The You I Never Knew Part 17

"Of course not." The refusal flew from her, surprising her with its swiftness. Was she that settled in her ways? Certain that nothing unexpected could ever happen to her? Like a middle-aged matron, was she so inflexible that she couldn't imagine straying from a path she'd mapped out long ago?

"Brad and I have goals." She tried to convince herself as much as her father. "We've made commitments. We're building a life together, and I'm not about to change that just so Sam McPhee can get used to the novelty of having a son."

"Honey, believe me, it's not a novelty."

Something in the tone of his voice tugged at her, and she set down her gla.s.s. The mica lamps overhead cast radiant heat down into the gathering shadows of the room, and she couldn't help but think they resembled stage lights, showering over his broad shoulders, his magnificent hair, his face craggy with living and troubles. Was she looking at Gavin Slade the actor, or Gavin Slade the man?

"What do you mean, Daddy?"

"Knowing you've got a child somewhere in the world is like carrying a tube of nitroglycerine around. You're scared stiff all the time, scared you're going to drop it, or someone's going to jostle you and the world's going to explode."

"I'm not sure what this has to do with Sam."

"Maybe you should cut him some slack. Let him spend some time with Cody while you're here and see what happens."

"I was sort of hoping you'd spend time with Cody, too."

He wouldn't look at her. "He's not interested. What do I have in common with a sixteen-year-old kid?"

"You never know. Your airplanes?" She remembered the problem with Gavin's license and quickly changed the subject. "He likes the movies. You ought to give him a tour of the Lynwood."

"Okay, maybe I could screen an old movie or two for him."

The whole idea was, her dad should sit in there with him. But she stopped short of suggesting it.

"Always thought it'd be nice to renovate and reopen the place," he went on, surprising her. "I own the adjacent retail s.p.a.ce, too. Seems a shame to let it all just sit there."

"It sounds like quite a project," she said. "But first things first," she said. "We'd better concentrate on getting both you guys well in this next week."

They were silent with their thoughts during dinner, perfectly prepared and served by Tadao. Eyeing the young man as she helped him clear the table, she wondered if he was good company for her dad, if he was more than an employee. As a teenager, Mich.e.l.le had enjoyed the folksiness of the ranch help. Though it was always clear her father was the boss, there was a casual ease at Blue Rock she'd never known at her mother's house in Bel Air. At the ranch, they were like a big family. Though she had only lived a short time at the ranch, it was the only place she had ever really fit in. Despite being born in Southern California, she had never quite belonged there, never quite lived up to her mother's high style and standards. Once, long ago, she had asked her father why he had moved away from California, and he had said simply, "For the breathing room." One of the few things they had in common, she thought. There might have been more if Gavin hadn't- She stopped herself. Vowed she would not dredge up all bitterness, old regrets.

After dinner, Tadao gave her a covered tureen of soup and a turkey sandwich for Cody. She thought she had done a pretty good job playing it cool in front of her father, but when she said good night, the last thing he said to her nearly made her drop the soup.

"Don't put it off any longer. Tell the boy tonight, okay?"

Chapter 17.

Cody's mouth tasted rank when he woke up to find the evening news flickering in his face. He stared unseeing at the TV for a few minutes, trying to decide if his head hurt. Barely. When he held perfectly still, not stirring except to breathe, he didn't feel any pain at all.

Sam McPhee had given him some pills. The little brown bottle was on the counter. Maybe he'd take a couple tonight.

No, he told himself. Those were for Claudia. When he'd told her about his injury, her first question had been to ask what kind of pain pills the doctor had given him. She liked getting high on pills. Cody had done it with her once or twice, stealing some Darvons from Brad's sample kit. Brad was so lame, with his designer clothes and big plans, he never even noticed. Clueless, too, but that worked in Cody's favor. He could get away with a lot when Brad was around.

Last Friday, right before a school dance, he and Claudia had swallowed a couple of pills with mouthfuls of beer. The world had turned blurry and bright, and everything he said made Claudia laugh. He loved the way she laughed, shaking back her head with all those red curls and her voice going up and up with each syllable. She had a s.e.xy laugh. He'd walked her home after the dance-his mom was a pain in the b.u.t.t about not letting him drive unaccompanied at night.

On a storage bench in the darkened mudroom of Claudia's house, she had let him go almost all the way. Cody got a hard-on just thinking about those soft curves and soft lips. She had this amazing way of sucking his tongue that made him nuts. Her spicy-smelling perfume and her taste of Zima and Lifesavers got him higher than any pills could.

Inside the house, someone had flicked on a light, interrupting the magic. He knew Claudia would let him go all the way the next time. They just needed a little more privacy.

But he never got the chance. The very next day, Cody's mom had dragged him all the way out here to the middle of nowhere so he could work his b.u.t.t off on some guy's ranch and get kicked in the head by a horse.

By the time his mom came in from the main house, he'd worked himself into a lousy mood. And she, of course, put on that chirpy smile of hers. "Tadao sent you soup and sandwiches. You hungry?"

He was starving after that nap. "I guess."

"Stay there. I'll bring your dinner on a tray."

"Okay."

"How's your head?"

"Hurts when I move it."

She banged around in the kitchenette for a few minutes, then walked into the den with a tray of soup in a mug, a sandwich, and a gla.s.s of milk.

"Thanks." For some reason, it annoyed him that there was a sprig of parsley floating on top of the soup and that she'd cut the sandwich into triangular halves. His mom was always doing stuff like that, trying to make a nice thing nicer.

Maybe it was because she was an artist. Once, when they'd moved to the new town house next door to Brad, Cody had taken a look at some of her old paintings and drawings. Incredible, wild stuff, tons of it, nothing like the ad layouts she did for work. He couldn't believe his own mother used to paint stuff like that. It was almost scary.

While he ate, his mom had the news on, but she didn't seem to be paying much attention. In fact, she seemed jumpy. Scared about the transplant thing, he figured. It was too gross to think about, but from the second she'd heard about her dad's sickness, she'd insisted on going through with it.

"I have to do this. I want to," she'd told him and Brad. "The transplant works best from a living, related donor-a blood relative."

Deep inside Cody lay the knowledge that his mom wasn't Gavin Slade's only blood relative. But when he thought about surgeons cutting him open, taking out a whole organ, for chrissakes, he couldn't even speak, much less volunteer as a donor. So he kept his mouth shut and let his mom be the martyr.

"You want seconds?" she asked.

"Nope, I'm full."

"Dessert? There's ice cream in the freezer, and a bag of cookies-"

"No thanks." His voice had a rude inflection, and she flinched, but he didn't care. After telling him to save her some of his pain pills, Claudia hadn't found much to talk about, and their long, awkward silence echoed in Cody's ears now.

His mom took the tray away and returned to the living room. Cody reached for the remote to turn the channel to MTV, but she intercepted him, grabbing the device and killing the power.

He glared at her, surprised and affronted. "What gives, Mom?"

"I need to talk to you about something."

"Yeah?" He was starting to feel bored already. Maybe she was feeling nervous about the surgery, and she wanted to say how much she loved him and all that s.h.i.+t in case something went wrong during the transplant. It was the last thing Cody wanted to discuss.

"Yes." She tucked one foot up under her in the chair and picked up a throw pillow, her right index finger fiddling with the ta.s.sels. "This is serious, Cody. I need you to pay attention."

He lifted both hands in an exaggerated shrug, even though it hurt his head. "Do I look like I'm going anywhere?"

"I, um, I need to talk to you about the man who fathered you."

Holy c.r.a.p. Cody felt himself come to full alert. He forced himself to stay still on the sofa, his face expressionless and his voice bland when he said, "Yeah? You said he was just some cowboy, and you'd never seen him again."

"That's true. I mean, I thought it was true. But he's living here, Cody. In Crystal City. I had no idea where he was until I saw him Sat.u.r.day night."

Oh, man. He didn't know what to do with himself, with his hands, with his eyes, with his mind. So his mouth said a lazy, "No kidding."

But his brain went into overdrive. He tried to picture the crowd at the rodeo arena. All he remembered from Sat.u.r.day night was the girl named Molly Lightning. And a ma.s.s of people who looked like hicks and hillbillies.

"I wouldn't kid about this, Cody."

"So who's the guy?"

Her finger kept twirling the ta.s.sel, faster now. "It's... Sam. Sam McPhee."

"Whoa." The exclamation escaped him before he could stop it. His heartbeat sped up. A father. He had a father. Sam McPhee was his G.o.dd.a.m.ned father.

It was too weird, knowing now, after all the years of imagining, who he was. Stranger still knowing Sam and his mom had been bonking each other as teenagers.

"Thanks a lot for never telling me, Mom."

"I didn't know how to tell you. It was a shock, seeing him so unexpectedly." She hugged the pillow up against her chest. "And really, we've been so busy, this is the first chance I've had."

Suddenly, in the place in his life where there had been a blank picture frame, a face showed up. A cowboy's face, tan and lean, some guy dressed in a plaid flannel s.h.i.+rt and Levi's. A guy with big hands and a screw-you att.i.tude. A guy who made his voice go all serious while he was sewing Cody up with the same big hands he'd used to heft a wheelbarrow full of manure.

Christ. Sam McPhee. His father. There was an earthquake heaving up inside Cody. The world was rearranging itself, and he had no idea what it would look like when things settled.

"Cody?" His mother's voice was light, quavery. He hoped like h.e.l.l she wouldn't start bawling or trying to get him to talk about his feelings. "Is there anything... you want to say?" Her voice kept wobbling.

He wanted to say everything, and nothing. He wanted to yell at her for keeping this huge secret from him. He wanted to ask what was so G.o.dd.a.m.ned wrong with him that he didn't deserve to know his father. He wanted to hide behind a wall and wait for the world to return to normal.

But most of all, he wanted to know the answer to one big burning question.

"So does he know... who I am?"

"Yes."

"s.h.i.+t, you told him before you told me? Thanks a l-"

"I didn't tell him. He figured it out based on your age. Or, I guess it was your age. Might have been something else."

"What else?"

"You're alike in... subtle ways. The way you hold yourself sometimes, I suppose. Certain movements. It's hard to say." She started picking at the ta.s.sel. It was driving him crazy, the way she kept fidgeting. "But I imagine it was your age. He realized you were born just a few months after we... after I-"

"After he f.u.c.ked you," Cody exploded.

He heard his mom draw in a breath, but he didn't look at her. Gripping the arm of the couch, he pushed himself up. Battling a wave of dizziness, he stalked down the hall to his room and slammed the door as hard as he could.

d.a.m.n it. G.o.dd.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l. Now what was he going to do?

Chapter 18.

Oh, that went well, thought Mich.e.l.le. With a savage tug, she jerked the stupid ta.s.sel off the stupid pillow. Then she tossed both pillow and ta.s.sel aside.

Her cheeks were on fire. Her insides-stomach, heart, throat-were all on fire.

After he f.u.c.ked you.

Cody's words hung in the room. She couldn't hide from them. She couldn't make them not be true. She couldn't make them not hurt. Sure, he had much worse problems than using foul language, but the moment seemed to crystallize all their issues into a single, sharp hammer blow of a syllable.

She wanted to go to him, sit at the side of his bed, tell him she knew, she understood what a shock this must be, yet it didn't change anything between them- But it did. It already had. She couldn't put things back the way they were.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, she stared at the blank screen of the TV, then at the wall shelves filled with old novels and knickknacks. She wondered if the knickknacks had any meaning, or if Martha Stewart had been a guest here, putting dried flowers in rusty horseshoes and making an umbrella stand out of an old cowboy boot.

Cody's furious reaction had thrown the universe out of whack for her. He'd been rebellious lately, but in a strange way it had seemed like a manageable anger, not some out-of-control dark substance that hardened, like coal into diamond, into indestructible hate.

Dry-eyed, she forced herself to a.s.sess the situation. Minimize the problem. He was in shock over finding out about Sam, but the shock would fade, and he'd be back to his old self again. She and Cody would be here only a short time. After that, there would be no need to come back.

I just stopped by to drop off a kidney and save my dad's life. Then I'm out of here.

Sam claimed he wanted to know his son, to get involved, but his involvement ended the day he skipped town seventeen years ago. The only reason she had told Cody was that it felt deceptive not to. She didn't owe Sam a thing. He didn't owe her a thing.

And really, she had no business thinking about him.

She picked up the phone and dialed Brad's number. He needed to hear this, too. Would he worry? Feel threatened?

Early on in their relations.h.i.+p, he had asked about Cody's father, and she'd told him exactly what she always told Cody-a youthful mistake, they'd never been in contact, she had no idea where he was.

That had all changed now.

Sam McPhee was real and rock solid. He had a career and a ranch and a business partner and the respect of a town that had once kicked him in the teeth.

He had large gentle hands and a way of watching her that brought warmth to forbidden places inside her.

She hung up the phone when Brad's answering service picked up. He'd always hated answering machines, so he paid strangers to take his messages for him. She couldn't imagine telling a stranger what had just happened. What would she say? "Tell Brad to call me, because I just told my son who his real father is, and now he hates me."

The phone rang, startling her. She grabbed it, praying it would be Brad. He'd never been the sort of guy who popped up just when she needed him, but she kept thinking he would be one day.

"h.e.l.lo?"