.

“You’ve
seen the photograph. Even you mistook it for yourself. I’ve never stopped
loving you, Tripp, but I love my son more. JT was so excited about the appointment
that I couldn’t take his joy away by denying him the opportunity.”

Honey
Belle spread her hands wide as if desperate. “D.C. is a place of scandal. My
greatest fear is what will happen if you and he are seen together. There’s
bound to be questions, speculation from reporters, other members of the House
and Senate. My son thinks his father died in the war. I never told him any
different.”

Anger
flashed in his gut, but he suppressed it. “You keep referring to him as
your
son. He’s
mine
, too.”

Honey
Belle’s sharp intake of breath revealed her acknowledgement of his fury.
Staring back at him, she drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. “Yelling
at me won’t solve the problem.”

Her
announcement that he had son had come as a shock. He managed a tight-lipped
reply. “Yes, of course, you are right.”

He
glanced at his watch as he stood. “I have to get back to the office.” His eyes
darkened. “You owe me an explanation. I want to know all of it right down to
the last detail.”

Honey
Belle clenched her hands around the briefcase handle. She stood, too, almost
matching Tripp’s height. “On two conditions—one, that you make certain JT is
protected from scandal, and two, when I tell you the circumstances of keeping
my...our son’s birth a secret, that you will listen, without comment, until I’m
finished.”

“You
are in no position to dictate terms, Honey Belle.” He used his cane as balance
to help him maneuver down the steps. Halfway down, he turned and looked at her
delicate features, the stubborn tilt of her chin, and he searched for the right
words. “The President has called a special session of the Arms Committee. I
head the committee and will no doubt be sequestered until all committee members
are certain the wording in the bill cannot be challenged by the opposing body.”
He offered a sardonic smile. “We could be tied up for weeks, or at least until
summer is over and the junior pages have left D.C.”

Honey
Belle placed a hand to her heart. “Thank you, Tripp.”

He
raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be in contact. You still owe me an explanation, and no
lies, Honey Belle. I despise liars.”

He
was close enough to see her blink back the tears. “Should I stay in D.C. or
return home?”

He
gave her a measured look then shrugged. “Earlier you said you were from
Georgia. Valdosta, I believe. I’ll contact you.”

“You
won’t try to see JT, will you? I mean, you know what would happen?”

“I
didn’t get to where I am today by making stupid decisions, Honey Belle.” Yeah,
he already knew the temptation was there to seek out young Jack Tripp Garrett.
He also knew reporters were vampires seeking their next victim to bleed dry.
For the sake of his son, he would go MIA to avoid a scandal.

But
by no means did he intend to let Honey Belle Garrett off the hook.

****

In
heavy silence, Honey Belle strolled down the boulevard. The air had cooled.
Dark clouds billowed with the promise of rain.

She
knew the way back to her hotel and decided the walk would help clear her head.
Too much had happened today. She wrestled with her conscience. All she had ever
wanted was to protect her son. To love him the way her mother and father had
never loved her. Until JT had received the letter announcing his appointment as
a congressional junior page, life had been uncomplicated, peaceful, and filled
with happiness.

She
greeted the doorman at the hotel and rode the elevator up to her room. Her
stomach growled, reminding her that except for a cup of coffee she hadn’t eaten
all day.

Kicking
off her shoes, she padded to the telephone and ordered room service. Tomato
soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.

Her
mind floated back to Tripp as she lifted the scrapbook from the briefcase. She
had intended to show him the book filled with newspaper clippings showcasing
his life, and to explain about his father. The opportunity hadn’t presented itself.

Aimlessly
turning the pages, her eyes settled on the article about Tripp’s marriage to
Kathryn and the loss of their child. Honey Belle wiped a tear from her cheek.

The
poor man. He’d lost his mother, a wife, a child, and his leg. He’d suffered, probably
more than anyone knew. Her imagination painted a dark and brooding picture of
Tripp’s life.

All
she knew of him lay between the pages of a scrapbook. Seventeen years of
memories. She’d probably never know his deepest secrets. He certainly wasn’t
about to share his life with her. In fact, she doubted she’d ever see him
again. The one fact she knew for certain about Tripp was his honesty. He was
the most trusted senator in Washington, D.C. If he said he would protect the
identity of their son, she knew he would live up to his promise.

Leaning
back against the pillow, she allowed herself to create a new picture of Tripp.
Not the angry man she’d confronted today. One who was selfless in his
protection of others, one who would forgive her and rekindle their love.

She
wondered if he too suffered from loneliness. Yes, she had JT and Aunt Tess, and
her students. For all practical purposes, she led a full and satisfying life.
There was one void that needed filling. The love she had walked away from
seventeen years ago.

The
telephone startled her out of her reverie. Her heart pattered. She hoped it was
Tripp. “Hello?”

“Hi,
Mom, just calling to say ‘good-night’ and I love you.”

Honey
Belle swallowed the lump that threatened to keep her from speaking. “Tomorrow
is a big day. Are you still excited?”

“You
know it. Listen, Mom, I know you’re concerned about all those articles you read
about, well, you know...the guy who molested one of the pages. That was last
year. I don’t want you to worry. Nothing like that will happen to me. I won’t
let it. Why don’t you and Aunt Tess take a vacation? Do something fun.”