Wild Honey (17 page)

“M
C
L
EAN
? M
C
L
EAN
! Dammit, what in hell’s the matter with you?” Jason Cord’s voice on the intercom sounded exasperated, even for him. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a full minute!” It was an exaggeration, but Jason wasn’t noted for his patience.

Travis frowned, dragging his eyes away from the page that had just appeared, via the Internet, on his computer screen. “Uh, sorry, Jace. Just got distracted there.”

It was the truth. The information he’d been seeking all morning had popped up and caught his eye. Could he help it if it was in the middle of a routine conversation with his boss? This was important!

“Well, shoot, ol’ buddy—” Cord’s voice dripped sarcasm as he replied in a grossly exaggerated Southern accent “—whah didn’t y’all say so? Ah mean, fah be it from me tuh stand in the way of an impawt’nt distraction!”

“Look, I said I was sorry, man. I—”

“Never mind! Now, would it be too much to ask you to bring those new budget figures to the meeting this afternoon? Maybe you haven’t realized it, buddy, but this Congress is in a cost-cutting mood. So just in case you’ve missed the point, if we don’t supply them with costeffective figures, all our butts’ll be in a sling!”

The intercom went dead and Travis heaved a sigh. He was well aware of the mood of the Congress. It reflected the mood of the entire country. In the wake of a few scandals, the public and its elected officials weren’t kindly disposed
toward the CIA these days. The current director of the Agency had made one thing clear at the outset of his tenure: unless they justified the effectiveness of every av enue of operations, their careers were all on the line. Hell, the future of the Agency itself was on the line.

Fortunately Travis had his facts and figures in order, having worked on them months before and finalized them in the two days since he’d returned from leave. He buzzed his secretary for an update on the final typing of the report, was assured it would be ready for the meeting and returned his gaze to the computer monitor.

Half an hour later, he sat back in his chair, folding his hands across his middle as he contemplated what he’d read. He’d dug through reams of material for it, since the company shrink hadn’t been willing to discuss anything that wasn’t directly related to company business. Well, screw the shrink. It had taken more time, but he now had the answers he’d sought.

According to the latest available information, gleaned from such periodicals as
Psychology Today
and the
Journal of the American Psychiatric Association,
Jill’s counselor had probably been right: the ability of a person to form a normal healthy relationship with a member of the opposite sex depended heavily on the family history. Especially the person’s relationship with the parent of the opposite sex.

When that history was tainted by parental sexual abuse, most professionals doubted it was possible for the person to succeed in a normal male-female relationship. But when the violation came from someone else, some felt the future wasn’t such a closed door, if the patient was a woman, a warm, loving father was thought to be able to mitigate the trauma. Depending on how severe it was, and providing the patient had professional help. Like the help Jill Terhune had been lucky enough to come by.

The help her sister had abandoned.

But
why?
Travis shut down the terminal and swung out of his chair. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he began to
pace.

He was still trying to deal with the disturbing facts of Jill’s story. Why had it had shaken him so badly? News of the sexual abuse of kids wasn’t entirely alien to him; the media were full of it. Famous people were coming forth every day to reveal the ugly truths they’d once have kept hidden. Ordinary people, too.

But their stories were part of the public domain. He’d read or heard about them—horrified, yes, but safely insulated by distance. They’d happened to
other
people. People he knew of, perhaps, but none that he actually
knew.

The Terhunes’ history was different. Never before had the tragic fact of childhood sexual abuse hit so close to home. He
knew
these women; one of them was the mother of his child.

Randi. He couldn’t get her out of his mind.

He’d had two largely sleepless nights to prove it. He’d lain awake in bed, seized by memories of their brief time together. Images came and went…

Randi, standing on the beach, fiercely protective of her son—their son—ready to do battle with anything or anyone that threatened him. The sound of her laughter as they romped with that son in the surf. The look of compassion in her eyes as she stroked the head of a hurt and abandoned puppy. The earnest concern on her face when she inquired about a medical career that had been ditched.

Most of all, he couldn’t erase the sweet warmth of her in his arms. It was different from what any other woman had ever made him feel, the sense of
rightness
to it, which he couldn’t escape no matter how hard he tried.

And then, finally—the image he came back to again and again—that awful fear in her eyes when he’d tried to make love to her.

Abruptly ceasing his pacing, he reached for his Rolodex and flipped it to his sister’s name and number. Grabbing
the phone, he punched out the digits, praying Sarah was in. He’d attend Cord’s blasted meeting, but then head straight for Georgetown. He needed to talk to someone he could trust. Someone he loved. Who loved him, knew him. And it wouldn’t hurt, he suspected, that that someone was a woman.

“N
OW, LET ME SEE
if I’ve got this straight,” Sarah said. Seated across from Travis in a booth at the coffee shop where they’d gone before, she leaned forward, keeping her voice low. “You recently learned you’d fathered a child? Who’s now four years old?”

“I know I’ve shocked you, Sarah, but…” Travis shook his head and sighed.

She used both hands to sweep her straight chin-length hair away from her face, then flattened her palms on the table and met his eyes. “I suspect you wouldn’t be tellin’ me this unless there’s more to the story. What’s goin’ on, Trav?”

Travis searched her face. “What would you say, Sarah girl,” he said carefully, “if I told you I’ve spent time with my son durin’ the past few weeks? That I’ve gotten to know him…love him?”

“Holy Hannah! But how? I thought the confidentiality in these clinics was—”

“It is,” he interrupted, “but I reckon you could say fate stepped in ‘n’…Yeah, it was fate, all right. And fate has a way of payin’ confidentiality no mind, Sarah, no mind at all.”

He told her then of the accidental encounter with his past. Of meeting his biological offspring’s mother in the ER at Johns Hopkins. Of his shock on seeing his childhood double, right on the heels of recalling where he’d seen the mother years before. And then realizing what Randi Terhune
had probably done to conceive her child. He told Sarah, too, of the time spent with Matt and Randi on the Eastern Shore, the immediate sense of bonding with his son, all of it.

Sarah sat, wide-eyed, her mouth forming a silent O as he finished with a recounting of the night of the storm, his long tense vigil at the hospital.

“So that’s about it, Sarah. The kid came through it okay, thank God.” He shrugged. “And, well, here I am.”

She nodded slowly, needing time to digest it all. “My God, Travis,” she murmured at length, “what a story. What a crazy incredible story!”

“Isn’t it?” he said wryly. “I sometimes can’t half believe it myself.”

“What’s he like, Trav? Your son. Matt, I mean. Lord, I’m an aunt! I can scarcely
believe
it.”

He grinned at her. “He’s beautiful. Full of energy, y’know? And incredibly curious and bright. Man, the questions he asks! And, Sarah, you should see him smile. A smile so sweet, it’ll break your heart.”

“Or steal it,” she said in a voice full of wonder. She was blown away by what she saw in her brother. By the glow that surrounded him as he spoke of his son. By the love and pride that rang in his words, the light and pure joy in his eyes. “Any fool can see he’s stolen yours,” she added with a soft smile.

He gave her a level look. “I told you I came to love him, Sarah. But it didn’t take much. Easiest thing I’ve ever done, lovin’ that kid.”

She nodded, and they sat in silence for a minute, both pensive. “Travis,” she said at length, “tell me more about the mother. So far, all I know is that she seems to’ve raised a healthy happy child. Uh, not that that’s a small thing, mind, but…forgive me, Trav, but what kind of woman avails herself of a sperm bank to, well, deliberately become a single mother?”

A woman terrified of men,
he thought but didn’t say. He forced a casual shrug. “A very independent-minded woman, I’d guess, though she hasn’t done it entirely alone.” He explained about Jill and David.

“Apart from that,” he went on, “she’s a competent professional.” He spoke of Randi’s nursing career and how she arranged her hours to accommodate her parenting. He mentioned nothing of her panic the night of the crisis; many doctors refrained from treating their own family members for emotional reasons. Hers had been a parent’s very natural and human response.

He also didn’t mention his own reaction that night, thought he remembered well how he’d been infused with a sense of purpose. And how, in the aftermath of Matt’s recovery, he’d been filled with the deepest satisfaction imaginable; he’d never known anything like it. Of course, the implications of that gave him a lot to think about. But he’d take his time with it, examine it carefully, before giving voice to an idea that had been forming in his mind since that night.

“In short,” he finished, “I’d say Randi Terhune has her life pretty well thought out and organized. She’s no lightweight, Sarah. She’s a careful person, with her feet planted squarely on the ground.”

Sarah sensed a certain reluctance in Travis’s description of this Randi. What was that about? Her eyes held a glint of mischief as she urged with a wily grin, “Tell me more.”

“More?” Travis played dumb. It was a game they’d engaged in since childhood; intensely curious, Sarah had a way of worming out the tiniest details of a story, whether you wanted to reveal them or not. And in this she showed no mercy. Still, he always stalled a bit before he gave in. “Now, Pumpkin, what more could there be? I’ve told you all there is. Honest.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied, enjoying the game. “Okay, listen up. So far, I know this Randi’s a good mother and a
skilled competent nurse. Okay, fine. But what else? You know, the little things that make a person unique? Look, I’ll make it easy for you. Start with what she looks like.”

He chuckled. “That’s easy. She’s gorgeous. A pure knockout—but not in the way that sounds. I mean, nothin’ overpowerin’ or blatant. She comes off as a little, uh, cool, y’know? Sort of in the Grace Kelly mold. Tall and leggy, long honey blond hair like spun silk, eyes that make you think of…well, wild honey, all shot with sunlight, y’know? And the way she moves! If you looked up ‘graceful’ in the dictionary, it oughtta have Randi Terhune’s picture next to it.”

“I see,” Sarah muttered, more intrigued than ever. “And what about—”

“Oh, I forgot to mention her nose.”

“Her nose?”

His mouth curved in a reminiscent smile. “Damnedest thing I ever saw. One minute you’re lookin’ at this beautiful face, with a perfect fine—boned nose-and then she laughs. Next thing you know, it’s all crinkled up, and you notice there’s a sprinklin’ of freckles ‘cross the bridge.”

“Ah,” Sarah said thoughtfully, but he wasn’t through yet.

“The guys on the staff at Hopkins refer to her as an ice queen, but she’s got all kinds of surprises buried under that cool exterior.” His mind held an image of Randi near tears when she learned of Ulysses’ mistreatment. “She’s compassionate, for one thing. Compassionate, yeah, ‘n’ warm ‘n’ intelligent ‘n’—” he chuckled “—she can be downright fierce when it comes to protectin’ Matt. Yeah, she’s full of surprises. Fact is, I’ve never known a woman like her.”

He cocked an eyebrow at his sister. “Well?” His voice held amused tolerance. “Will that do, you little ferret?”

She studied him carefully for a moment. Not only had he given her more than she’d wished in his sketch of this woman, he’d done it with precious little coaxing. There was
definitely something brewing under the surface here. Impatient with their game, she came straight to the point.

“Travis,” she asked, looking him dead in the eye, “are you in love with her?”

Taken aback by her bluntness, he lifted a brow before letting his face settle in a frown. In love? What did that mean, anyway? The stuff they showed on TV and in the movies? That nonsense poets wrote about? Hell, it was all an illusion. The trouble with movie plots and romantic poems was they only showed the first part. The idyllic time when emotions were fresh and new, and reality hadn’t kicked in yet.

But what about what happened after the glow wore off? What about the countless marriages that started off sweet, then ended in bitterness and divorce? Or worse, marriages like his parents’, where love was a pretense? A sham that caged two people together for life, both of them trapped and miserable? Where were the script writers and poets when reality hit, huh?

His mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “Sorry to disillusion you, little sister, but the only love I believe in’s the family kind—if you’re lucky, that is. You know, the kinda thing I feel for my son, the bond between you ‘n’ me ‘n’ Troy. All the rest’s somethin’ for poets ‘n’ fools. It doesn’t last. Or it was never real in the first place.”

She gave him a disgusted look. “When did you become such a cynic, Trav?” She held up her hand as he started to reply. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. But I do want an explanation. Why’ve you gone to such—dare I call them poetic?—lengths in describin’ this Randi? Eyes the color of wild honey, huh?”

She saw him flush beneath his tan and leaned forward, meeting his gaze with intense interest. “Travis, no man describes a woman the way you did without…well, without feelin’
somethin’!”

He was clearly irritated. “I told you—she’s gorgeous,
and gorgeous women have a way of…Hell, Sarah, I may be an old man by your reckonin’, but I’m not dead yet.”

She was shaking her head. “Sorry, big brother, but it won’t wash. You’ve got some special feelin’ for this woman. You’ve connected with her, and you know it!”

He shrugged. “Sure, I feel somethin’ for her. Is that so surprisin’? She’s the mother of my son. Through Matt, we share a bond, a bond I couldn’t ignore even if I wanted to. That’s the connection. The
only
connection.”

She gave him what he’d always called her “superior woman’s smile,” even when she was a kid, and he heaved a disgusted sigh. Truth was, she was usually right when she smiled that way. But that would mean—Hell, no! Scowling, he abruptly changed the subject. “How’re things on the home front these days?”

“Oh, you know—everyone’s at Sunnyfields, doin’ the usual,” she replied. Mother’s tennis game’s better than ever. She and Susie Whittaker won the women’s doubles at the club. Daddy, of course, has been away a lot. He just spent a week in Miami at some conference, and, matter of fact, he left just ahead of that hurricane you got caught in.

“And Troy’s been seen with Betsy Chalmers—Debutante of the Year in ‘ninety-two?—but I don’t think it’s serious. When he’s home in the summer, he mainly dates to please Mother, and—”

“I can’t stand it!” Travis growled. “When’s Troy gonna get some backbone, Sarah? His professional life’s been dictated by the old man, and his social life’s tailored to suit Mother. When’s he gonna live his life for himself?”

“Don’t be too hard on him, Travis. You know Troy’s always been…well, different from you ‘n’ me. He’s not cut out to be a rebel. But he’s a good person, Trav, gentle ‘n’ kind, and there isn’t a soul who doesn’t like and trust him. And I know you love him, so—”

“‘Course, I love him! That’s just the point. I love him
too much to see him dolin’ out his life in bits ‘n’ pieces to please others. It half kills me to see it!”

She threw him a look of sympathy. “But the way things are, Trav, you’re not really around to see it, are you?”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

She shook her head wearily. “This terrible division in the family. It’s so almighty awful. You ‘n’ Daddy each pretendin’ the other doesn’t exist, the rest of us caught up in it. I wish to God there were some way to fix it.”

“Tell that to the old man,” he said in disgust.

It was the sort of response she’d expected. Their father might have been the main cause of the rift, but Travis hadn’t helped. Stubborn and proud, he staunchly defended his position, continuing to vilify their father without making a move toward reconciliation himself. Okay, so Daddy was autocratic and difficult; but his older son was hardly a Boy Scout. As long as Travis maintained his attitude, nothing would change.

Still, she had to give it a shot. “Y’know, Trav, I believe Daddy’s a deeply unhappy man.”

He greeted this with a snort, which she ignored. “He’s his own worst enemy, Trav. He doesn’t see how his attitudes toward parentin’, to his family, created all this strife.”

When Travis didn’t comment, she placed her hand gently over his, which rested, clenched in a fist, on the table. “Yet I do believe he loves us, Trav, all of us, you included. I think he’s always loved us—in his mistaken way, of course.”

“Of course,” he echoed mockingly.

She ignored this, too. “He misses you, Trav, and I think he deeply regrets the breach. No, don’t shake your head. It’s true. It’s just that he’s foolishly put all the blame on you—just as you’ve done with him. And even if you’re right, what good does it do? With each of you blamin’ the other, neither of you’ll make a move to heal things. As a result, we all suffer, don’t you see?”

He’d heard all the arguments before, though largely from their mother. But this time he caught a new note in the litany. He glanced sharply at her. “You all suffer. You tryin’ to tell me somethin’, Sarah?”

She grimaced. “Oh, Trav, I’m so sorry! Daddy’s furious and more unreasonable than ever. He’s blamin’
you
for my decision to abandon medicine!”

D
RIVING AWAY
from the meeting with Sarah, Travis was more disturbed by her last piece of news than he’d let on. She was right, he realized. The breach between him and his father had filtered down to hurt the innocents in the family—his mother, Sarah, likely Troy, as well. They all suffered from it.

His hands tightened on the wheel. But it wasn’t the traffic that had him tense. It was guilt. It wouldn’t leave him alone. For the first time since the rift, he began to wonder if he shouldn’t do something to try to mend it. But what?

Go to the old man and eat crow? But even if he did, what good would it do? His father’s lack of forgiveness was tied irrevocably to his son’s abandonment of the hallowed family career, and—

His breath caught as something jelled in his mind. Was it possible? Had the thing he’d been pondering since the night of the crisis with Matt given him a
double
window of opportunity? Not just the idea he’d been wrestling with, but a chance to mend fences he’d never considered mendable?

Of course, given his father’s unbending attitude, the latter was really a long shot, but it was something to keep in mind. The other, though…

He changed lanes, eyes on the road but his mind fixed on the night he’d handled the crisis with his son. Again he savored that keen sense of purpose he’d felt, despite his fear. Then he recalled the confidence he’d had that he could do something to help. And finally he remembered the humble
satisfaction that came with the news that Matt would be okay.