Forbidden Son (7 page)

Chapter
Ten

The
day after Tripp left for Harvard, Honey Belle received an unexpected visit from
the most unlikely person. A visit that made her feel as if she’d died and gone
to Hell.

The
morning was insufferably hot. Honey Belle was sure if there was a thermometer
inside the house the temperature would register at a hundred degrees. The
ceiling fan circulated dust, and the floor fans circulated hot air.

“Honey
Belle, the heat has got to me. Go next door and use the phone. Tell the boss
man I’m too sick to come in today.”

The
sickly yellow tinge to her mother’s skin worried Honey Belle. “Let me take you
to the health department, Mama. When was the last time you had a physical
examination?”

“There’s
nothing wrong with me, except this blasted heat. Come November, when it cools
down, I’ll be right as rain.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Besides we
ain’t made of money.”

Honey
Belle’s morning shower had left her feeling sticky and uncomfortable. “The heat
is taking a toll on both you and Daddy. We’re not behind on the rent. If we
ask, maybe Mr. Ellerby will put in an air conditioner for us.”

Her
mother harrumphed. “That old skinflint isn’t interested in fixin’ up anything
for the likes of us. All he’s concerned with is if he’s gonna get the next
month’s rent.”

The
words “slum lord” came to mind as Honey Belle ran two clean dishrags under the
faucet. She wrung out the excess water, filled both cloths with ice cubes from
the freezer, and handed them to her mother. “Maybe this will help cool you and
Daddy off.”

“It’s
too hot to cook, Honey Belle. Run to town and pick up some chicken tenders and
fries. Your daddy might like some ice cream, too.”

“Cherry
vanilla for Daddy, chocolate for you and me.”

Her
mother offered a haggard smile and trod toward the bedroom, an ice pack in each
hand.

A
wave of heat shimmered toward the road when Honey Belle stepped out the front
door. At first she thought she was seeing a mirage. She blinked to clear her
eyes. The mirage didn’t go away. A sleek black limousine sat parked at the edge
of the dirt road in front of the house.

She
became painfully aware of the front yard—a sandy, sandspur-filled weed patch in
dire need of mowing. Plastic flowerpots, cracked and faded from the sun, the
plants long dead and gone, bordered the edges of the house. The mailbox, rusted
and battered from multiple hits from baseball bats, sat askew on its post.

The
contrast between the expensive vehicle and her surroundings made her
uncomfortable. Who in their right mind, she wondered, would risk a car-jacking
to drive through Shanty Groves in broad daylight?

She
lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the sun. Hesitant, she walked toward the
vehicle. Raising her voice, she called toward the dark-tinted windows. “Are you
lost...can I help you?”

A
man dressed in a black uniform opened the limo’s door and stepped toward her.
“Is this the residence of Miss Honey Belle Garrett?”

In
spite of the heat, a chill prickled her arms. “Yes, who are you?”

“Judge
Hartwell wishes to speak with you.”

Unease
twisted the pit of her stomach. Why did Tripp’s father wish to speak to her?
Better, yet, how did he find where she lived? The wheels of her brain rotated
in overtime. Had she slipped up and given Tripp clues to where she lived?

No!

Perhaps
Tripp had asked Carla.

No,
again. Carla, whose circumstances matched her own, wouldn’t betray her address
to Tripp. Then how did Judge Hartwell find her?

Honey
Belle’s heart did a little leap. Perhaps Tripp had changed his mind and asked
his father to take her shopping for an engagement ring.

No,
that still didn’t answer the question of how the Judge had located her and his
reason for being here.

The
uniformed driver opened the limousine’s door and, with a sweep of his hand,
indicated she should get in.

She
smoothed down the green peddle-pushers she wore. The fabric felt fragile from
the many washings it had endured. She gave the driver a questioning glance as
she slid inside the car and settled on the plush black leather seat and drank
in the air-conditioned coolness. Sitting across from her was a
distinguished-looking man with features much like Tripp’s, but not the same.
Though he was sitting, she figured he must be about the same height as Tripp’s
six-foot stature. He wore a double-breasted navy blue suit. The diamond-studded
cufflinks could more than pay for an air conditioner for her parents.

Wordlessly
they stared at each other. The silence made her uncomfortable. She waited for
him to speak. He didn’t. It took a moment for her to find her voice. “This is
an unexpected and a pleasant surprise, Judge Hartwell. It’s nice to meet you.”

Extending
her hand forward, she felt awkward and embarrassed when he rebuffed the
gesture. Not schooled in etiquette, she feared she’d made a social blunder, and
eased her hands together, settling them on her lap. She swallowed, unable to
subdue a clamoring pulse.

“H-has
something happened to Tripp...is he okay?”

The
elder Hartwell reminded Honey Belle of a vulture sizing up his prey when he
reached inside his suit coat and withdrew a white envelope. He offered it to
her. Apparently, it was the puzzled look on her face that caused him to speak.

Sarcasm
laced his voice. “Open it, Miss Garrett.”

Once
she’d pulled the check from the envelope, she didn’t say a word. Lightheaded,
she tried to concentrate on all the zeros in the total amount, her heart racing
ahead of her brain. She tried to speak. The words stuck inside her throat.

Evidently
Judge Hartwell mistook her silence as a demand for more money. “If ten thousand
isn’t enough, Miss Garrett, name your price.” The sardonic smile he offered
twisted his handsome features into an ugly snarl.

“This
is a wonderful gift, Judge Hartwell. Tripp will be as pleased as I.”

His
laughter mocked her. “I’m afraid you misunderstand, young woman. I have no
intention of allowing my son to marry the likes of you.”

How
silly of me, to think the money was a wedding gift.

“I
may not be a brilliant person, Judge, but I am smart enough to know an insult
when I hear one. Perhaps you’d better explain what you mean by ‘the likes of
me.’”

His
angry tone startled Honey Belle. “You are the kind of woman who brings an
intelligent man down to her level. I have plans for my son’s career.”

The
man reminded her of a puff adder ready to strike when he leaned forward. “Let
me be perfectly clear,
Miss Garrett,
these plans
do not
include
you.”

A
thick fury rose inside Honey Belle, threatening to shut off her air. She tossed
the check toward Tripp’s father. “Tripp loves me, and we will be married,
whether you like it or not, Judge Hartwell.”

“Don’t
press me, young woman. I’m a powerful man.”

“I’m
not afraid of you.”

He
settled back against the seat. His eyes locked with hers, his voice even and
deadly. “You should be. You see, with one phone call, I can arrange for you and
your mother to lose your jobs at the Burger Bin.” He accentuated the name of
her workplace as if reassuring her he knew where she worked. His hand swept
toward the tinted window. “And this pigsty you call home? I can arrange for the
landlord to kick you out. I can arrange it to where any hovel you try to rent
will be beyond your affordability. And don’t begin to think your parents will
get new jobs. I know about your father’s failing health, your mother’s lack of
skills, that you’re a high school dropout... Need I say more?”

Honey
Belle sighed heavily. She blinked back the tears gathering behind her eyelids.

“Ah,
my dear, don’t look so surprised. I know quite a bit about you and your
parents.”

Mustering
as much courage as possible, she repeated herself. “You don’t scare me. After
Tripp and I are married and settled in Massachusetts, I’ll get a job and send
money to my parents. I’m sure Tripp will help out, too.”

The
Judge roared with raucous laughter, and then a mean sneer draped over his face.
“Obviously, you don’t know my son very well. When it comes down to who controls
the purse strings, coupled with my son’s drive to become a high-ranking
politician, I can assure you, Miss Garrett, money and power will win out over
lust and surviving on baloney sandwiches.”

When
she opened her mouth to protest, he lifted a large brown envelope from the seat
and shoved it toward her. “If you need more convincing, imagine my son’s
reaction when he sees these photographs. You’ve misled him, haven’t you, Miss
Garrett?”

“No.
I never have.”

“Take
a very good look at them. Perhaps you’ll change your response.”

Not
knowing what to expect, her hands trembled as she removed the pictures from the
envelope and, one by one, looked at black-and-white images of her backyard,
strewn with a sundry of car parts, an old washing machine, a broken toilet,
stacks of rotting lumber from a project her father had never gotten around to
building, and rusting barrels overflowing with black plastic garbage bags.

There
were pictures of her mother wearing a slip while she hung clothes on the
clothesline, another of her father and his cronies seated on cinder blocks
drinking beer, and shots of various angles of the house with its peeling paint,
broken steps, and windows whose cracks were repaired with gray duct tape. The
worst picture of all was of her sitting in a man’s lap. She held a beer can in
one hand and with the other was making an obscene gesture at someone out of
camera view. As bad as it was, the last and most incriminating were the scenes
of her standing under the elm tree in front of the two-storied house where she
always met Tripp, of her walking toward the front door of her pretend home, and
then others of her walking away from the house as soon as Tripp had pulled away
from the curb.

She
turned one particular picture toward Tripp’s father. “This is my cousin. Bubba
and I were just having fun.”

“Photographs
speak louder than words, young woman. They prove an important fact about you.
Are you interested in knowing?”

Sitting
up a little straighter, and feeling as if she already knew the answer, there
was a perverse need to hear someone other than herself speak the words. “By all
means, Judge Hartwell, enlighten me.”

A
scornful smile stiffened his face. “Simply put, Miss Garrett, it proves you are
a liar.”

It
was true. All of it. She was a liar. She had deceived Tripp about everything
except the fact that she truly loved him.

In
a rush of anger, she ripped the pictures into shreds and threw the pieces at
the impeccably dressed man seated across from her. “You are a mean, despicable
man, Judge Hartwell. I hate you.” She didn’t try to control the shriek in her
voice.

“Hate
me all you please, Miss Garrett. The fact remains that my son’s future is at
stake. Whatever it takes, I will go to any measure to see he reaches his
fullest potential.”

Tripp’s
father slipped a smaller envelope of pictures from a briefcase, and held them
for her to see.

“This
is blackmail.” Consumed with humiliation, she reached to snatch the photographs
from his hand.

He
laughed and held them out of reach. “Call it what you will, young woman. As a
judge, I’d say it’s evidence against a conniving little gold-digger.”

She
wanted to slap the smirk off his face when he held up the image of her mother
dressed in a slip thin enough for the sun to outline her nude body, and then
the one of herself straddling her cousin’s lap, and another of her father in
the backyard, asleep on an old divan, a beer can dangling from his hand.

“You’ve
probably heard the old saying, ‘You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s
ear.’ Do you know what it means, Miss Garrett?”

She
hated the way he enunciated her name. She let her gaze wander over his shoulder
to peer through the tinted window at a dust bowl coming down the dirt road. A
pickup truck roared past, shrouding the limousine with dust.

Honey
Belle had lost, and she knew it. “I’m sure you’re itching to tell me.”

“In
all honesty, Miss Garret, can you imagine you or your parents at the governor’s
ball, hobnobbing with political royalty?”

When
she didn’t answer, he added, “If you care for my son, care enough to step out
of his life.”

He
offered the check, again. “Take it. Ten thousand is enough money to buy you and
your family a new start...in a new state.” He leaned forward as if drilling his
next point home. “I want you gone. Tomorrow.”

His
narrowed eyes and cold scowl told Honey Belle that Tripp’s father was a
heartless man with enough power to squash people’s lives without remorse.

Beyond
lovemaking on the beach, what did she really know about Tripp? What if he
shared the same cold and calculating traits as his father? Did she want to
spend the rest of her life with a man she might later come to hate?

“How
did you find where I live, Judge Hartwell?”

He
cocked an eyebrow. “Simple. I hired a private investigator.”

She
allowed her shoulders to slump. As if the photographs weren’t belittling
enough, the Judge continued debasing her. “Everything about you is cheap, Miss
Garrett, including your name.”

She
closed her eyes and rubbed them with her fingers. Her bones felt as if they
were slowly dissolving. Opening her eyes, she said, “What’s wrong with my
name?”

The
way his gaze drifted over her body caused a convulsive shiver to riffle over
her.

“Honey
Belle...has the definite ring of a fifty-dollar hooker.”