Laura Abbot (18 page)

Laurel sensed the worst was about to be revealed.

Pat slowly got to her feet and made a circle of the room, letting her fingertips graze over her loom, the back of Laurel’s chair, the bowl of bittersweet on the table. She stopped next to the woodstove. “I wasn’t at Summer Haven even an hour.”

Observing her father’s brow knit in pain, Laurel asked, “What happened?”

“I knew I had to talk to my father first. The two of us went into his study.” With an involuntary gesture, Pat wrapped her arms protectively around her stomach. “We said horrible things.”

No one in the room moved.

“Before I could open my mouth, Dad started in about my appearance. Reminded me I was there for Nan’s wedding and accused me of being an embarrassment to the family. When he asked me what people would think, I was quick with my rebuttal. I told him the same thing they’d think if they knew his fortune had been bought with the blood of American soldiers.”

Pat was so caught up in the moment that the others might as well not have been present. “He asked me what I meant. So I told him I wasn’t so naive I didn’t know about his war profiteering. How he was getting rich while others died.”

Agitated, she paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, as if reenacting the scene. “I’ll never forget what he said next.” She balled her fists.

“‘Who is filling your head with this nonsense?’”

Her face contorted, Pat stopped pacing. “I told him about Noel. Not surprisingly, he blew a fuse. Told me I had a choice. To come home at once—by myself—or go live off hot air with my boyfriend. All I could do was stare at my father—his face was crimson, his eyes were bulging. I suddenly wondered if I’d ever really known him at all. Finally I said, ‘I love him.’”

Laurel noticed her father bow his head.

In a monotone, Pat continued. “I remember how his voice got low, with an edge like steel. How each word came out with the precision of a surgeon slicing skin. ‘Then…get…out…of…my…house. And…don’t…ever…come…back.’”

Pat crumpled to the stone hearth, her hands covering her face. Laurel’s instinct was to go to her, but she sensed there was more.

Finally, her expression ravaged, Pat looked up. “So we left. Years later, when I was pregnant with you, I tried to make contact, for your sake. But my father had delivered his judgment. With every blocked phone call, every returned letter, I heard his ultimatum again. Before you were born, your father and I made a decision. You were never to know about this. We didn’t want you to experience the kind of hurt and rejection I had. It was a risk we simply weren’t prepared to take.”

In her mother’s voice Laurel sensed the desperation the young couple must have felt. “So?”

“We literally dropped out,” Noel said with a rueful smile. “I changed my name, your mother became Pat instead of Jo, we moved here.”

“Changed your name?” Laurel didn’t know how much more news she could take. “Who…who are you?”

“I was born Michael Mays. I’d been an orphan a long time, as you know, so it wasn’t that big a deal to me. Besides, it was important to protect you, and Michael Mays was still too well-known by the media, even though that era had passed. Starting a new life seemed best.”

“Eden,” Laurel murmured. “Ironic.”

“Hopeful,” Pat said. “And it has been Edenesque…until now.” She found Laurel’s eyes. “Can you forgive us?”

“Posie, please understand. We didn’t want you hurt. You were our precious baby. You are our precious daughter.”

Laurel looked from one of them to the other, then found Ben’s eyes. She longed to go to him, find refuge in his arms, blot out the revelations that were so difficult to assimilate. Instead, she faced her mother again. “They tried to find you once. Why didn’t you ever go to them?”

The blood drained from Pat’s face. “When? Who?”

“Grandmother. Nan. A long time ago. You’d vanished without a trace.”

“I never knew they tried to find me. I thought they didn’t care. I—I wrote them off.”

Noticing Laurel’s agitation, Ben picked up the thread. “Katherine couldn’t—or wouldn’t—buck Frank again until after his death. Recently, though, she commissioned me to launch an investigation.”

“But Katherine had already guessed,” Laurel said, swallowing hard. “Somehow she suspected I was her granddaughter.” Laurel went and sat on the floor at her mother’s feet. “She’s never stopped loving you, Mom.” A ragged sob caught in Pat’s throat. “Come home to Belleporte with me.”

Pat shook her head violently. “No. I can’t.
This
is my home. Here. I won’t go back.”

“How will you heal?” Noel asked her in an anguished tone.

She stood and turned her back. “Please. Leave me alone. Some things are beyond healing.”

“Pat?” Noel stood, but his wife was already running from the room. He looked helplessly at Laurel. “I’m sorry,” he said, “for so much.” Then, with a shrug, he followed his wife.

Ben pulled Laurel into his embrace. She stood there trembling, knowing that, at this moment, only within the circle of his arms could she find any peace.

K
ATHERINE GATHERED
up her canvas tote, a folding chair and a wide-brimmed straw hat and started down the steps to the beach. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d done this. Hooking the chair over her arm, she clung to the weathered railing and carefully began her descent. When had she started holing up in the house and not going to the lake? As a girl, she’d spent nearly every waking moment swimming or playing at the water’s edge.

Locating a smooth area near the breaking waves, she set down her bag, planted her chair and settled into it, enjoying the caress of the moist breeze on her cheek and the sun toasting her legs.

It had been only twenty-four hours since Laurel left, yet the waiting was interminable. Here by the water, though, it didn’t seem so bad.

Laurel should be back soon. It had taken every bit of Katherine’s willpower not to do an internet search for the number of an Eden family in West Virginia. She could have insisted she accompany Laurel. Yet she understood Laurel needed time alone with her parents before anything else happened. After all, Katherine rationalized, she’d waited all these many years for news. She could surely wait another day. For the moment she needed simply to content herself with offering thanks that her daughter was alive and her granddaughter would soon be back in Belleporte.

Fool,
she remonstrated.
You want much more than that.
She wanted reconciliation. Forgiveness. And not just from Jo and Laurel. She would also have to find a way to forgive Frank. And, most of all, herself. She was increasingly convinced something awful had passed between Jo and Frank that day—something he’d never fully confessed. No matter what, though, he’d had no right to break up their family.

The fact they had been caught up in Nan’s wedding was no excuse for her inaction, but Frank did nothing halfway, and when he had slammed the door on Jo, that was it. According to him, his daughter had disobeyed him, humiliated her sister and betrayed the family values. Always stubborn and prideful, Jo had stormed out when he’d confronted her. From that point on, Frank had said, they had to treat the schism as a death in the family. Katherine had pleaded, cried. To no avail. She’d gradually accepted the fact she had two choices. Leave Frank or do as he said.

Their relationship had never been the same after that. She’d made the best of the situation, going through the motions, performing her role as society matron. But the Frank of her young womanhood—charming and irresistible—had ceased to exist.

A particularly large wave broke against the shore, causing her to look up. The broad expanse of the lake was the same as it had eternally been. The sand beneath her bare feet felt warm, soothing. She studied her wrinkled, blue-veined legs, then shut her eyes. Where had the years gone?

Clamping her hat to her head with one hand, she tiptoed toward the lake, squealing when a tongue of cool water washed over her feet. She waded in, knee-deep, then thigh-deep, smiling in wonder. This was the Katherine of those long ago summers—before Frank. Odd. Not until this very day, when she’d returned to the source of her childhood joy—the water—could she truly begin to let go of the past. To hope for the future.

She spread her arms and embraced the scene before her. Regardless of Laurel’s report, Katherine knew that somehow, some way, her family would be whole again.

Then, without thinking and heedless of her hat, she plunged into a breaking wave and stroked through the water, barely able to contain her laughter.

B
EN HAD SLEPT
on the sofa bed in the great room, Dylan snoring by his side. He awakened early, longing to slip up to the loft and gather Laurel in his arms. Yesterday evening had been strained. They’d managed polite conversation during the simple supper, but Pat and Laurel were drained and had little to say. Laurel had excused herself early and gone up to bed. Pat and Noel soon followed.

Unable to sleep, Ben had sat on the front porch watching a huge moon rise over the mountains, pondering all he’d heard. On the one hand, he couldn’t fathom how a father could so irrevocably shut out his daughter; on the other, knowing Frank, it was a no-brainer. The man had been a law unto himself. The mystery was how Katherine had stayed married to him. Maybe the same way his mother had stayed married to his father. By doing whatever it took, at whatever cost.

He’d worried, too, about Katherine’s reaction when she learned that Pat…Jo…wasn’t ready for a glorious family reunion. Most of all, he’d wondered how this would affect Laurel. She knew the truth now, but would it make her any happier? Change anything for the better?

Dylan stirred, then sat up and licked Ben’s face. “Hey, mutt. Watch it.” Ben sat up, scratched the dog behind his ears, then grabbed his bag and disappeared into the bathroom.

When he came out, Noel stood at the stove sautéing onions and green peppers and Pat was beating eggs. Judging from their appearance, neither of them had slept any better than he had. Pat looked up. “Coffee?”

“I’d love a cup. Thank you.” When the first jolt of caffeine hit, he rubbed his stomach in satisfaction.

“Are you going back today?” Noel asked.

“That was the plan. Laurel can’t be away from the shop too long, and I have several out-of-town depositions this week.”

“You’re an attorney?” Pat asked.

“Yes, I have a practice in Belleporte.” He chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Funny, I know all about you, but you’re probably wondering who this fellow is who brought your daughter home.”

Noel smiled. “It had crossed our minds.”

Ben had rarely met a man he’d taken to so instantly. Noel’s steadiness, quiet humor and sensitivity were rare qualities. “Well, let me give you the short version.” He launched into his personal and professional history and had just finished when Laurel came down the stairs from the loft. She wore a black T-shirt, which accentuated her pale skin and brought out the depths of her sad eyes. “Good morning,” she murmured, heading straight for the coffeepot.

Noel and Pat shot each other troubled glances. Ben moved to Laurel, put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. “I’ve just been giving your parents the life and times of Ben Nolan, attorney-at law.”

She smiled wanly. “Yeah, I guess I sort of sprung you on them.”

An awkward silence followed. Then, both at once, Noel and Pat said, “Sit,” and “Have some breakfast.”

For a time there was no sound except that of toast being buttered and forks scraping on plates. Ben noticed that Pat hadn’t touched her food. “Laurel,” she finally said. “Please understand. I couldn’t run the risk of taking you to my family and having them turn us…you…away. There’d been enough hurt. All we were trying to do was protect you.”

Laurel shoved her plate toward the center of the table. “Or deprive me. Of grandparents. Of a history.”

Ben’s stomach knotted.

“Katherine is a warm, wonderful woman,” Laurel continued. “How can you go on punishing her?”

“You don’t know the meaning of punishment,” Pat said dully. “Not a day has gone by that I haven’t second-guessed myself. But you can’t expect to wipe out the hurt and rejection of thirty years overnight.”

“No, I suppose not.” Laurel studied the table-top, then looked up. “Will you at least think about coming to Belleporte?”

“I can’t.”

“Please, Mom. Katherine’s final words to me were, ‘Tell Jo I never stopped loving her.’ She’s an old woman. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

Noel laid a hand on Pat’s. “Couldn’t you do as Laurel asks? Consider it?”

Ben watched relief ease Laurel’s features when Pat said, “All right. I’ll think about it. But don’t expect too much.”

Ben and Laurel packed up and left shortly after breakfast. They’d hardly reached the highway when Laurel flipped on a talk radio show and pretended to listen, though Ben knew she was lost in her own thoughts. It was enough, for the moment, simply to be with her.

As they approached the Cleveland metro area early in the afternoon, Laurel finally turned off the radio and gave Ben his first real opening. “How could he have done that?”

She’d clearly been brooding. “Who?”

“Frank Sullivan. Every time I think about him kicking my mother out, I get mad all over again. And not just at him. At all of them.”

“I wasn’t clear whether Frank kicked your mother out or whether she stormed out. Sounds as if they were both at fault.”

“Are you defending him?”

Ben chose his words carefully. “Some pretty rough accusations were made.”

“I guess. But still. He was the adult in the situation.”

“Do you think your mother would interpret it that way?”

“What do you mean?”

“She was adult enough to leave school, stand up for her convictions, live with a man.” He adjusted his cruise control for the metropolitan speed limit. “She hit Frank right in his ego when she suggested he’d made his money illegally—and immorally.”

Laurel squared around in her seat. “Surely you’re not taking his side?”

“At the risk of sounding like an attorney, let me play devil’s advocate. Put yourself in Frank’s shoes. He was a self-made man who’d built Sullivan Company into a major player. So far as I know, he was never involved in any under-the-table kick-backs that sometimes taint government contracts. Somebody had to supply the needs of the Defense Department. Surely Frank can’t be blamed for running his business to make a profit.”

Ben glanced out of the corner of his eye. Laurel wasn’t buying. “Besides,” he continued, “he’d come from a humble background. It was a matter of pride to provide well for his family. Then along comes his beloved daughter, who seemingly throws it all up in his face.”

“What’s so wrong with being against war?”

This was not going well. “Nothing in the abstract. But there is a fine line between blindly sticking to your principles and destroying family relationships.”

“So you’re suggesting my mother was wrong for standing up to him?”

“Whoa. Devil’s advocate, remember.” He changed lanes and speeded up. “I’m not knocking your parents or their views. But I’ve got to tell you, I’m glad somebody was supplying guys like my dad with the weapons and equipment they needed.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing! You think Vietnam was a just war?”

“I don’t think we should have been involved in Southeast Asia in the first place, but once there, we had to support our troops.”

“Why? So we could stand by and let the politicians get us in deeper and deeper? Somebody had to stop them. The war was senseless, immoral.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Even if men like my dad who were imprisoned by the Viet Cong thought their cause was ‘senseless’ and ‘immoral,’ they would never have found the courage to survive without believing Americans stood behind them. How do you think they felt when they were liberated and discovered half the citizens of the country they’d fought for regarded them as warmongers?”

“You feel strongly about this, don’t you?”

“You bet I do.”

Her cheeks were flushed. “Well, so do I. I’m proud of what my parents did.”

He didn’t want to upset her further, but he couldn’t let her remark pass. “And I’m proud of my father and what he and so many others did.” Nor did he want the conversation to end on this note. “But listen, that was years ago and—”

She interrupted him. “It doesn’t feel like it right now. The truth I learned yesterday makes it all pretty immediate.”

He fought for patience. “It’s crazy for us to be arguing over the Vietnam war. The fact is, none of this is either-or, Laurel. Not the war, and not what happened between your mother and grandfather.”

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her sunglasses, put them on and effectively ended the discussion.

Ben concentrated on traffic, trying, with no success, to blot the conversation from his mind. Laurel had defended her mother, which, ultimately, didn’t bode well for Katherine.

The truth was, Laurel had been spoiling for a fight, and he’d almost let her sucker him in. She was seeing everything that had happened as black and white, when there were layers upon layers of gray. Both Frank and Pat had been hotheaded, and each had let stubbornness and pride over rule common sense and love. The way they’d left things with Pat this morning, it didn’t look as if she was going to mellow any time soon. Which put Laurel right in the middle between her mother and grandmother.

After several miles, Laurel turned on the radio again, this time to a classic rock station. After adjusting the seat back, she closed her eyes and appeared to go to sleep. But Ben knew better. Her body was rigid.

He brought himself up short. He’d hit her pretty hard with his arguments. She needed his support, not his rhetoric, and time to process it all. What she’d suffered was a devastating, life-altering blow. For now, he realized, all he could do was stand by patiently—and love her no matter what.

W
HEN
B
EN TOUCHED
her shoulder, Laurel opened her eyes. The Norwalk exit sign loomed in front of them. “Did you get some rest?” he asked.

“Mainly I dozed.” And escaped. She knew she’d have to think about all of this, but right now it seemed overwhelming. So many emotions, so many questions. How did she feel about her parents’ deception? About Katherine and Nan’s caving in to her controlling grandfather? About the new relationships waiting to be explored back in Belleporte? Even about Ben. How could she offer him anything—much less love—until she had a grip on who she really was?

“Will you be okay to drive your car the rest of the way?”

“I’m probably in better shape than you are. At least I had a nap.”

“I’ll follow you,” he said.

As they entered the parking lot, she dug in her bag for her keys. “Thanks for the moral support. I—I’m glad you were there.” It was time to leave him. But there was something she needed to say and she had no idea how it would be received. “Ben, I have a lot on my mind. I need some time to sort things out, to get my bearings.”