Baby, Come Back (14 page)

“But that's...wonderful.” Maggie frowned. “Isn't it?”

“It could be. I mean...I'm in love with...” Tears flooded her eyes, and she blinked them back, feeling like an idiot. “I'm in love with him, but I'm afraid it's...not going to work out. He's not a commitment kind of man.”

“But if you love each oth—”

“I said I love him. He doesn't love me.”

Maggie straightened. “Then he's an idiot.” At Alice's look, she frowned. “I mean it. If he's so stupid and blind that he can't see what a prize you are, he isn't worth having.”

“You know I don't believe that.”

“I know.” Maggie crossed to her, stopping directly in front of her. She looked her in the eye. “But you should. I want you to think about it, Alice.” Maggie searched her expression. “Promise me you will.”

As she opened her mouth to do just that, Royce arrived home and all hell broke loose. Manda and Josh, squealing at the tops of their lungs, threw themselves at their father. With an imitation war whoop, he grabbed them both and carried them to the kitchen, Josh over a shoulder and Manda under an arm.

When he reached the kitchen, the laughing children were dumped unceremoniously on the floor, then Royce spun Maggie into his arms and kissed her soundly.

Watching them, pangs of longing speared through her, so poignant Alice caught her breath. She wanted what Maggie and Royce had. It was all she'd ever wanted.

She wanted it with Hayes.

The remainder of her visit passed quickly. Alice collected Sheri and said her goodbyes. At the door, Maggie hugged her tightly. “Think about what I said, okay?”

Alice agreed, and moments later, she and Sheri were on their way home. The ride from Maggie's proved even quieter than the one there. Subdued, Sheri refused to speak. She stared out the window, her expression tight and unhappy. Alice drew her eyebrows together. Sheri had seemed to have a good time at Maggie's. She had smiled and laughed and joined in the general ruckus.

Now the teenager seemed sad to the point of depressed. Alice reached across the seat and touched Sheri's arm. “Want to talk about it?”

Sheri glanced at her from the corner of her eye, then looked away. “Talk about what?”

“You tell me. Something's got you down.”

Sheri folded her hands in her lap. “It's...nothing.”

The light ahead turned yellow and Alice slowed to a stop. She turned to Sheri. “Right. And pigs fly.”

For several moments Sheri remained silent, then she let out a long, angry breath. “It just hurts, that's all.”

“What hurts?”

“Seeing them. Maggie, Royce and their kids. They're so...happy.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “They really love each other.”

Alice's eyes misted. She understood exactly what Sheri referred to. “Yeah, they do.”

“It's just that...it's what I...”

Alice waited. She saw Sheri battling for control, battling for indifference. She lost the battle. “It's what I always wanted,” she whispered. “It's the family I always...dreamed of.”

A horn blared behind them, and Alice started through the intersection. “I know how you feel,” she said softly. “It's the one I always dreamed of, too.”

Sheri laid a hand over her abdomen, rubbing gently. “How come some people have so much and others...don't have anything?”

“It doesn't seem fair, does it?”

Sheri shook her head. “That's all I ever wanted. To be loved.” She turned her swimming gaze to Alice. “Is that so much to ask? Am I so selfish for wanting that?”

Alice thought of her own bereft childhood, thought of the way she had longed for affection and approval from her parents. She shook her head, her chest tight. “No, it's not too much. Love should be every child's birthright. But sometimes, something goes terribly wrong. The only thing we can try to do is right that something.”

“Bet they never had anything to try to right,” she murmured bitterly. “Bet they were born to all that happiness.”

Alice shook her head. “That's not true. Neither of them had an ideal childhood, and in fact, Maggie's mother abandoned Maggie when she was five. She was lucky. A wonderful family took her in.”

“The way Maggie took you in.”

“Yes.” Alice turned a corner, inching her way down a street filled with playing children. “Maggie and Royce's marriage has had its bumpy times—that's for sure. They really had to work at staying together. In fact, they almost divorced. Adopting Amanda brought them back together.”

Sheri looked at Alice in shocked surprise. “Amanda is adopted?”

“So is Josh.” Alice smiled at the teenager's expression. “Did you think adopted kids were different than others? Did you think you could pick them out from a lineup or something?”

“No. It's just that...Maggie and Royce love them so much. You would think, you know, that they're really theirs.”

“They are really theirs,” Alice said softly. “There's only one difference between a biological child and an adopted one, Sheri. And it has nothing to do with love.”

Sheri frowned and rubbed her abdomen again. “How come they had to adopt?”

“Maggie and Royce wanted children. They wanted to share their lives with children. They wanted to be
parents.
Maggie couldn't conceive.”

“Not at all?” Sheri drew her eyebrows together. “Wow. Sad.”

“It was. Until the day Amanda came into their lives. Then it didn't matter anymore.”

As if mulling over what Alice had said, Sheri leaned her head against the seat back and closed her eyes. She remained that way until, moments later, Alice pulled the car to a stop in front of her cottage and cut off the engine.

Without speaking, they both alighted from the vehicle and started up the sidewalk to the house. When they reached the front door, Sheri caught her arm, her grip almost painful.

Surprised, Alice looked at her. “What is it, Sheri?”

“You've got to help me, Miss A. I don't know what to do.”

Alice covered the girl's hand. In her eyes she saw a kind of desperation. “I will if I can. Tell me what's bothering you.”

Sheri drew in a deep, shaky breath. “I'm afraid everything is going to go wrong. I think it already has.”

“What do you mean? Your pregnancy?”

She shook her head, tears flooding her eyes. “Me and Jeff. Our plans.” The tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don't think Jeff's happy about our getting married. He says he is...but...” Sheri bit her lip.

Alice drew her eyebrows together. “But what?”

“He's acting funny. Preoccupied and moody. He's cutting school. And this thing with his dad...it never used to be so bad.” She pushed at the tears on her cheeks. “He's changed. The way he feels about me has changed. I don't know, but I see something in his eyes, something—”

Trapped. Hunted.
The way Hayes had looked all those years ago. Alice's chest tightened even as she smoothed a hand reassuringly over Sheri's hair. “That's what's been bothering you, isn't it?”

Sheri nodded, and Alice's heart went out to the girl. She understood her feelings; she ached for her.

“I want us to be happy,” Sheri whispered. “Like Maggie and Royce. I want our baby to be happy.”

She started to cry in earnest, and Alice drew her gently into her arms, stroking her back and murmuring sounds of comfort and support. “You need to talk to him, Sheri. Don't assume he doesn't love you anymore. Don't assume he doesn't want you or the baby. Maybe he's just scared.”

Sheri sniffed. “You really think so?”

“I think it's a good bet. And talking to him certainly beats the alternative.” She drew back and met Sheri's gaze. “Doesn't it?”

A smile tugged at Sheri's mouth. “I think I'll go call him now. Is that okay?”

Alice nodded and opened the front door. She watched the teenager race to the phone, looking happy and hopeful for the first time in days. She smiled. She had this feeling about Sheri and Jeff, that they were going to make it. That they were meant to be together.

Unlike her and Hayes. Her smile faded. She thought of Hayes, of their relationship and of Maggie's words.
If he's too stupid and blind not to see what a prize you are, then he's not worth having.
If only she could believe that. If only she didn't want him enough for the both of them.

Something had to give. Or someone. Their relationship couldn't continue without change.

But not yet. She clenched her hands. She couldn't bear the thought of going on without him. For now, she would take the moments of happiness he offered. They would be enough.

H
ayes stood at his office window and gazed out at downtown New Orleans. Twenty stories below, the St. Charles Avenue streetcar rumbled past, cars jockeyed for position in the five o'clock race out of the central business district and a dizzying assortment of humanity hurried past. In stark contrast, his leather-and-mahogany-outfitted office resounded with the quiet.

A light rain had been falling all day, and the drizzle and gray sky combined to make the hour seem later, his gloomy mood blacker. Hayes frowned. He hadn't called Alice in two days, although in those two days he'd picked up the phone at least a hundred times to do so. He hadn't driven by her place or Hope House, even though he'd thought about doing so constantly.

Hayes gazed out at the drizzle, wishing for a ray of sunshine, acknowledging that Alice's smile stole over him like sunshine, warm and brilliant.

He drew his eyebrows together. What was going on with her? With them? The past two days of silence had been mutual. She hadn't contacted him; she hadn't tried.

Was it over between them already? Before it had hardly begun?

His chest tight, he swung away from the window. She'd told him she didn't expect anything from him, had guaranteed no emotional complications. She'd been true to her word.

Hayes flexed his fingers. She didn't feel the same about him as she had twelve years ago. She didn't feel as strongly. He told himself her emotional ambivalence toward him was good. He told himself the relationship was better off without the complication, the confusion, of love.

But he hated it. Just as he hated the wall he felt between them, the emotional distance. He felt as if she held her emotions in check when with him, as if she kept a part of herself hidden from him.

He wanted the Alice he had known twelve years ago, the one who had loved and needed him. He missed her. He had for years.

Hayes snorted with self-derision. He was a sorry bastard. No doubt about it. On the one hand he wanted her at arm's length, on the other he longed to pull her closer, longed to make her see how much he meant to her. What a jerk he was; he wanted everything from her, even though he had nothing to offer in return.

Hayes pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He missed her. So much that it had been nearly impossible to concentrate on work, sleep had eluded him and he'd barked at everyone and anyone who had dared approach him.

His secretary poked her head into the office. “I'm going now, Hayes. You need anything before I do?”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “No, Susan. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Tomorrow's Saturday,” she chided. “Jeff has a ball game. You're taking a date. And you're going to have fun.” She shook her head. “Let me amend that. Please have fun. I don't think I can take another week of working for an ill-tempered grizzly.”

He forced a smile. “I'll see what I can do. Now, go on. You'll miss your ride.”

Rain splattered the window, and he scowled at it. He'd forgotten about Jeff's ball game, had forgotten that he and Alice had made plans to go with Sheri to watch it.

Tomorrow he would see Alice.
He sucked in a quick, sharp breath, acknowledging the way that made him feel. Happy. Expectant. Hopeful.

Like a total jackass.

Hayes swore. His relationship with Alice was out of control. It had been since the night he'd seen her with a knife pressed to her throat. He shook his head. Whom was he trying to kid? It had been out of control since the morning he'd walked into her office and seen her for the first time in twelve years.

Swearing again, he swung away from the window. He'd allowed himself to become too involved with her. He'd allowed his emotions to overrule his head, had allowed himself to forget what kind of man he was. And what kind of woman she was, what she needed to survive and flourish.

He would never be able to make her happy.

And he couldn't bear to make her unhappy.

Hayes crossed to his desk. He pulled open the top right drawer and took out a photograph buried under some papers. Taking in a deep, fortifying breath, he gazed at it. The photo showed him and Isabel shortly after their marriage. In it they were both smiling. Real smiles. Happy ones. Isabel looked bright and eager; he looked like a man who believed in happily-ever-after, like a man with a million illusions.

He drew his eyebrows together, his chest tight and aching. He kept the photo not because he still loved or longed for Isabel or because he still mourned. He kept it as a reminder of how badly he could fail at a relationship. A reminder of just how unhappy he could make someone.

And to remind him of how out of his depth he was when it came to the world of emotions.

Hayes smoothed the film of dust off the photo's glass. The picture had been taken only fifteen years earlier. It seemed a lifetime ago, more even. He cocked his head, eyes narrowed. Had he really been that smiling young man? Had he really been so carefree? It seemed impossible to him now.

He tightened his fingers on the brass frame, the truth rocking through him. Except when with Alice. She made him feel the way he had all those years ago; she made him believe in happy endings.

And that scared the hell out of him, because he knew their relationship wouldn't last.

He drew in another deep, steadying breath. How had he allowed himself to become entangled with her again? How could he have been so self-indulgent? So selfish?

Hayes took one last, hard look at the photo, dropped it back into the drawer, then snapped it shut. The longer he let this charade continue, the more Alice would be hurt. And the more he would miss her when she was gone.

Gone. A lifetime without Alice. A lifetime of flat gray days and nights, a lifetime without warmth.

That was what these two days had been about, he realized. He'd been testing himself. For what, he wasn't sure. But even so, he hadn't a doubt that he'd failed. Miserably.

How could he have won? If he had, wouldn't he feel jubilation instead of this gray nothingness?

His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He picked it up. “Hayes Bradford.”

“Mr. Bradford, I'm glad I caught you before you left for the day. This is Nancy Walker, Jeff's principal at Mandeville High.”

“Yes, Dr. Walker. What can I do for you?”

The woman hesitated, and Hayes knew he was in for an unpleasant conversation. “I'm calling about Jeff, of course. And I must tell you, I never thought I would be making this kind of call about your son. He's always been a model student.”

Hayes tightened his grip on the receiver. “Until now, I take it.”

“I'm afraid so. I'll be blunt, Mr. Bradford. Jeff has been missing a lot of classes. And when he does attend, he's neither prepared nor attentive. He's failing to turn in assignments and flunking his exams. We've sent several notices home and left messages on your machine, but I suspect you haven't gotten them.”

Anger at his son's duplicity thundered through Hayes; he fought to hold on to it. “No,” he said tightly. “I haven't.”

“At first we thought his absences were the result of genuine illnesses. He brought excuses from home each time. But after so many absences without our speaking directly to you, we began to suspect—”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Three weeks.”

“And you're just calling me now?”

“As I explained—”

“Of course.” Hayes cleared his throat. “I apologize if I sound gruff, but as I'm sure you know, this is not the kind of news a father wants to hear.”

“Jeff's been banned from playing in tomorrow's game because of his grades. He won't be allowed to play again until he raises them.”

Hayes swore silently. Jeff had never had any trouble with school; he'd always been an A student. “Does Jeff know about the game?”

“His coach talked to him first thing this morning.” The principal drew in a deep breath. “Is something going on in Jeff's life that we should know about? The counselor here has tried to talk with him, as has his coach and a few of his teachers. But he refuses to be drawn into any kind of a conversation. In fact, he's been sullen and uncommunicative. Which is also unlike Jeff. I'd hoped you could shed some light on Jeff's state of mind.”

Could he? Hayes wondered. Did he have even a glimmer of understanding about what his son felt? What motivated him? He shook his head. If he did he wouldn't be standing here feeling stunned and betrayed and totally in the dark.

“Perhaps I could come in for a conference Monday or Tuesday?” He flipped open his appointment book. “I could meet you Monday late afternoon or before ten on Tuesday.”

“Monday afternoon would be fine. Will four o'clock work for you?”

“Four o'clock will be fine,” Hayes said, checking his watch, thinking instead of how long it would take him to get across the causeway and home, wondering what he would to say to his son when he got there. “I'll see you then, Dr. Walker. Goodbye.”

Hayes flew across the causeway, making it to the north shore in record time. He swung into his driveway and slammed out of the car. Jeff's Mazda sat in its usual spot and Hayes took a deep breath, battling to hold on to his anger. Nothing would be solved if he went in shouting.

He stalked up the walk and let himself inside. Jeff had tossed his car keys on the entryway table; Hayes scooped them up and dropped them into his jacket pocket.

He heard the sound of the television and followed it. Jeff sat slouched on the sofa, staring blankly at a music video. Hayes crossed to the set, flicked it off and swung to face his son.

“Your principal called today.” Jeff met his eyes. Hayes thought he looked a little pale. “I hear you're not playing tomorrow.”

The boy jutted his chin out. “That's right.”

“I also hear you've been cutting class. I hear you're not turning in your homework, and that your grades have slipped.”

Jeff arched his eyebrows, the picture of cocky arrogance. “If Dr. Walker called, I guess you have heard that.”

Hayes worked to control his temper. “We need to talk.”

Jeff shrugged. “If you insist.”

Jeff had never been a smart aleck, had never been one of those children who affected a breezy, know-it-all air. That he was now, at eighteen, was as disturbing as it was infuriating.

Hayes counted to ten. Then twenty. “Do you realize how messing up now can affect the rest of your life? You can blow your entire senior year by continuing to do what you've been doing. Is that what you want? If you flunk out this year, even if you make up the courses in summer school, those grades stay on your records. Forever, Jeff.”

The teenager shrugged. “What does it matter? I'm not going to Georgetown. The state schools will take me.”

Hayes shook his head, taking a step toward his son. “My God, Jeff, are you deliberately trying to ruin your life?”

“I thought I already had,” Jeff shot back. “According to you, marrying Sheri is accomplishing that.” He arched his eyebrows in exaggerated disbelief. “That's possible? You can ruin a life twice? In the same year?”

Hayes's tenuous hold on his temper snapped. “You're grounded. You go to school—you come home. That's it.”

Jeff jumped to his feet, hands clenched, jaw tight with fury. “You can't ground me! I'm eighteen years old.”

“Like hell I can't.” Hayes pulled Jeff's car keys out of his pocket. “You'll get them back when you prove to me you deserve your own wheels. Until then, I'll drive you to school and arrange for someone to pick you up.”

“This is just a way to keep me and Sheri apart.”

Anger exploded inside Hayes. “This doesn't have a damn thing to do with Sheri! This has to do with you. Lying to me. Hiding the truth. Shirking your responsibilities.”

“I live up to my responsibilities. Can you say the same?”

Hayes took another step toward his son, then another, stopping when they were nose to nose. In his son's expression he saw reflected back at him his own fury and unwillingness to bend.

His own desperation.

Hayes gazed at his son, the truth of that worming through his anger, touching a place deep inside him. He reached a hand out to Jeff. “What do you want from me? What do you want me to do? To say?”

For one slim moment, Jeff's expression twisted with pain, then he visibly pulled himself together, squaring his shoulders, cocking up his chin. “I don't want anything from you. Nothing.”

Hayes searched his son's expression, looking for a glimmer of what he'd seen only a moment ago. Looking for a glimmer of the boy he had been, the happy boy who had loved and looked up to him. “What's happened to you?” he asked softly. “I don't even recognize you anymore.”

“What does it matter to you?” Jeff shot back, his voice thick. “You've never been interested in me.”

Hayes took an involuntary step backward, stunned. His son couldn't have hurt him more if he'd laid into him with his fists. “That's not true, Jeff. I've always been interested. You're my son.”

“And that's supposed to mean something?”

“It means everything.” Hayes swallowed. “Who are you trying to punish, Jeff? Me? Or yourself?”

Jeff started to walk away; Hayes caught his arm. “Talk to me. Tell me what's going on with you.”

For a moment Jeff wavered. Hayes saw his hesitation, his indecision. Saw in that fraction of a second what he'd been longing to see—a flash of the boy Jeff had once been. Then that boy was gone, replaced by the angry young man he had become.

Jeff jerked his arm free. “Talk to you so you can punish me some more? So you can tell me how badly I'm screwing up. No thanks,
Dad.
As I see it, we have nothing to talk about.”

Hayes stiffened against Jeff's verbal blows. “I want you to be happy. That's
all
I want. If you feel you need to do this thing, I'll stand by you. I'll support you in whatever decision you make.”