Daniel's Gift (24 page)

What a bastard he was. He had to change. He had to put things right for all of them, especially Danny.

His son. The thought filled his heart with joy. They could do so much together. He would be a real father to Danny. They would go to ball games and go fishing -- of course he would have to learn how to fish first, but he could study it, research it -- maybe he would even learn how to play video games. He would be nothing like his father. He would listen, care, not try to change Danny but simply accept him.

"Did you talk to her last night?" Denise pulled out a nail file and began to work on her pinky finger.

"Yes."

"Is she happy to have you back in her life?"

Luke smiled grimly. "I wouldn't say she's happy about much of anything right now -- especially not me."

"I don't know. You're rich. She's not. Sounds like she'd be very interested in you."

"Jenny was never interested in my money."

"Maybe not at eighteen. Things are different now."

"Not for Jenny. She has too much pride."

Luke sighed with relief as they made their way out of the Santa Cruz mountains. The ocean came into view over the horizon. The ocean had always brought him peace. Thirteen summers ago it had also brought him love and passion, the first he had ever known, the deepest he had ever felt.

Maybe he could recapture it with Denise. Show her another side of himself. Bring them closer together. He signaled to pull off the highway.

Denise looked at him in surprise. "What are you doing? This isn't the exit."

"The ocean is right there." He pointed out the window.

Her expression told him she had thought he had lost his mind. "So?"

"Let's walk along the beach, feel the sand between our toes."

"Are you crazy? I'm wearing hose."

"Take them off. Go barefoot."

"It's November, Luke. It's cold. No one goes to the beach in November." She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Luke pulled up at the stoplight, grinning as he watched a carload of teenagers pull through the McDonald's drive-thru on the corner. To be that young again. To be that free ...

The beach was just ahead. He pulled into a parking space and got out. Every breath he took reminded him of the past. It was glorious. The air was cold and salty. The wind blew the cobwebs from his mind.

He looked over his shoulder. Denise was still sitting in the car -- annoyed.

Luke walked over to the passenger door and pulled it open. "Come on, it's gorgeous out."

"It's windy. I'll mess up my hair. I want to look nice for your parents. And if we don't leave right this second, we'll be late. You know Charles hates it when you're late." She tapped her fingernail against the solid gold Rolex watch on her wrist.

"You should have been their child, not me," Luke replied. "I'm taking a walk. Are you coming?"

"What is this, Luke? Are you regressing or something?"

"Or something," he replied. "Suit yourself, Denise."

He kicked off his leather dress shoes and his black socks. The sand and gravel grated against skin that rarely saw the bare floor much less a sandy beach. Luke started to walk, then run. His heart began to pound. His mind took flight and suddenly Jenny was right beside him, and they were young again.

"I'll race you, Luke," Jenny said with a laughing smile. "On your mark, get set ... oh, look, a hang glider."

Luke turned his head. Jenny took off like a bird in flight. She was fast on her feet, poetry in motion. He could have watched her run for the rest of his life and counted himself happy. But the challenging look she flung over her shoulder forced him to run faster. He caught her, tackled her. They landed hard in the sand.

Jenny's body was under him. Her heart beat against his chest. Her breath came in short, rapid gasps. Her brown eyes danced with excitement.

"Kiss me," she said.

It was what he wanted to do, but a little devil inside made him tease her. "Good girls wait to be asked."

"I'm a good girl. Kiss me and see."

"Why should I?"

"Because you're crazy about me."

He brushed the hair away from her forehead and cupped her face between his hands, loving everything about her. "I am crazy."

"For me."

"For you," he admitted. "We're wrong for each other, you know."

"I know. Your parents hate me. I'm not smart enough or pretty enough. I'm middle-class
and going nowhere fast."

"That's not true."

"It is to them."

"Well, your sister hates me. Thinks I'm a snob, arrogant, and looking for a summer fling."

"We're like Romeo and Juliet." Jenny traced his lips with her finger. "Would you die for me?"

"I don't think so."

She punched him in the arm. "Wrong answer."

He grinned, but his words were serious. "I'm not hero material, Jenny. I can't carry you off on my white horse and promise we'll live happily ever after."

"Who asked you to?"

"No one, but when I'm with you, that's what I want to do. You make me want to change everything."

"You think too much."

"You don't think enough."

"Kiss me, and neither one of us will have to think."

He lowered his head and touched her lips with his mouth. She was delicious, like a cold beer on a hot day, like a burst of watermelon in the middle of summer, like every sweet candy he had ever denied himself.

The memories mixed together. The past became the present, and Luke fell in a breathless heap on the sand. Thirteen years later, and he could almost taste her again. Why couldn't he get her out of his head?

For years he had kept her image, her voice, her scent away from conscious thought. Once in a while she had entered his dreams, but he had worked so many long hours that eventually he stopped dreaming altogether.

Now, Jenny was back, as potent as she had been the first time he met her.

It had been the wrong time then. It was the wrong time now. His eyes filled with tears. Luke couldn't believe it. He blinked them away. They came again. He didn't cry. Never, not even as a child.

Luke stood up and ran back toward the car, hoping the sea breeze would explain the moisture on his face.

* * *

An hour later, Luke pulled into the private driveway that led to his parents' home in Carmel. It was their retirement dream house, a stately looking home with four bedrooms, a formal dining room, den, and a patio/garden/deck that overlooked the Pacific Ocean.

Charles and Beverly were waiting on the deck when they arrived. His father was reading the Wall Street Journal, and his mother was leafing through a scientific journal. It was the way Luke often found them, wrapped up in their pursuit of knowledge, of success.

Charles turned the page without acknowledging his presence. "You're late," he said.

"We hit some traffic."

Luke looked at Denise, wondering if she would deny his excuse, but she simply leaned over to kiss his mother hello. Denise had been furious when he had arrived back at the car. He had been too emotionally drained to give her more than lip service, and eventually she had fallen silent. He had a feeling that was about to end.

Beverly put down her magazine and reached for a bottle of Chardonnay cooling in an ice bucket. "Wine?"

"None for me," Luke said.

"I'd love a glass," Denise replied, sitting down in the chair next to his mother.

Beverly poured three glasses of wine. "Why don't you put down your paper, Charles? Luke obviously wants to speak to us about something important. After all, we just saw you yesterday."

"If he'd gotten here on time, we wouldn't be rushed. Your mother and I have plans for this evening," Charles said. Reluctantly he put his paper down on the table and tapped his fingers together in front of his face.

Luke pulled out a chair and sat down. They were certainly off to a great start. "Maybe I'll have a glass of wine after all."

His mother poured him a glass without comment.

"Well, speak your mind," Charles said.

Luke cleared his throat. "I don't know if you remember, but right before I went to medical school, I was involved with a young woman. Her name was Jenny St. Claire." Luke watched as his parents exchanged a long look. "I see that you do remember."

"Of course. We're not senile," Charles replied. "What does she have to do with anything?"

Luke took a breath and plowed ahead. "She had a baby, my baby, twelve years ago. His name is Danny."

"On, my." Beverly put a hand to her heart.

Charles froze.

Denise looked out at the ocean.

"I suppose she's come after you for money," Charles said finally. "You'll have to pay her off. We can't have that kind of information going out to the press."

"This isn't about money," Luke said, knowing that his protest was futile because to Charles everything was about money, even medicine. His father, the doctor, had coldheartedly gone into the profession to be rich and respected. He had achieved both.

"Of course, it's about money," Charles replied, echoing Luke's thoughts. "How much does she want? A million?"

"She doesn't want money. She doesn't want anything. Her son -- my son," he corrected, "was hit by a car on Friday night. He's in intensive care."

"What are his injuries?" Beverly asked. She wasn't as coldhearted as his father, but sometimes she could be just as clinical.

"Subdural hematoma. They removed the clot, but he hasn't regained consciousness."

"And it's been how long? Three days?"

"Yes."

"Not a good sign." Beverly looked over at Denise. "Are you all right, Denise?"

Denise nodded, donning a bright, false smile. "I'm fine. The news was a bit of a shock, but it happened a long time ago, before Luke and I met. It doesn't mean anything."

Of course it meant something, Luke wanted to shout. It meant everything. He had a son -- a son. He opened his mouth, then closed it, waiting.

"So, what does she want?" Charles asked again.

"She doesn't want anything. I do. I want to get to know my son."

"If he's unconscious, you won't have much chance of that," Charles said.

"I'm hoping he'll recover." Luke tried desperately to hang on to his temper. He wondered when his father's logic had become so irritating. "He's your grandson. I thought you'd want to know."

"Of course we want to know," Beverly interjected, putting a hand on Charles' arm. "You were right to tell us. After all, if he's your child, that's important.

But are you sure, Luke? Are you absolutely sure he is your child?"

"Yes, I am."

"Have you run a DNA test?"

Luke sighed. "No, but Jenny told me I was the father, and I believe her."

"For Christ's sake, Luke. Did I raise you to be a fool?" Charles demanded. "You're a wealthy man. Of course, you're the father. There are probably a dozen other women waiting to make that claim."

"I certainly hope not," Denise said flatly.

Beverly gave Charles an irritated look, then patted Denise's hand. "He didn't mean that the way it sounded. Why don't we have lunch?"

"That's it? That's all you can say?" Luke asked in amazement. "You have a grandson. Aren't you the slightest bit curious about him? Don't you want to know what he looks like?"

"I -- I -- " Beverly looked desperately at Charles. "I don't think this is the best time, Luke."

Charles pushed back his chair and stood up. "Pay her off, Luke. Set up a trust fund for the child, and keep your distance. You don't want to get dragged into this woman's problems. The boy could rack up all kinds of medical bills that she can't pay, and you'll be left holding the bag."

"Danny looks just like me," Luke said. "Blue eyes, sandy blond hair, freckles. He's a Sheridan. He deserves our name, our love."

"Stop, please." Denise held up her hand. There was pain in her eyes. "I can't listen to this right now, and I don't think your parents can either."

"She's right, Luke. We need time," Beverly said.

Luke got to his feet. "You don't have time, Mother. Danny may be dying. If you want to see your grandson, you'll have to go back with us today."

"I don't know. Charles?"

His father shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Danny might be your only grandchild. Are you really willing to look the other way?" Luke asked.

"Don't be silly. You and Denise will have children," Beverly said. "Isn't that right, dear?"

Denise took another sip of wine. "I don't know."