The Wrong Man Page 21

  She slipped the receiver back in its cradle, then collapsed against the pillow. It was lucky for the Honorable Vernon G. Belton that the interview wasn’t happening right now, when it would be tempting to tell the whole truth.

  But she’d long ago promised she wouldn’t. Besides, she mocked herself, she was only too practiced at dissembling.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT WAS NEARLY DUSK when Trent roused from a deep sleep. The cabin was dark and empty without Kylie. Groggily, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The events of the past twenty-four hours swirled in his brain, each one a drama in its own right, but nothing compared with the overwhelming relief he’d experienced when Dr. Coker gave him the news that Kylie would, most likely, recover completely. It was with reluctance that he’d left the hospital—and then only because Georgia and Gus were staying with Kylie.

  As he lurched to his feet, he shook his head in bewilderment. He’d expected Georgia to give him holy hell for allowing Libby to take Kylie skiing. He’d prepared nothing in his defense, knowing he deserved the full brunt of her anger and blame. Instead, to his amazement, she had entered the room, gone immediately to Kylie, who greeted her with the single word Grandma. When she turned to him it was with kindness, not indictment. “I’m so sorry, Trent. You must have been beside yourself with worry.”

  Her unexpected generosity had put him at a loss for words.

  Then Gus had laid a hand on his shoulder. “Son, it’s going to be all right.”

  “We’re here to help for as long as you need us,” Georgia added, and Trent remembered being overwhelmed by a sense of relief, despite his confusion about Georgia’s uncharacteristic kindness.

  When he and Weezer left the hospital together, she had stopped him in the parking lot. “Trent, has something happened with Libby?”

  The glare off the snow hurt his eyes. He reached in his pocket and put on his dark glasses. By way of answer, he merely nodded.

  “You’re tired now. Get some rest. But don’t wait too long to see her. You need each other now more than ever.”

  Weezer’s words continued to challenge him as he made his way toward the shower. He knew she was right. Yet he dreaded what he might find out when he talked with Libby. Beyond the miscarriage he knew about, had he fallen short in other ways? Or had their marriage been based on half truths? Was it even possible to start over?

  Under the shower’s pelting spray, he did come to one realization. If Libby had kept something from him, she must have had her reasons. From the look on her face when she bolted from the hospital room, whatever lay behind that one word babies was eating her up. If he loved her, and he did, he would listen with his heart.

  Something he had not done the day she had miscarried their child.

  AFTER JEREMY KANTOR’S call, Libby knew it was useless to go back to bed. Instead, she phoned Mary to tell her about Kylie’s accident. Although Mary urged her to stay home from school the next day, Libby knew she couldn’t accept the offer. Her sole escape from painful memories and the anguish of the present lay in the nonstop activity of her second-graders.

  She showered, washed her hair, dressed in navy slacks and a red pullover, then set out for the hospital, knowing she couldn’t function until she had seen Kylie again and reassured herself about her condition. She couldn’t even bring herself to think about Trent.

  It was a brilliant winter day. Hemlock and spruce trees stood in stark contrast to the azure sky and bleached white of the snow-blanketed mountains. Outside the hospital, Libby drew in deep, cleansing breaths of the pure Montana air, bracing herself for whatever awaited her inside. Trent? The Chisholms? Bad news?

  When she peered around Kylie’s half-open door, she saw Gus Chisholm sitting in the corner recliner with his head back and eyes closed. Georgia was standing over her granddaughter, singing a soft, off-key version of “Hush, Little Baby.”

  Tears started to Libby’s eyes. The look on Georgia’s face conveyed pure love, and the song she crooned was one Libby’s mother had often sung to her.

  “‘…and you’ll still be the sweetest baby in town.’” When the last note died, Georgia turned slowly toward the door. “Hello, Libby,” she said quietly.

  Libby ventured closer. “How is she?”

  To Libby’s amazement, Georgia reached across the bed and took hold of her hand. Nodding encouragement, she smiled. “She’s going to be fine.”

  “Thank God,” Libby breathed, helpless to prevent her tears. Wiping her cheek with her free hand, she looked into the older woman’s eyes. “I’m so very sorry.”

  Georgia withdrew her fingers from Libby’s grasp and pulled the sheet up closer around Kylie’s shoulders. “I held you responsible at first,” she said, her attention fixed on her granddaughter.

  Libby struggled to gain control of her emotions. “I don’t blame you.”

  “Yet when I heard what happened, I doubt whether even Trent could have stopped her.”

  A low voice came from the corner. “It was an accident,” Gus said.

  Georgia nodded. “After Ashley died, I had a desperate need to control my life by trying to protect Kylie—to protect myself from being hurt again. I now know that’s an impossibility.” She paused to regain control, then smiled tremulously. “Kylie’s been asking for you.”

  “She has?”

  “Yes. You are obviously very important to her.” Georgia hesitated, as if drawing courage for what she needed to say next. “And if you’re important to her, you’re important to us.”

  Libby’s ears rang, and a wave of dizziness engulfed her. They were forgiving her? All she could say by way of response was what was in her heart. “I love Kylie.”

  Behind her, Gus rose to his feet. “Young lady, I think I speak for both of us when I say we’re more than willing to let you be part of our granddaughter’s life.”

  Before, that might have been possible. Once, those words would have filled her with joy. Now? It was up to Trent. “Thank you” was all she could manage by way of response.

  She approached the bed and laid her hand gently on Kylie’s cheek. “Take care, honey. Do what the doctor says. All of us at school will miss you.” Her voice choked. “I will miss you.” Then she turned and, nodding to the Chisholms, left the room, anxiety, regret and sadness compounding her exhaustion.

  NO VISITORS WERE in the room when Trent arrived at the hospital, but Kylie was awake and asking all kinds of questions. She couldn’t remember the accident itself, only that Bart Ames had dared her to race. “I almost beat him, Daddy. I’ll do it next time.”

  The “next time” filled Trent with relief, as well as a measure of dread. “But it’ll be a while before you’re racing boys and skiing again.”

  “I know. My arm.” She rubbed her cast with her free hand. “But after that?” She looked up, eyes full of hope. “I did the ski jump, you know.”

  “Okay, when you’re well we’ll try skiing again.”

  “Sounds like she’s a chip off the old block.”

  Trent turned around. Gus stood in the doorway, a big grin on his face. “There must be a streak of daring in your family.”

  “Some call it stubbornness.”

  “That, too.”

  “Hi, Grandpa.”

  Trent stood aside to let Gus approach Kylie.

  “Hi there, honey. How’re you feeling?”

  “My head hurts. And my arm a little.”

  Gus picked up her hand. “That’s natural.”

  “Where’s Grandma?”

  “She stepped down the hall for a minute.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “Here I am, sweetheart.” Georgia entered the room, setting two cups of coffee on the bed table.

  “Did you bring me a Barbie?”

  Georgia’s laugh tumbled out. “You’re shameless. Not today. But tomorrow, I promise.”

  “Sounds as if she’s getting back to normal,” Trent said with a grin.

  Gus leaned against the closet door,
his arms folded across his chest. “Your Libby was here earlier.”

  He couldn’t be sure, but Trent thought he heard approval in Gus’s words. “I’m sorry I missed her.”

  “Weezer McCann told us Libby was here all night with Kylie.”

  “She was.”

  “Daddy?”

  Trent turned back to Kylie. “What, sweetie?”

  “I love Miss Cameron.”

  Trent didn’t know what to say. All bets were off for the moment, at least until he saw Libby.

  Stepping forward, Gus put his arm around his wife. “I think our granddaughter just said a mouthful, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  Georgia’s face, usually so perfectly composed, betrayed an internal struggle. “Trent, you know I had a difficult time accepting you as a son-in-law, but in the long run, you made Ashley happy. Kylie adores you.” She cleared her throat. “You deserve happiness. I won’t stand in your way.”

  Her words were so unexpected, Trent was afraid he might be misinterpreting the signals. The Chisholms seemed to be offering tacit approval. Before he could frame an answer, Gus went on. “Nothing is more important to us than Kylie’s happiness.” He gazed directly at Trent, as if communicating more than the mere words. “Whatever may be involved.”

  Overcome with emotion, Trent nodded, then found his voice. “I appreciate that.”

  Georgia drew away from her husband. “All right, then. That’s settled.” She picked up the two cups. “Now, who wants coffee?”

  “Not me,” Kylie said, and they all laughed.

  LACEY DIDN’T MINCE WORDS Monday morning. “Miz Cameron, are you sick? You look terrible.”

  And to think one of the reasons Libby loved teaching was the refreshing honesty of her students. “No, honey, just tired.” Weary as she was, she’d still had trouble falling asleep last night, especially after Trent’s phone call. They had talked only briefly, tension underlying every word. After an especially awkward pause, Libby had said, “I know we need to clear the air.”

  “I have some serious questions,” he said.

  Libby had sighed, acknowledging her responsibility to give him some serious answers. Finally they had agreed he would come over tonight after hospital visiting hours. When she’d offered to postpone their meeting, he’d declined. “I don’t think this can wait.”

  The students, sensing her edginess and worried themselves about Kylie, were subdued. Bart was especially cooperative, as if good behavior could somehow atone for his role in the accident. Several times during the morning, Lois and Mary popped in to check on her. At noon, Libby called the hospital and learned from Georgia that Kylie was doing so well she might be discharged within the next twenty-four hours. But throughout the day, Libby was aware she was only half-present with the children. The other half of her kept tiptoeing into the past, then retreating—the need to unburden herself overpowering, yet terrifying.

  If she could have, she would have slowed the hands of the wall clock, delaying her meeting with Trent as long as possible. That way she could cling to the illusion that she and Trent and Kylie could form a family. Regardless of the outcome of their conversation, she knew one thing with certainty. She would never stop loving him.

  FINALLY, late in the afternoon, Trent was able to stop by the office. It seemed a lifetime ago that he and Chad had sat side by side in the rescue chopper. When his partner saw him, he crossed the room and wrapped Trent in a bear hug. “Man, you’ve been through the ringer. How’s Kylie?”

  Trent gave him the update, then added, “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “It’s a helpless feeling, isn’t it? We’re used to being able to fix things.”

  Trent hoisted himself up on the counter, legs dangling. “I couldn’t fix Ashley. To have lost Kylie, well…” His voice trailed off.

  “From what you say, the news sounds encouraging.”

  “We’re not totally out of the woods yet, but it could’ve been so much worse. I stopped by to, you know, apologize for not being able to come to work. It may be a few days.”

  “Jeez, Baker, give me some credit. Nothing is more important than family. We’ll pull it all together here.” Chad tossed a clipboard at Trent. “There’s some more good news. Take a look. Two bookings for July. Partner, I think we’re in business.”

  “That’s great. Maybe this day’s ending better than it began.”

  Chad studied him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You don’t sound convinced. What’s up?”

  “Lib.”

  “God, man, you don’t blame her, do you?”

  Trent shook his head. “No. But…” Again he didn’t have the words. “Something’s come up,” he finished lamely.

  “Well, whatever it is, get it straightened out. The sooner the better. You don’t need any more stress.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “What I’m gonna tell you is that the woman’s good for you. So whatever it takes—compromise or apology—don’t screw this up.”

  Easing off the counter, Trent clapped an arm around Chad’s shoulder. “Thanks for being my friend.”

  “That’s easy. Now go on home or back to the hospital or wherever. But whatever this thing is with Libby, settle it.”

  When Trent left the office, he headed back to the hospital, preoccupied with Chad’s advice. Settle it. His stomach tightened. Tonight would tell the tale.

  AT DINNER, Libby could hardly eat a bite. Sensing something was wrong, Mona stayed close beside her, rubbing against her legs, then jumping up on the table when she started to grade papers. But it was useless trying to work. Her thoughts kept turning to the loneliness of her senior year in high school when Daddy was more often than not out campaigning in his first senate race. To Libby, their home had never seemed so remote, imposing or silent.

  Spring had come early to Oklahoma that year—the redbuds a riot of color, daffodils and tulips brightening the lawns. Ever after Libby would associate the fragrance of lilacs with that one ethereally beautiful moonlit night when every strand of hair, every pore of her skin, every hormone stirred with possibility. Surely she would remain eternally young, forever open to the sensations of a gentle breeze, the distant call of a mourning dove and the juices flowing in her eager, youthful body. And then to the caress of a hand on her breast, the hot moistness of a mouth on hers, the gentle nudgings and later the more insistent urgings, culminating in an initiation into the romantic rite of spring.

  Long ago she had destroyed every photograph of herself in her prom dress.

  Determined, she turned back to the worksheets in front of her. Just as she finished marking Rory’s, noting a degree of improvement in his work, the knock came on the door. In that instant she froze, knowing that the next hour could well determine her entire future. All her efforts to rehearse her explanation had been in vain. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t find the words to bridge the gulf formed by her secretiveness.

  When Trent knocked a second time, she slowly roused herself and headed for the front of the house. Opening the door, she realized nothing could have prepared her for the jolt of need coursing through her when she saw him standing there so tall and strong, his jaw resolute, his eyes full of questions. “Come in,” she said, not trusting her voice to say more.

  He rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “Hi, there.”

  The cold air filling the entry hall brought her to her senses and she closed the door.

  She started for the living room. “How’s Kylie tonight? She seemed better when I stopped in after school.”

  “Tired, but eager to get home.”

  Trent sat on the sofa and Libby sank to the floor, her back against the armchair. Mona crept quietly across the room and settled into her lap, her warm body and soft purr comforting.

  With strident urgency, the cuckoo clock struck, and for once, Libby had an impulse to pull it off the wall and silence it permanently. The way she had silenced herself.

  “Lib?”

  She slowly raised her head
and looked at Trent, who leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “I’m here to listen. But before you tell me, I want you to know one thing. There is nothing you can say or do to make me stop loving you.”

  A huge lump formed in her throat. “Don’t be too sure.”

  “I want you to start at the beginning.”

  Where was that? When her mother had married Vernon Belton, a man Libby was reasonably certain she hadn’t loved? The day her mother died? Or the winter when, desperate for companionship and love, she had begun to date Brett Perry?

  No, the secret she’d kept all these years had been born out of her stepfather’s insistence that no pregnancy was going to interfere with his political ambitions. With irony, Libby noted her Freudian slip. The secret born. If only.

  She glanced up again, her lip trembling. Quietly, Trent slid to the floor, sitting opposite her, his long legs stretched beside hers. Only when he laid a calming hand on her ankle did she dare speak.

  “I—I couldn’t tell you before. Couldn’t tell anyone.” Then she fell silent.

  “Couldn’t tell me what?”

  Desperate to avoid the question in his eyes, she looked around the room, but knew the moment could no longer be avoided. “About my other baby.”

  She heard him release a long sigh. “I thought so. What happened?”

  “The spring of my senior year in high school, I got pregnant.”

  “Who was the father?”

  “Just a boy I dated.” She paused, remembering how desperately she had wanted to be included with the in crowd, to have someone love her. And when she found out she was pregnant, she had pictured her future—the high-school graduation, followed by a garden wedding and then a tiny, perfect infant.

  “What became of him?”

  She sent him an arch look. “Brett wanted nothing to do with me and certainly not with a ‘stupid kid,’ as he so aptly put it. He had big plans. University, then law school. He couldn’t be saddled with a child—or with me.”

  “Damn,” Trent muttered.

  “Oh, it gets better.” She realized she was unleashing a flood of bitterness, but nothing could stop the flow of words. “Neither could my ambitious stepfather be handicapped by a stain on the family honor. God forbid, what if the media got wind of my predicament? He more or less bought off Brett and his family, then gave me an ultimatum. Get an abortion or forget about money for college.”