His Surprise Son (17 page)

“I’ll go up and talk to him first,” she suggested. “See if I can find out what’s really bothering him. You’ll wait?”

He nodded. “I’ll wait.”
As long as it takes.

* * *

When Izzy walked into her son’s room, Eli was on his bed, throwing his basketball far too close to the ceiling. Because of her own background, Izzy had taken numerous parenting classes at community college and tried to balance firmness with empathy, which was often easier said than done. At this moment, she opted for firmness.

Stealing the basketball from midair before Eli could catch it again, she shot it at the laundry hamper and scored. “You,” she told her son, using voice and hands, “were rude. What’s going on?”

Deliberately, Eli stared at the ceiling, ignoring her.

She thumped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Don’t do that. Talk to me. What is going on?”

Using ASL only, he signed.
Maybe you should tell me what’s going on. Why don’t
you
talk to
me
?
His hands stabbed the air as he spoke.

There was only one person in the world Izzy felt she knew as well as herself. When Eli turned twelve, she’d had to amend that to
almost
as well as herself, because like most tween brains, Eli’s could be a complete mystery at times. But, still, she knew her son.

She tapped his thigh so he’d scoot over, but he refused. And then he looked at her. His eyes were so much like hers. As a baby and toddler, they’d looked at her with a trust that had made her heart feel ten times bigger than it was. As he’d gotten older, his eyes had held fear, anger, hurt—all the emotions it took to grow up. But never, never had he looked at her with the resentment and fury and mistrust she saw now.

“Who is he?” Eli clamped down on each word as if he were tearing off bites of the toughest beef jerky. “Is he the man who— Is...is he...my father?”

An earthquake rolled through Izzy’s body. Eli put his arm over his eyes, blocking her out, but not before she saw the glisten of tears.

“Eli. My boy,” she whispered, reaching for his arm. He jerked it away. “I’m sorry,” she said.

You said you always tell me the truth.
He continued to sign only, reverting to the language they knew best.

Lying on his bed, he looked so young and so knowing and so afraid. Izzy felt as if he’d lassoed her heart and was squeezing. “I know,” she said sadly. “I’ve been too scared. You never asked me much about your father,” she began haltingly. “Not telling you was the easy way out, and I took it.”

I was afraid he was a jerk. I didn’t want to know about him. I thought I’d hate him.

ASL was a beautiful language, and Izzy had often thought it was particularly beautiful when used to express strong anger or grief or love. Now, as she watched her son’s eloquent hands, she felt his emotions.

He’s got the same birthmark I do. Over his ribs. I saw it when he took off his shirt.

Izzy closed her eyes. Lord, she’d forgotten. Over the years, she’d actually forgotten that Nate shared the same uniquely shaped birthmark that decorated Eli’s skin. Nate’s, she recalled now, had been lighter, less noticeable.

She had to restrain her impulse to take her son in her arms. Deep inside he must have wondered, must have sensed Nate’s presence was something more than just a friend getting to know him.

He’s never been around before. Ever
, Eli signed strongly.
Why is he here now? How come he changed his mind?

“Changed his mind?”

About wanting a kid.

This was the hard part, the part that would reveal her weaknesses—and Nate’s—as much as their strengths. This was the part she couldn’t put a good spin on, but their son was demanding the truth, and he deserved it.

“We were so young. Not much older than you are now. We weren’t mature enough to handle a long-term relationship, much less a pregnancy. Nate already had a scholarship to a great college...” As succinctly as she could, trying her best not to blame anyone, she explained that Nate’s parents wanted him to continue on his path, and then gently, so gently, she revealed that they’d talked about making an adoption plan. The wounded surprise on her son’s face nearly sliced her in two.

“I don’t know if you’ll understand this until you’re the parent of a teenager yourself. Nate’s parents understood what it takes to raise a child, and they didn’t think we were ready.”

But
you
kept me.

“I did. I was selfish.” She wanted so badly to touch him, to comfort him. But he was still too angry. “Nate went to college. He didn’t know I changed my mind.”

Why didn’t you tell him?
The question was punctuated with sharp, heated hand movements.

Omitting the part about his grandparents suggesting to Nate that she’d miscarried—because some truths could wait forever—Izzy tried to explain the feelings that had led her to raise Eli on her own.

“I was afraid. Afraid to be hurt. Afraid to risk being rejected by Nate or his parents. Afraid to have them reject you because of me. Eli, I love you more than anything.” Spontaneously, she placed her hand on his arm. He reacted as if her touch burned. Swallowing the pain that caused, she continued, “What I didn’t know then was that trying to avoid pain just prolongs it. I made mistakes. Nate...your father—”

Don’t call him that.

Izzy lowered her head, took a breath, then continued. “He’s a good man, Eli. I don’t think I realized how good until I saw how much he wants to get to know you. How very much he wants to love you.”

Tears filled her son’s eyes. “I don’t want to get to know him!” He used ASL and his voice this time. “And I want you to leave.”

“Eli, we’re human. Human beings blow it. Sometimes we blow it really badly.”

He sat up, this time using his hands and shouting. “That’s your excuse?” Jumping from the bed, he stalked the room like a caged animal. “Great. So the next time I lie or do something I know is messed up, I can just say, ‘Sorry, Mom, I’m human, so get off my case’?”

There had been so many parenting moments when she’d felt in over her head, but never like this. As hard as it was to let her child hurt, she could accept that pain was part of growing up. But this much pain?

“I love you. And when you’re ready to forgive us, you’re going to find out that you have
two
parents who love you and want the very best for you.”

“I’m never going to be ready to forgive you for this. Go away!”

She stood her ground, matching his intensity. “I love you.”

“Leave me alone, Mom.”

I love you.
She signed it, hard.

“Leave!”

The bedroom door swung open. Izzy hadn’t heard footsteps and was caught by surprise when Nate appeared, filling the room with his tall, imposing, unapologetic presence. He looked like...a father. “Don’t talk to your mother that way. If you want to blame someone, blame me, but she’s earned your respect.”

“You’re telling me what to do? Seriously?” He turned to his mother and signed,
What a jerk.

Eli, stop
, Izzy signed back. For the first time in her life, she saw her son sneer.

Nate got right in the boy’s face. “Your fight is with me. I left—she didn’t.”

“Fine. You both suck.”

“Eli!” Izzy jumped between them. “Apologize.”

Nate grabbed her arm, applying a gentle pressure while he addressed Eli. “No one’s telling you you’re not entitled to be angry. But your mother doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of it. No one has ever done more for you. She’s worth ten of me.” He paused briefly. “She’s worth ten of anyone else.”

Eli looked from Nate to his mother, then turned away, his expression still turbulent.

Izzy ached for her son. She ached for all three of them, but when she looked at Nate, she felt less alone than ever before.

* * *

Seated at the desk in his room at the inn, Nate attempted to concentrate on the plans Jax Stewart had asked him to draft for a green remodel of a sizable portion of the downtown area. Ordinarily, the project would easily claim his focus, but it had been two days since he’d left Izzy’s after the confrontation with Eli, and he’d been jumpy as a cat ever since.

Izzy had encouraged him to give Eli some time. That might have been easier if he could have seen her in the interim, but she’d been sticking as close as possible to their son.

Closing the lid on his laptop with far too much force, Nate leaned back in the chair, tilting it on two legs. He was jealous.

Izzy had texted him an encouraging note this morning, urging him to be patient and have faith. Be patient? Picking up a pencil, he chucked it across the room.
There’s your patience.

Eli would be a man before they blinked. He wanted time with his son, damn it. He wanted...

Everything.
Eli. Izzy. He wanted to know it wasn’t too late. And he wanted to know it right now.

Picking up his cell phone, he tapped her number, waited one ring, hung up, tossed the phone onto his desk and dug his fingers into his hair.
Give it time...trust...

Pushing his chair back, he rose, grabbed his room card and headed for the door. Kissing Izzy—
that
was what he needed to do, because when he kissed her, then she felt as urgent as he did.

Flinging open the door, he headed down the hallway, arriving at the carpeted stairway in several giant strides and flying down the first flight until he reached the landing and stopped dead.

“Hi.” The word was accompanied by a tip of four fingers moving from his son’s forehead to form an arc in the air. In his other hand, Eli held a baseball and bat. “Are you heading out?” he asked.

“No.” Nate’s throat felt raw. His heart pumped like it had the first time he saw the ocean. “I mean, yeah, but... You want to come up? Or head outside? Whatever you want.”
Calm down.

Eli, looking about as comfortable as a colt in jeans, bounced the bat against his sneakers. “I play baseball.”

Nate nodded. “Your mom says you’re good.”

“I want to pitch, but I throw too many balls. She said you pitched for the Huskies.”

“I was a better football player, but, yeah, I managed to pitch the ball over home base a few times...” Emotion welled in Nate’s chest. His son played on one of the same high school teams he’d played for. “I could give you a few pointers...if you want.”
Don’t say no.
When had he ever been this afraid of being rejected?

Eli shifted the baseball to his other hand and fingered it nervously. “If you’ve got time.”

“Yeah.” A smile began to grow in Nate’s chest. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

* * *

Heaven on earth.
That was what teaching his son to pitch a fastball felt like—heaven right here in Thunder Ridge. Now they were eating ice-cream cones—and he finally knew his son’s favorite flavor: mint cookie dough—on a bench overlooking Long River.

I’m a dad, damn it.
He had to keep from grinning. Eli was still a hard sell; they weren’t as easy with each other as they’d been before the big reveal, but once Nate’s pitching suggestions had helped put the ball into the strike zone, Eli had started to warm up again. Speaking of the big reveal...

“Hey, how did you know I’m your—” He stumbled.

“Father?” Eli supplied. The boy rubbed his eyes before he answered, a gesture that reminded Nate of himself. “I knew something was going on. My mom never invites guys over. And then the day we were on the river, you took off your shirt.”

Nate looked at him quizzically.

“You have the Island of Manhattan. Like me.”

“The what?”

Eli smiled. “It’s what my mom calls my birthmark. Here.” He pointed to his rib cage. “It’s shaped like Manhattan.”

Nate’s jaw lowered. “We have the same birthmark?”

Eli took a couple of licks of his cone. “Pretty close. I never used to like it.”

“Me, either,” Nate related, feeling dazed.
We have the same birthmark.
It was one more awe-inspiring tie.

“Yours is paler. I don’t mind mine so much anymore.” He shrugged. “It’s part of me.”

“Yeah.” Part of Eli. Part of Nate. “I don’t mind mine, either.” He went ahead and grinned.
My boy and I are a lot alike.
“I don’t mind it one bit.”

Chapter Seventeen

“‘H
appy Forty-Fifth Birthday, Pickle Jar,’” Derek read the sign Izzy had hung across the wall above a bank of booths in the deli. “Shouldn’t that be ‘Happy Anniversary’?”

From her vantage point behind the counter, where platters of smoked fish, trays of vegetables and mini brisket sandwiches tempted the guests, Izzy cocked her head at the sign. “Now that you mention it, probably. But Sam and Henry never had kids. The Pickle Jar really is their baby, so birthday seems apropos.”

“I suppose.” Derek finished a tea-sized corned beef on rye in two bites. “So, how’s it going, Izz?”

Looking around at a deli filled with friends and neighbors, with her coworkers passing trays of knishes, bite-size kugels and other delights, Izzy answered honestly, “Good. I mean, we’re still walking the line between red and black, but I’ve great promo ideas. I even think we can build an online presence. I’m thinking about starting a pickle blog.”

“Wow. Subscribe me. But I wasn’t talking about the restaurant.” He nodded to a booth where Nate and Eli sat on one side, talking to Sam and Henry, who were on the other. “I meant
that
.”

She followed his gaze. “Oh.” As usual when she talked to Derek about Eli lately, equal measures of pleasure and guilt washed through her. “Oh, you know. It’s, uh, it’s...nice.”

“Nice.” Derek scoffed. “You are so full of it. I see them biking all over town. It must be a lot better than nice.”

“Well...” She shook her head. “Oh, Derek, I hope you know Eli loves you. I mean
loves
you. You’re family, and no one is ever going to take your place—”

“Izz,” he stopped her. “You’ve told me that forty-three times. Since this morning.” Wiping his hands on a napkin, he put his palms companionably on her shoulders. “Eli and I hung out yesterday at the batting cage in Doc Howard Park.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Got a soda afterward. We’re good. He seems happy.”

Izzy felt her stomach muscles relax. She nodded. “He is.”

“All right, then.” Derek let go of her to snag a passing knish. “What about you and Thayer?”

Oops, there went her stomach muscles again. “Nate and I?” Fiddling with the veggie tray, she shook her head. “We’re focusing on Eli. On co-parenting. We’re not really...you know, because there’s so much work to be done to get everyone on the right track, and I’ve been so busy with the deli and putting together this party, and—”

“Is she talking about Nate again?” Holliday strolled up, parking herself on a counter stool in front of the lox on baby bagels. “
So
yummy,” she purred, raising the hors d’oeuvre. “Nate
and
the food,” she clarified. “You are talking about him, aren’t you? It sounds like it. You hyper-babble when his name comes up.”

“That’s not true. I have nothing to hyper-babble about. There’s nothing going on.”

Derek smirked. Holliday laughed outright. “When was the last time you kissed him?”

“Last night around midnight,” Derek supplied the requested information. “They were at the gazebo. Mrs. Kaminsky saw them.”

“Really?” Holliday looked delighted.

“Mrs. Kaminsky saw us?” Izzy yelped, looking around to make sure nobody heard. “What was that old woman doing out at midnight?” she hissed.

“Walking Little Pete. He ate a triple-scoop waffle cone someone dropped on the sidewalk. That’s a lot of dairy for a Chihuahua. Apparently, he had the trots all night.”

“Aw,” Holliday sympathized. “I love Little Pete.”

“Yeah, he’s a good dog.”

“Will you two stop it,” Izzy snapped, concerned about the gossip that must be swirling around town. “If Mrs. Kaminsky saw us and told you, then she probably told other people, too, right? Half the town must know by now.”

“Half the town already knows you and Nate are sneaking around,” Holliday said around another bite of mini bagel. They think it’s cute.”

“What?”

“That’s not true,” Derek scoffed.

“Thank goodness.” Izzy sighed.

“The
whole
town knows. And they do think it’s cute. Matter of fact, Mark Gooding, the sheriff over in Bristol—remember the one I tried to fix you up with?—he phoned this afternoon. Said to tell you good luck.”

Izzy gasped. “No! You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I am kidding,” Derek assured her. “About Mark. But what’s the big deal, Izz?”

“Yes. You’re parents,” Holliday pointed out. “Everyone will be thrilled for you. No one is judging.”

“I’m sure some of them are, but I’m not worried about that,” Izzy insisted. “I don’t want Eli to get any ideas. To get his hopes up. You saw
The Parent Trap
,” she said to Holly. “You know.”

“The parents in that movie wind up together. It has a happy ending.”

“But it’s a movie!” She spread her hands. “Nate and I dating puts Eli in a very vulnerable position.”

“So what are you doing? Waiting to see if it sticks before you tell anyone?” Holliday asked.

Izzy nodded. “Seems like a good plan.”

“Well, I don’t get it.” Holly shook her head. Then she leaned close to Izzy and asked, her voice low, “Do you love him?”

Izzy figured she might as well answer that honestly, since everyone seemed to know her business anyway. She even opened her mouth to do it, but the musical tap of silverware on a water glass interrupted her.

“May I have your attention?” Henry Bernstein stood in front of the booth where he’d been talking to Sam and Nate and Eli. “I have a few things I’d like to say.”

Izzy, Holliday and Derek cut their conversation short and faced their host.

“Forty-five years is a good long life for a restaurant,” Henry continued. “Longer than some marriages, and definitely longer than I kept my hair.” Laughter bubbled around the restaurant. “We couldn’t have arrived at this place without help. Especially from wonderful, loyal employees, many of whom I’ve come to think of as family.” He motioned for Sam to join him. Wiry and still spry, Sam slid out of the booth to stand beside his brother. “Sammy and I, we’re about as lucky as two average Joes can get. We’ve had great lives. My brother pointed out recently that we’re not getting any younger, and although I certainly think
I
am—”

There was more laughter and some applause. Derek whistled through his teeth and called out, “You’re a pup!”

Izzy wanted to laugh along, but a strong foreboding crept into her.

Henry nodded impishly. “Yes, well, my brother also pointed out, quite wisely, that there really is a life beyond the walls of The Pickle Jar.”

“That’s only a rumor!” called Oliver.

Leon added, “Yeah, that’s never been proven, boss.”

Henry patted the air. “Okay, okay. What has been proven is that newer restaurants, owned by younger people, are doing better in this town than we are.”

Izzy wanted to shout,
Stop!
She wanted this conversation, wherever it was heading, to happen in the office, not out here.

“What you don’t know,” Henry continued, “is that our building was purchased recently. The whole block was purchased, in fact, by someone young and energetic. Someone with a very good vision for change and for growth. Sammy and I want to step aside to make room for that change, that youthful spark, because, believe it or not, we were that spark once. We know it can be a powerful thing.”

This can’t be happening. It can’t be. Not now.
Izzy felt an urge to scream that felt very much like hysteria.
We need this restaurant. It’s our home. We’re family—

“Nate, stand up with us,” Henry requested. Appearing confident and so handsome that at any other time it would have taken Izzy’s breath away, Nate rose from the booth, standing tall and square shouldered next to the Bernstein brothers. His gaze met Izzy’s.

“This is an exciting time for our town,” Henry said. He reached up to clamp a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “And this is one of the people who is going to make it exciting. Nate Thayer left here an eighteen-year-old boy with a dream to become an architect.”

Was it Izzy’s imagination or was Nate nervous beneath the calm and composed air?

“He has returned,” Henry continued, “an architect of some renown, and it is his desire to contribute to the rebirth of Thunder Ridge. The town we all love should be a relevant player on the Oregon landscape.”

Izzy stared, agape with an awful fascination, the way one would watch cars on an inevitable collision course.

“Nate will be working for the new owner of the building we are standing in. Together, they have plans to beautify the entire block. To bring in more business, which will mean more jobs and bigger paychecks. I’ll let him say a few words about his plans. Plus, we have another surprise for you. I think I’ll let him spill the beans on that one, too. Nate, it’s your turn.”

“Thanks, Henry.”

Izzy couldn’t hear. Literally could not hear. She plastered a smile on her face so no one would see the storm inside her. With all the attention at the front of the room, she backed up a few steps and then a few steps more until she was at the entrance to the kitchen. Grabbing an empty tray from the work counter, she turned and fled.

The building was sold. Nate was working with the new owner to “improve” the entire block, and Henry and Sam wanted to retire.

Tears filled her eyes. Anger, frustration, grief jumbled together.

How could Nate? How could he have known all this was coming and not said a word to her? No warning at all?

If the building was remodeled, the new owner would raise the rent—

Forget the rent, dummy. Henry and Sam are retiring.
New businesses...new opportunities. The Pickle Jar had seen its heyday. And all her efforts to bring that heyday back had been for naught. They were going to close and make way for something shiny and new and “relevant.”

Rushing to the back door, Izzy slipped into the alley and took deep gulps of the night air.

How could this be happening? Why hadn’t she paid attention to the signs? There were always signs. Like Sam speaking so admiringly of the retirement home. And Henry talking about not visiting Hawaii since his honeymoon and wondering how it had changed. But Nate—

There hadn’t been any signs to tell her that Nate was going to aid and abet in pulling the rug out from under her. Without a word. Without a warning.

Izzy pressed a hand to her forehead, which was starting to pound already. Every cell in her body seemed to be captured by fear and foreboding. It felt intolerable, and she started to walk. Fast and then faster.

She walked to her house, grabbed Latke, who was delighted to see her, got on her bike and pedaled in the dark, her dog trotting somewhat warily alongside. On the way, her phone buzzed. Pulling way off to the side of the road, she checked her messages while Latke sniffed the weeds. She had a text from Eli, one from Derek and another from Nate.

Eli’s read:
Mom, why rn’t u here? This is so gr8!

Her son thought losing the deli was great? Maybe that was how everyone would feel about a modern, convenient, stupid new district that would look like a million other modern, convenient, stupid new shopping districts.

She looked at Derek’s message:
R U OK? TEXT OR I’LL PUT OUT AN APB.

And from Nate
: Wanted to surprise you. I screwed up. Call me. Now.

Ignoring Nate, Izzy responded to Eli:
Needed air and breakfast 4 2morrow. U know me, always thinking food. BBL8R.

Then she reassured Derek:
Am FINE. No APB. Thx, tho.

She slipped the phone into her pants pocket and resumed her ride.

Her body seemed to take over from her mind. She didn’t so much
decide
where to go as she simply wound up there.

In the dark, the trailer she’d shared with Felicia looked more ominous than it did during the day, when it was mostly a pathetic, decrepit pile of junk. At night it seemed haunted, and the ghosts were all Izzy’s.

Latke hung back, pulling on the leash as Izzy walked toward the broken front door. Giving in, she unclipped the leash to let Latke wander outside while she opened the rusted door and went in.

With the full moon as her only light source out here, she had to sense more than see the condition of the old place, but she wasn’t interested in the aesthetics.

Tonight, she felt as though she were eight years old again, sitting on that lopsided sofa by the window, pretending that being alone didn’t frighten her.

The only time she ever stepped foot inside this miserable place nowadays was when she needed to remind herself that she was no longer terrified, no longer desperate, no longer alone. Anytime she felt frightened or defeated as an adult, she promised herself she would never, ever feel as powerless as she’d felt as a child.

Except that now she did. It seemed that everything she’d worked so ferociously to build was falling apart.

Shaking, she wandered to the sofa, but memory hit so fast and so furiously that she stopped dead in her tracks.

There she was, at age eight, sitting on the couch, hopeful and frightened in the hand-me-down dress with a torn ruffle on the skirt that she thought was so fancy. Her mother showed up after the sky had already gone dark. She had remembered it was Izzy’s birthday and had come home, bringing a stuffed bunny for her daughter and a new boyfriend for herself. They threw Izzy a quick party by sticking a match in a Ding Dong and then put her to bed.

Her memories fast-forwarded to age twelve. On that birthday, she baked herself a pan of brownies and lit her own candles. Her mother didn’t come home at all that night or the week after. Izzy had a contest going in her head, trying to see if she could outlast her mother’s negligence by refusing to try to find Felicia or reminding her she’d missed her daughter’s birthday. That was when Izzy promised herself she would never again beg for someone’s love.

“And I didn’t,” she murmured, her legs so weak she felt as if she might crumple in a heap right there. She hadn’t begged for Henry’s and Sam’s love or for her friends’; she didn’t beg her coworkers to like her, and she certainly had never, ever begged for Nate’s love.