The Homecoming Baby (14 page)

Still, Trish had never looked this done-in before. Usually the shadow on her spirits was subtle. They'd just go out to dinner, or rent a silly movie, and gradually the shadow would pass.

“Has something happened?” Celia touched Trish's hand. “Tell me. Is everything all right?”

Trish glanced into the waiting room. “Not really,” she said. She tried to give Celia a reassuring smile. “I can't really go into it here, but I've come to a decision, and there's something I need to tell you. Maybe we can talk after work?”

Patrick's face appeared in Celia's mind—and his body, too. But she banished the thoughts immediately.

“Of course we can,” she said. “I have patients until seven. Want to have a late dinner at the Eagle?”

Trish shook her head, flushing. “No, not there. Let's talk at the apartment. It's more private. Is that all right?”

“Of course. But can't you even tell me what it's—”

Celia's cell phone rang then. She almost missed it. Whenever she worked she kept it set on its lowest volume. It was little more than a soft chirping sound,
as if she had a bird in her purse. Her heart sped a little as she rummaged through all the silly debris.

“Come on, come on,” she said to herself, praying that the chirping wouldn't stop. Finally her fingers closed over the hard plastic case. Such an unromantic thing to have complete control over the paces and pleasures of her heart.

It was Patrick. She knew it would be. The minute he said hello, she felt the memories of last night sparking across her face like tiny firework explosions.

“Hi,” she said. Without thinking she ducked her head to hide her goofy smile. “I was hoping you'd call.”

He chuckled, and the sound went right through her. “Well, I was hoping you'd take the afternoon off.”

“Yes. Um…unfortunately, that won't be possible,” she said in what she hoped was a semiprofessional voice.

“Will I see you tonight?”

She was careful not to glance Trish's way. “Unfortunately, that won't be possible, either.”

A short silence. Then another chuckle. “Now there's a blow to my sensitive ego. You're not going rock-climbing with someone else, are you?”

He was teasing, but under the laughter she heard a sudden animal growl of possession. The tiny fireworks began to ping randomly all over her body. She felt flushed and raw and charged with sexual energy. And all this from his voice…

“Someone else?”

“You know. Whatshisname.”

Rock climbing with Whatshisname. She couldn't help smiling. Patrick didn't really believe that for a minute.

“That seems highly unlikely,” she said carefully. But out of the corner of her eye she could see Trish frowning, and she knew she wasn't fooling anybody that this was a business call.

“Good. How about dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yes. Most definitely.”

“Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, then.” He paused. “Unless you find a polite way to ditch Whatshisname early tonight. If you get free, you know where to find me. It doesn't matter what time. I'll just be dreaming about you, anyhow.”

She smiled into the telephone. “Who exactly do you think is Whatshisname?”

“I have no idea,” he said.

He yawned loudly, which made her want to yawn, too. Neither of them had slept a wink all through the amazing night.

“And I don't care,” he added. “All I know is, I hope he's afraid of heights and has to be home by ten.”

T
RISH HEARD
C
ELIA'S KNOCK
on the door at seven-thirty. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes to gather her composure, and then, smoothing her skirt as she walked, she went to the door and opened it.

It was only Celia, she told herself, trying to slow down her speeding pulse. Celia was not the judgmental type, and even if she had been, she would never judge Trish harshly.

Celia had often told Trish she thought of her as a surrogate mother. Trish had taken a lot of comfort in that knowledge over the years. It was nice, when you had no family left, to find someone to love.

Someone to mother.

So why was this so hard? If Trish couldn't face telling this sweet, loving young woman the truth, how was she ever going to face the rest of Enchantment?

How was she ever going to face Mitch?

Celia had brought a take-out salad with her, obviously thinking neither of them had eaten dinner. But the minute she saw Trish, she set it down. Taking Trish's hands in hers, she led her to the sofa.

“What is it? You look so—” She scoured Trish's face with her worried gaze. “You're starting to scare me, Trish.”

Trish squeezed Celia's hands. “I'm sorry. The truth is, I'm a little scared myself. I'm about to tell you something I've never told another living soul.”

“You know you can trust me.”

“Yes.” Trish took a deep breath. “It's just that hiding the truth has become a way of life for me. Sometimes I think I've even managed to forget what really happened myself.”

She was stalling, and Celia must have been able to see that. “Trish, please. Tell me.”

She wanted to. If only she could stop these stupid tears from rising, warm and helpless. If only she could tell it with some dignity. That might show that the past thirty years had brought her something—wisdom, maturity, perspective.

Instead the whole thing was as fresh and cruel as the night it happened. And she was still afraid.

But she had to find courage sooner or later. So she just picked a spot, and started there.

“Everyone in Enchantment has always believed that Angelina was the mother of The Homecoming Baby,” she said. “But it isn't true.”

Celia's clear brow wrinkled. “It isn't?” She shook her head. “But surely—”

“It isn't true,” Trish repeated. Her throat kept closing tighter, as if her very body were rebelling, still trying to guard its pathetic secret. She looked at Celia, though she could barely see her through the mist of tears. “It wasn't Angelina's baby born that night. It was mine.”

Celia's hands clenched with an instinctive spasm
of shock. She inhaled sharply. “Oh, my God,” she said. “That can't be true.”

“But it is. I let people believe Angelina was to blame. It seemed so easy. For thirty years, I've tried to hide from what I did.” Tears began to spill over in spite of her determination not to cry. “But I'm tired of hiding.”

Celia was obviously trying to understand. Trish could feel her inner struggle. But it was clearly difficult. It contradicted everything she had thought she knew about the town legend, about Trish and the whole Linden family…

And about Patrick Torrance.

Her face showed she was trying, but somehow she couldn't quite believe.

“Trish, how can it be possible? It was Angelina who dated Tee Ellis. Angelina who disappeared that night. And you—you must have been…what? Not quite fifteen?”

“Fifteen is old enough,” Trish said. “Physically, it's old enough.”

Celia made a small sound. It was full of pity and pain and, finally, a horrified acceptance.

“Oh, Trish. How?” Her voice cracked. “Who?”

Strangely, Trish was feeling calmer now. She should have told someone years ago, she thought numbly. It seemed to have an instantaneously soothing quality. Just imagine if she had. If she had walked out of that bathroom with her baby in her arms and said to her father,
This little boy is mine. Mine.

Through the years, she'd played the scene in her
mind a million times, imagining what would have happened if she had done that. But she hadn't. And no amount of wishing could undo the past thirty years.

“I'd like to tell you what happened,” she said. “If you're willing to listen.”

Celia nodded. “Of course. I want to understand.”

“It's hard to be sure where to begin.” Trish closed her eyes. “I guess—well, I was able to hide the pregnancy because I was a little overweight back then. The boys liked to call me Fatty Patty, and when I put on more weight with the baby, they just teased harder. ‘Lock up your refrigerator,' they'd say. ‘Here comes Fatty Patty.'”

Celia made a low growling sound. “Bastards,” she said.

Trish shook her head. “Once I knew about the baby, I hardly noticed them. None of that seemed important anymore. Except…that was why no one thought of me. I was pudgy and shy, completely graceless. The exact opposite of Angelina. She looked like the kind of girl who would get pregnant and cause a scandal. I didn't.”

Trish paused for a minute, trying to think how to proceed. Celia was silent—she just kept holding Trish's hand and waiting. She must be an excellent therapist, Trish thought with a sudden grateful rush of affection. She didn't try to contradict Trish's evaluation of her teenage charm. She seemed to accept that Trish knew best how it had felt during those awkward years.

“I don't guess it was any wonder that I developed a hopeless crush on Tee,” Trish went on finally. “He was always around. Occasionally he even talked to me, which was more attention than I was getting anywhere else. And of course he was paralyzingly attractive.”

“Yes,” Celia said. “I've seen pictures. And I've seen—”

“You've seen Patrick.”

Celia nodded. “Yes.”

Trish didn't look surprised. “Did you already know who he was?”

“I didn't know,” Celia said. “But I wondered.”

“I knew.” Trish's voice was soft. “The minute I saw him. He's Tee, the way Tee might have turned out if he'd been given a chance. And he has Angelina's chin. The Linden chin. It's ironic, isn't it? It skipped me, but apparently it's encoded in the genes.”

Suddenly Celia's face darkened with concern. “But things like features, chins,” she said. “Are they enough to be completely sure?”

For the first time Trish smiled. “That's just what I
see
. It's not how I
know
.” She let go of Celia's hands and put a soft fist over her heart. “I know here. It sounds melodramatic, but it's true. You'll see, someday. When it's your child, you just know.”

“But—”

“Don't worry, Celia. I have the kind of proof you're talking about, too. Lydia arranged the adop
tion, so she knows his new name is Torrance. She's even spoken to him about it. She called to warn me.”

“Does Lydia know whose son he really is? I mean, that he isn't Angelina's?”

“I'm sure she does,” Trish said. “She's never pressed me on it, but she's always been—I don't know…thoughtful, I guess, in a certain way that told me she knew.”

“But how on earth did it happen? I mean, Patrick looks like Tee. But if Tee was Angelina's boyfriend—”

“That's the ugly part. It's hard to describe. It makes Tee seem like a monster, but he wasn't, not really. He was just hard—and he had a lot of anger in him. His life had been tough, his mother dead, his father a drunkard. Sometimes he resented other people—wealthy people, happy people—so much it became a kind of madness.”

She remembered him so clearly, as if he stood before her now, eighteen, as sexy and dangerous as the devil himself. Celia was watching her with wide, unhappy eyes, almost as if she could predict where this sad story was going to end up.

“I thought I had hidden how I felt, but because of the way he'd lived, Tee was extremely street-smart. He read people with an almost animal cunning. He knew I watched him and Angelina. He knew I wished it could be me.”

She took a deep breath. She'd come this far, surely she could tell the rest. It was time.

“Anyhow, one night he was drunk, very drunk. He
came to the house looking for Angelina. They'd argued, and she was out with another boy, punishing Tee, playing hard to get. I was the only one home, so I let him in. I told him about the other boy.”

She tried to recall clearly her emotions at that moment, that very foolish, destructive moment. “I was so jealous. I wanted him to be angry with her. Maybe I thought he'd notice how different I was, how much sweeter and more loyal I might be.”

“Oh, Trish,” Celia whispered.

“Yes, it was very stupid. But I
was
stupid, at least about him. Anyhow, it worked. He was furious. He smashed a vase, and the table it was on. He broke into our father's liquor cabinet. And then he turned to me. He said that Angelina had promised him something, and if she wasn't there to deliver, I'd have to do it for her.”

Celia was crying now, soundlessly. Odd to think that now that Trish herself had finally gone numb and calm, Celia's control should crack.

It pained Trish to see it. Was she being selfish, sharing the truth with someone so gentle and good? Maybe she shouldn't go on. She hated for this story to cause any more pain to anyone.

“Don't stop now,” Celia said, as if she sensed Trish's hesitation. “Tell me what happened.”

Trish centered herself, and then she went on. “He said he knew I'd been sneaking around, watching him with Angelina, fantasizing about him. He said if I wanted it so much maybe it was time he gave it to me.”

She made a small choking sound as remembered fear streaked through her, a lightning bolt of heat and humiliation.

“It was ugly,” she said. “And painful. But it was mercifully quick. He went into the bathroom afterward and threw up all my father's Scotch. He didn't have to warn me not to tell Angelina. He knew I wouldn't dare. He left—and he never so much as looked at me again.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“No. Not even when I knew there was something wrong, when I knew I must be going to have a baby. Sometimes I pretended it wasn't true. That the nightmare on the bed had never happened. That the thing inside me wasn't there.”

She looked at Celia, feeling drained. “Sometimes I almost believed it.”

“But how— What about that night? The night of the dance?”

“I didn't want to go, of course. My father had persuaded one of his partner's sons to take me. The boy was mortified to be seen with Fatty Patty, so he left me practically before we were through the gymnasium door. I can't blame him. I looked terrible. I had hardly been able to zip up my dress. I thought surely my father would know. But he was fighting with Angelina, as usual. He didn't have much time to concern himself with me. When he saw me, he just said, ‘Go on a diet, for God's sake.'”

Celia just closed her eyes, and whispered, “My God.”

“I spent the entire dance in the bathroom. I had done that before, to avoid the teasing. But this time was different. This time there was so much pain. I didn't really understand, but I knew enough not to cry out. I knew the pretty girls were always there, coming and going. Through the cracks in the stall door, I could see their sequined dresses, and I could hear them laughing. I think I really believed I might die there, there was so much blood. I wouldn't have minded. I just wanted the pain to stop.”

“But you didn't die.” Celia's hands were in fists in her lap. Her face was shining with tear tracks. “You must have been so strong, Trish. You must have been so brave.”

“Brave?” Trish made a noise that didn't quite sound like a laugh. “No, I wasn't brave. Even after all that, I was still afraid of my father. I stole a coat to wrap the baby in, and I put him on the floor. I washed my legs and somehow got my party dress back on. I was the last one out. I didn't dare leave the baby crying there until the other girls were gone. I went outside, where my father's car was waiting. He was furious because Angelina had disappeared with Tee. He never even noticed I had fainted in the back seat.”

“But later you called for help. You called The Birth Place, didn't you? That took courage. That part of the story is true.”

“Yes, that part's true. But I waited until my father had gone out to look for Angelina. At least two hours. While Patrick lay on the bathroom floor, crying—
maybe even dying—I waited in my room, still praying I wouldn't get caught.”

She made a small noise and, hearing it, Celia grabbed her hand.

“You mustn't blame yourself, Trish. You were so young. And he didn't die. He was fine—just look at him now! He's strong and smart and handsome. He's rich and well-educated and…”

She leaned forward suddenly. “Oh, Trish, you must tell him. He must have come to Enchantment looking for the truth. Looking for his mother. He must think it's Angelina. Everyone does. Just imagine how thrilled he'll be to discover it's you!”

Trish shook her head, and kept shaking it. “Not yet. I don't want him to know yet. I'm not ready to face the possibility of losing him—when I've only now found him again.”

“But what do you mean? How could you lose him?”

“I'm going to tell him,” Trish said. “I'm going to tell everyone. But I have to pick the right time. I have to be prepared that he might…” She lifted her chin. “That he might not be willing to forgive me.”

Celia smiled. “Of course he will,” she said. “Oh, Trish, you know he will. He'll be so happy.”

Trish shook her head. It frightened her to see that dreamy look come over Celia's face. She was so innocent. Even after hearing this whole terrible story, she still had an absolute confidence in happy endings.

“Celia, be careful. Be realistic. You might be wrong about him.”