By Appointment Only (17 page)

Hannah thought the younger couple would be kaput in no time, and Elda’s experience had proven that some men can’t be trusted. So what made Morgan think he could convince Hannah any differently?

He sighed and kicked aside a palm frond that had been torn down during the storm. When it all came down to it, Hannah either trusted him or she didn’t.

She still wore his engagement ring. That had to say something. But in every other way her behavior and her words pointed to a bad fall for Morgan Webber down the road. A day would come when she handed back his ring and said goodbye. He knew it.

But he refused to accept it. The two of them were perfect together. In every way. All he had to do was hang on until Hannah realized that some love was meant to last. The best kind of love. The love they shared.

Which brought him back to the one thing that still haunted him. Did Hannah love him as much as he loved her? Or was she only attracted to him and didn’t want to hurt his feelings?

He ground his teeth together and turned back toward Elda’s apartment. If winning Hannah’s trust meant doing things like running a scoundrel to ground and retrieving the old woman’s money, then by God, Morgan would do it.

Hannah fell into bed that night exhausted. After leaving Elda’s, they’d had to go back to the parking garage to retrieve Morgan’s car, and by the time they finally made it to Hannah’s place (he insisted on following her), it was late. Because Morgan had left the site early for their appointment, he wanted to be at work by daybreak Friday morning.

He didn’t ask to come in, and for once, Hannah was glad. She had a lot to think about . . . the wild session with Morgan, Elda’s heartbreak, even Timmy and Rachelle’s situation. Neither of those relationships was smooth sailing, and none had easy answers.

She and Morgan usually spent Friday evening together and either Saturday or Sunday as well, sometimes all three. But she had already decided to tell him tomorrow that she wanted to be free for Elda this weekend. Elda was frail both physically and emotionally, and Hannah was worried that this latest blow might knock her back to where she had been after her husband died.

Friday flew by, a long busy day that kept her mind off her own problems and totally preoccupied with helping her many elderly clients. She tumbled into bed that night, completely exhausted.

Early Saturday morning, Hannah dragged Elda out of her apartment and insisted they go out for breakfast and some shopping.

Elda grumbled the entire time. “I can’t afford to shop. I’m broke, remember?”

Hannah took her arm as they stepped down from a curb. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Morgan will get your money back. He promised. And besides, you told me you have three other bank accounts. Arnie didn’t have access to those, did he?”

They entered a nearby department store and Elda paused to admire a large, gaudy straw hat on a slim mannequin in the window. “Of course not. I might have been foolish, but I’m not a total doofus. I only gave him the info on my smallest account, the one I use for cash emergencies. It was still a lot of money, but I’m not wiped out.”

“Then quit complaining.”

An hour or so later, Hannah was in for a shock when she and Elda stopped for a drink in the food court and Elda ran into a man she knew from one of the other retirement centers. The older woman flirted shamelessly, and she and her admirer were soon laughing and carrying on like teenagers.

Hannah watched them, stunned. What was going on? When she was finally able to pry Elda away from her gentleman friend, Hannah sat her down on a bench and gave her a firm stare. “What were you doing back there?”

Hannah shrugged, her lip outthrust as it was every time she got stubborn. “What did it look like? I was socializing.”

“But what about Arnie? I thought you were sweet on him. I thought he broke your heart.” Elda’s bright auburn eyebrows went to her hairline. “I never said that. I was just mad because he made me look like a fool. And because he bilked me,” she added with her lip curled. “I hate being an easy mark.”

“So you weren’t in love with him?”

Elda’s mouth and her eyes opened wide. “Lord, no. I’ll never love anyone besides my husband. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun until I die.”

Hannah gazed at her, troubled. “I don’t understand you sometimes, Elda. I thought you wanted to find another man to love.”

Elda winced as her arthritic knee made it difficult to stand. She held out a hand. “I’ve got you to love, Hannah girl. And as for the men . . .” She rolled her eyes. “At my age, conversation and companionship are enough. But let’s talk about you.”

Elda knew in general about the whole sexual counseling thing, and when she pushed for details, Hannah was forced to come up with a G-rated explanation that seemed to satisfy her.

When Elda asked what Morgan and Hannah were doing that evening, Hannah grinned. “I told him you were my first priority this weekend. So what do you want to do between now and Monday? I’m all yours.”

Elda scowled as Hannah tucked her into the car. “I want to hang out with my friends. Why do you think I live at Fluffy Palms, honey? You’re a darling girl to care about an old lady like me, but you’ve got a life to live. We’ve had a great morning, but I want you to take me home now. And then I want you to think of about a dozen ways to make that man of yours happy.”

Hannah dropped Elda off, finished up a couple of errands, and drove home in a pensive mood. For the first time, it dawned on her that Elda was not quite the weak, needy woman Hannah had envisioned. Had Elda changed, or had Hannah herself created an image of the old woman that was entirely false? Was Hannah the one who was in need? Was Hannah the one who
wanted
to be needed?

She was hot and tired when she got home, and she wished she hadn’t been so adamant about waving Morgan off this weekend. It would have been lovely to curl up with him on her big comfy sofa and watch a movie this evening.

When she pressed the button to listen to her messages, the day went from frustrating to downright awful. Her mother’s singsong voice filled the room.

The machine fell silent, but the little red light continued to blink like a malevolent eye. Hannah dropped into a chair as her legs literally gave out beneath her. Her hands trembled, so she clasped them tightly in her lap. Her mother was bad enough. But her father?

For a split second, she wondered if her mother was trying to pull a fast one. How would Hannah even know if this mystery man was really the chump who had donated his sperm? Why now, after all these years? Did he want money, too? Or was this a genuine overture?

She thought back to all those times when as a little girl she had woven fantasies about a man who would show up one day and scoop her into his arms for a big hug. The man never had a face. Well, now he would.

She shivered and reached for the phone. She needed to talk to Morgan. Needed to hear his voice and feel his arms around her. But she stopped short of dialing the number. Did she really want Morgan to meet her parents? And that was exactly what would happen if she told him about the phone call. She knew him that well.

And what about her? Did she want to go through the misery of an evening with her mother and a stranger? But the other possibility was even worse. What if they showed up on her doorstep? At least at a public venue she could control things. She could leave if she had to. If she wanted to. And either of those was a distinct possibility.

She knew she would never be able to rest until she resolved things, so she bit her lip and picked up the phone a second time.

By the time she hung up, her stomach was churning, but she had made arrangements to meet her mother and a man named Raymond Quarles at the Olive Garden on Francisco Drive at five o’clock. Hannah and Morgan ate there frequently, and she was hoping that the loud, cheerful atmosphere would mask any odd and unpleasant conversation that might take place.

Jumping off a bridge was a piece of cake compared to meeting a father you had never known. Hannah actually threw up in the privacy of her bathroom before rinsing out her mouth and forcing herself to get into the car for the short drive to the restaurant.

Vivian was easy to spot. Despite her wraithlike appearance, she was loud. She ran toward Hannah with her arms outflung and embraced her daughter. “There you are. Come meet your daddy.”

Hannah was mortified. Fortunately they had arrived early, and the waiting area was mostly empty save for a few bored hostesses and a busboy who was flirting with one of them.

Hannah looked past her mother. A slight man, mostly bald, stood hesitantly near a wrought-iron bench, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his blue plaid shorts. His white knit shirt had the logo of a famous nearby golf course stitched on the pocket.

He didn’t smile and neither did Hannah. Vivian dragged her daughter in his direction. “Come on you two,” she said, her tone shrill with manic excitement. “Hug each other. After all this time . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized she wasn’t physically capable of forcing the father and daughter into an awkward greeting they didn’t want.

Vivian turned to the hostess for help. “We’ll be seated now,” she chirped. “A special occasion.” Her eyes darted from side to side, never landing on anything or anyone. Her hands fluttered like little ring-bedecked butterflies, hovering between Raymond and Hannah but never landing.

They were seated in a booth. Raymond scooted as far to the inside wall as he could. Vivian followed him. Hannah took a deep breath, contemplated fleeing, and then forced herself to sit down. After the waitress took their drink orders and disappeared, Hannah looked at the two people who were responsible for her existence. “I gave you half of Grammy and Papaw’s money, Vivian. That’s all there is. If you’re here because you think my fiancé is rich, you can forget it. He works hard and has a good job, but there’s no gravy train. Sorry.”

The animation drained from Vivian’s face, and she actually looked uneasy. “Why would you say such a terrible thing?”

Hannah shrugged. “I’ve been engaged less than a month and already you show up with a man you claim is my father. What am I supposed to think?”

For the first time, Raymond Quarles spoke. His eyes were the same shade of brown as Hannah’s. But they were bloodshot. He met her gaze squarely. “Whatever your mother’s faults, she’s not lying about this. I’m the guy on your birth certificate.”

Hannah’s heart gave an odd lurch. “It’s hardly the love story of the century,” she said quietly, her voice flat. “Or do you claim that it is?”

He shrugged. “Nope. We’d never met before that night. We had a little fun. We were careless. Vivian contacted me later and told me what happened. I agreed to marry her.”

“But why?” Hannah had never been able to come up with a reason to explain that seeming aberration.

Raymond smiled for the first time, a faint, wry twist of his lips that seemed to indicate a dull appreciation for fate. “I was supposed to be sterile. I figured it was my only chance at leaving my mark on the next generation. And I was a bastard myself. Literally. It seemed like a hell of a title to put on an innocent baby girl. So we got married.”

Hannah clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. She was cold to the bone despite the Orlando heat. “And divorced three months later.”

Vivian put her hand across the table as though she was going to take her daughter’s arm. Hannah leaned back, effectively dodging the possible contact. Vivian’s gaze was pleading. “We tried to do right by you, Hannah.”

Hannah felt her control slipping. She wanted to scream and yell and rage. These people were the worst parents on the planet. They had stolen her chance to have a normal childhood.

But suddenly, in the midst of her hurt and turmoil, she heard Grammy’s voice in her head as clear as day.
Let it go, Hannah
. She tried to swallow the knot in her throat. She could see Grammy’s dear face, feel the warmth of her smile. And in a flash of clarity she realized how much it must have hurt Grammy to have borne a daughter as emotionally dysfunctional as Vivian. For years Hannah had wallowed in her own self-righteous indignation over being the wronged one, the poor, unwanted daughter.

But what about Grammy? Hadn’t she been hurt even more, to have a daughter who simply couldn’t handle the demands of adult life?

She took a deep breath, concentrating on the cheerful music playing over the unobtrusive speakers overhead. Pleasant notes that summoned up visions of sun-dappled vineyards and peaceful farming valleys.

Bit by bit, she gained control of her emotions. The two across the table from her were conversing in lowered tones, turned toward each other, speaking earnestly.

Hannah managed to smile at the waitress when she returned with their drinks. It seemed as if the woman had been gone an hour or more. Suddenly the thought of ordering food made Hannah gag. She picked up her purse. “I think I’ll head home. I’m not really hungry.”

As Vivian began to protest vociferously, Hannah sensed someone standing behind her shoulder.

She turned, thinking it was the waitress ready to take their order. Instead she saw Morgan, his face puzzled. “Hannah. What are you doing here?”

Busted. Hannah opened her mouth, searching desperately for something to say, but the damage had been done. Morgan glanced at Vivian and Raymond, frowning. Then he looked back at Hannah. "I thought you were spending time with Elda this weekend.”

“I was,” she said quickly. “I did.”

He waited for further explanation, his hands shoved in his pockets and his jaw tight. She felt at a disadvantage with him standing and looming over her. She tried to divert his attention from the two people she was hoping might disappear in a puff of smoke. “What are
you
doing here?” She asked it with a cheery attempt at a smile that stretched her facial muscles painfully and failed miserably.