Forbidden Son (19 page)

“Am
I the reason you’re upset? Did I do something wrong?”

She
did her best to smile. “No...never. I just need you to understand there are
times when people don’t always use good judgment in the decisions they make. I
also want you to know that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me,
and that I’ve always loved you and always will.”

“Oh,
man, Mom, you’re freaking me out. Please don’t tell me you’ve got cancer.
You’re not gonna die, are you?”

Honey
Belle reached out and cradled JT’s cheeks in her hands. “No. I’m not sick, and
I don’t mean to frighten you.”

“I’m
sixteen, Mom. Whatever it is you’re afraid to tell me, I can handle it. Okay?”

She
drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Okay. Here goes. I lived with my
parents in Charleston, South Carolina. I met Tripp Harlan Hartwell the Third on
my nineteenth birthday. He was twenty-two years old, drove a fancy white BMW
convertible, and he was everything I wasn’t. He was on his way to Harvard Law
School, and I was a high school dropout flipping hamburgers.”

She
spent the next two hours explaining about her life, Tripp’s marriage proposal,
his father’s threats, the blackmail money, and the reason for keeping her
pregnancy a secret.

“One
evening, when you were six years old, you and I and Aunt Tess were watching the
news. On the television screen names were listed of the soldiers in Vietnam who
were missing in action. You asked if your daddy had been killed in the war and
was that the reason he didn’t live with us. I always intended to tell you the
truth. At that moment, when you looked up at me with such sorrow in your big
wide eyes, it was easier to simply say yes.

“The
years slipped away, and now you’re on the cusp of becoming an adult.” She
shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I thought I could keep from you forever the
fact that Senator Tripp Hartwell is your father.”

The
way JT looked at her, his silence, the two bright red spots on his cheeks,
Honey Belle steeled herself for an outburst. “I get it now. This is the reason
you didn’t want me to go to D.C. Not because of the articles you read about
some House Representative molesting a couple of junior pages, no. It was
because you were afraid I’d meet Senator Hartwell, and we’d both figure out the
truth.”

A
jolt of sick numbness surged through Honey Belle. “I started to tell you so
many times.”

His
reply was stony. “Yeah, right. So, let’s choose a fast-food parking lot to tell
poor JT a sordid story. Does your conscience feel better, Mom?”

Honey
Belle’s gasp turned to anger. “How could you even think such a thing? You know
I’m not that kind of person. I took no pleasure in this. It’s been tearing me
apart all these years.”

He
smacked his fist into the palm of his hand. “Yeah, like finding out I’m the
bastard son of a rich senator is supposed to make me feel better? Big whoop,
Mom.”

“That’s
unfair.” Tears streamed down Honey Belle’s face.

JT
pivoted toward the door handle. The scrapbook slid from his lap to the
floorboard. The door swung open and he propelled out of the car.

She
hated the frantic tone in her voice. “Where are you going?”

“I
don’t know. Away...from you.”

“JT!”

Honey
Belle swung her door open. She raced around the front of the car, banging her
knee on the corner of the front bumper. She grimaced in pain. She lunged to
grab her son’s arm as he headed toward the highway.

“JT,
I’ve...I’ve messed up. I know this. Please, honey, get back in the car. You
don’t have to talk to me. You can hate me, if that will make you feel better.
Just, please, running away isn’t the answer.”

She
tried to form a prayer, but the words in her mind were all jumbled up. “I
deserve your anger, JT.”

He
looked at her. The emotional turmoil in his young face twisted her heart. “All
this time, Mom, you let me believe I was the son of a war hero. What will my
friends think when they find out I’m really an illegitimate bastard?”

That
question jarred Honey Belle to the core. Her eyes held her son’s. She hoped he
saw the understanding and compassion. “First of all, you are not a bastard. You
are
my
son. Secondly, your father
is
a war hero. Even you said
he’s a great man. As for your friends, nothing has changed...not really. You
are still the same person you were when you were born...the same as eight weeks
ago...the same person as five minutes ago. Who’s to tell your friends?
Certainly not me.”

JT
nodded. “Yes, but—”

Honey
Belle risked wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight. “Right now you
feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. Well, guess what,
kiddo, I understand. More than you know.”

JT
blurted out, “I don’t know if I can deal with this.”

Honey
Belle held him at arms’ length, still afraid to relinquish her hold. “Remember
when you were a little boy and had nightmares, and when you broke your arm, and
when your puppy got run over, who was there to soothe away the fear and the
hurt?”

JT
looked at his mother as if a light had dawned in his numb brain. “You, Mom. You
and Aunt Tess. But...but this is different.”

“We
all make mistakes. Mine was running away instead of trusting the man I loved
would care for me no matter what side of the railroad tracks I was born on.
Everyone deserves a second chance, JT. One day you may find you’ll need a
second chance, too.” She brushed a hand over his hair. “Okay if we go home
now?”

He
looked down at the purpling bruise on his mother’s knee. “I’m sorry I made you
hurt yourself, Mom.”

Honey
Belle let out a breath of relief. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s go.”

She
waited for him to shut the car door before she turned the ignition key. With a
deep sigh, she suppressed a smile when JT reached down, picked up the scrapbook
from the floorboard, and opened it.

Chapter
Twenty-Nine

Whenever
he came back to Charleston, Tripp experienced a feeling of excitement. No
matter how long he had been absent, be it months on end, a week, or merely a
few days, he returned with a sense of well being inside, the knowledge he was
coming home.

Tonight
was no exception.

His
anticipation started the moment he nosed the rental car between the massive
twin oaks that marked the entrance to his family’s house.

Tripp
drove slowly. Peering out the window at the azaleas, he couldn’t help thinking
of his mother and how much she had loved her flowers.

Seventeen
years ago he had been only twenty-three, so long ago, and yet it might have
been yesterday, the memory was so clear in his mind of the evening he had told
his parents about Honey Belle and his intention of marrying her.

Casting
his mind back now, he pictured her as she had been then—tall, skinny, legs like
a young colt. Yet pretty, in a fresh sort of way. She had been full of life and
vitality. He had taken to her at once. And so he had experienced an
extraordinary relationship with a vivacious young woman, a relationship that
had lasted all of one summer.

You
meet thousands of people, and then you meet just one, he thought, and your life
is changed forever.

He
straightened in his seat as the house came into view. One lone window was lit.
He had barely braked when bright light flooded the front porch.

Moments
later Blanch Milford, his father’s nurse, opened the door. “Welcome home,
Senator. How is your father?”

Tripp
gave her the shortened version of his father’s condition. “He’s resting. We
anticipate the doctor will keep him in the hospital a few more days.”

“Until
then, will you need my services?”

“Starting
tomorrow, take the week off, Mrs. Milford. Feel free to remain in your quarters
until we know more about my father’s long-term prognosis.”

“Very
well, Senator. I wasn’t sure if you had taken time to eat. I baked a ham and
made potato salad for you. Oh, and there’s grilled peaches topped with fresh
mint. It was one of your father’s favorites. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll
excuse myself.”

Tripp
went into the kitchen, removed a glass from the cabinet, and added ice. Inside
the walk-in pantry, he found a bottle of Stolichnaya Cristal and filled the
glass with a good measure of his father’s favorite vodka.

Once
he’d made his drink, he went to the parlor, glancing around as he strolled to
the large fireplace. The weather was too hot for a fire. The room had been his
mother’s favorite, its blue carpet, blue velvet sofas, and tub chairs covered
in blue floral and cream linen giving it a homey, comforting feeling. This was
further enhanced by blue brocade curtains at the leaded windows, the polished
mahogany paneled walls, and the blue shades on the wall sconces. It was a
slightly masculine room.

Facing
the empty corner next to the fireplace, he envisioned the brightly decorated
blue spruce with barely enough room to place the Christmas angel on top without
it touching the high ceiling.

He
had wanted to add to his memories. He’d wanted to watch his child and his wife
place an angel on top of the tree as had he and his mother. Yet Kathryn had
hated this room. Garishly boring, she had called it.

Thanks
to his father’s malevolent interference, Tripp had missed the opportunity to
form those traditions with young Jack Tripp Garrett.

His
musings were interrupted when his uncle entered and walked rapidly to the bar.
“Got another one of those?”

“Kitchen.
Hungry?” Tripp explained about the ham and the potato salad.

“Beats
the hell out of hospital cafeteria food.”

Settled
at the kitchen table, Jake said, “Guess my brother’s confession comes as a
shock to both of us. Before I honor the codicil, are you one hundred percent
certain this boy sprang from your loins?”

“Give
me a second and I’ll let you answer your own question.” Tripp placed his
half-eaten sandwich on his plate and sprinted to the parlor. He lifted the suit
jacket where he’d draped it over one of the tub chairs and in two shakes was
back in the kitchen.

He
laid the photograph in front of his uncle. “You tell me, Uncle Jake.”

Jake
Hartwell stared at the image that could have passed for his nephew’s twin—if
he’d had one. He wiped his hand on the linen napkin across his lap. As if
picking up a piece of evidence, he held the picture at one corner with his
thumb and forefinger. He turned the picture over. “Jack Tripp Garrett, Valdosta
High School, 1980.”

Tripp
saw the calculator working in his uncle’s brain as he did the math. “The boy
was born in 1964.”

“May
24th, to be exact.”

Jake
Hartwell lifted an eyebrow. “Your birthday.”

Tripp
nodded.

“What
are your intentions?”

Tripp
let out a small sigh. Taking his glass with him, he rose and walked to the bank
of windows overlooking the garden. He stood staring out at the view for a few
minutes.

Finally,
when he swung around, he said, “I’m going to do what I should have done
seventeen years ago. There’s no excuse why I didn’t search hard enough for her,
Uncle Jake. I lost Honey Belle once. I’m not going to lose her again. I only
hope she’ll have me.”

“The
boy is sixteen. Young men that age tend to be protective of their mothers and
resentful of intruders. You might want to treat this as if you were walking
through a mine field.”

Tripp
turned up the glass and swallowed the last of the vodka. “Honor the codicil,
Uncle Jake. My father owes his grandson that much.”

****

The
insistent ringing of the telephone awakened Honey Belle with a start. As she
jumped up to answer it, she realized she had fallen asleep on the sofa.

“Hello?”

“May
I speak with Honey Belle Garrett?”

She
blinked against the sleep-haze film covering her eyes. Glancing at her watch,
she saw it was six o’clock. No one called this early on a Saturday morning.

It
surprised her that she had spent the entire night on the couch without waking
up once. She must have been extremely tired. On the other hand, the big
overstuffed sofa was as comfortable as her bed upstairs.

She
coughed to clear the rasp from her throat. “Who is this?”

“It’s...Tripp
Hartwell. Honey Belle?”

“Do
you realize what time it is?” Idiot, stupid thing to say, she berated herself.
“Why are you calling?”

“I’m
here in Valdosta. I’d like to see JT, and you. It’s important.”

Afraid
she was still asleep and dreaming, Honey Belle gripped the phone.

Tripp
broke the silence. “I know it’s early. I thought telephoning was better than
showing up on your doorstep. How about it—may I come to your house?”

Deeply
torn, Honey Belle set her concerns aside. “Yes, of course. I’ll make breakfast.
Do you need directions?”

His
chuckle filtered through the phone lines. “There are certain advantages to
knowing the Secret Service. Is eight-thirty too soon?”

She
closed her eyes. Behind her lids she could see his face. She remembered what
had gone through her mind that day on the steps at the Lincoln Memorial as she
had stared back at him, held in the grip of his mesmeric gaze.

Such
a beautiful face for a man, she had thought, such a sensitive mouth, and those
extraordinary eyes...such a lovely blue, like bits of sky, she had thought
then.

Breakfast
was the least thing on her mind when she asked, “How do you like your eggs?”

****

“Bogus,
Mom. Senator Hartwell is coming here, to our house? Why?”

“I
should think it’s pretty obvious, JT. He wants to know his son. Are you okay
with that?”

“It’s
weird. I mean, after reading all the articles and stuff about him in the
scrapbook... Sure, I guess it’s okay.”

“You
won’t be rude?”

“You
mean like putting a garter snake in his coat pocket?”

Honey
Belle joined her son in raucous laughter at her son’s childish Halloween prank
when he disapproved of the man who had come to pick her up for a date. “Poor
Mr. Ridley. You scared him bald-headed.”

JT
managed to contain his laughter. “He was already bald.”

She
sobered. “I don’t think Tripp Hartwell is the type who scares easily.”

Her
son’s knitted brow brought the usual motherly concerns. “Okay, kiddo, spit it.
What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Hey,
we don’t play those games, remember?”

“Do
you think he really tried to find you? I mean really seriously.”

Honey
Belle moved between the gas stove and the countertop next to the sink, washing
pots and spoons as she dirtied them.

“It’s
a fair question. The senator is an honest man. If he says he did, then all we
can do is believe he’s telling the truth.”

“He
asked you to marry him once—do you think he will again?”

Startled,
Honey Belle gaped at him. “No, absolutely not.”

JT
said, “What if he did ask you?”

“This
is silly.” She wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist, then cupped
JT’s cheeks. “He’s coming to see
you
, not me.”

“But
would you say, yes, if he did?” JT pressed.

“I
honestly don’t know.”

“Why?”

“Why
don’t I know? Is that what you mean?”

“Yes.”

Honey
Belle lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “I just don’t, is all. It would be
a big step for me to take, it would mean rearranging my life completely...and
yours. Besides, aren’t you jumping to an awful lot of conclusions?”

“So
what. Ever since you told me about you and the senator, when you were young,
and what his old man did to keep you apart, I’ve given it a lot of thought. If
the senator asks, I think you
should
marry him.”

“I’m
not discussing this any further, JT.” She pointed a finger at him. “This
subject is no longer open for discussion. Hear me? Closed.”

She
could feel her close ties to JT stretching. In nine months he would graduate
high school and then go off to college. As much as she refused to admit it, he
didn’t need her as much these days, and with Tripp entering their lives her
maternal instincts were all mixed up. She felt as if she were losing control of
her life.

JT
snapped his fingers in front of Honey Belle’s face. “Mom, you zoned out. If
you’re worried about me pulling a blind side on the senator, don’t.” He crossed
his heart and said, “Scout’s honor.” He reached around her to sneak a strip of
bacon.

She
playfully cuffed his shoulder. “Go set the table.”

Lately,
Tripp was seldom out of her thoughts. Frowning at that admission, she dropped a
spoonful of butter into the grits and gave a vigorous stir.

Marriage.
Where had JT come up with such an idea? Somehow she couldn’t get their
discussion out of her head. It would mean leaving Georgia, her job, and all she’d
grown to love.

Right
now she wished Tess were here to lend moral support, instead of off attending a
nurse’s retreat in North Carolina.