Accidental Family (16 page)

She stood up. “Alan, wait...”

But he didn’t turn around. A few heartbeats later he was in the living room, his suitcase in his hand. He grabbed his coat, then turned at the front door, unable to hide the despair in his eyes.

“I never thought I’d find a woman I could love with my whole heart,” he said, his voice gruff. “With my soul. Maybe I don’t always say the right thing at just the right moment. I’m no damn poet. But I guess you’re right. We shouldn’t get married. Because you don’t know me at all.”

Then he was gone.

Rowena stood frozen for a moment as she stared at the door. Panic assailed her when she realized he was really leaving. For good. She ran after him, but he was already in the car by the time she reached the front step.

“Alan,” she called, frantically waving her arm in the air.

But he peeled away from the curb and drove into the sunset, not once looking back. The baby fluttered inside her, and Rowena placed her hands over it, the tears freezing on her cheeks.

“What have I done?”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

D
ARKNESS
CLOAKED
THE
village of Cooper’s Corner when Alan finally turned his car in the direction of Twin Oaks. He’d been driving aimlessly for hours, stoking the red-hot ember of anger burning inside him. Because if he let it cool, the raw pain underneath would be unbearable.

Rowena didn’t want to marry him. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as her words echoed in his brain.
If you had just once told me you loved me.

The irony almost made him laugh out loud, but his throat constricted instead. Hadn’t his father’s inability to express his love been one of the main reasons Alan had come to Cooper’s Corner? He was so certain he was different. He’d wanted to be a good father. To show unconditional love and support for his child. But how could he do that when the woman he loved didn’t even know it?

He slowed the car when the Twin Oaks Bed and Breakfast came into view. If the Coopers didn’t have a room available for him tonight, he’d have to drive to New Ashford or Williamstown. Why hadn’t he headed home? If he’d been thinking straight, he would have driven directly to Toronto and consulted with Brad.

But neither his mind nor his heart was quite ready to accept the inevitable.

He grabbed his suitcase out of the back seat, then walked to the front door. It opened into the large gathering room, empty and dim except for the glow of the dying embers in the hearth.

Maureen looked at him in surprise as she descended the staircase. “Hello, Alan. I’m surprised to see you here so late.” Then her gaze fell on the suitcase in his hand.

“Do you have a room available, Maureen?”

She studied him for a moment, then started down the rest of the stairs. “As a matter of fact, your same room is open. There was a couple from Rhode Island due in this afternoon, but they had to cancel their reservation at the last minute.”

“I guess it’s my lucky day,” he said wryly, then pulled out his wallet to retrieve his credit card. “I’ll just need it for one night.”

“How is Rowena?” she asked, concern etched on her forehead.

“Fine.” He scribbled his name in the guest ledger.

Maureen tilted her head, watching him. “
You
don’t look so fine.”

He tossed down the pen. “I will be. I’ve been through worse.” Only he wasn’t sure that was true. At least with the cancer, he’d had something to fight against. But this sickness was in his heart, and he didn’t know how to vanquish it. He missed Rowena already. Her smile. Her laughter. Her eyes. When they’d made love last night, something inside him had felt complete. Now that old emptiness was back, and he feared it would never be gone again.

“I know it’s none of my business,” Maureen said softly. “But Rowena is a good friend of mine. If there is anything I can do to help...”

“It’s too late,” Alan blurted. He hadn’t planned to talk to anyone about this except his lawyer. And maybe the nearest bartender. But the words spilled out anyway. “It’s over between us. Rowena made her feelings about me perfectly clear.”

Maureen arched a winged brow. “I thought her feelings about you seemed pretty clear at the Sweetheart Dance.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, trying desperately to hold on to his anger. “We both know she’s a good actress.”

Maureen started to say something, then pressed her lips firmly together.

Alan knew he’d probably irritated her with that remark, but he couldn’t get into this now. Not with his head pounding and his heart breaking. Maureen would probably learn all the details soon enough. He’d discovered in a very short time that you couldn’t keep secrets in Cooper’s Corner.

“Just do me one favor,” he said, picking up his suitcase.

“If I can,” she replied evenly.

“Rowena got another one of those letters.” He shifted his suitcase from one hand to the other. “From Max Heller. Make sure she goes to the police this time. Even if you have to drag her there....” His voice trailed as he realized this was exactly the reason she’d shut him out of her life—because he thought he knew what was best for her. “I just want her to be safe.”

“So do I,” Maureen said. “Safe and happy.”

Alan nodded, knowing he couldn’t do anything about the latter—except stay out of her life.

A child’s soft cry echoed down the hallway.

“Please excuse me,” Maureen said. “It sounds as if one of the girls is having a nightmare.”

He watched her walk away, then turned toward the staircase.

“Alan?”

He froze, the voice rolling over him like an echo from the past. He slowly turned and found himself looking at the last person he expected to see.

His father.

Alan stared at him until George Rand stepped forward. “Is this a bad time?”

He couldn’t have picked a worse one. But Alan still had trouble believing the man was here at all. “I suppose it’s as good as any.”

George waved toward the gathering room. “Do you mind if we sit down to talk?”

Talk.
After thirty-four years, Alan couldn’t remember more than a handful of times when he and his father had actually talked. “Sure.”

He watched his father walk to the sofa, noting how much older he looked. His hair was thinner and completely gray. He had a hitch to his step, as if arthritis had settled into one of his knees. His body was much heavier, too, with fleshiness in his cheek and jowl. It had been so long since he’d seen the man. Almost five long years. Alan couldn’t be sure he would have recognized him if he’d passed him on the street.

“I found the Twin Oaks business card you left in my door,” George said as he seated himself on the sofa.

Alan grabbed the wing chair across from him. “Almost three weeks ago.”

“I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here now.” George shifted on the cushion as if he couldn’t quite get comfortable.

That makes two of us.

“Yes.” Alan wasn’t in the mood to mince words tonight.

George let his gaze wander to the stone hearth, then back. He cleared his throat. “I wanted to know if you’re all right, Alan. I thought maybe you came here because the cancer had spread....”

“You couldn’t even bother to visit me during my treatments.” Alan bit the words out. “Why would I drive seven long hours to tell you anything when it’s so obvious you don’t give a damn?”

“That’s not true,” George countered, a mottled flush in his cheeks.

Alan shook his head. “Actions speak louder than words, Dad. Not that you ever wasted many words on me.” He rose to his feet, barely able to remain civil. “Look, if you came here tonight to find out if I’m dying, the answer is no. The treatments eradicated the cancer, and I have a full life ahead of me. A life I’ve gotten used to living without you in it. So you can just go back to pretending I don’t exist.”

He turned and took three long strides toward the staircase before his father’s voice stopped him cold.

“I did it for you, son.”

Alan whirled on him. “What the hell does that mean?”

George struggled to find the words. “It means...I wanted to protect you. Or maybe I was just too damn proud to let my son find out I was a drunk.”

He walked slowly toward his father. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

George met his gaze. “That’s because I knew how to hide it. Most nights, I’d come home from the bar so drunk I could barely stand up straight. Then I’d hide behind a newspaper and try to keep from passing out.”

Alan tried to comprehend what his father was telling him, but he kept remembering snatches of their past. How George Rand would retire to bed at a ridiculously early hour, usually long before ten o’clock. How he always carried a supply of peppermints in his pocket. Had he used them to cover the odor of booze on his breath?

“I was a closet drunk, Alan,” George admitted. “I could put in a full day’s work without any problem, but as soon as I punched out my time card for the day, I’d hit the bar. Then I’d drive home in a haze and not remember much of anything until the next day.”

“But surely Mom knew.”

George nodded. “I’m sure she did. But she never said anything. Or even asked me to stop. I think that was part of the problem.”

Alan clenched his hands into fists. “You’re blaming her for the fact that you were a drunk?”

“No,” George said hastily. “She was a wonderful woman. I think she truly believed she was helping me by not nagging about my drinking.” He got a faraway look in his faded brown eyes. “But sometimes I wonder what would have happened if she’d confronted me about it. Or even threatened to leave me. But that never happened, so I simply didn’t have a reason to stop.”

“Except for me,” Alan said bitterly, realizing his father had preferred spending his free time with a bottle rather than his own son.

George nodded, his voice growing thick. “When I found out you had Hodgkin’s disease, I finally realized how much time I had wasted.” He slowly shook his head. “That I might lose you before I got a chance to know you.”

“Did you really care?”

“Hell, yes, I cared,” George exclaimed. “For the first time in over thirty years, I cared about something more than losing myself in a bottle.”

Alan sank into the chair again. “So why didn’t you ever try to quit?”

“I did.” His mouth curved with a humorless smile. “Three times in the last three years. I swore to myself I’d get sober so I could help you through the treatments. The first time I lasted four weeks. The next time I made it for eleven whole months.”

“And the third time?” Alan asked.

“I’ve been clean and sober for almost two years. But I still want a drink every single day.” He looked at his hands. “I’m not sure I can make it, Alan. That’s why I never came to see you during your treatments. And why I almost didn’t come here tonight. I can’t stand the thought of letting you down.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I’m a weak man, Alan. And I’ve always believed a father should be strong for his son.”

“I didn’t need you to be strong.” Alan’s throat contracted. “I just needed you to be there for me. If you had just told me you loved me—that would have been enough.”

George looked at him. “I love you, son. I always have.”

Tears stung his eyes, and Alan realized how much it meant to hear the words spoken from the heart. Not flung out in anger, the way he’d said them to Rowena a short while ago.

Alan half rose from his chair to hug his father, but something held him back. Maybe all those years of distance between them. He really didn’t know his father at all. But for the first time, he believed that someday he would. And when that day came, a hug would be as natural as breathing.

“So if you didn’t come to Cooper’s Corner to see me,” George said, rapidly blinking back the tears gleaming in his eyes, “why are you here?”

He swallowed a sigh. “It’s a long story, Dad.”

“I’d like to hear it,” George said evenly. “But only if you want to tell me.”

Alan hesitated, then leaned back in his chair. “Well, there’s this girl....”

* * *

O
N
MONDAY
MORNING
, Rowena found herself jumping up every time the telephone rang. But instead of Alan, it was always one of her customers ready to fill her schedule once again. So much for her fears that Alan’s inquiries about selling her shop had driven customers away. Most of them told her they’d wanted to wait to make an appointment to be certain she was fully recovered from her ordeal.

When the doorbell rang shortly after ten o’clock, her heart leaped in her chest. She hurried toward the door, telling herself not to get her hopes up. After the way she’d treated Alan on Saturday, he’d probably never come back.

Maureen stood on the other side of the door. She took one look at Rowena’s face and frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Rowena forced a smile. “I’m fine.” She didn’t want to burden her friend any more. This was one problem she had to handle on her own. “It’s nice to see you. Come on in.”

“I can’t stay long,” Maureen told her, wiping her boots on the floor mat. “But I wanted to stop by because I finally have some news about Max Heller.”

Rowena took her coat. “Good news, I hope.”

“Unexpected news, anyway,” Maureen replied, then turned to face her. “He passed away a month ago, Rowena.”

She blinked in surprise. “But the letters...”

“Why don’t you sit down,” Maureen suggested, “and I’ll tell you everything.”

Rowena walked to the sofa, her mind spinning. This didn’t make sense. If Max was dead, who had sent those letters? And why?

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” Maureen asked. “How is the baby?”

“We’re both fine,” Rowena assured her, even though it wasn’t exactly true. She hadn’t been fine since Alan walked out the door. The problem was, she didn’t know how to get him back. Or if she should try. She kept waffling back and forth. Missing him terribly one moment and telling herself it was for the best the next.

Rowena settled back against the sofa. “Now tell me about Max.”

Maureen grew solemn. “He died of a drug overdose, Rowena. Apparently, he’s had a heavy cocaine and methamphetamine habit for several years.”

Rowena frowned in confusion. “He never touched drugs when I knew him. But if he’s dead, where did those letters come from?”

“My friend at the NYPD traced them to Max’s mother.” Maureen leaned forward. “She was devastated by his sudden death, Rowena. When the police confronted her about the letters, she broke down and told them Max began using drugs shortly after you broke up with him. She blamed you when his life started falling apart. After his funeral, she began sorting through his personal belongings and found letters he’d never sent to you.”

“But how did she know where to find me?”

“Mrs. Heller contacted the producer of
Another Dawn
on the pretext of notifying you about Max’s death. Her plan was to send you one letter a week. I still don’t quite understand why.”

“To make me pay for hurting her son,” Rowena breathed.

“Are you all right?” Maureen asked softly.

She nodded. “I will be. In fact, part of me understands Mrs. Heller. She loved her son so much, despite his flaws. That’s how a mother is supposed to feel, isn’t it?”