Heart's Paradise (23 page)

What an impossibly delicate question to answer. “How would you feel if Jonathon was your dad?”

She’d lifted one of her little shoulders, and picked at her pizza a while longer. “I’d like for him to be my dad,” she’d finally answered. “But only if he wanted to be.”

She hadn’t said another word about it, which left Phoebe relieved, but she knew they were both avoiding the painful subject. She had been at a loss on what was best for her daughter. Her whole life had been dedicated to doing what was right, but what could possibly be right in this situation? It was impossible to know where good mothering instinct ended and her own personal insecurities began.

So she’d waited another month, hoping Jonathon would get in touch, but what could he say to Phoebe that hadn’t already been said? He may love her, but she simply couldn’t give up the life she’d worked so hard for to move to Texas. Sarah had friends here, Phoebe had friends here. They’d set down roots created from hard work and sacrifice. And she couldn’t expect Jonathon to leave his world behind either.

They’d walked into a dead-end relationship trap, even though they hadn’t actually agreed to have a relationship.

Another fear lingered—being served with papers for shared custody of Sarah.
Or worse, sole custody.
The idea of fighting to keep her daughter terrified her.

“Is Jonathon my dad?”
Every night she went to bed with the question, every morning she awoke with it.
“I’d like for him to be my dad. But only if he wanted to be.”

“He abandoned Sarah without a second thought,” she mumbled to herself. But the lie wouldn’t stick. He’d done exactly as she’d asked—left when she’d wanted him to. And it made her feel sick inside, because he’d been nothing but kind to Sarah and to her. How many men would happily take over household chores when there was so little in it for them? At least for a man like Jonathon who’d had life handed to him.

When he told her he loved her, it’d scared her to death. She had done a good job denying her own feelings for him, but when asked, she simply couldn’t say she felt nothing. Because she felt wonderful and amazing things around him. Lust, yes, but also a perfect feeling of completion, like her family had finally come together.

The internal arguments waged a bitter war. Didn’t it take months to fall in love?
When it’s right, it’s right
had been a lyric in one of Cybil’s songs about love. Phoebe saw the wisdom in it now.

Her stiff leg hurt as she worked through the physical therapy exercises. Thankfully, the producers of
Paradise
had still given Phoebe their agreed to amount. Lost work thanks to her injury wouldn’t leave her in financial ruin. Despite having to leave the island early she guessed they had more than enough footage to make one hell of a show. She dreaded once it hit the air. No doubt people would pick up on her and Jonathon’s chemistry. She’d made a joke of reality dating series, only to be duped into one herself. She should’ve figured it out as soon as the box of condoms had made an appearance. They’d both been set up, and both had fallen right in line with what the producers had wanted.

She pushed through another leg extension, gritting her teeth. Her muscles trembled, and she felt the deep ache in the bone where screws had been placed to hold her fractured femur together. A lingering slight limp would be a nuisance, but better than having lost her whole leg which had been the suggestion from a surgeon in the Maldives. A limp wouldn’t slow her down much. She could still work as a guide and do her survival classes. Her Primitive Survival Rating had shot up considerably after surviving near death, which would be great for marketing.

What am I going to do about Sarah?
she thought as she moved through another extension. Phoebe had kept up a brave front for her, but God the guilt every time she saw her daughter. Sarah mourned the loss of Jonathon even if she didn’t say so. Her eyes had lost some of their sparkle, her laughter wasn’t as frequent, and if Phoebe felt the emptiness in their home, surely she did too.

“Maybe I should find Jonathon,” she muttered. Sweat beaded on her brow with exertion, and she wiped it away with her sleeve. “Maybe I should ask him to come back and visit Sarah.”

That nipped at her pride, but what was her pride worth when weighed against her daughter’s welfare? It meant nothing at all. She’d hurt her daughter by driving Jonathon off. She’d do her best to fix it.

She pushed harder through her leg extensions, determined to get her strength back. Once able, she’d do her best to find Jonathon and talk to him face to face. A simple phone call or email wouldn’t work. Not for this. And she needed to go to him to make sure he was still interested in his daughter. She had to see the truth of it in his eyes.

After physical therapy, she settled on the sofa and clicked on the television, ashamed she looked for any word of Jonathon on
What’s New in Gossip?
She reasoned it was less sad than stalking him on the internet. Things had been quiet, the program had been following the sex life of an older actor lately. Today though Jonathon’s name popped up.

“Jonathon Breck has a new love interest,” the reporter with the too-white smile said. “It seems he’s taken up with Cybil Heart, the mother of Phoebe Heart, his companion on the upcoming reality show
Paradise
.”

Phoebe’s mouth dropped open as she stared at a photo of her mother hugging Jonathon outside of a residence.

“Jonathon and Cybil seemed quite cozy when the aging popstar was spotted leaving Jonathon’s Dallas residence in the early morning hours last week,” the reporter continued.

The rest went unheard as Phoebe paused the television on the photo. “No,” she whispered. Surely her mother wouldn’t stoop so low. Surely
Jonathon
wouldn’t stoop low enough to sleep with his daughter’s grandmother. Yet there the two of them were, hugging, her mother’s figure barely contained in a miniskirt and tank top.

Bile rose in her throat. She staggered to her feet and stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, doing her best to use her nearly useless leg without the crutches. She fell to the floor at the bathroom door and crawled to the toilet.

Afterward, she leaned against the bathroom wall, her stomach still sour. She’d let Sarah stay the weekend with her friend in hopes it’d cheer the girl up. Thank God, because she curled into the fetal position on the floor and the flood of tears that followed lasted well into evening.

When at last her tears dried up, and she could bind herself back together, she managed to get to her feet and hobbled into her bedroom. She fell onto her bed with her face stuffed into the pillow.

Cybil didn’t know a thing about what had occurred between her and Jonathon, but it was still a hot iron through her heart. Shouldn’t a mother have an instinct of what their child was feeling? Bitterness mixed with disgust—she wouldn’t forgive her mother. Not in this. After all, she’d noticed the resemblance between Jonathon and Sarah. Phoebe had seen the realization in Cybil’s eyes that day at the hospital.

And God, Jonathon.
Phoebe had convinced herself he’d be a good father, but what a joke. Maybe it’s not true, a voice of reason whispered. After all, it was a gossip show focusing on sensationalism. It’d be foolhardy to let her life balance on what a gossip show said.

But why would Cybil be at Jonathon’s place, and why would they be hugging? The tennis match played out in her mind. A miserable back and forth leaving her to battle with herself. She should call Cybil to get the story straight from her. But Phoebe feared the answer, and she became a coward, unable to take the step.

What she could do was forget about it and move on, the same as she had after her father’s rejection. It’d hurt so bad she felt sure she’d never recover, but she had with time. Sarah had helped her then, and her daughter would be her salvation now.

Phoebe rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Night had fallen, leaving the room murky with shadows mirroring those that stained her heart.

Chapter 25

Ever since Cybil’s visit Jonathon had been restless. She’d shown up out of the blue at his door at five AM, fresh off a flight, and then she’d asked him flat out, “Is Sarah yours?”

Jonathon paced his living room. Two months felt like years. He couldn’t sleep, his appetite was gone, and all he could think about was Sarah and Phoebe. Love was a cruel thing the way it controlled you.

His parents knew about Sarah after a hard talk they’d had, and they’d tried to push him to file for visitation. But Jonathon didn’t know how Phoebe would react. Would she fight him if he wanted visitation? How would it affect Sarah?

“Yes, she’s mine, but I didn’t know about her until the island,” he’d said to Cybil.

“What about my daughter, how do you feel about her?” Cybil had asked.

“I-I love them both.”

It’d been strange admitting something so personal to a stranger, but he wouldn’t lie. He couldn’t lie. Not with the gaping hole he had in his life now.

“Then go to them,” Cybil had told him. “Phoebe is as stubborn as they come, but don’t let her shut you out. I haven’t been the greatest role model, and I know a meeting with her father left her with wounds. He turned her away. Let how you feel about my daughter be greater than her insecurities. She needs a man who can break down her walls, and so does Sarah.”

And so he paced his home instead of taking action. He could book a flight to California, rent a car, and drive to her place. He could call her, or email her. He could write her a damned letter. But he couldn’t find the courage to do any of those things.

“What kind of father am I?” he asked aloud of the empty room. “If I can’t pick up the damned phone, what kind of father am I?”

He’d been a stranger to Sarah, then he’d shown up and spent two weeks with her. Was it enough to wage a legal battle should Phoebe fight him? Would he upset his daughter’s life to be a part of it only part-time, and what would happen if the media sank its teeth into the story? How could he throw Sarah to the sea of sharks running those awful gossip shows?

He’d hid in his home and asked himself the same questions every day, never finding the answers. His sisters and friends had tried to draw him out of his house, but he couldn’t deal with anyone. His only companions were the memories of making love to Phoebe on the island, and of helping Sarah with her homework. Memories of watching television in Phoebe’s bedroom and hearing the God-awful pop singer Sarah loved so much every night.

Sweet memories that ate him alive.

He couldn’t continue on, not like this. He grabbed his cellphone and made a plane reservation, booking the first flight out. He got a red-eye coach flight for the following day, Saturday. Phoebe would have to tell him again to his face she didn’t want him in her life. And if she didn’t, then they’d have to work something out with Sarah. He wouldn’t wage a legal battle that would disrupt the girl’s life, but he couldn’t pretend she didn’t exist either.

* * * *

The drive to Phoebe’s house went much smoother than the last, and he pulled up outside of her home around noon. He sat in his car, trying to calm his racing pulse. He wiped his sweaty palms over his jeans legs, took a big breath, and left the security of the car.

He strode up to the door and knocked. A full minute passed until the door finally opened, and a pair of big brown eyes widened in shock. His chest squeezed with the sight of her and his knees grew weak.

“Phoebe,” he said in greeting, noting how husky his voice had grown.

Her mouth worked and finally a squeak escaped. She didn’t invite him inside, and he shifted foot to foot.

“Can we talk?” he asked, fearing she’d tell him to leave. Time hung suspended.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

He exhaled as she moved aside. When he walked past her he noticed her cast was gone and she now wore a brace. He smiled. “I’m glad to see you’re on the mend.”

She hobbled toward the sofa on her crutches.

“Let me help,” he said, reaching for her.

She batted his hand away. “No, I’m fine.”

He followed and took a seat in the nearby recliner.

“Physical therapy is helping a lot,” she said, once settled down with her leg propped on the coffee table. The conversation was stilted, discomfort and annoyance shadowed on Phoebe’s face. “What do you want to talk about?” she asked.

He took a deep breath, preparing for the plunge. “I want to talk about everything. Sarah. You and me. I’ve had two months to think things over, and my feelings haven’t changed. I love Sarah, and I love you. I want to find a way to make things work between us.”

He watched as her eyes turned glassy before tears spilled down her cheeks. He stood up, ready to reach for her, but she lifted a hand, stopping him. She has walls, he reminded himself. He’d have to find a way around them.

“We’ve discussed this already. I can’t give up my life and move across the country. I’m comfortable here, Sarah’s life is here.”

Jonathon ran his hand over his hair. Hadn’t he expected this to be her answer? And he’d come horribly underprepared with what he wanted to say. “What do you want from me, Phoebe? Tell me.”

She sniffed and wiped her tears away. “I want…” She took a shaky breath. “I want you to tell me why my mother was at your house.”

He blinked. Had Cybil mentioned their conversation? “She asked me if Sarah was mine, and I told her the truth.”

“Is that all it was?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She sniffed again, and her shoulders rose and fell with another shaky breath. “Okay,” she said. “I thought…” She shook her head. “It was silly. I guess I saw what I wanted to maybe.”

Phoebe wasn’t making any sense. He went to her and dropped to his knees, taking her hand. She tried to pull away but he kept hold. “Please, Phoebe, I don’t want to beg, but I will. I need you in my life. I need Sarah in my life. I’m willing to do anything and everything. I’ll give you my heart and soul, everything I can possibly give to make this work out. Tell me what it’ll take to make you trust me.”