Still Waters (6 page)

Christopher looked up, and pulled up short at the sight of Adam, a tall stranger standing on the front lawn. The little boy tried to stop in his tracks, but he skidded and bumped into his mother. He ducked behind her, then leaned forward and peered shyly out from behind her waist. His eyes were wide and blue, his expression cautious but friendly.

Oh, but the child had the look of his mother. Had her sharp nose and round eyes, her feathery brows and pointed chin. But the mouth, when it curled upward into a tentative smile, was a mirror image of Adam’s, and the fingers that clutched Jenna’s legs so tenuously were the same long, slender digits that Adam possessed.

Looking at those fingers, Adam could feel his stomach drop to his feet. The boy was not the child of Bud Appleton, Adam’s oldest friend. The boy was not the grandchild of Bill and Kitty Appleton.

The boy was Adam’s own son.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

H
IS OWN CHILD.
H
IS BOY.

Adam tore his gaze away and looked at up Jenna. All traces of his good mood were gone, swept away in the tidal wave of her treachery.

She took an involuntary step backward when she saw the fury in his eyes. Then she raised her chin slowly in defiance.

Kitty spoke up, beautifully oblivious to what was going on around her. “Christopher,” she said, and her tone was chiding but indulgent. “You know you’re not supposed to run in those boots. The soles have no tread; you could slip and fall.”

She took his hand and pulled him out from behind his mother. “Now come say hello.” She led him forward until he and Adam were facing each other.

Father and son,
Adam thought. He had never felt so lost. Or so angry.

“This,” Kitty said to the boy she thought was her grandson, “is Mr. Balentine.”

“Adam,” Adam said quickly. How could he be
Mr. Balentine
to his own child?

Jenna spoke up.
“Uncle
Adam,” she said, her voice rough. She cleared her throat and added, “Christopher, you can call him Uncle Adam. He’s an old friend of your father’s, so I don’t think he’d mind.”

Christopher looked up at his grandmother, who smiled and nodded encouragement. Then he stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. — I mean, Uncle Adam. My name is Christopher.” The voice was thin and chirping, like a baby bird, but the words were pronounced with a sweet perfection that told of many hours conversing with grown-ups.

Adam looked down at the pale little hand being offered to him. He enveloped it in his own, being careful not to clamp down too hard on the delicate bones. Then he released the hand and hunkered down so he could look his boy in the eye.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, too, Christopher. That’s a mighty fine rig you’ve got on there.”

“You mean my six-shooter?” Christopher fumbled the shiny tin revolver out of its holster and held it out with both hands for Adam to inspect. “It’s my birthday present from Grandma!” He glanced at the brightly-wrapped package that Adam still carried under his arm. “Did
you
know it’s my birthday, Uncle Adam?”

Adam couldn’t help but smile. “Well, you know, I had a feeling that today might be a special day. And that’s why I brought this along with me.”

He held the package out and Christopher took it gingerly with both hands. The box was large and ungainly, but the boy managed to grip it, eyes shining. Adam held on to it, just in case.

Christopher swiveled his head around and looked up at his mother. “Can I open it now, Mommy?”

She smiled at him lovingly, reaching out to stroke his hair. “No, sweetheart, go put it with the others. We’ll open presents in a little while, and then we’ll have cake.”

Crestfallen at being denied, Christopher nevertheless put on a brave face and smiled. “Thank you, Uncle Adam. I’m sure I’ll like it.”

“I hope you do, Christopher.”

Kitty put a hand lightly on Christopher’s shoulder. “Come on, dear. Let’s get back to your guests. I think it’s time for the piñata. What do you think?”

Christopher trotted happily around the back of the house, with Fritz close on his heels. Rose and Stella went with him, Rose carrying his present in her arms.

Kitty reached out and squeezed Adam’s arm. “It’s good to have you home,” she said. Then she smiled and followed after her grandson.

Her grandson, who was
not
her grandson.

Adam turned to Jenna, his face tight with anger. She held up a hand in warning. “Come inside,” she said. Then she turned and walked up the path without waiting to see if he followed.

The inside of the house had changed a great deal since Adam had last stepped foot inside these walls. Five years earlier, the place had been coldly sleek and modern. The walls had been stark white; the rug on the floor had been flat black, adding little softness to the room. The only warmth in the room had come from the brown sofa. And from Jenna.

Now the walls were painted a soft yellow. The same sofa still sat against the side wall, but its hard form had been beaten into a comfortable-looking pulpy mass. The old black mat was gone, replaced with a blue oval rag rug. Toys lurked in every corner, coloring books covered the coffee table. This, Adam thought, was a good place. It was a child’s place. It was a home.

He followed Jenna into the kitchen, which had also been repainted the same yellow. Blue-checked curtains covered the small window in the corner by the table. The back door was open, letting in the raucous sounds of laughing children as the piñata was raised and lowered by Christopher’s grandfather.

Who, of course, was
not
Christopher’s grandfather.

Adam felt physically ill. He watched as Jenna pulled a packet of Kool-Aid and a canister of sugar out of the cupboard and ran water to fill a plastic pitcher. How could she stand there so calmly, going through the motions of a good mother? He wanted to shout at her, to shake her, to force her to explain herself.

“What have — “
He heard his voice rising, and he stopped. This was not a conversation for the folks in the backyard to hear. He clenched his jaw and spoke again, keeping his voice low. “What have you done?”

She didn’t bother to turn around.
“Me?
I wasn’t exactly alone when it happened!” She threw a cool glance over her shoulder. “Or don’t you remember?”

An unwelcome flash of memory brought the taste of her skin to his tongue, and the cool scent of her hair to his nostrils. He eyed the slender curve of her neck, where it rose gracefully from her blouse and met the edge of her hairline in a neat V-shape. Then he blinked, not wanting to get distracted.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I meant afterward.”

“Oh,” she said, calmly measuring purple powder into the pitcher. “You mean two days later, when you flew back to Korea?”

“I mean the moment that you realized that your baby was
my son,
and not Bud’s.”

She closed the powder canister tightly before putting it back on the shelf above her head. “What about that moment?”

“What were you
thinking?”
He heard the bewilderment in his own voice.

Jenna leaned both hands on the edge of the sink. She fired her words downward, as if she were trying to spit them down the drain. “I
wasn’t
thinking. I was scrambling. I was struggling. My husband had only been dead for a little over a month, and I was pregnant with another man’s child.”

“But how could you not
tell
me?”

Jenna picked up a wooden spoon and started stirring the purple liquid in the pitcher. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

He wagged his head in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“Well, it’s not like you stuck around long enough to find out if there were any fruits to your labors.”

The vague coarseness of the expression struck him hard. He felt his mouth twist with distaste. “I wrote to you half a dozen times in the month after I left, and you never answered!”

Now she did turn around. Her eyes stabbed him bitterly. “Your friend was dead, and his parents were suffering. The grief here was spread so thick that we could barely breathe. You couldn’t deal with it, so you left and told yourself that writing letters would be enough. It wasn’t.”

Adam was taken aback by her acrid hostility. He fumbled for words. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Go ‘Unauthorized Absence’ from the Navy? Betray my country?”

“You could have requested a transfer.”

“Oh, just like that?”

“It’s been done before!”

“Well, I’m home now, and I’m here to stay. And if it makes any difference, I love you. I always have.”

Tears quivered in her eyes, but did not fall. “Go to hell,” she said.

Footsteps sounded on the back porch step, and Kitty’s voice came ringing cheerfully through the screen. She was speaking to someone behind her. “I’m so glad you’re here, Frank. We’re about to cut the cake, so you made it just in time.”

Jenna turned back to the sink, while Adam rubbed his hands over his face, trying to erase any evidence of their argument.

Kitty opened the back door and came inside, her face all smiles. A tall man with a small, neat mustache came in behind her.

“Jenna,” Kitty said, a reproachful edge to her voice. “We’re waiting on the Kool-Aid.”

“I was just about to bring it out.” Jenna wiped the pitcher with a towel.

Kitty took it with care. “Oh, Adam, let me introduce you to Frank Malloy,” she said brightly. “Jenna’s fiancé.”

Adam’s stomach dropped into his shoes. The hand that he had automatically extended for a handshake faltered in mid-air.
Fiancé?
Was this some sort of joke?

He looked at Jenna, whose closed expression confirmed Kitty’s words. Adam set his jaw grimly, but good manners forced him to put his hand forward.

Frank Malloy took it in a solid grip and shook firmly. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

Frank had dark hair and eyes. He was handsome in a neat, clean-cut kind of way. He was dressed as informally as Adam, in chinos and a short-sleeved chambray shirt, but something about the man belied any use of the word “casual.” His trousers were crisply ironed, and his shoes bore the kind of shine that takes dedication to accomplish. He looked like the type of man who was most at home in a suit coat and tie.

Adam took it all in at a glance, trying not to betray his feelings. Inside, he was reeling.

Malloy continued, “Kitty’s been telling me about you. You’re just home from the Navy?” His voice was deep and precise.

Adam crossed his arms and steeled himself to be sociable. “That’s right,” he answered, as pleasantly as possible.

“Mind if I ask where you served?”

“I’m just back from Panama,” Adam answered absently, “but I’ve been all over. I was in the Construction Battalion.”

“Oh, the Seabees. Wonderful group of fellows,” Frank said earnestly. “You helped secure bases around the Panama Canal during the war, didn’t you?”

“Well, me and a couple thousand other guys, yes.”

“Oh, Adam, you’re too modest,” Kitty interjected. She turned to Frank and added proudly, “Adam was decorated more than once. He’s a bona fide war hero.”

“If I am that, I’m just one of many,” Adam said uncomfortably.

Kitty rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, and he smiled weakly. She might’ve thought he was just being humble, but it always made him feel awkward to hear his praises sung. And this situation was awkward enough as it was.

Frank fingered his mustache thoughtfully. “I was 4-F due to a punctured eardrum I sustained when I was a child. But I managed to serve my country in other ways.”

Adam’s heart sank. Was he really going to have to stand here and listen to Malloy tell his war stories? Adam had managed to be gracious up until this point, but he wasn’t sure how long he could keep up the pretense. He wanted to get out of this kitchen and away from the house. Nothing was as he’d thought it would be. It was as if he had fallen down the rabbit hole.

Jenna must have sensed to his feelings, for she cut in sharply before Frank could continue.

“Kitty,” Jenna said urgently, “isn’t it about time we cut the cake? The parents will be back to pick up their children in a little while, and Christopher still has presents to open.”

That did the trick. Kitty looked at the clock with an exclamation of surprise, then hustled everyone out the door to the backyard.

Adam managed to catch Jenna’s eye with a look of thanks before the crowd of children swallowed them up.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

H
OURS LATER,
J
ENNA LEANED AGAINST THE
railing of the back porch, surveying the yard with exhausted satisfaction. The children had all gone home, Christopher’s presents had been put away, and she had just finished picking up the last bits of paper from the grass and putting the garbage in the trash bin on the side of the house. The day was finally done.