Pulling Home (8 page)

“It’s life, Alice. We can either choose to live it, or lose it.”—August Richot
August Richot believed in the power of forgiveness. He said God’s children were

noble creatures who might lose their way but deserved the light of another chance. He preached this on Sunday mornings to a packed congregation, taught this in his Bible study classes, and prayed this along the bedside of the infirm in Holly Springs Memorial Hospital. God was all forgiving, all knowing, all understanding.

This is why Alice Wheyton sought him out one sunny afternoon four days after

her son’s funeral. Father Benedict knew about dogmas and doctrines but what did he know of
living
them? Pastor Richot lost a wife to multiple sclerosis and raised a son and a daughter. He knew grief. He knew loss.

Alice first started meeting with him after Rachel died. She’d needed to understand how a good and noble God could strike down such a pure and innocent child. Father Benedict called it destiny and simply added Kara’s name to his prayer list, reminding her in his soft voice it wasn’t her place to question our Almighty Savior. Pastor Richot offered no explanation other than his belief that God would provide strength to carry her through this horrible grief. He did not try to stop Alice when she railed against the Creator. He simply listened, then put her in touch with a family the next town over who had lost a daughter Rachel’s age to leukemia. Alice attended prayer groups and grief counseling, even dragged Joe twice, though he barely spoke to anyone, and she met with Pastor Richot every week for the first year. Gradually, life settled into a pattern of unspoken loss and by the third year, Alice could sit on Rachel’s bed without breaking down. Joe never said a word about the time she spent in their daughter’s room or the Barbies she lined up side by side year after year. He was a good man who knew her grief was too deep for him to touch.

And now that grief had tumbled into an abyss too deep and dark for even Alice’s

stalwart faith. God had snatched another child. Jack was all she had left. And Kara.

Pastor Richot would know what to do. He possessed a more practical, sympathetic

attitude than Father Benedict. Besides, from the looks of things, they were going to be relatives. Leslie would make a wonderful daughter-in-law—unlike Audra Valentine who had kept their only grandchild on the opposite side of the country.

“Alice, you look like you haven’t slept in years.”

She offered a withered smile to the man who’d become as much friend as

confidant. “I feel like I haven’t.”

He nodded and slid into a worn leather chair next to her. “I know.” His voice

spilled over her in soothing tones. People said when he spoke, their troubles softened, and when he prayed with them, those troubles shrank.

“Pastor Richot, I just don’t know what to do.” He’d told her long ago to drop the title and simply call him August, but she’d not been able to do that. Alice wanted reminding that he was a man of the cloth, a guide to her troubled soul with years of schooling and experience.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

She yanked a tissue from her shirt pocket and dabbed her eyes. “Where on earth

to begin?” She sniffed. “I’ve got to find a way to talk her into keeping Kara here. I can’t let her go yet. She’s all I have left of Christian. Doesn’t that woman know that? Can’t she have at least a little concern for the people who loved him?” Her voice rose with her conviction and the realization that Audra Valentine probably didn’t know and wouldn’t care if she did.

“I assume we’re speaking of your daughter-in-law?”

“Who else forces me to confession once a month?”

“Have you tried asking her outright?”

Alice let out a huff of annoyance as she recalled the debacle. “I did. She gave me a flat out no. I’m thinking Jack should talk to her.”

August Richot shifted in his chair and rubbed his jaw. “You gave me the

impression Jack didn’t look too kindly on her.”

“He doesn’t, but if anyone can persuade a person to do something, it’s Jack.”

“The boy does have a way of getting people to see his side of things when he sets his mind to it. He’s got Leslie drooling for a ring but convinced it’s not the right time.

Now what man could keep a woman like my daughter at bay and willingly, to boot?”

Alice worked up a smile. “He’s a charmer when he wants to be. Too bad it isn’t

often enough, though he does have a way with his patients.”

“There is the art of diplomacy. You know, if Jack were more of a team player,

he’d be the Assistant Professor of Pediatric Neurosurgery right now, instead of Grant.”

When she frowned, he shrugged and said, “Don’t look so shocked. I love my son but he has his shortcomings.”

“Grant’s a wonderful doctor.”

“He needs to get past the accident. Selling out to the bureaucracy isn’t going to bring back Jennifer or the use of his hand.”

“It’s still so tragic.”

“It’s life, Alice. We can either choose to live it, or lose it. Grant has years ahead, but he’s got to let go of his bitterness.”

“Children rarely do what we want them to, you know that, don’t you?”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

Just talking with the pastor lifted Alice’s heavy heart. He truly was possessed of goodness, and holiness. Everyone liked him, everyone listened to him. Perhaps ...“Could you speak with her?”

The man started in a fit of coughing, so hard Alice thought she’d have to give him a good whack on the back. “Pastor Richot?” His face turned beet red, the coughing worsened. Alice jumped from her chair and whacked his back. Once. Twice. “Should I call the doctor?”

“No,” he croaked. He motioned toward his desk. “Water.”

Alice retrieved his glass and hurried toward him. His dark eyes grew huge

beneath his wire-rimmed glasses. She’d heard of people keeling over after a fit of coughing and the last thing she wanted was another death. “Maybe I should call your son?”

He shook his head. “Something in my throat. I’m fine.” He sipped the water.

“Fine.”

Alice sat down in the chair again and folded the creases in her slacks.
Good Lord
, she’d thought for a second she was about to lose someone else she cared about. She swiped at her eyes. Pastor Richot’s breathing evened out and the red faded to his usual tan. “Has that happened before?”

He focused on his glass and didn’t answer right away. When he did speak, his

voice sounded as though his lungs were parched despite the water. “Once or twice.”

The fact that he admitted it scared her. Once or twice from a man’s perspective, usually meant five or six times. When Joe first started coughing six months before the doctors discovered his emphysema, he only admitted to
once or twice.

“I would feel better if you let me call Grant. Or at least Leslie.”

He waved a hand at her. “You know those medical people. They’ll want to send

me to get poked and prodded. I don’t have the time or the need for any of it. I’m fine, Alice.” He forced a smile. “The good Lord as my witness, I’m fine.”

“Is that the truth or a wish?”—Jack Wheyton

Audra was leaving in two days. Jack wanted to send her packing today but he’d

seen the way his mother clung to Kara, trying to pull pieces of Christian from the child for memory’s sake. It tore at him and rendered him helpless, a feeling he tried to avoid whenever possible. Christian had named him executor of his estate which provided the perfect guise for a face to face meeting with Audra. A public venue would be the smart thing to do, but when had he ever been smart when it came to Audra Valentine?

He called her after morning rounds and told her they had business to discuss

regarding Christian’s estate. She had tried to invent some ridiculous excuse about promising to take Kara for ice cream, as though he were dense or at least, considerate to their situation. Jack was neither. “Her grandparents will be thrilled to take her. Have my father give you directions to my house. It’s in Landemere, thirty minutes from Holly Springs. Be here at eight.”

By 8:15, Jack started doubting whether she’d show. She might just call later and tell him to take his papers and go to hell. They both knew it wasn’t about the papers. It wasn’t even about Kara. It was about ending what had started too many years ago— closure. Finding out the whys that made him jumpy when Kara was around, made him refuse to think about Audra, which of course, never worked. He’d only seen one picture of her in nine years. She sat on a swing, her dark head thrown back in laughter, eyes closed, lips open.
Pure bliss
. Her cotton shirt stretched over a belly ripe with child. In that instant, Jack knew if he didn’t erase her from his life, he would end up hating his brother for taking something Jack considered his. But had she ever been his? He intended to find out.

The doorbell rang at 8:35. Jack downed the rest of his scotch and slid into a pair of beat-up loafers. He’d worn jeans and a T-shirt with paint splotches to prove she didn’t matter. When he opened the door, there she was, staring back at him in her designer top and slacks, her feet in tiny pumps with rhinestones. She might have been nervous but he’d have to remove the first
and
second layer of skin to detect anything close to heat.

“May I come in?”

“Sure.” Jack held the door wide, determined not to inhale the faint scent of

expensive cologne that reminded him of the honeysuckle she’d worn when he first met her. This one, of course, would cost much more. After all, it was all about the money now, and the appearance. Wasn’t it? He intended to find that out, too. And where Dr.

Perfection fit into the picture. “I thought we’d sit on the deck?” Open air, in front of God and the sky. Less likely he’d try to strangle—or kiss her. “I’ve got wine, water, tea?”

“Scotch?”

Interesting.
“Scotch it is.” At nineteen, she’d barely been able to sip a beer. They made their way to the deck and Jack handed her the glass, careful not to touch her skin.

He sank into a lounge chair and sipped his drink. He’d built this house two years ago, 3,500 square feet of stone-washed brick, a tribute to his father’s profession.

“You have a beautiful home.”

Kind words. Forced. He wanted none of it. All he wanted was the truth. The

evening sun shot through her hair, sparking bursts of red and auburn highlights. The first time he saw her she’d been standing against the window of his apartment and the sun had been in her waist length hair...

“...and an incredible view.”

“Did Christian know about us?” There. Finally, he’d spoken the words he’d held

inside for nine years. She jerked and spilled scotch on her slacks. The wet spot seeped into the beige fabric but she didn’t seem to notice. “Answer me, dammit.”

She closed her eyes and sat very still, head bent as though pulling away to an

untouchable place where not even his cruel words could harm her. Why did she have to make it so very difficult? A simple yes or no to clear up the years of wondering would be sufficient. Unless she was hiding something from him. Something deep and dark. “Is Kara my child?”

Her head shot up. “No!”

Jack clinked the ice in his glass and considered her vehement denial. “If you do the math, it’s a little off.”

“She’s not your daughter.”

“Is that the truth or a wish?” He’d never wanted to face the possibility that Kara could be his daughter, but with Christian gone and Audra two feet from him, he had no choice.

“Kara’s not your daughter,” she repeated with such disgust he wondered how she

ever let him touch her in the first place. He didn’t need to wonder though because whenever they were together in those days, it was spontaneous combustion—hot, deep, and explosive. It had never been that way with any other woman since. Not even Leslie.

“You sound so certain. I guess you had a DNA test done. Right?”

“No. I was on the pill with you.”

She pulled her lips into a straight line and Jack found himself staring at them, wondering if they still tasted like strawberry lip gloss. Out darted the tip of her pink tongue, sending a jolt to his crotch. He shifted in his chair, reminding himself she was the nemesis who had tortured him for nine years, damaged his relationship with his brother, brought pain to his family. “Ah, and then you weren’t with Christian? What did we have, a two week window when you hopped from my bed to his or were you hopping both beds at the same time?” The thought sickened him.

“When you and I split up, Christian didn’t know we were together. I know I

should have told him, but I couldn’t. We got close.” She looked away. “We realized we belonged together.”

His chest tightened. “How many minutes after we split did you run to him?”
Look
at me, dammit. Look at me when you tell me I meant nothing to you.

But she wouldn’t. Her voice drifted to him then skittered toward the potted peace lily. “I waited three days for you to come back to the apartment. I finally broke down and called your house but hung up when your mother answered. So, I went back to Holly Springs and there you were, loading up your Jetta for a ski trip. You wore a red and blue sweater and a blue stocking cap.” She turned toward him then, looked at him and through him. “You do remember telling me it was over, don’t you? How I’d come into your life ten years too early? If I hadn’t found you at your parents’ house you would have made me wait until you got back to dump me. And I would have waited.”

“I’m sorry.” Christ, he’d been such an asshole. But on the way to Toggenberg, the truth smacked him so hard he almost wrecked the Jetta. He’d forced himself to stay the five days just to make sure his feelings were real, and after an absolutely miserable time, he loaded the car at dawn on the sixth day and drove home. That’s when he got the news.

Audra Valentine, the girl he’d been secretly sleeping with who had stolen his heart, had fled to California with his brother and married him.

“You did what you had to do, Jack. That was one thing I remember about you.