Another Woman's Son

“I’ve had it with men’s egos.” She hid behind her own anger. “Tony is my nephew. He’s lost his mom. Even Will loved him, and he’s gone, too.” A sob caught in her throat. “That baby must be scared every time someone he loves walks out of a room. I won’t give anyone an excuse to take him from you.”

The cemetery workers walked into her peripheral vision. Isabel stared from the men to the mound of fresh dirt they were leaving behind.

Will had destroyed her sense of self. She doubted her own instincts. She’d never choose to live with another lie, but she hated that mound of dirt. She pushed her palm against her mouth to keep from crying out.

Ben held her other hand close against his beating heart. In that moment, she realized Will would never come back. He’d never smile at her or criticize or lie or ask what she’d made for dinner again. “Never” weighed upon her with the force of all eternity.

A woman could hate the man who’d rejected her, but she couldn’t dance on his grave.

BEN HAD BARELY GLIMPSED the Deavers at the Fitzroy before they left. Isabel had worked the room on autopilot. She’d never remember a word anyone had said to her. As soon as decently possible Ben walked Isabel to her car. Unresisting, she let him help her into the passenger seat and then take her keys from her purse.

“I’ll drive,” he said, unsure she heard.

“Thanks. They were all kind, but I’m glad that’s over. I swear I could hear the questions they didn’t ask about Ben and me.”

Despite hating her almost as much as he hated Will and Faith, he couldn’t help wishing she didn’t care enough to hurt like this. “How can you grieve for him?”

“I miss them both. I wish I would have happily divorced him and told her I never wanted to see her again, but I don’t want them dead.” She searched in her purse for a Kleenex. “Do you?”

“I’m not sure.” Faith had left a note before she’d driven away with Will. She’d claimed Will had turned to her for comfort because Isabel had rejected him. If not for Isabel, they’d never have grown close enough to fall in love.

Even if it was true, was their adultery Isabel’s fault? Shouldn’t Will have fought for his marriage? Ben had known he and Faith had problems, but he’d never considered divorce.

Shutting Isabel’s door, he walked along the side of the car with his hand on the cold metal. His best friend had made love with Faith and created the baby who slept in a crib down the hall from Ben’s bedroom.

And Isabel had known. With a few words, she could take his son for her family. Eventually, she’d realize how badly he wanted to disappear with Tony.

He opened his door. Solemn and slender in her black dress and coat, her dark brown hair looped into a twisting chignon, she looked the part of a widow.

“Is my face dirty?” she asked. “Why are you staring?”

“I haven’t heard from you since you went,” he said, taking up where they’d left off before the reception.

“Now you know why.”

“You say you love Tony. How could you cut yourself off from him?” He had to understand before he could trust her.

“I love him more than anyone.” Isabel rubbed her pale cheek against one shoulder. “I’d been with him almost every day of his life until I found out the truth. He was like my own and Faith seemed to welcome my help. But after, I had to speak to her or you if I wanted to talk to him.”

“You could have hung up if she answered the phone.”

“I was mad at her, but I thought the second I heard your voice I might tell the truth.”

Relief hit him so hard it hurt. “I wish you had called. At least I’d have known in time to confront them. It was all over by the time I found out.” With a shaking hand, he turned the key in the ignition.

“Because they’re dead, Ben.”

“I might have killed them.”

“No.”

He was glad she sounded so sure. It made him think he might stop being the man who hated everyone.

“How long are you going to hate me?”

“Hate you? You’re all I have left.” As insane as he felt, he had to keep her on his side. He craved a large meal of revenge, but he wanted his son more. He shoved the gearshift into Drive and eased away from the slushy curb.

Until two years ago, they’d lived in the same neighborhood. Out of the blue one day, Faith had insisted they move to a different subdivision, close enough to reach his office in less than an hour. He’d thought she’d liked its slight edge in upscale chic. Now, he realized she’d needed a little distance from her lover. Living so close to Will must have strained her acting abilities.

Half an hour later, Ben turned into the brick-lined entrance of his neighborhood. Isabel’s car skidded as the tires lost traction in the snow.

He glanced at her, but her cynical smile, focused outside the vehicle, opened his eyes to the place where he lived.

Neat houses in neat rows, governed by rules and expectations that kept garbage cans and neighbors in their proper places. It looked pretty as long as no one peered inside.

He parked in front of the garage, and they both got out. Isabel’s smile had faded. She clung to the door, obviously in the grip of second thoughts.

A plan came to Ben, fully formed out of distrust. “Come see Tony. He’s still the baby you love.” The nearer he kept Isabel, the better he’d know what she was thinking. “The reception was difficult. This is going to be impossible.”

He opened the side door and waited. She stared at him and finally slogged through the snow, her head down, her breath coming so fast he could see her coat moving up and down with each respiration.

Faith’s spotless chrome-and-granite kitchen stood empty. Isabel peered, anxious as a hunted animal. He’d always hated the cold kitchen. One small frame in Faith’s picture of a perfect home.

He dropped his keys on the counter. “Wait here. I’ll let the sitter know I’ll take her home in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” But she glanced back at the door. She’d already proved her skills as a runaway.

He took a chance and left her there. He hoped she loved his son too much to leave. The sixteen-year-old girl from three streets over jumped off Faith’s white leather sofa as he entered the family room.

“Mr. Jordan.” She tended to watch adults like a spooked colt.

“We’re back, Patty.” He rarely understood adolescent girls, but he dealt with Patty by pretending it was normal for people to treat him like a burglar in the middle of a big job. “I brought Mrs. Barker to see Tony. Can you give us a few minutes and then I’ll drive you home?”

“He’s asleep.” She scooped up her coat and book bag. “I can walk.”

“Your parents would kill me.” He looked out the wide bay windows. “The snow’s getting heavier. I’ll be glad to take you.”

He headed back to the kitchen, more sure his jumpy sitter would remain than he was that he’d find Isabel where he’d left her. Miraculously, she’d waited.

His blood seemed to flow at light speed—a tremble in his fingers, a roar in his ears. Adrenaline. If he didn’t hit something soon, his head might explode.

“Tony’s napping.” He tried to sound natural, but he felt as if he were outside his body looking down. “He won’t wake up if we’re quiet.” He led Isabel to the stairs she’d climbed many times before.

At the top, his son’s door stood partially open. Patty had stacked the baby’s toys on a plain chest at the end of the too-ornate crib. Lamps that wouldn’t survive a boy’s first in-the-house football game lit the room with soft warmth.

Tony lay on his back, his arms and legs spread as if he were flying. Heat finally crept back into Ben’s body as he watched Tony sleep. He hadn’t lost everything in that accident. His son had survived. His son.

Isabel leaned on the crib’s raised rail. She’d been in this house, bent over this crib, taken care of Tony almost as much as Faith.