He couldn’t make himself believe it, though. For one thing, he’d learned from a former classmate he’d run into last month in the men’s department at Marshall Field’s that Cate had been a widow for several years. She and her fifteen-year-old son were living in Beckwith. The most elementary of calculations had told him the boy wasn’t his.
The practical man in him knew that attempting to take up where he’d left off with her could mean setting himself up for a fall. For one thing, she might have a new man in her life. For another, her son might object to him. It was anybody’s guess what, if anything, he’d been told about his mother’s past. It went without saying that her parents would be against it.
He hadn’t volunteered for the assignment in Beckwith just to worry about what the McDonoughs might prefer. He wanted to see her, dammit. Find out if there were any embers. Ask why she hadn’t written to him. If he didn’t avail himself of the chance, the kind of personal life he wanted would continue to elude him. He would just keep asking the same old questions. Once and for all, something had to be resolved with Cate.
I wonder if I should call her, he thought. Or let fate decide whether or not we bump into each other. Phoning didn’t seem like a viable option. For one thing, he might get the boy.
And if she said hello? What would he say then? It would kill him if she hung up on him.
Bidding Brenda goodbye in the school parking lot, Cate dropped off the fliers at the home of the Save Our Town Committee chairman and ran by her in-laws’ place with some secondhand paperback novels she’d collected for Larry’s father. A once-robust man who was now a shadow of his former self, Russ Anderson spent most of his time these days in a wheelchair in front of the television set. The family breadwinner, his wife, Beverly, wasn’t home yet. According to Russ, she’d gone to the bank to cash her paycheck and on to Clingers’ for the week’s groceries.
His welcoming hug and usual question, “How’s that grandson of ours?” swam guiltily in Cate’s thoughts alongside fevered imaginings of what it would be like to see Danny again as she drove home.
Dressed in his newest baggy jeans and favorite leather jacket, Brian was waiting for her when she walked in the door.
“Hi, Mom,” he greeted her with his most appealing grin. “I was wondering if, um, you could let me have a couple of bucks. Shawn and Bill want me to go with them to Ryersville for pizza.”
Even before she’d learned he was back in town, Cate had begun to see Danny in Brian every time she looked at her son. They had the same blue eyes, identical heart-tugging grins. The baggy, in-style clothes, the modest earring Brian had started sporting in one ear and the longish, bleached-blond thatch that sat atop his neatly cropped, naturally dark hair like an overturned bowl did little to hide his resemblance to the man who—without knowing it—had cooperated in giving life to him.
Neither Brian nor his natural father knew of the other’s existence. For her son, Cate realized, the word Dad conjured up the memory of quiet, sweet-natured Larry Anderson, who’d worked full-time in her father’s store at the time of his conception. Friendly but diffident whenever she’d come in, Larry hadn’t given any sign he might be interested in her. At least, none that she’d noticed. Of course, he’d told her later that she hadn’t been paying attention. Whatever the case, she’d been amazed when he’d stepped forward, offering himself as a substitute husband and father after overhearing her parents discuss the “fix” she was in.
“Don’t you have any homework?” she asked, her thoughts split between Brian’s request and the dark-haired man from her past who, at that very moment, was somewhere in Beckwith.
Brian rolled his eyes. “It’s Friday night, Mom. Get real. I’ve got all weekend to do that stuff.”
She decided not to call him on a response that felt a tad disrespectful to her. “Well, what happened to your allowance?” she asked instead. “I gave it to you early…on Wednesday. Remember?”
He had the grace to squirm a little. “I guess you could say I spent it.”
“On what?”
“CDs, if you must know.”
“No more heavy metal, I hope.”
If so, he didn’t own up to it. “I’ve been using my earphones the way you asked me to,” he pointed out. “Can I have the money?”
Danny’s proximity kept whispering in her ear. “How much do you need?” she asked.
“Eight dollars ought to be enough.”
Cate supposed it wouldn’t break the family bank. At age sixteen—fifteen according to what he believed and what the doctored copy of the birth certificate in his official school records proclaimed—Brian was three-quarters grown and getting restless with maternal constraints. Still, he was basically a good kid. To date, unlike some of his classmates, he’d managed to keep out of trouble.
“Who’s driving?” she asked.
“Billy. Shawn’s mother needed the car this evening. The guys are gonna leave without me if I don’t get a move on. Say yes.”
Billy Burnett and Shawn Randazzo were both seniors, whereas Brian was a lowly sophomore. They’d begun to include him in their extra-curricular activities when he was picked for the varsity football team. Of the two boys, Billy was the most conscientious, not to mention the better driver.
About to lecture him about the need to do a few odd jobs if he wanted spending money over and above his allowance, Cate held her tongue. Won over by his patience and her strong love for him, she dug in her purse. The five and three crumpled ones she handed him would have to be deducted from the grocery money. “Behave yourself, okay?” she said. “You’re a varsity athlete now. A model for younger kids, with a reputation to uphold.”
The admonition was a compliment in disguise and Brian seemed to sense it. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, shoving the money into his pocket. His buddies hadn’t arrived yet and, abruptly, awkwardly, he planted a kiss on her cheek.
Thoughts of Danny, his calloused but exquisitely sensuous fingertips caressing her skin, his heated kisses, swarmed like bees around Cate’s head as she made her way into the kitchen and heated a can of tomato soup. Part of me can’t help but hope against hope that he’s carrying a torch for me, she thought as she ate it, even if it might set off a chain reaction that could spiral out of control. Yet she guessed the likelihood of that happening was practically nonexistent. He’d have phoned after Larry died if he still had feelings for me, she thought. I’ll bet any given time he has dozens of women swooning over him. Meanwhile, she’d been like Rapunzel in the old-fashioned fairy tale, waiting to let down her hair for the only man she’d ever wanted.
She was upstairs an hour or so later, putting on her nightgown with the idea of getting into bed and trying to focus on a novel until Brian came home when she was electrified by the rattle of pebbles against her bedroom window. Goose bumps of disbelief washed over her. During their courtship, it had been Danny’s way of letting her know he’d come to call without using the doorbell. Could it be that he’d come over without phoning his first night back in town—and used the same calling card for old times’ sake? Or was she the victim of pranksters, a disgruntled student? Her hands shook slightly as she fastened her robe firmly about her waist and drew back the curtains.
He was standing in shadow, well beyond the trapezoid of light that spilled from her window. Yet she recognized him immediately. His power and maturity drew her like a magnet. Thank God I gave Brian the money to go to Ryersville, she thought. I wouldn’t want him to watch me go through this.
Below, Danny motioned for her to open the window. She obliged with mixed emotions, Pandora lifting the lid on a box of troubles, a banished angel hungry for a glimpse of paradise.
“I’m back, Cate,” he announced in the rough-edged, faintly mocking voice she still heard sometimes in her dreams. “Come down and say hello.”
She couldn’t deny how much she longed