Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) (19 page)

Aban slid into the vehicle and started the car.

“Take me to Sanjay’s friend, Gabir Abbas’ home,” Yasin said.

Aban nodded and pulled away from the barracks.

***

Clara studied her appearance one last time in the bathroom mirror.
Not too bad for an old broad, if you didn’t look too closely.
Her hair didn’t have any gray running through it, yet. And from a distance the fine lines around her eyes didn’t look too deep.  But nothing she did was going to turn the clock back twenty years. With a sigh, she swiveled away from the mirror and opened the door.

Brett’s small apartment had begun to close in on her. Since Hawk was going to be gone for three weeks, he’d asked her to come stay with Zoe, so she wouldn’t be alone. The added space at his house was a welcome change.

She sauntered into the guest room. The pale green walls, and the floral printed comforter that matched them, projected a welcoming serenity. She fastened her watch on her wrist and slipped on her white sandals.

The faint aroma of chicken soup reached her as she wandered down the hall to the large, bright yellow kitchen. The white cabinets gleamed with a fresh coat of paint. The pale blue countertops with their darker veins of blue added a splash of coolness to the warmth of the room. Zoe had hung wide yellow, white, and blue striped curtains on the one large window over the sink. The setting sun filtered in from the French doors that led out into the sunroom.

Zoe looked up with a smile and continued stirring something at the stove. “Is that a new outfit?”

“Yes.” Clara ran her hands down over her waist and hips. “Does it look all right?”

“It looks great. That shade of blue goes just right with your hair and eyes.”

Clara studied the color. Joe had loved her in blue. After twenty years she was still picking clothes she thought he’d like. How pathetic was that?  She was dressing for a husband who would never see her, touch her.

“You okay, Mom?”

“Yes, I’m good.” She focused on Zoe. “You were a little queasy this morning weren’t you? Are you feeling all right now?”

“I’m fine. It was just a little first day at the job nerves.” Zoe turned to open a cabinet door and get out a bowl.

“I don’t have to go out, you know. I can stay here with you and we can fix something more substantial than chicken soup out of a can.” 

“I happen to like chicken soup. And you don’t have to cancel your plans on my account. I’ve been on my own for a while now, you know.” Her smile held a hint of teasing.

“I know. You could go with me. I’m sure Dr. Connelly and his son wouldn’t mind an extra.”

“Hawk’s going to call me in a little while, and I want to be here.”

She’d seen that same look of anticipation on her own face twenty years ago. And felt the excitement hearing Joe’s voice could jumpstart.

Why hadn’t she warned Zoe to hold back some small part of herself? If something happened to Hawk …

It was too late to say anything now. Zoe was firmly entrenched in Hawk’s life and the passion they shared. Just seeing how Hawk looked at her daughter brought back memories of her relationship with Joe.

She’d told Zoe that people loved wherever their heart took them. But she hadn’t warned her it could be a double-edged sword and cause as much pain as it could pleasure.

“You’re going to be late if you don’t leave soon,” Zoe said, breaking into her thoughts.

“I won’t be late,” Clara said.

“I’ll probably crash after Hawk calls. My first day was really busy.”

Clara brushed Zoe’s cheek with her lips and gave her a brief hug. “I’ll check on you when I get back.”

Twenty minutes later, she stood at Russell Connelly’s apartment door. The anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach kicked up a notch. She drew a steadying breath and tapped at the door.

It opened after only a moment’s wait, and Russell smiled at her. “Please come in, Clara.”

His smile punched through the anxious feeling, but set off a riot of nerves instead. He stepped back to allow her to enter. They stood for a moment just looking at one another, an awkward silence between them. She breathed in the rich aroma of roast beef and onions and searched for something to say.

“Thank you for giving us a second chance, Clara,” Russell said softly.

With his masculine features set in such serious lines, she couldn’t think of anything to say but “Thank you for having me.”

“Evan’s been cooking.” Russell drew her into the living room to the couch.

“It smells good. How is he feeling?” She set aside the small purse she carried.

“He seems a little improved.”

Worry had etched lines around his mouth and across his forehead that she hadn’t noticed the week before. “Good.” She hoped so, for his sake and Evan’s.

“You have the start of a nice tan. What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been taking pictures at the beach. The tan is just a side benefit. I’m not really a sun worshipper.”

“So you’ve taken up your camera again.”

“Yes. Or I’m attempting to. There are so many things to take in here. San Diego is a beautiful city.”

“Have you been to old town yet, or done the walking tour of the Gaslamp Quarter?”

“No, but they’re on my list.”

“Once you’ve wandered around San Diego, you could get on the I-5 and go up the coast. It’s very scenic.”

“Hey.” Evan’s said from the kitchen doorway, breaking into their conversation.

Clara’s heart contracted at the sight of his pale thin face and the fragile stoop to his shoulders. He wasn’t better. In fact, he looked worse. Her voice, swallowed up by pity, came out breathy and soft. “Hello.”

He shuffled forward. His gaze homed in on her face. “Thanks for coming.”

It seemed completely natural to rise, take a step toward him, and offer her hand.

Evan’s hand was cold as he clasped hers. “I’m sorry, Clara.”

“It’s forgotten,” she managed around the lump in her throat. When his gaze grew glazed with tears, she put her arms around him and held him. He felt so frail. She fought to keep her own tears at bay, and when he drew back, she offered him a hard-won smile.

He wiped his shirtsleeve across his eyes. “I hope you like beef.  I think I’ve fixed enough for a dinner party of eight or ten instead of just the three of us.”

“Roast beef and beef stew are some of my favorites.”

“You can take some home with you,” Russell said.

“I’m going to clean up,” Evan said. “I’ll be right back, and we’ll eat.”

He disappeared down the hall. Clara turned to look up at Russell.

“He’s left so I can tell you.” Russell throat worked as he swallowed. “Evan has AIDs, Clara. He wanted you to know, and wanted me to reassure you that I did most of the preparation so you wouldn’t worry about eating the food.” His hazel gaze searched her face.

His words didn’t cause the shock he was obviously expecting. Somehow, she’d known.

He cleared his throat. “We’ll understand if you don’t want to stay.”

Did he really expect she’d leave? Were people still so uninformed and phobic?

“As my son Brett is so very fond of saying, screw that. Well, actually he’d say something stronger.”

Russell’s brows rose, then he laughed, his smile clearing the stress from his features and injecting charm in its place. “I think I get your drift.”

CHAPTER 17

Russell offered his hand, and a jittery feeling settled in Clara’s stomach. Why couldn’t she look at him without feeling this way? His son had called him a player. Was that true?

“I’ll get you something to drink. Wine? Beer? Something stronger?”

“Iced tea will be fine. If you have it,” she said. She followed him into the kitchen.

“We have plenty.”

While he filled glasses with ice, she moved to the small table covered by an aqua tablecloth. White napkins folded into swans sat in the center of each plate. The glassware gleamed, as did the silverware. Two tall candlesticks, as yet unlit, were wedged into wooden cubes. And in the center of the table was a small glass bowl with a sprig of hibiscus floating in it.

“Evan has a thing about setting the table.”

Clara smiled. “It’s beautiful. I wish I’d brought my camera. It could be a setup for a
House Beautiful
spread.”

“He’d be pleased to hear you say that.” He handed her the glass of iced tea and used his own to motion toward the table. “I’m clueless about this kind of thing.”

Looking into his strong, masculine features, Clara didn’t doubt it. How hard had it been for a career military man to accept his gay son? But then being a doctor might have had some part in easing his acceptance. She touched the sprig of hibiscus. “So now you’ve learned something new from your son.”

Russell studied the hibiscus blossom for a moment, then took a sip of his iced tea, his expression contemplative. “As a child Evan was more artistic than athletic. I thought he’d be an architect.”

“I might have been had my mother not insisted I go to work with Carl so often,” Evan said as he entered the kitchen. He had changed his shirt and combed his dark hair. “I learned to love the intricacies of the law. There are so many ways to approach a legal problem, to defend the undefendable.”

Clara’s brows rose. “Are you a criminal defense attorney?”

“No, I practice family law, which at times isn’t so different.”

His gaze shifted to Russell. “It didn’t bring in as much money as Carl’s practice, but I felt I was helping families do the right thing for their children.”

Russell nodded.

“But in the end, we attorneys are hired to look out for the payee’s best interests. Looking back on some of my past cases, I’ve been wondering whether I did what was right for the kid, or the person with the wallet.”

“I’m sure most lawyers are trapped in that same quandary,” Clara said. “That’s why you have an opponent trying to sway the judge’s decision to his viewpoint.”

“It sounds as though you have some experience in family court,” Evan said as he pulled back a chair and motioned for Clara to have a seat.

Russell set aside his ice tea and went to the refrigerator. He returned with individual plates of salad.

“Some. I had to testify in court at an abuse case. It was … stressful,” Clara said.

“That sounds like an understatement,” Evan said. He reached across the table to light the candles with a small lighter.

“You could say that. Any time you deal with family issues, emotions run high.”

She removed the napkin swan and placed the cloth in her lap so Russell could set her salad plate before her. On a bed of torn Romaine lettuce and spinach leaves lay thinly sliced pears arranged like the petals of a flower. In the center were raisins and crumbled blue cheese. Evan placed a small bowl of salad dressing, obviously homemade, in the center of the table.

“Maybe you should have been a chef instead, Evan,” she said as the men sat down.

“I toyed with that idea, too. I have a friend who’s a chef. He’s taught me a thing or two about presentation.” He motioned to the salad.

When it seemed the two men were waiting for her to start, she drizzled a small amount of dressing over her salad and dug in.

Russell had to admit the food was delicious. Though he’d done most of the preparation, Evan had stood over his shoulder the whole time and given directions. Without his vigilance, the beef with roasted potatoes and vegetables would have probably turned out a burnt rock. When cooking for himself he usually ate out of the pan or carton while reading or doing paperwork. Evan would probably think that uncivilized, as would Clara.

He listened to the two of them debate the textures of poached pears and baked apples both with caramel and nuts.  He’d bought pastries from a bakery down the street, so neither of the fancier options was available. He was beginning to worry whether what he’d chosen would suffice when Clara turned and smiled at him. Her cheeks looked flushed and her blue eyes reflected the color of her blouse. He was suddenly lost in just looking at her. A need to be closer physically, emotionally, overwhelmed him. She was so open to Evan. Would she be the same with him?

“What’s your favorite desert, Russell?” she asked.

You could be
. The thought threw him off and he reached for the first thing that came to mind. “Banana pudding.”

She laughed. “You’re just teasing. What’s your true favorite?”

“I’ve had a wide range of horrible deserts over the years. And, depending on where I was at the time, I’ve been grateful to get them. But I’m a pie guy. I like peach pie or cobbler the best.”

“À la mode or plain?” she asked.

He smiled. “I’ll take the ice cream when I can get it. I have a sweet tooth. I’ve bought pastries for desert. I’ll fix coffee.”

“I’ll fix the coffee, Dad.” Evan pushed himself to his feet. “He’s used to hospital coffee and makes it strong enough to stand without the cup.”

“Once you acquire a taste for that, normal coffee isn’t the same,” Clara said and gave Russell a wink.

He didn’t realize how closely he was watching Evan until Clara placed her hand over his. The open compassion in her expression had him looking away. He was losing his son to a disease he could do nothing to halt. He’d looked at all of Evan’s medications. He’d sent out requests to other doctors with an expertise in AIDs, and they’d all said everything that could be done was being done. Helplessness spread a void inside him. It was driving him crazy.

Evan had to respond to the medication. He just had to. Especially now that they’d finally reached a truce and had a chance to build a father-son relationship.

 Evan returned to the table but didn’t sit down. His features looked drawn and he rested a steadying hand on the table. “Would you mind very much if I skipped desert and lay down for a bit, Clara?” he asked.

“No, of course not.” She rose and Russell stood. “Dinner was delicious and the table setting was beautiful. I’ve enjoyed being here with you and your father.”

“I’m glad.” Evan’s smiled. “Save me one of those apricot things, Dad.”

“Will do.”

They fell silent until Evan’s steps receded into silence and the bedroom door closed.