The Mother

Entering the kitchen, he found Grace at the stove. With the bacon sizzling on one electric eye, she busily poured whisked eggs into a hot skillet.

“What can I do to help?” he asked.

“Put on some coffee and fix the toast.”

As he set about preparing the coffeemaker, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She kept stirring the eggs, focusing her attention on the job at hand. “What more is there to say?”

“I guess you’re right. Until we know for sure if those little bodies are Blake and Shane, then …” He didn’t know whether he hoped they were his son and Grace’s son or if he hoped they weren’t.

She lifted the skillet and spooned the scrambled eggs onto two plates, then set the skillet aside. “You’d think that after all these years, it wouldn’t still hurt so much.”

Wayne poured fresh water into the reservoir and punched the On button to start the coffee brewing. He moved closer to Grace and slid his arm around her waist.

She closed her eyes. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

Wayne turned her in his arms, reached up, and wiped away the tears with his fingertips. He leaned down and kissed her closed eyelids as his unshed tears caught in his throat.

Zoe hadn’t said a word all the way home, and the minute they entered the house, she headed for her room.

“We need to talk,” J.D. told her.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Too bad. Come back here and sit down.”

Zoe plodded reluctantly from the hallway into the living room and slumped down on the sofa.

God, he didn’t want to do this. But he had to do it. He was Zoe’s father.

“What you did today—running off with Dawson—was not only irresponsible and thoughtless, it was dangerous,” J.D. said, doing his level best not to raise his voice.

Zoe remained sullen and silent.

“I expect you to acknowledge what I just said,” he told her.

She lifted her downcast gaze, her eyes bright with anger and a hint of tears. “It’s all your fault.’

Stunned by her accusation, he stared at her as he tried to figure out her illogical reasoning. “How is it my fault that you slipped away from Jacy’s aunt, who, by the way, was worried sick about you, and ran off with a boy who’d been drinking? How is it my fault that you could easily have been killed in a car wreck because he was driving drunk? And how is it my fault that you and Dawson were picked up by the police?”

“Because … ’cause …” She swallowed her tears. “If you’d just let me date Dawson, let him come here and let me go out with him—”

“You are fourteen years old. That’s too young to be dating.”

“My mother was dating when she was fourteen!” Zoe shouted.

“Yeah, and see how she turned out.” The moment the words left his mouth, J.D. wished them back. Maybe Carrie had been a very untraditional parent, maybe she’d been irresponsible and flighty, but she had been Zoe’s mother.

“How dare you say that about my mom!” Zoe shot up off the sofa. “She was a better parent than you are. At least she loved me.”

When Zoe ran out of the room, he cursed softly and called himself a few choice names, idiot heading the list. Why was it that no matter how hard he tried to do the right thing where Zoe was concerned, he always wound up making a mess of things?

Because you don’t know the first thing about raising a teenage girl. Because Zoe knows that you really don’t want her and that even though you should love her because she’s your daughter, you don’t.

Tam didn’t like it when Marcus was away, but in his job as a TVA engineer, he had to travel on a fairly frequent basis. Their apartment seemed so empty without him. He had phoned to let her know he had arrived safely and promised to call again in the morning before she left for work. The luckiest day of her life was when she met Marcus Lovelady, and the second luckiest day was the day they got married. He was such a good man. Kind, considerate, and reliable. And he loved her with his whole heart.

They had discussed having children and she knew that at thirty-four, her biological clock was ticking faster and faster. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to try to combine motherhood with a career. Although Marcus would be as wonderful a father as her own dad had always been, she doubted she could ever be half the mother her mama was. Besides, she wasn’t sure she deserved to be a mother. Not after …

That was over fifteen years ago. You were barely eighteen.

Tam poured herself another glass of Merlot, flipped on the TV, and kept the sound muted as she sat in her favorite easy chair. She glanced down at the wedding band and one-carat diamond on her ring finger.

She admired and respected Marcus. And she loved him. But had she cheated her husband by marrying him when she would never be able to love him with her whole heart? If she could give him a child, would that make up for the fact that she would always be in love with another man?

Oh, dear Lord, don’t think about him. He isn’t a part of your daily life and hasn’t been for a long, long time.

What was wrong with her tonight? Why was she in such a melancholy mood? Why was she thinking about him, remembering …? She didn’t want to think about him, didn’t want to remember the child she had aborted, a child who would be nearly fifteen now, almost as old as she had been when she’d gotten pregnant.

It had all been so hopeless, so impossible. And she had been so completely in love.

The saddest part of all was that he had loved her, too, just as much as she had loved him.

Tam gulped down the remainder of her wine and let the empty glass fall from her hand onto the carpeted floor beside her chair. She closed her eyes and allowed the memories to wash over her, warm and sweet like low tide in the heat of summer.

She could almost feel his lips on hers, feel their naked bodies joined, feel him buried deep inside her. She could hear his voice, deep and sultry, saying her name, telling her how much he loved her.

Tears escaped from the corners of her closed eyelids and crept slowly down her cheeks.

Tam wrapped her arms around her body and hugged herself as she sucked back the tears. Don’t do this to yourself. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

If only Marcus were there she wouldn’t be wallowing in self-pity. But Marcus wasn’t there to reassure her, to make her smile, to remind her of all her many blessings.

Tam got up, grabbed the receiver from the portable phone on the nearby desk, and dialed her best friend’s number.

Audrey answered on the third ring. “Hey there.”

“Are you busy?”

“Not really. What’s up?”

“Marcus left on another business trip this afternoon and I’m lonely,” Tam said. “I’ve been sitting here downing a couple of glasses of wine and am on the edge of a self-pity jag.”

“Want me to come over?”

“Would you?”

“Give me thirty minutes.” Then Audrey asked, “Have you eaten dinner yet?”