Tell Me a Story (19 page)

"
T
hat was terrific. Mom." Flynn pushed his plate away and dropped his napkin beside it.

"You hardly ate enough to keep a bird alive. Are you sure you got enough?"

"I think that theory has been proven false. Didn't I read somewhere that birds have to eat twice their weight every day? If I ate enough to keep a bird alive, you'd have to roast another chicken or three."

His mother smiled but he read the worry in her eyes. He looked away. He knew that she could sense that something was wrong but he wasn't ready to talk about it. Not yet. The hurt was too new, too raw.

He reached for his wine, sipping it slowly. The crisp chardonnay was a far cry from the things he'd been drinking this last week. Stupid. It shamed him to think of how much time he'd spent drinking since the fight with Ann. There were no answers to be found at the bottom of a bottle. He knew that, and he hadn't really been looking for answers. He'd been looking for oblivion. Only that wasn't to be found, either.

It didn't matter how drunk he got, he could still remember his losses. Mark, who'd died much too young, leaving so many unanswered questions and leaving Flynn with a burden of perfection he felt woefully inadequate to carry. Becky, darting in and out of his life and changing it completely. And Ann. God, how could he describe that loss? She'd given him a glimpse of heaven and then snatched it back.

Maybe she was right. Maybe the fault was his. He should have more ambition. Maybe if he'd tried harder to please his father, Mark wouldn't have had to carry the whole burden. Maybe he wouldn't have died.

Flynn shook his head. Stupid. He was what he was just as Mark had chosen his path. He couldn't make himself something he wasn't, just as his brother hadn't been able to be something he wasn't.

"Flynn!" Flynn's head jerked up at his father's sharp command and he realized that he'd been staring at the tablecloth, completely absorbed in his thoughts. David McCallister frowned at him sternly from across the table. "Your mother is speaking to you."

"I'm sorry, Mom. What were you saying?"

"Your mother shouldn't have to repeat herself. Have you been drinking? You act like you're only half awake." His father jabbed irritably at a steamed carrot and Flynn wondered if he was wishing it was his son he was poking.

"I haven't had anything today but I could change that if you'd like." The smile he gave his father was designed to make the older man's blood pressure rise. Their eyes fenced in an old challenge, one that neither of them had ever won.

"Flynn. David. Stop it, both of you." The look Louise gave her husband and son could have controlled an entire army. It served quite well with her family.

"Sorry, Mom."

David muttered into his coffee cup. The words might have been an apology or they might have been a curse. His wife chose not to ask for clarification.

The rest of the meal passed without incident. No one was in the mood for the chocolate pie the cook had made and left for the meal. The three of them adjourned to the study and, with a worried look at her husband and son, Louise left to make coffee.

When she returned, they were exactly where she'd left them. Her husband was seated in his favorite chair, his gaze focused on the wall opposite. Flynn leaned one shoulder against the mantel, his eyes on the snifter of brandy he held. It was raining outside, the first big storm of the season and a small fire crackled in the fireplace, more for psychological warmth than to supplement the heating. But it didn't seem to have done much good. The atmosphere in the room was chill with old hurts.

Louise sighed faintly as she wheeled the coffee tray into the room. She settled herself in a chair across from her husband, near the warmth from the fireplace. David accepted a cup of coffee from her but Flynn lifted the brandy snifter in silent refusal. She caught David's eye on his son and hurried into speech before he could comment on Flynn's drinking.

"Have you heard from Becky?"

"I got a letter yesterday." His face softened in the first real smile she'd seen since his arrival. "The spelling was a little shaky but I gather that she's happy. Rafferty took her into the mountains to see the snow and she's pretty impressed with it. They had a snowball fight and she won. The house is great and there's a huge backyard with a big tree. Rafferty has promised her a swing this summer."

"It sounds like she's happy. I'm so glad. She's a sweet child."

"Yes, she is. I miss her but it helps to know that she's happy. I know Rafferty is going to be a great father."

"It could have been such a tragedy. I think it's wonderful that everything worked out so well. How is Ann? She must be missing Becky, too."

Flynn's smile faded and his eyes dropped back to his drink. "I'm sure she is. Ann and I aren't seeing each other these days."

He said it casually, but his mother could hear the pain underlying the words arid her heart went out to him. Mark had always been the serious one, but Louise knew which of her sons felt pain most deeply. Flynn had always been so good at hiding his feelings, but his emotions ran deep.

"I'm sorry, Flynn."

He shrugged, his smile twisted. "So am I, Mom."

"Figures. Thought the girl had too much sense to be seeing you."

"David!" Louise's shocked exclamation brought a flush to her husband's face.

"No, that's all right, Mom. It's not like Dad's opinion of me is anything new, is it, Dad? Families should be honest with one another."

David's flush deepened at the sweet sarcasm in Flynn's tone. "The trouble with you, Flynn, is that you've got a chip on your shoulder. You're always looking to blame someone else for your troubles."

"I don't blame anyone for anything, Dad."

"And you lack sense. Any half-wit could see that Ann was a woman worth keeping. What do you do? You let her go.''

"What do you suggest I should have done? Chained her in the basement?" Flynn's smile stayed in place but his knuckles whitened on the brandy snifter. "She seemed to think that one of my major flaws was that I was too much like my father. Amusing, don't you think?"

David McCallister didn't see the humor. "Like me? Ha! Thought the girl had more sense. I can't imagine two people less alike."

"For once, we agree on something." Flynn lifted his glass in a mock toast.

"The trouble with you, Flynn, is that you lack any real direction. A man needs a career, something to focus his energies on."

"Dad, I focus my energies on enjoying life. That's enough of a career for me."

"Stop it, both of you." Louise's voice interrupted the budding argument. "I don't want to listen to this. Honestly. I don't understand why the two of you can't get along."

"Bad blood, Mom." Flynn shook his head mournfully. "I've inherited bad blood from your side of the family. No McCallister could ever be so worthless. You'll just have to live with the fact that you've tainted the McCallister line."

"Hah! What McCallister line?" Flynn winced at his father's barked comment. "There is no McCallister line anymore and there's not likely to be. Now, when your brother was alive, there was some hope for it. He had some sense."

"David."

He stood up; his frustration was too great to let him stay still. His eyes were on his younger son, anger and confusion in their depths.

"Don't 'David' me, Louise. It's not as if I'm saying something that we don't all know already. Mark would never have wasted his life the way his brother is doing. Mark had ambition. He had pride—in himself and in the family name."

"Mark didn't give a holy damn about the family name. Mark wanted to please you and he spent his whole life trying to do it." Flynn stopped with an effort, setting his jaw against the urge to say more.

"And what's wrong with wanting to please your father? Seems to me to be a worthwhile thing to do."

"There's nothing wrong with it. Look, Dad, why don't you just give up? I'm never going to be the model son Mark was."

"Don't think I don't know that." The older man's tone was bitter and Flynn whitened at the bite in the words. He set the brandy snifter down on the mantel. The faint ping of the crystal hitting the marble sounded too loud.

"Mark was a son a man could be proud of. If he hadn't been killed in the line of duty, he'd probably have presented me with a grandson by now. Instead, I'm left with you. A playboy." His tone made the word a curse. "A man who hasn't amounted to anything and never will."

Flynn felt something snap inside. It was as if he were suddenly standing outside himself, watching this confrontation. "I don't think that's too likely." The words seemed to come from somewhere outside himself.

"You don't think what's too likely? That you'll amount to anything? I know it's not likely."

"I don't think it's too likely that Mark would have presented you with a grandson by now."

"Flynn, no!" He heard his mother's hushed protest, but it didn't penetrate the wall of pain that seemed to be tearing him apart.

"Mark was gay." Father and son stared at each other across a gap that had been there for more years than either could remember. As soon as the words were said, Flynn wanted to call them back. He'd never planned to say them. Never wanted to hurt his father with them.

The older man stared into his son's horrified eyes, reading the truth there. He seemed to shrink and age in a matter of minutes. He groped behind him for his chair, his movements shaken.

Flynn took a quick step forward, his hand coming out, but his father waved him away with a look of loathing so intense it seemed to burn into his soul. He sank into the chair, his hands gripping the arms, his knuckles white.

The stillness was thick, almost a presence in itself. Outside the rain poured down, splashing onto the brick terrace. Inside the fire popped, sending sparks shooting up the chimney. The sound, like the sparks, was swallowed instantly.

"You're lying." David McCallister's voice sounded old and feeble. There was no trace of his usual blustering tones. Flynn didn't hesitate. He'd have done anything to take the shattered look out of his father's eyes.

"You're right. It was a lie. I'm sorry." He backed away, picking up his brandy, his hand clenched over the crystal snifter.

"You're sorry? You're sorry?"

"David, please..." Louise might as well have remained silent.

"You impudent bastard!''

Flynn shrugged, staring at the glass he held. "I'm sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have said it."

"You were jealous of him. You were always jealous of him." David's voice rose with each sentence. "He was everything a man could have wanted in a son. I couldn't have expected to have two sons like him but I can't believe I fathered a sniveling bastard like you."

"Don't feel too bad. It happens in the best of families." Flynn's flippant remark cracked at the end, but his father was too enraged to notice.

"Get out. Get out of this house. I don't ever want to see you again." Flynn whitened, his eyes burning in his face as he stared at his father. "Do you hear me? Get out!"

Flynn lifted the snifter and tossed the last of the fine cognac down his throat, feeling it burn all the way down. His smile was twisted, his eyes empty.

"To happy families." He set the snifter down on the mantel and strode from the room.

Louise looked from her husband's shattered face to her son's rigid back. In the space of a minute, her family had been torn apart. If it was ever to be put back together again, it would be up to her. She rose from her chair and hurried after Flynn. He was tugging his leather jacket off the coat rack when she caught him.

"Flynn."

He turned and tears filled her eyes at the shattered look in his eyes. He shrugged into his jacket.

"You should be with him. He's pretty upset."

"I'll go to him in a minute. I wanted to talk to you."

"Don't worry, Mom, I'm not going to wrap my car around a telephone pole."

She caught his hands in hers. "Flynn, give him some time. He didn't really mean it. He'll come around."

He pulled his hands loose and touched her cheek, his fingers gentle. His smile broke her heart; there was so much loss there.

"Some wounds not even time can heal. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right."

He was gone before she could say anything more. There was a moment when the door was open to the rain-swept night and then it shut, closing her inside and shutting him out. She stared at the blank panel a long time, hearing the growl of the Ferrari's engine disappearing down the drive.

She turned slowly, walking back into the study. Her husband was slumped in his chair, his features old and worn. She hardened her heart against his suffering. Flynn was suffering, too. And had suffered for a long time.

"It's not true. How could he say something like that about his own brother?" The words were muttered, his eyes shifting away from hers.

Louise knew what David wanted. He wanted her to say that he was right, that Flynn had lied. He wanted her to right his world for him. But she couldn't do that.

She sat down, reaching out to take his hands in hers, stilling their restless movements. "David, the only thing that's important is that Mark was a wonderful son. He was good and kind and we were very lucky to have him with us for as long as we did."