What the Librarian Did (16 page)

His grin faded. “Heartbreaker, you know me better than that.”

“Do I?” Or had she let herself be beguiled into seeing what was never there?

“Yes. You
do
.” An edge came into his voice. “I was cleaning up after Zander. Mark didn’t want any, and even if he had, neither of us would have given it to him.” His voice low and persuasive, Devin came closer. So did the smell of weed.

“Even if Mark didn’t smoke, how can you act like it’s okay when the stuff’s illegal? What kind of message is that sending him?”

“If he’s going to have a career in the music industry, the sooner he learns how to resist temptation the better. But he does know.”

But not from her, not from his mother. And tonight she hadn’t protected him. Guilt lacerated her. Teenagers, even sensible ones, made errors of judgment…who understood that better than Rachel? And yet she’d let her feelings for Devin cloud her own judgment. Even when Zander’s arrival rang warning bells she hadn’t taken Mark home. When she should have been looking out for her son’s interests, she’d put romance first.

“This isn’t his world. He shouldn’t be here,” she exclaimed.

“Are we still talking about Mark…or you?”

“Both.” All her anguish, all her self-disgust, went into the next words. “You’re a bad influence.”

His face lost all expression. “Because I don’t hide my past like you do? At least I don’t keep secrets from people I care about.”

“So Zander didn’t ask you to rejoin the band?”

“He did, but I’m not going anywhere, Rachel.”

She tamped down her relief. “It’s no longer important.” It was time she got her priorities straight. “After what just happened with Mark,
you’re
no longer important.”

She saw him take the hit, his shock, the closure. Like a door slamming on an opportunity she’d never had, merely imagined. “So it
was
always about Mark.”

She didn’t answer. Everything came back to her son. It always had. And she’d made the mistake of forgetting that for a while. Well, no longer.

Moving toward the house, he paused beside her. She’d never seen such cold contempt. “The last ferry back to Auckland leaves at midnight,” he said. “Take it.”

R
ACHEL COLLAPSED
into a nearby deck chair. Slowly, the noise of the party returned, faint laughter, the underlying bass beat of the music—like the harsh throb of a migraine.

If only she’d trusted her first impression. Instead, she’d let herself be seduced by Devin’s charm, disarmed by his honesty. She buried her face in her hands. How could she have been so naive?

She’d been dazzled by his sex appeal and—Rachel squirmed—by his interest in her. And this time she didn’t have youth as an excuse. She was pathetic. But she was through being pathetic. She’d tell Mark the truth as soon as they had privacy…tell him and accept the consequences.

If Devin doesn’t tell him first
.

The thought propelled her to her feet. Oh, God, he was angry enough to. Rachel ran.

Back in the lounge, the music had been cranked up and the lights dimmed for dancing. Rock, loud and discordant, jangled her shattered nerves. Through the shadowy gyrating forms she could see Tim at the door. She’d forgotten all about the taxi driver.

Holding up her fingers, she mouthed, “
Five minutes
.”

The cabbie jerked his head in consent. But where was Mark?

Hurrying out to the pool, Rachel scanned the surrounding gardens. Party debris was everywhere, some of it human. Shrieking with laughter, two young women frolicked in the pool, expensive gowns ballooning around their legs.

A hand slid down her bare back. “You look hot when you’re mad,” said Zander in her ear, his breath sour with whiskey. He fingered the halter bow of her dress. “One tweak and this unties, right?”

Skin crawling, Rachel stepped away. At least Mark was no longer with him. “You don’t care who you hurt, do you?”

“Devin can take care of himself. In fact, he’s about to do that right now in the spa with a few women. That frees you and me to play.”

From the other side of the swimming pool, Stormy watched them, her beautiful face miserable. “And what about your girlfriend?”

“Stormy knows there’s plenty to go around.” Lazily, Zander ran a thumb down Rachel’s cleavage. “So what do you say, you open to sharing the love?”

She shoved him into the pool and headed for the spa.

“C
OME ON IN
, Devin, the water’s steaming.”

Ignoring the women in the hot tub to his right, Devin stood on the deck overlooking the ocean, letting the wind cool his temper. As soon as the proverbial hit the fan, Rachel had defaulted to what she really believed. That he was irredeemable, an evil influence.

“Yoo-hoo, Devvvin.”

What hurt most was that she didn’t trust him with
Mark—the kid he’d helped her bond with, the kid he’d kept her secret from—against his better judgment.

She’d exploited his feelings in order to access her son, and later to manipulate him into keeping his mouth shut. Devin felt used, disgusted. And bitter.

“Devin, are you listening? We want to make room for you.”

Turning his head, he saw Dimity lounging in the spa with a couple of other women—he recognized Zander’s stylist and dietitian—sharing a bottle of Moet.

They were up to their necks in bubbles, inside as well as out. This was the third time his brother’s P.A. had hit on Devin tonight. He was about to shut her down once and for all when Rachel spoke behind him.

“Where’s Mark?”

Devin pivoted. “I told you to go.”

“No more girls,” Dimity called petulantly from the spa. “We want Devin to ourselves.”

“Not without Mark.” Rachel’s anxiety gave her away.

Devin leaned back against the railing. “Worried I’ll tell him?”

“Tell me what?”

Rachel froze, her expression stricken as she held Devin’s gaze. Another painful reminder that she’d never trusted him.

“Dev?” It was natural for Mark to turn to him first. Guilt twisted in Devin’s gut. He was supposed to be the boy’s mentor, his friend, and he’d put a stupid infatuation before that.

Mark stood by the side of the house, exposed to the northerly wind, his borrowed shirt whipping behind his skinny body like a superhero’s cape. His fair hair tangled over his eyes, and he swept it back as he looked past Devin to Rachel.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Rachel said hoarsely.

Devin laughed. Behind him, Rachel murmured, “Please.”

The three women in the hot tub were whispering among themselves. “
You
can come in, Devin’s friend,” called the dietitian, a skinny blonde. “But only if you bring Devin with you.”

A wet, black bikini top landed with a plop at Mark’s feet. He blushed fiery red, visible even under the outdoor lights. It brought Devin to his senses. However much he despised Rachel right now, he couldn’t tell Mark here.

“We broke up,” he said. “Do me a favor, buddy. Take her back to Auckland.”

Color crept back into her pale face. “
Thank you
,” she mouthed. Turning away, she hesitated. “I have to clear one thing up. It wasn’t just about…what you thought it was.”

He’d thought it was about love. Devin started unbuttoning his shirt. “Yeah, well, like
you
said. No longer important.” One benefit of living in the public eye was the ability to pretend you didn’t give a damn. “Make room for me, ladies.”

He kicked off his boots, then unbuckled his belt. Rachel looked from him to the spa, then back again. She seemed unable to move.

Unzipping his jeans, Devin dropped his pants, to whistles of appreciation from the spa, and stood in black briefs. “So, was there anything else?” he inquired impatiently.

“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper. “You don’t fool me.” Leaving him feeling like an idiot, she turned and walked away. When she reached Mark, he put his arm around her shoulder as he glared back at Devin.
Tough
. The kid would get over it. They disappeared from sight.

A gust of wind made Devin shiver even though it wasn’t
cold. Briefly, he closed his eyes, then picked up his clothes and began dressing, his movements tight, economical, verging on vicious.

Heartbreaker. He’d thrown down the challenge and it had come back to haunt him with a vengeance.

“Wait a minute!” Dimity stood up in the spa, her skin as red as an overcooked lobster, her blond hair dripping. “Aren’t you joining us?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, girls. Party’s over.”

M
ARK SPENT MOST OF THE
taxi ride back to Devin’s to pick up their bags, then to the wharf, racking his brain for something to say to make things better.

“I’ll buy the tickets,” he said when they got to the terminal. “You sit down.”

“Will you quit worrying? I’m fine.” But there was a terrible emptiness behind Rachel’s “reassuring” smile. As he waited while she made the purchase, Mark decided he’d lost some respect for Devin. Stripping down for the spa was cruel when he and Rachel had just split up. It was almost like he was trying to punish her.

When she handed Mark his ticket and led the way to the ferry, brightly lit at the end of the wooden dock, Mark overrode her protests and carried her weekend bag. Someone had to look after her.

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” he ventured. “The breakup.” Rachel stumbled over the ridged gangplank and he caught her by the elbow to steady her.

“What makes you say that?”

“You blame Devin for letting Zander smoke dope in front of me. But what could Dev do, Rachel, wrestle it away from him?”

The wind shook the electric lanterns hanging on the
rail, and light wavered on her set face. “He could have sent you away.”

Mark winced. He was not a child. “Well, mostly Devin
trusted
me. I don’t think it was a coincidence that he showed up when he did.” Over the past five weeks they’d had frank talks about drugs and alcohol. Tonight had only confirmed that being stoned wasn’t a good look—even on someone as cool as Zander.

The interior cabin was nearly deserted. Mark recognized a few partygoers. By their shrieks of laughter, they were still partying.

Rachel backed up. “Mind if we sit outside? I know it’s windy but I need fresh air.”

She did look pale. “Sure.” They settled on a sheltered bench at the stern. The ferry chugged away from the dock; in silence they watched Waiheke’s smatter of lights recede into the distance. Mark’s thoughts turned to Auckland…and Trixie. First thing tomorrow he’d shake the information out of her if he had to. He shifted restlessly on the hard bench.

“Really, our breakup isn’t your fault,” stressed Rachel, misinterpreting his agitation.

Bracing against the bulkhead to counter the increasing swell as they hit open water, he searched for something to cheer her up.
Zander said he’d give me a job when I want one
. Nope, the guy wasn’t exactly top of Rachel’s hit parade. Someone at the party had even said she’d shoved him into the pool, but Mark figured that was another rumor, like Devin rejoining the—

He brightened. “Devin’s not leaving, you know. You could get back together.” But even as he offered the crumb, Mark wondered. There had been something ruthless about their parting, something final.

“It’s over.” Rachel’s flat tone confirmed his suspicions. She mustered another “dead woman walking” smile.

Mark pretended to buy the smile. “You’re still young…ish. What, twenty-nine, thirty?” Sheesh, that sounded old. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned age. But to his intense relief, Rachel smiled—a real one this time.

“Actually, Mark, I’m thirty-five in another month.”

He whistled. “Man, you don’t look anywhere near that,” he said honestly. “I mean, that’s old enough to be my mother.”

She was still smiling, but her expression seemed to freeze over.

Mark recoiled.

Staring down at her feet, she didn’t notice. “Listen,” she began awkwardly, “there’s something I need to tell you about me.”

He sucked in a great lungful of air. “You’re my birth mother.”

Rachel lifted her gaze to his. “Yes.”

Mark felt like he’d been shot. Soon it was going to hurt, but right now the shock protected him.
Rachel
…his mother?

Her cold hand covered his. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

He looked down. Even her hands were young. Then what she’d said registered. “Wait a minute…you
knew
I was looking for you?”

“Only for a week.”

“A week…” Bewildered, he stared at her then jerked away, tucking his hands under his armpits. “And you didn’t tell me?” A week ago he’d gone to her house with…“Does Devin know it’s you?”

“Yes.” She added quickly, “But the decision not to tell you straightaway was mine. He argued against it.”

Trixie had called Rachel tonight, not to ask for advice but to warn her. Everyone had betrayed him. Everyone had taken
her
side.

Rachel was still talking. “You see, I wanted you to get to know me properly before I told you, so that you’d be more open to listening to—”

“Excuses!” Shooting up from the bench, he stumbled on the lurching deck.

“No excuses.” Her gaze held his, raw with regret. “I should have told you earlier.”

He hated her looking at him like she cared, when she couldn’t have—not and kept the secret. The engines slowed to a throb as the ferry edged against the Auckland pier. Mark regained his balance. “Can you even
imagine
what it’s like to discover everything you believed about yourself is a lie?” He spat the accusation at her. “Can you?”

“No, and I’m deeply sorry.” Her hands twisted together in her lap. “But please know that I had no choice but to give you up.”

“Why?” Maybe understanding would somehow help. “Wouldn’t your parents let you keep me?”

Momentarily, her gaze dropped. “It’s…complicated.”

Complicated
. Trixie had used that word. “Screw you. I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say.” Picking up his bag, he stormed back inside, letting the wind slam the door behind him.

Another bang told him Rachel had followed, so he headed for the gangway, toward the people milling on the lower deck, waiting to disembark.

“Mark, please.” Rachel clattered down the stairs behind him. “Let me tell you the circumstances.” She became
aware of the curious stares and dropped her voice. “Come back to my place.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He didn’t give a damn who was listening. Let everybody know what she was like. “You were my age when you gave me up. If it happened to me, if I got a girl pregnant, I’d stay in that kid’s life no matter what.”

“Steady, mate,” advised the purser, who was standing near the exit. “Calm down, eh?”

They both ignored him.

“At seventeen, you see your choices as black-and-white, right and wrong,” said Rachel. “I did, too. And I thought if you didn’t know you were adopted—if I broke all ties—it would be easier for both of us to get on with our lives. I was wrong, Mark.”

“You think?”

The gangplank rumbled down; in relief the dozen passengers debarked, heads down in embarrassment. A couple sent back curious glances.

Mark went to follow, but Rachel barred his way. “Your parents tried to talk me out of it—until I made it a condition of the adoption. I’m just sorry that they kept their word, though it shouldn’t surprise me. They’re good people.”

“Better than you,” he said, wanting to hurt her. But she only nodded.

“That’s why I chose them.”

She wasn’t even going to fight.

He shoved all the contempt he could into his next words. “I don’t want you in my life.”

Rachel seemed to shrink. “That’s your choice.” Even her voice was small as she stepped aside to let him pass.

“Yes,” Mark said savagely. “It is.” Buoyed by righteous
anger, he marched down the gangway, then turned. “How does it feel being the one rejected for a change?”

I
T FELT LIKE HELL
.

Except Mark was wrong. Rachel had plenty of practice at being rejected.

All the color leached out of her life. For the first time in her life she was rudderless and bereft of the capable, cheerful identity she’d built block by painful block from the age of seventeen.

Worried that Mark would quit university if she remained on campus, Rachel rang her boss first thing Sunday morning. She told him everything so he’d accept an immediate resignation. He refused to accept it and insisted she take a week’s leave to think things over. Rachel didn’t have the energy to argue, but knew she’d never go back. It was too hard.

And thinking things over—every scathing, scalding denouncement—was killing her.

Even hating her, Devin hadn’t told Mark. How could she ever have doubted him? She’d worried that love blinded her to his faults. Instead she should have worried about how love triggered her own deep-seated insecurities.

The truth was, she’d launched into a blind attack the first excuse she got. Because she’d wanted to shut Devin down before she got hurt. It was ironic that the one time he’d tried to deceive her—stripping for the spa with Dimity—Rachel had seen right through him. He was a good man, struggling to make a new life for himself, and she’d used his imperfect past against him.

Hurt him. And hurt her son.

For the first time in five years, Rachel canceled her
Sunday lunch for students. Bowed by a grief so bone-deep she couldn’t cry, she spent the day hunched up in an armchair, or lying in bed staring at the ceiling.

When she’d been a scared teenager living in an Auckland youth hostel, ostracized by her parents and community, the conviction that she’d done the right thing—no matter the personal cost—had saved her. More than that, it had fueled her drive to sit up half the night studying for her library degree while working two dead-end jobs.

With that belief shaken, Rachel felt as if someone had let the air out of her.

The phone rang incessantly with voice messages from Trixie, but she didn’t pick up. She had no expectation of hearing from Mark or Devin. Not only had her past lost its meaning, her future had become meaningless, too.

On Sunday night a stormy sou’wester rattled the windows and hammered on the corrugated iron roof of her cottage. Rain stripped the petals off the roses and littered the path with twigs and leaves. The world became the damp, gray chill of her childhood and adolescence, reduced to the clock ticking, light and dark, snatches of restless sleep. Blankness finally settled over her, and even that small inner voice shut up.

When she first heard the banging on the front door at six o’clock Monday night she thought the wind had shaken something loose. It persisted. Despite everything, hope propelled her out of her armchair and into the hall. But when Rachel opened the door it was Trixie standing outside, like a bedraggled black cat. “About bloody time!”

Though her immediate impulse was to shut the door, the maternal part of Rachel wouldn’t let her. “How can you go anywhere in this weather without an umbrella? Come in. I’ll get you a towel.” She headed toward the bathroom.

Squeezing water from her long black hair, Trixie followed. “Why haven’t you answered my calls?” Her abrasive tone grated Rachel’s nerves. “I’ve been worried sick about you, particularly after Mark’s rant.”

She’d forgotten that Trixie knew. In the midst of handing over a towel, Rachel paused. “Is he okay?”

“If foaming at the mouth is okay.” Trixie dried her face, her voice muffled through the towel. “He was furious with me for not telling him as soon as I found out you were his mother.”

“I’m sorry.” The fallout of this just went on and on, and her feeble apologies felt as useful as a Band-Aid on a severed jugular. “You two were good friends.”

Emerging from the towel, Trixie said gruffly, “Why didn’t
you
tell him as soon as you knew?’

“Because I’m an idiot…. Did Mark mention whether he got my message?” She didn’t tell Trixie what it was. If she knew Rachel had resigned her job she’d be here arguing all night. And already Rachel was restless to be alone again.

“He didn’t say,” said Trixie. “He feels like you really did a number on him.” There was accusation in her tone.

Rachel said nothing.

“I still can’t get my head around the fact that Mark’s your son or that you had a baby when you were seventeen and adopted it out. I mean, you love kids so much, I don’t understand how you could have brought yourself to do it.”

Again she waited for an explanation; again Rachel remained silent.

“Now if it was me, I’d understand it,” Trixie continued blithely, “because I’m the hard-nosed one.”

Something inside Rachel snapped. “You’re a child playing at dress up. If you ever came up against real
hardship you’d fold like a pack of—” She stopped, controlled her breathing. What was the use? Leading the way to the front door, she opened it. “Please go. I don’t want to hurt you, too.”

But Trixie stood her ground. “I’m sorry, I had no idea…. I speak without engaging my brain sometimes.”

“Was Mark at university today?”

“No. Yesterday he talked about going home for a few days to spend time with his par…” Her voice trailed off.

“I’m glad,” said Rachel. There was a chill to the wind blowing through the open door. She hugged herself. “At times like this, you need your family.”

“What about you? Your family?”

“I’m not important. Mark is.”

“Oh, Rach.” Trixie stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her.

“I’m okay.” Out of courtesy, Rachel waited a few seconds before she tried to free herself. Trixie only tightened her hold.

“He said you and Devin broke up, too.”

“I’m okay,” she insisted again, but they both knew that was a lie.

Trixie started to cry. “You’re giving up, I can tell.”

“No, I’m not.” Giving up implied you had something
to
give up. And both Mark and Devin had made it clear she had nothing left to fight for.

R
ACHEL’S MOTHER LIVED
in an affluent part of Hamilton, a midsize city bisected by the Waikato River. Her house reminded Mark of his grandparents’ home—his
adoptive
grandparents’ home—in Cambridge.

At least fifty years old, it was brick and tile, with immacu
late paintwork and ornate flowerbeds full of old people’s plants—purple hydrangeas; pink and white roses, standard or climbing over freestanding arbors. Even the trees had to be flowering varieties—magnolias and camellias.

Okay, he was procrastinating again. Mark didn’t give a damn about the garden. Slowly, he walked up the path to the front door and paused with his finger hovering over the bell. He’d thought telling Rachel to go to hell would be the end of it. But he still had a burning need for answers.