Redemption (26 page)

“My mom won’t let me. I already asked. And I can’t tell her what they said—about my dad and all. She would get all upset.”

“I think she might be even more upset if you keep hitting guys in the face with a basketball just because they accuse you of lying. Maybe she could even understand why you did it.”

Matt understood, perhaps better than Tripper did himself. With no father to brag about, the kid had to improvise occasionally. Surely Claire would agree that it was time to tell Tripper the truth, though Matt was beginning to share her apprehension. Obviously Tripper had come to the conclusion he was a “deadhead” dad—one who went around hitting women with abandon. It would be up to Claire to set him straight on that—but at her own expense, he realized.

The whole situation was muddy as a melted snowdrift. But the fact was, one little boy was confused, and hurt, and regardless of the difficulty of explaining all the intricacies to him, he deserved to know the truth.

But Tripper was giving Matt a pleading look. “Don’t tell her, Matt. You promised!”

“Tripper, I know you want to protect your mom. I do, too, but she needs to know why you got into a fight at school.”

“She’ll just say I should ignore it—‘sticks and stones’ and all that stuff.”

“I think she might understand better than you realize. She’s not exactly immune to words either.”

Tripper kicked his sneakers against the bed frame, contemplating Matt’s advice. “Some people are just jerks,” he said. “They deserve to get black eyes.”

“You may be right there,” he said. “But recess monitors usually take a dim view of that approach.” He spun the basketball over his fingertips. “And I speak from experience.”

Tripper gave Matt a sidelong glance, taking his measure. “We were shooting free throws,” he finally said, “and I was making more baskets than Justin. So that’s when he started calling me names. He just does that, to everyone.”

“He’s a bully,” Matt supplied.

“Yeah. He called me a loser, and then he said my mom was too. Because my dad didn’t stick around and marry her.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I know, but ever since open house, Justin’s been bragging about how his dad does stuff with him. I think his parents are getting a divorce and they’re, like, fighting over him.”

“Makes sense,” Matt replied. “Kid’s still a bully.”

“I told him my mom just didn’t want to marry my dad, but then…then—” Tripper hesitated.

Matt had a feeling the bad part was yet to come, though at this point, he already wanted to see Justin get his just deserts.

Tripper ducked his head. “He said that was just what she told me. He said she was lying and that I’m lying about knowing you.” He glanced up, swallowing what Matt felt sure were more tears.

“He said you’re a big star, and you wouldn’t be hanging around me and my mom. He said…he said my father didn’t even want anything to do with her.”

Matt tightened his fist, refraining from hugging his son. More than anything, he wanted to reassure Tripper that Justin’s words had no bearing to the truth. But it wasn’t his truth to tell.

Tripper looked up, his eyes brimming with tears. “Then he said she was a freak like me. And that’s when I hit him. I just couldn’t let him say things like that about my mom.”

“Jesus.” Matt wanted to lob a basketball at the kid too. But somehow, agreeing that his son had done the right thing by giving his tormenter a black eye would probably earn him a flunking grade in Parenting 101.

“Listen, Tripper, none of what he said was true. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Your mother—”

“Don’t tell her what he said! Promise!”

Matt set the ball down and met his gaze squarely. “Look, I agree, it might make your mom sad to hear all that stuff, but she needs to know the gist of it. Why don’t you just trust me to explain the situation to her? Remember, I want to protect her as much as you do.” He dropped a hand onto Tripper’s shoulder. “I think I can get you off the hook and at the same time not upset her too much. How about it?”

Tripper gave him an assessing look. “Okay,” he agreed. “But be sure and tell her Justin deserved it!”

“Don’t worry. Justin will definitely be cast in the role of Bad Guy,” Matt promised.

But on the way downstairs, Matt wondered if central casting hadn’t screwed up and given Justin his own part.

Christ, he dreaded being around when Tripper found out the truth. For abandoning his mother, Tripper would probably like to lob a boulder at his face.

Claire hung up the phone just as Matt walked into the kitchen. “That was Justin’s father,” she said, picking up a cup of coffee. “I told him to send me the bill for the doctor visit, though nothing was really wrong. Just a black eye. It should heal in a week or so.”

Matt sat at the table, his eyes on her as she poured him his own cup. She’d taken off her suit jacket, but now she wished she’d left it on, for protection from his too knowing leer.

“Maybe someone should have a talk with Justin,” he said. “Sounds like he’s the playground bully.”

Claire glanced at him, the sugar spoon held up in her hand, but he wasn’t paying attention to the coffee she was fixing. She added two teaspoons, figuring he could use a bracing dose of sugar after dealing with her son—their son, she reminded herself.

“Claire, do you keep a gun in your closet?”

Her eyes widened as she set the steaming mug in front of him. “A gun? What on earth are you—” Then the implication hit her. She sat down across from him. “Did Tripper tell you that?”

“Yeah, he claims it’s proof you’re terrified of his father showing up one day. Mind explaining where he got that impression?” Matt gazed at her over the rim of his cup.

She gave a bewildered shrug. “I honestly have no idea. I certainly never told him that. Whenever he’s asked, I’ve been very vague. Maybe too vague,” she conceded. “It’s true I used to own a gun, but I got rid of it when we moved here. It belonged to my grandmother. I had no idea Tripper even knew it was there.”

Matt swallowed his coffee. “You’re telling me your grandmother was some sort of pistol-packing granny?”

“She owned a gun for protection. You’re from the Wild West…Surely you don’t find gun ownership all that unusual?” She gathered her mail from the desk and began opening it.

“No, but I would have pegged you as the pacifist type.”

She just shrugged and said with an air of indifference, “I didn’t know what to do with it after she died, so I just kept it in my closet, unloaded.”

“I see,” he said, but he seemed far from convinced. “By the way, in addition to being a potential wife beater, he also thinks I’m some sort of ‘deadhead’ dad.” His lips twitched. “I don’t think he means a Grateful Dead fan.”

Then he sobered. “I think it’s time to straighten him out. The kids at school have been teasing him. That’s what the fight was about today. Apparently Justin got wind of the fact that Tripper hasn’t got a father at home and insinuated it was his fault.”

“Oh, no!” All indifference gone, Claire gave him a stricken look.

Matt set his coffee cup down and leaned across the table. “I don’t want him thinking he’s worthless just because his father deserted his mother.”

“He doesn’t think that! I’ve told him that it was my choice to leave his father. Whatever the kids are saying, it will only get worse if the truth gets out.”

“Just what
is
the truth?”

“The truth? The truth is we had a sordid, sleazy affair and drove a woman to kill herself. What child wants to know he was conceived that way?”

“It wasn’t the sordid sleazy affair you think it was. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of those. I know the difference.”

“I just bet you have!” She turned away, but she knew Matt had seen the disgusted look on her face. Anger flared, a white hot arc between them. He sprang from the chair and swung her around. “I have sex, Claire. Good, hot sex with women who are ready, willing, and able. You, on the other hand, have turned yourself into an icicle because of one rotten experience.”

She yanked her arm from his loose grip. “You have no right to judge me. No right at all. Just because I won’t hop into bed with you—”

“Hell, this isn’t about sex! It never was! I cared about you then, and I care about you now. God knows why—you’re about as easy to love as a prickly pear—but I want to anyway.”

Claire gave a brittle laugh. “Well, that’s too bad. Not even big movie stars get everything they want.”

She knew it was a low blow, but she had her own wounds to tend. “Just leave me alone, Matt. Please. My life is complicated enough.”

“Unfortunately, your life and mine are already more tangled up than a roll of baling wire. That kid up there—” he gestured toward the ceiling “—needs the support of both his parents. And as much as you want me to, I’m not going to walk out of his life just because it would make your life easier.” He leveled his stubborn gaze on hers, his words drawing a figurative line in the sand.

She could only stare back at him, fear pleating her gut.

He sighed. “I know you’ve been hurt, and not just by me. Tripper’s told me enough, and you’ve been conspicuously silent on enough occasions, that I’ve been able to put two and two together. I know you must’ve had a pretty rotten deal growing up.” His voice grew rough with concern. “But whatever your life was like, the important thing is not to let it affect our son.”

She bristled. “Are you accusing me of letting my—my…” she sputtered.

“Insecurities,” he supplied.

“I don’t have any insecurities!”

He laughed. “Come on, Claire. You’re the fucking motherlode of insecurity!”

Claire ground her teeth. Sticks and stones, she reminded herself, though right now she wished she had a stone the size of Dallas—or at least a Spaulding—handy.

Instead she braced herself with a deep breath and aimed squarely at his heart: “Since you seem to be the resident psychologist, why don’t you analyze this, Matt? The first woman you loved went suicidal on you. Now you say you want to take the chance with someone like me—a poster child for neuroses. If I’m so insecure, aren’t you afraid I’ll lose it one day, go to pieces right in front of you?”

“Hell,” he protested, scraping a hand over his face. “I didn’t say you weren’t a strong woman! It’s obvious you’ve had some hard knocks, but you’re not like Hayley.”

“You’re right, I’m not. What you think is insecurity is caution. And yes, I learned it the hard way. I pulled my life together more than once, and I’m not about to let you destroy it, just so you can play Long-Lost Daddy.

“When I think Tripper’s ready for the truth, I’ll tell him,” she continued. “Until then, you get the starring role of his friend.” Then she sighed, remembering her son upstairs. “He needs that more now, anyway.”

“And you? What do you need?” Matt asked quietly.

She turned away, her pulse gradually returning to normal. “Maybe I need a friend too,” she admitted. “But not a psychologist. And certainly not a lover. Not now, not…you.”

“Sure,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as if it made no difference to him. “I can be a pretty good friend. And hey, like you say, sex is always available—elsewhere. No strings attached, just like I like it.” His voice was mocking. “And if she wants to blow her brains out afterward, hey—” He gave another what-do-I-care shrug, then reached for his jacket.

“Matt, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that—”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said lightly, tugging his jacket over his arms. “I made the mistake of giving a damn.”

As he walked out the door, Claire ignored the urge to rush toward him and tell him again she was sorry. A grown man, after all, had no use for a plastic Band-Aid.

And that was all she had to give him.

Chapter Eighteen

T
HE
S
CENT
O
F
S
CANDAL
sweetened the air, as throngs of people milled about the rotunda. Deep purple carpet led from the main entrance to the cosmetic counter in the rear of the store. From the ceiling, purple and gold banners announced “The latest
Scandal
.” Sparkling champagne flutes surrounded an ice sculpture in the shape of a perfume bottle. The kickoff had turned into a party, celebrating the opening of the newly refurbished flagship store as well as the launch of a new perfume.

From her spot near the elevators, Claire glanced around, unable to squelch a feeling of pride. Tonight Kaslow’s shone, from the marble floors to the mahogany panels above the fountain. An ecclesiastical air filled the old building. A hint of bergamot wafted from the
Scandal
sachets piled on a display table, while strains of Bach, as lovely as hymns, poured from the piano in the corner.

Perhaps the comparisons were a tad bit sacrilegious, Claire thought: they were selling perfume, after all, designed to inflame the passions of men…But then, wasn’t that exactly what religion did? Claire’s thoughts curved back to long ago, sitting on a pew while Roy Porter lashed out at his attentive congregation, each and every soul determined to repent before the sun had set on their sins. Yes, she decided, inflamed passions could certainly account for much of what went on in her adoptive father’s church.