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  She stopped within an arm’s length. “When you say I never loved him the way that I loved you,” she began. She could see he was listening intently, aching to hear more. Hoping.

  “Well, you left out another thing, something that thirteen years ago hurt me more than you can ever imagine. You know what that is? It’s that Wayne loved me more than you did. More than the man I loved, the father of my child. And how do I know that? Because Wayne would never have left me, no matter the excuses. You should have taken me with you, Brandon.”

  “I’m here now.” So much emotion in his face—it hurt her to see. “Mercedes, you have to believe that there was never a time when I didn’t want you.”

  “Now is thirteen years too late.”

  As he walked out the door, she collapsed onto a chair, a hand at her mouth to deaden her cries.

  Chapter 16

  Diary of Mercedes Walker

  July 17, 1995

  I want to die, just plain die. This baby is growing, I can feel it, but I’m losing weight. I’ve been horribly sick. Part of me would like to simply lose enough weight to disappear forever, but I know this is a consequence I need to face. How could I have let myself love a man so much that I lost the very essence of myself? Now I understand how my mother was able to endure such treatment from my father. Oh, Momma! I’m sorry! I didn’t realize before how awful life was for you. Even though I don’t agree with what you did, I forgive you. We are alike in this, but I will take your example and learn from it.

  I’m determined to pull out of this and be myself again. I just don’t exactly know how to do that. Wayne once said I was stronger than my mother, and I’m trying to live up to his vision of me. I must pray for strength—and for forgiveness.

  Daddy is worse each day. Not physically—he’s seemed to reach a plateau with his health where he doesn’t get worse or better—but he is secretive and verbally abusive. Wayne doesn’t even know about the baby, but he said yesterday that I should call or write a letter to Grandmother. He thinks I’d be better off living with her. I’ve thought about moving to her house even without her being there, but I would miss my talks with Wayne. We keep each other good company. He rides with me sometimes in the evenings, and I’ve taken to going out and taking him lunch. It gives me something to look forward to besides lying here missing Brandon and feeling sorry for myself. I can’t even think about the baby. The baby quilt is about half finished. I work on it very slowly. I want it to be perfect.

  Brandon walked out of the house onto Mercedes’ front porch, unsure what to do. He didn’t want to hurt Mercedes further, but neither would he give up his son. He had a lot to offer. And what about Mercedes herself? It was all so unfair. Everything should have been different.

  Does that give you the right to expect something from her now? It was his own voice, the clinical, professional side of him. No, it didn’t give him that right—or any rights at all. But the enormity of losing everything still seemed too much to comprehend.

  He couldn’t think about Wayne and the other children. He wouldn’t think about them. Or Mercedes either. He would focus on Darrel. His son. There seemed to be no way to follow Dustbottom’s advice about not creating more regrets. He already regretted hinting to Mercedes about his feelings—not that she seemed to notice or care. Yet he also regretted not declaring the full depths of his emotion. He regretted hurting her about Darrel, but he also regretted that he wasn’t leaving here with the boy this very minute.

  He walked blindly down the steps, stopping to kick at a rock, sending it shooting over the gravel drive.

  “Brandon!” Darrel was coming toward him from the side of the house.

  Warmth filled the emptiness in Brandon’s chest. “Hey, Darrel. How are you?”

  The boy’s chin lifted in much the same way Mercedes’ had. “Why is Momma crying?” His tone was protective, and in it Brandon glimpsed the man he would become—fiercely loyal and ready to defend those he loved. “I heard her through the back door.”

  “We had a disagreement, that’s all.”

  Darrel’s face was shuttered. He stared down at his hand that held two half-rusted nails. “She disagrees with me and my dad all the time, and she doesn’t cry then.”

  Brandon knew he had to proceed with caution. If Darrel started hating him, it would make becoming a part of his life that much more difficult. “You’re right,” he conceded. “Will you tell her I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to make her upset.”

  Darrel relaxed. “I’ll tell her you’re a stubborn old fool. That works for my dad.”

  “I thought you said he didn’t make her cry.”

  “That makes her laugh.” Darrel smiled at him, but the smile wasn’t as genuine as it had been days earlier. He put his hands in his pockets. “I was going to ride out and get my dad.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  Darrel went to the porch and sat down on the steps. “I changed my mind. He’ll be back soon anyway. We’re going to eat my fish.”

  Brandon understood that Darrel was putting himself as a barrier between him and Mercedes. Tears stung Brandon’s eyes. He was a good kid—more than he could have hoped for. He only wished the boy didn’t feel he had to protect his mother from him. Would he if he knew the truth?

  “Well, enjoy yourselves.” Brandon headed for his rental car, not looking forward to the hour’s drive to Riverton.

  He’d done the right thing demanding his rights. Hadn’t he?

  When he glanced in the rearview mirror, Darrel was standing on the porch watching him go.

  * * *

  Slowly, Brandon went up the walkway of the Alpine House. He stopped briefly in the doorway to stretch his legs, his eyes wandering in the direction of Walker Farm. Were the Johnsons sitting down to dinner even now? Was Mercedes telling Wayne about his visit? Shame washed over him at the thought.

  But what else could I do?

  Maybe she wouldn’t tell him.

  “Brandon?”

  He looked for the voice and saw Hannah in the sitting room across the entryway. Arising from a love seat, she walked toward him. He was so surprised to see her that his mouth wouldn’t work. She looked great. Her blonde hair was still cropped around her head and face but styled differently, with soft feathering that flattered her rounded cheeks. Her blue eyes were large in her face, clearly her best feature that often had people stopping to stare. The fitted yellow blouse and cropped pants showed her slender figure to best advantage. She looked incredible, much as she had on the day he’d married her.

  “I’ve been waiting for you. I went to the hospital first, but they told me you’d been released.” She reached up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek and a token hug. She smelled of something sweet, perhaps flowers with a touch of honey. A new perfume?

  “This morning. Would have been yesterday, but they seemed to like holding me prisoner.” He wanted to ask why she was here, but phrasing the words so they didn’t sound ungrateful and rude was an effort he wasn’t up to at the moment. “It’s nice to see you,” he said instead, something that wasn’t exactly untrue.

  “I bet you’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

  “Kind of. It is a surprise—a good one, of course.”

  “Well, I was worried.”

  “You could have called.”

  “It’s not the same thing.” Her eyes fell to the carpeted floor, and he knew there was more. How long it might take her to tell him was something he couldn’t predict. It was just as well. He was tired and wanted to lie down, yet he was also afraid to be alone. Until all the test results came back, he feared his mind would stray to the negative. What if, after he’d finally learned about his son, he became too ill to be a real father? “Well, uh, since you’re here, would you like to have dinner? They have a nice little place nearby that sells seafood.”

  She grinned. “Shrimp, I bet.”

  “Among other things.” He offered his arm as he had in the old days.

  “Do they have takeout?”

  �
��I think so.”

  “Then let’s get it to go and come back here.”

  “Why?”

  “You look pale.”

  “I’m tanner than I’ve been in years.”

  She came to a stop and studied him. “Well, you are tan, that’s true, but you don’t look right.”

  “You wouldn’t say that to me if I were a woman.”

  She smiled. “You know what I mean. You’ve been in the hospital.”

  “Okay, we’ll get takeout.” Truthfully, he was feeling nauseated, but that was likely due to the hospital food he’d been forced to ingest these past days. Or he’d picked up a sickness there. It happened often enough.

  “My room has a nice table and a view,” she said as he opened the passenger door of his car.

  “Are you staying here?” At her nod, he added, “How long?”

  “Until Sunday night. I flew up after lunch—that was as early as I could leave, but I have to be back by Monday morning.”

  “I see.”

  “Your parents sent you a care package.”

  He grimaced. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “They miss you.”

  He had no reply for that. They’d been helpful during his illness, but he simply couldn’t face their constant hovering after everything was finished. Moving to California had been his way of starting over. Only it hadn’t really worked that way. He’d been there more than a year and most of his belongings remained in boxes in his new garage.

  Back at the Alpine House, Brandon relaxed at the table while Hannah set out the meal. Not having to think for the moment, to see her eating across from him as they had so many times before, comforted him.

  “So how’s it going on the custody front?” she asked when he’d retrieved a stack of photographs he’d taken Monday at the farm.

  “I told Mercedes today I wanted Darrel for holidays and the summers.”

  Her fork hesitated over her plate. “And?”

  “Turned me down flat.”

  “What would he do at your house all day in the summer? You’d be working.”

  Did all women think alike? “I hadn’t thought of that. Well, maybe not the whole summer then. I’d take my vacation and we’d spend time together. If I went on another charity mission, he could go. He’d learn a lot. Might even want to go into medicine.”

  Her right eyebrow quirked. “And if he doesn’t?”

  “He can be anything he wants. I won’t force him.”

  “I meant, and if he doesn’t want to go with you? Even to visit?”

  “I’m his father. Why wouldn’t he want to know me? I’d make it fun.” He stared down at the remaining four shrimp on his plate, his appetite completely gone. “Unfortunately, Mercedes doesn’t see it that way.”

  “She was mad?”

  He nodded. “To put it mildly.”

  “She’s the one who kept the secret all these years.”

  “Not her fault, not really.” He pushed the plate away and leaned back in the chair, which was surprisingly comfortable.

  Again the eyebrow quirk. He’d forgotten how often she’d done that and how it fascinated him. “You’re defending her?” She took a last bite of shrimp and sat back.

  “It’s complicated.” He found himself telling her the story of Mercedes’ father and her quick marriage.

  Hannah had a soft smile on her lips, one that seemed more regretful than happy. “You still love her.”

  “I still love you,” he countered. “Feelings like that don’t go away.”

  She looked away. He’d surprised her. He hadn’t meant to say it exactly that way. What he meant was she’d been someone special in his life and that hadn’t changed with the divorce. Perhaps it would have if they had parted under worse conditions.

  Worse? That almost made him laugh. What could be worse than cancer? But he knew that for a marriage there were a lot worse things.

  “I think it’s going to be okay,” he said quickly to cover the awkwardness. “She’ll come around. I’m flying home next week for a day to meet with my attorney and have a few tests done at my doctor’s, and then I’ll fly back and see where I stand. Maybe Merce—the Johnsons will have softened. Still, I expect I’ll eventually have to get a court order for a paternity test and go from there.”

  “Tests?”

  “Yeah, you know. The test that’ll prove I’m Darrel’s father.”

  “No, I meant the other ones. You said you were going home to get tests. Plural. Are those because of your collapse? I thought they decided it was because of stress and exhaustion.”

  “No, I said that. They wanted to fool with some tests. I agreed to do them at home to get them off my back.”

  She was shaking her head. “You’re afraid it’s back, aren’t you?”

  The knot in his stomach wouldn’t go away. He fought to keep down the shrimp. At this rate he’d begin to hate seafood. “Yes,” he finally admitted.

  Hannah stared at him without speaking for a long moment. Her blue eyes were like the sky he’d worked under at the farm. Quite a contrast to Mercedes, whose eyes were as dark and rich as the freshly plowed soil. But both had looked at him in the same way, a mix of pity and horror—and anger. The anger from Mercedes he understood but not from Hannah. Unless she still cared for him in a way that expected more. A future.

  “You don’t know about the results, and you want to fight for custody of your son? Brandon, he’s just a child. What’s it going to do to him if he learns to love you and then you get sick?” She tapped a picture of Darrel laughing with his brothers.

  “That’s exactly why I have to tell him. This might be my only chance to know my son.”

  “Then this is for you, not him.” She folded her hands quietly in her lap.

  He didn’t reply. She had it all wrong, but how to explain so she’d understand? Darrel deserved to know him, whatever his health status.

  “Look,” she said into the silence. “I work with children every day, and I’ve seen what parents and other relatives do to children in the name of what’s better for them. More than a few times it ends up being better only for the parents. My job as an administrator has always been to protect the children and help the parents understand the child’s needs. Have you thought about Darrel’s needs? What he wants?”

  “He’d want to know the truth.”

  “Perhaps. But is the truth best for him? At least until you know what’s going on with your tests?”

  He crossed an arm over his stomach, feeling her words as an attack. “Hannah, I’d like to say I know what’s best for my son, but I don’t. I’m just working on instinct here.” He paused and then added in a rush, “But I’m not totally without a plan. I don’t expect to take him away from his mother.”

  “And what does that mean?” Her eyes narrowed, but he shook his head, unwilling to explain how strongly he hoped that given time Mercedes would come to understand that he couldn’t live without her. Yet Hannah could always see right through him. “Brandon, suing for custody is not going to make a good impression on Mercedes. If you think she’s angry now, that won’t be anything compared to how she’s going to feel later. She’ll wish she’d never met you.”

  “Is that how you feel?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

  She shook her head slowly. “There are things I would have done differently, but I’ve never regretted knowing you. I loved our life together.” She leaned forward, blue eyes earnest. “Didn’t you? Weren’t we happy?”

  “Yes.” He let his eyes drop from hers.

  “I’m glad to hear that because lately I’ve been wondering if it was all a lie.”

  “It wasn’t.” The realization made him feel slow, as though he were slogging through a river of mud. “The truth is that if it hadn’t been for the cancer . . .”

  Their eyes met again, but this time hers looked away first. “And now it might be back.”

  “No!” His fingers tightened on the stack of photographs. “And even if it is, I
’ll beat it. Whatever the tests say, I’m going to be fine.”

  “And if you’re not? Do you remember why we got divorced? You didn’t handle the whole cancer thing well. You took your frustration out on everyone around you, especially me. Would it be different with Darrel?”

  “Of course it would. He’s a child. I’d be responsible for him.”

  “I was your wife. You were responsible for me.” The sorrow in her face was unmistakable.

  “What do you want me to do? Give up on my son?” He sat up and leaned his arms on the table. “I can’t do that. I feel a connection with him. I want to be a part of his life. I know I have something to offer him.”

  She picked up another photograph, this one of Brandon and Darrel playing with the dogs. The evening light angled in through the sheer curtains covering the window, and now that he was leaning forward, he could see tiny particles of dust dancing in the air between them. Fairy dust, Mercedes had once called it years ago.

  “I’m not saying you should give up any idea of a relationship,” Hannah said finally, tossing the picture onto the stack. “I’m only saying that perhaps you should wait and see what the tests say. Or maybe even wait until you’ve passed the five-year mark. He’d be older, and surely then his mother wouldn’t object to a relationship.”

  “I’d have lost four more years.”

  “And he’d have lived a happy, normal childhood without worrying about losing a parent from cancer.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “None of it is.” She reached across the table and took his hand. The light caressed her face, tracing the familiar lines as he had once done with his fingertips. “But you’re the one here with the responsibility. You’ve seen children lose their parents. You’ve seen their suffering, their heartache. What do you want for your son?”

  “If I’m well, waiting would all be for nothing.”

  She nodded. “Maybe so. Or maybe it would be a base for your future relationship. If you upset his whole family, there might be resentment there that would prevent you from ever having a real relationship.”