Spring Rain (30 page)

“Think about it,” she said as Bill exploded into the kitchen. She lifted her hand and grabbed the dishcloth. She rinsed it in the
flow of water and with a flourish began wiping down the counters.

“Aren’t you done yet?” Bill asked as he came up beside the sink, impatience shimmering in the air about him.

“Almost,” Clay said, looking absently for any dishes lurking in the shadows. “You go on in. Just don’t let them start the gifts without me.”

“Then you’d better hurry, or I’ll open yours!” With that threat, Bill rushed out of the room.

Clay couldn’t help the bark of laughter as he watched the boy disappear around the corner. “He’s a great kid, Leigh.”

She looked at the empty doorway with a soft smile. “Thanks. He’s the joy of my life.” She rinsed the dishcloth and hung it on the edge of the sink. She reached past Clay and turned the water off.

Clay decided to ask the question that had been burning in his gut for days. After all, if she could invade his privacy with her little lecture on Jacob and Esau, he could invade hers. “You’ve never heard from his father?”

Leigh looked out the window over the sink, avoiding his eyes. She shook her head. “No, not one word after The Incident.”

“The Incident?”

She smiled self-consciously, still avoiding his eyes. “That’s what I call it. It doesn’t seem quite so terrible if I do.” She shrugged. “I don’t even know why I expected him to stand by me.”

Clay looked at her in surprise. “Why not? Anyone with any character would take responsibility for his actions.”

She suddenly turned to him, her eyes burning. “Did you know that even my failure of a father stood by my mother?”

Clay blinked as much at her intensity as at the news that unwed pregnancies were a generational problem for the Spensers. “If Johnny Spenser was more responsible than Bill’s father, that doesn’t say much for whoever he was, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Her anger left as quickly as it had come, leaving her full of sorrow. “It doesn’t say much for me either, that he could walk away without a backward glance.” Her mouth curved wryly for a minute, then she sighed. “I get so scared for Bill sometimes. What if he follows the same pattern?”

“Don’t devalue yourself like that.” Clay grabbed her arm and gave her a little shake. “I don’t want to hear you do that ever again. Do you hear me? And Bill will be all right. He’s a good kid.”

“So was his father.” She pulled her arm from his grasp. “He was just young, too young.”

“Don’t make excuses for him, Leigh. Even if you didn’t want to marry him, he should have at least assumed financial responsibility for the boy.”

“If he knew.” Her voice was so soft he scarcely heard her.

“You mean he doesn’t know about Bill?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She spoke to the floor. “He wasn’t interested, so why tell him?”

He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “The guy’s still a louse to have left you like that.”

She stepped back so that his hand fell to his side. “Many, many times I’ve thought so, especially in the early years.”

“Of course you have. He should have checked.”

“Yes, he should have.”

Her face was so sad and forlorn that Clay’s heart broke for her. Don Quixote de la Seaside was ready to ride again. He just didn’t know whom to chase after.

She reached under the sink for the dishwasher soap and filled the two wells. She flipped them closed and shut the dishwasher door. She pushed the right buttons, and the machine began to hum.

“I don’t know what I would have done without Julia and Will,” she said, leaning against the counter. “God was so good to send them to me. They became my parents. And Ted became my brother.”

Clay reached for her hand, holding it lightly in his, turning it palm up. He ran a finger gently over the lifelines. “And I missed the whole adventure, didn’t I?”

Her smile was full of a sadness and longing that he didn’t comprehend, though he wanted to. He realized with surprise that he wanted to understand everything about her.

She withdrew her hand from his grasp and said softly, “Yes, you missed the whole thing.”

She walked quietly to the living room, and he followed, trying to figure out what it was about this woman that touched him so deeply. When she took a seat next to Mom on the sofa, he sat on the arm beside her. Ever so casually he put his arm along the back of the sofa. She had to know it was there, and it pleased him that
she didn’t lean forward but let it rest just beyond her shoulders.

“Now presents,” Bill announced from his seat on the floor by Ted. He rose and went to the small tower of gifts that sat on the coffee table. “I’ll play Santa Claus or whatever you call the giver of birthday gifts.” Terror followed him and stood with wagging tail looking at the brightly wrapped packages.

“The Birthday Fairy,” Mom said. “Cousin to the Tooth Fairy, but instead of money, you bring gifts.”

“I don’t think I’ll tell anyone that, Grandma Jule.” Bill shook a present at Terror who rose to his back legs to get a better look.

“That dog’s like a kid,” Clay said. “He thinks one’s for him.”

“Sorry, guy.” Bill patted the dog. “This is for Ted, not you.” Terror trailed happily as they took the present to Ted. They came back for another and took it to Clay. For the next few minutes everyone was busy oohing and aahing over the gifts, whether heavy sweat socks with blue stripes around the top for Clay and green stripes for Ted or wild pajamas for both of them with huge red hearts on a black watch plaid background.

“I’m supposed to wear these?” Clay asked Bill who had given them. “They’ll keep me awake even with my eyes closed.”

Bill laughed happily. “Birthdays are the best.”

“I remember your birthday, Bill,” Ted said. He was resting in the lounger just like yesterday, his feet raised. He now seemed a bit pale to Clay, almost gray, his rosy cheeks gone, but he was animated, wired. He barely broke verbal stride when he coughed a couple of times. “It was quite a night, let me tell you.”

Clay saw David check Ted visually, saw David’s small frown, but Ted looked happy and at ease. Whatever David was thinking, he kept it to himself.

“Tell me,” Bill coaxed. “Come on; tell me.” It was obviously a story he’d heard many times before, but it never grew old.

Leigh suddenly leaned forward. “Not tonight, Billy. Ted’s tired.”

“Bill,” corrected Bill, Ted, and Clay in perfect unison.

She rolled her eyes, sighed, then settled back on the sofa.

“It was a bitter winter Friday night in the middle of January,” Ted began in his best storyteller’s voice. “The snow was coming down hard, and I’d just come to visit your mom for the weekend. She was quite chubby, if you know what I mean.”

Bill nodded. “With me.” He grinned over his shoulder at Leigh.

“We decided to go out for something to eat because she didn’t feel like cooking.”

“That’s because I’d just worked a five-hour shift at the Acme, on my feet the whole time, and this after a morning of classes, and I had to work eight hours the next day,” Leigh defended herself. “My ankles were balloons. And I think we should drop the story for tonight. Please.”

Ted kept his eyes fixed on Bill. To avoid dealing with Leigh’s request? Clay couldn’t decide. All he knew was that he felt an unexpected tension fill the room. His mother suddenly sat up straight, no longer leaning comfortably back against David’s shoulder. David was alert, his eyes moving from Mom to Bill and back. And Leigh was rigid.

“We came down the steps from the second floor apartment where you guys lived,” Ted said. “We had to bend our heads into the wind, and snow was blowing down our collars. We were halfway up the walk to the parking lot when your mom looked at me and said, ‘Not tonight. It’s too snowy. By the time we’re finished, it’ll be really bad. Peanut butter and jelly would be better than this.’ So we turned to go back to the apartment.”

“And that’s when it happened,” said Bill, his imitation of Ted right on. “I was walking along—”

“Hey,” Ted said. “Who’s telling this?”

Bill giggled.

“Ted, please.” Leigh held a hand out in plea.

“I was walking along,” said Ted, eyes riveted to Bill, “kicking the snow, when I heard a terrible scream right behind me.” Ted paused dramatically.

Bill picked up the story. “Slowly I turned, and there was your mother—my mother—flat on her back in the snow.”

Ted nodded. Clay glanced at Leigh. She felt his gaze and looked up. “Ice under the snow. Knocked the wind right out of me, let me tell you.” She tried to smile, but anxiety radiated from her.

“That’s not all it did,” said Bill, turning to her. It was obvious that he loved the drama of the tale and that he felt none of the apprehension that the various adults for some reason felt. “It made you go into labor!”

“I stuffed her in my car and drove to the hospital with her moaning and groaning the whole time,” Ted said.

Mom looked at Leigh. “It’s obvious he’s never been in labor.” She took Leigh’s hands in hers and rubbed them. “It’ll be all right,” she said so softly that Clay almost missed it. “Today’s as good a day as any.”

Leigh looked at Mom in surprise, and Clay watched his mother lean over and kiss her cheek.

“When?” Leigh whispered.

“Sunday.”

Leigh’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.”

Mom shook her head, her eyes glittering with tears. “Don’t worry. I love you. I always will, no matter what.”

Through narrowed eyes Clay looked at his mother and Leigh. What was going on here? He put a hand on Leigh’s shoulder to offer his encouragement though he had no idea why she needed it. He felt her shudder, but she reached up and patted him twice. She kept her eyes fixed on her lap.

Bill noticed none of the byplay and finished the story with a flourish. “And I was born twelve hours later!”

Ted grinned. “And a wee little one you were, Bill. Three and a half pounds.”

“Mom.” Bill turned to Leigh. “Were you scared for me?”

“Petrified,” she said, forcing a smile. “Scared to death. You were so tiny!”

“Would anyone like another piece of cake?” Mom asked, standing so quickly she had to grab Leigh’s shoulder for balance. “David? Ted? Clay?”

Ted kept his gaze fixed on Bill. “You were so little because you were two months premature.”

“Yeah, I know. I was supposed to be born in the middle of March.”

“The middle of March,” Ted said slowly and clearly.

The room fell absolutely silent.

Bill mused over the fascinating fact of his due date.

Ted sat absolutely still, waiting.

Mom sank back into her seat, her face fixed on Leigh, while David looked with concern from Mom to Leigh to Clay.

And Leigh seemed to have stopped breathing.

Clay noticed all these things in a vague manner because the enormity of what he’d just heard drove every other thought from his mind.

The middle of March!

The room was suddenly devoid of oxygen, and his blood thrummed in his ears as he tried to breathe. A great groan tore from his soul as he dropped his head to his chest in distress and disbelief. Failure. Colossal, indefensible, unforgivable failure.

He was the louse.

He became aware through the great flood of misery pouring over his spirit that Leigh had taken his hand, wrapping her fingers around his.

“Are you all right?” she asked gently, her eyes full of concern. There might have been no one in the room but the two of them.

“What?” He looked at her blankly.

“Are you all right?” She traced her thumb from side to side across the back of his hand, offering comfort.

“I’m so sorry.” It was all he could do to force the whisper out. His hand grasped hers tightly. “I’m so sorry.” His voice broke.

“It was long ago,” Leigh said. “You were young. We were young.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “And that’s an excuse?”

Again that sad smile. “No, but it’s the best I can offer.”

How could she be so nice? He reached a hand to rest on her cheek. “You’re amazing.”

Ted watched Leigh and Clay across the room. He had held his breath when he finally made the time frame of Bill’s birth clear, uncertain what would happen. There were so many possibilities.

Would Clay miss the whole point? For all his intelligence he wasn’t the smartest of men at times. Of course they’d all been incredibly obtuse about this issue, so he really couldn’t dump on Clay for not getting with the program sooner.

Would he understand and get defensive? Ted’s own experience with his brother proved that this response was one of Clay’s more refined and long-lived reactions to situations he didn’t like. If Clay took this route, they’d all just have to protect Leigh.

Or would he be okay with the truth, unpalatable and unbelievable though it was? Would he clasp Bill to his chest and proclaim, “My son”? Then would he look at Leigh and ask, “How much back child support do I owe?” The answer to that ought to keep Leigh in fine style for years to come. Or at least get Bill through college.

He knew he’d distressed Leigh and his mother by telling Bill’s birth story. Both of them knew all too well the potential problems of opening this particular Pandora’s box. But he’d hardened his heart and ignored their pleas for silence. He’d almost yielded when Leigh said, “Please” in that disbelieving, hurt voice. And then his mother had jumped to her feet with that question about more cake. It was only by looking straight at Bill and only Bill that he could keep going.

He was pleased that he’d had the fortitude to hold firm to his plan. It was basically a matter of his desire to help Clay being stronger than Ted’s fear of hurting the women. And snide though his thoughts and comments about and to Clay often were, he knew he truly did want to help his brother. The man irritated him in so many ways, but he was his twin. Today was their birthday, their last birthday together. This gift of knowledge was his last gift to his twin.

“What’s wrong with Grandma Jule?” Bill asked from beside him, Ted’s new electronic game forgotten in his hand. “She’s crying.”

Ted glanced at his mother, deep in David’s embrace. Thank God for David. He shrugged. “I guess birthdays make her weepy.” Bill frowned. “She never cried at mine.”