Baby, Come Back (16 page)

Room eighteen. He frowned. Would that room number be burned into his memory as another one had been?

Seven-twenty.

Alice's room number twelve years ago.

He shifted his gaze from the room number to the doorknob. Almost without a will of his own, he reached for it, twisted and stepped inside.

Sheri slept. She lay on her back, her hands curved protectively over her abdomen even in sleep. Her skin was pale, as white as the sheets, her eyes shadowed.

He crossed to her side hesitantly. He felt like both an intruder and monumentally out of his depth. He stopped by the bed. Curling his hands around the rail, he gazed down at her.

Emotion rose up inside him in a debilitating wave, threatening to swallow him, drowning out everything rational and controllable, swamping him with memories and regrets and wishes for things that had never come to fruition. That never would.

To me, she was always little Margaret.

The child he had lost.

Why hadn't Alice told him that she'd named their child? He would have liked her to have a name, would have liked to have known it. It would have given him a modicum of peace.

Alice had thought he didn't care; she'd thought he hadn't grieved at the loss of their child.

He'd never stopped.

Tears stung his eyes, and horrified, he fought them back. Men didn't cry. Men were strong. Emotionally invincible. They conquered civilizations and board rooms, they erected cities and built armies.

But could they feel? Could they love? He'd loved their little one, their little...Margaret. Alice wouldn't believe that, he knew. She thought he had no heart, and he hadn't been able to find the words to tell her otherwise.

Why hadn't he been able to? Why hadn't he found a way to show her? He'd tried the only way he'd known how. By being strong for her. By not falling apart.

But that hadn't been enough. It never would be.

What good was love if it couldn't be expressed?

Hayes moved his gaze over Sheri's sleeping face. And what of Jeff? He cherished his son beyond words, would lay down his life for him. And yet, he'd done everything wrong. So wrong that now, when his son should need him most, he wouldn't allow him close, wouldn't allow even a word of comfort from him.

Sheri whimpered and stirred in her sleep, her face creasing with discomfort. Hayes reached out and touched her hair lightly. Tenderly. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered. “You probably wouldn't believe me if you were awake. Jeff didn't. But it's—” His throat closed over the words and he cleared it. “It's true. I'm so terribly sorry.”

She stirred again, and he drew his hand quickly away. “I...don't express my feelings very well. I feel so lost with them. So inept. But I do have feelings. I do care.” He paused, grief swelling inside him. “I lost my grandchild tonight. And it...hurts.”

His voice thickened; his eyes stung, and he shifted his gaze to the window. “I know what people call me. Bradford-the-cold-heart. If only that were true. Then I wouldn't be standing here feeling like I'd been ripped wide and left to bleed to death.”

He returned his gaze to Sheri's face, touched her hair again, this time brushing it away from her cool forehead. “Alice and I lost a baby. A long time ago. Did you know that? Jeff never knew. We had decided to wait to tell him that Alice was expecting and then...

“I guess what I'm trying to say is, I understand what you and Jeff are going through. I know how much you both wanted this baby. Because...I really wanted my baby, the one that died.” He brought his hands back to the bed rail, and curved his fingers around it. “And it...hurt so much when we lost her.”

Hayes drew in a ragged breath. “It was never you, Sheri. I know you thought it was, but I didn't disapprove of you or think you weren't right for my son. I only thought he wasn't ready for marriage and a family. I thought he was too young.

“You're a brave girl, Sheri Kane. Braver than I am.” He made a small sound of self-derision. “And you probably wouldn't believe this either, but I'd be proud to have you for a daughter-in-law.”

Sheri's eyes opened and met his. They were a clear blue, unclouded by sleep or sedatives, and for long moments they gazed at each other.

“I do believe you,” she whispered, her voice weak with fatigue and despair. “And I think you...would have made a good father-in-law.”

Hayes didn't know what to say. He gazed at the teenager, his eyes swimming. Something about her seemed years older and wiser than her seventeen years. She had a way about her that made him feel at once comforted and at a total loss.

She reached up and covered his hand with her own. He curved his fingers around her cold ones, holding hers gently. “Where's Jeff?”

His expression must have said it all, because her eyes filled. “Go after him. He was so...upset. He needs you.”

Hayes shook his head, emotion choking him. “He doesn't...need me. He doesn't want my comfort.”

She squeezed his fingers. “He does. He wants it...more than anything.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and Hayes could see sleep pulling at her. He gazed at her face, her words running through his head. Did Jeff need him? If he reached out in the right way, would his son reach back?

Sheri could help him. She knew Jeff better than anyone, even himself.

He caught his breath. She
could
help him. She would know if he had a chance of salvaging his relationship with his son.

“Sheri?” She opened her eyes, and he leaned toward her. “Why is Jeff so angry with me? Tell me how to reach him. Tell me what I did wrong.”

A weak smile pulled at her mouth. “It's not what you...did. It's what you didn't...”

Her eyelids fluttered again, her voice was smudged with fatigue. Hayes leaned closer. “What, Sheri? What didn't I do?”

She forced her eyes back open. “He thinks you...don't...love him.”

Her eyes shut and her hand slackened in his. For long moments he continued to hold it, his head whirling with what she'd said, then he laid it softly by her side.

His son thought he didn't love him.

No wonder Jeff was so angry. No wonder he saw his father's every comment as a criticism, his every suggestion as a statement of dissatisfaction. The dilemma of Sheri's pregnancy had brought Jeff's feelings to a head because Jeff had been forced to state his mind and Hayes had been forced to disagree.

Guilt rushed over him. As did remorse. He racked his brain. When was the last time he'd said the words
I love you?
Had he ever?

A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he realized the truth. But he'd tried to show Jeff how he felt in other ways. By always being there for him. By teaching him right from wrong, by being strong.

It hadn't been enough. Not nearly.

Was it too late?

He had to find him. He had to talk to him. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to Sheri's forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you so very much.”

Heart thundering, Hayes let himself out of Sheri's room, then left the hospital. Dawn had begun to replace the dark; the glimmer of light on the horizon announced the birth of a new day.

Hayes stood in the hospital parking lot and gazed at the sliver of light creeping over the horizon.

Jeff had gone to the bridge where his mother had died. Just as he had the night of the storm.

Hayes shook his head. What reason did he have to think that? Jeff had probably walked home. Or was waiting for him at the car. Lack of sleep had affected his judgment—the Madisonville Bridge was miles from there.

Even as he told himself he had no reason to think Jeff had gone anywhere but home, he knew he was right. His gut told him. And his heart.

Hayes found his car and climbed inside. Ignoring logic, he headed for Madisonville, taking the back roads, thinking he might find Jeff at the side of one, walking.

By the time he'd reach the bridge, dawn had eased completely over the horizon, shooting the sky with spears of brilliant color. Relief rolled over him in a sweet, dizzying wave as he saw that his hunch had been right. Jeff stood at the center of the old bridge, hands at his sides, eyes on the water.

He hadn't realized until that moment that he'd been afraid for Jeff. Afraid he would do something stupid and desperate.

Hayes stopped the car and climbed out, closing the door softly behind him. Even so the sound echoed on the still morning air. Praying for the right words, he started up the bridge.

Jeff never glanced his way, never took his gaze from the water. He looked so young, Hayes thought, a catch in his chest. Too young to have had to face what he had tonight. Too young to be so alone.

Hayes stopped beside him and, not speaking, turned his own gaze to the water.

“How did you know I was here?”

Hayes turned and met his son's eyes. He saw that they were red from crying. His heart turned over. “I just knew.”

“Great.” Jeff let out a bitter, defeated breath. “You won again. Now, just go away.”

“No.” Hayes shook his head. “I'm not going to do that. I can't. We need to talk.”

Jeff's eyes welled with tears, and he jerked his gaze away, obviously embarrassed by the emotion.

He'd taught him that, Hayes realized. Taught him to be embarrassed by emotion. Taught him to be uncomfortable with it. Just as his father had taught him. He'd made so many mistakes.

Tonight he would take the first step toward righting them.

“You lost your baby, Jeff. It's okay to hurt. It's okay to cry. It doesn't make you less of a man.”

“No?” Jeff turned his head away, brushing at his cheeks. “When have you ever cried? When have you ever hurt?”

“Tonight. For you and Sheri. For myself.” He thought of Alice, and his chest tightened almost unbearably. “I still hurt.”

Jeff stood absolutely still, and although his son didn't look at him, Hayes knew he had his attention. “I can understand why that's hard for you to believe. I've been wrong about so many things. About how a man should live. About what other people needed from me.” He jammed his hands into his sweatshirt pockets. “About what I needed.”

Jeff turned toward him, his face twisted with pain. “You never needed anything. You were always so...in control. So fearless. I tried to be like you, but I...I always fell short.”

He'd never had any idea Jeff felt that way. He'd never had a clue. He shook his head. “For God's sake, son, don't try to be like me. I've been scared witless for so long that until tonight I didn't know what was real anymore. I do now.”

At his son's shocked expression, Hayes laughed, the sound tight and humorless. “After your mother died, I blamed myself. For her unhappiness. Her death. I was so busy placing blame I didn't have time to feel how much her leaving hurt me. I always thought in terms of how much she hurt
you.
“ Hayes drew is eyebrows together. “But I hurt, too. So much, the idea of loving someone again scared me to death.”

Hayes squeezed his hands into fists, thinking of all the things he wished he could change and telling himself the only way to change them was to go forward. To shape the future.

His and Jeff's future.

He met his son's gaze. “I always needed you, Jeff. I always loved you.” As he said the words, a dam broke inside him, spilling out warmth. And light. “I don't know why I couldn't say it before. I always thought it. And I always felt it. These past months, I've been terrified that it was too late for us, terrified that I'd driven you away. You're my son, and I don't know what I would do if I lost you.”

Hayes took a deep breath. “Have I lost you, Jeff? Is it too late for us to start being father and son, the way it should be? Could we try?”

For long moments Jeff stood, head lowered, unmoving. Then he lifted his eyes to his father's. The joy in them took Hayes's breath away.

“I'd like that, Dad.”

It was going to be all right. He hadn't lost his son.

Thank God.

Hayes hugged Jeff tightly. Jeff hugged him back. For long moments after, they stared out at the water, shimmering golden with the new day, lost in their own thoughts. After a time, Jeff turned to him, sorrow in his eyes.

“I know you didn't think I was ready, but I really wanted the baby. I don't know how, but it just became a part of me so fast.” Jeff drew in a ragged breath and tilted his face to the delicately painted sky. “It hurts. Really bad.”

Hayes swallowed, the helpless feeling he'd always abhorred washing over him. But instead of feeling as if he were losing something, he realized he'd found something instead. The ability to feel. To be a whole person, frailties and all.

A person who could love. Openly. And one who could hurt, too.

Alice.

Hayes caught his breath. He loved her. He had all along. And all along he'd been terrified of being hurt.

He would make her happy. They would make each other happy.

The truth barreled through him, freeing him. He had to find her. And convince her. He prayed he wasn't too late, that he hadn't mucked things up so badly she wouldn't look at him, let alone give him another chance.

Jeff turned his anguished eyes on Hayes. “Tell me how to make the pain go away. I don't know how.”

Hayes hugged his son again. Hard. “Time,” he said softly. “And love. Lots and lots of love.”

T
he house hadn't changed. Small and squalid, it occupied the middle lot on a rundown street in the worst part of Covington. Even the trees that lined the street looked beaten and sad. Alice shut off her car's engine, but didn't make a move to get out. She gazed at the structure's sagging front porch, its cracked and peeling paint, and thought of her own neat cottage, with its bright white walls and freshly painted shutters.

She'd come a long way.

Or had she? She looked down at her hands, curved so tightly around the steering wheel her knuckles were white, tuned in to her out-of-control heartbeat. She lived in a nice neighborhood now, in a lovely home; she had a good education, a good job.

Yet she wasn't so far removed from the frightened little girl who had hidden from her mother in a broom closet.

Hiding.

She'd been doing a lot of that. Hiding and running. Hayes had accused her of both, and although she hated to admit it was true...it was.

As she thought of Hayes, tears welled in her eyes. She fought them off. Not because she wanted to avoid her own feelings, but because, since walking away from him five hours ago, she'd cried enough to last a lifetime.

Lord, she loved him.

But she wouldn't look back. Today, this moment, she would move forward with her life.

Alice forced herself to let go of the wheel and open the car door. She took a deep breath and stepped out. She couldn't run from her past any longer. She couldn't hide from her mother.

The house may not have changed.

But she had. She'd grown up.

Alice slammed the car door and started up the walk. The front steps dipped as she stepped on them; the porch floor creaked and groaned. She knocked on the door, not even able to hear the sound of her own knuckles for the wild pounding of her heart.

Seconds ticked past. From inside she heard the sound of someone stumbling around. Ten a.m. was early for an alcoholic, Alice thought, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Especially for one who liked to binge at night.

How could she have forgotten that? From the time she was old enough to remember, she'd gotten her own breakfast, had gotten herself washed and dressed and off to school. Her parents had never been up before afternoon.

The door swung open; her mother stood on the other side, gazing at her with narrowed eyes. Alice's heart flew to her throat. She could make herself all manner of assurances about being an adult, yet looking into her mother's lined face, she felt like a child.

A child who expected the back of a hand.

Alice's eyes skimmed over Marge Dougherty. Her mother's face had aged tremendously in the years since Alice had seen her last. It was a face marked by every drink, every cigarette, every unkind and bitter thought. Her hair was grayer than Alice remembered; she wore an ancient housecoat and an unlit cigarette dangled from between her lips.

“Yeah?” she asked, lighting the cigarette with a hand that shook badly. “What do you want? It's early.”

Her mother didn't recognize her.

She could apologize, Alice realized. Make up some story about having the wrong address and escape. But if she did, she would never know the truth.

And she would never be free of her past.

She stiffened her spine. “It's me. Alice.”

“Alice?” Her mother squinted against the haze of smoke. “Son of a...it is you. My little baby, all grown up.”

Her little baby? She hadn't been that in a long time. If ever.
A knot of denial in her stomach, Alice hiked her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “May I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” She swung the door wider. “Make yourself at home.”

At home.
Alice followed her inside, gooseflesh sliding up her arms.
This place had never been her home, even when she'd lived here.

She moved her gaze hesitantly around the room, looking for something, waiting for something, although she wasn't sure what.

Her father, maybe? A feeling of dread? The ghosts of her unhappy childhood?

She took in the battered furniture, the coffee table littered with beer bottles, overflowing ashtrays and take-out bags. Nothing happened. No boogeyman jumped out to get her. It was just a room, shabby and unkempt. Nothing more.

No one could hurt her unless she allowed it.

Alice sat on the edge of the couch and returned her gaze to her mother. “You've been trying to reach me. Why?”

“Why?” Her mother arched her eyebrows. “Like I told you in my letters, I wanted to get together with my little girl. We've been apart too long.”

“I mean, why now?” Alice clasped her hands in her lap. “Why now, after all these years?”

Her mother drew deeply on her cigarette, coughing as she exhaled. “I'm all alone now, and I thought that being family and all, we should be together.”

Together.
That's the way she'd always heard families should be. It's what she'd always dreamed of. But her mother didn't even know her. She'd tossed her away years ago.

Alice tightened her fingers in her lap. “What you're saying is, now that you're alone, you want to be a part of my life?”

“Yeah.” Her mother narrowed her eyes, and snubbed out the cigarette. “That's what I said. We should be together. I'm your mama, after all.”

Mama.
Alice thought of Sheri and of what she'd been through, of how much she'd loved and worried about her unborn child, and tears pricked at her eyes.

In the months Sheri had carried her baby, the young woman had been a better mother than Alice's had been in all the years they'd been together.

Alice met her mother's eyes. As she did, she saw her mother for what she was—a woman who had had a hard life, but one who had never had the strength of character, or the desire, to better herself. A woman who had never cared for anyone or anything but herself. A person who was selfish and unkind. But not a monster. Not a larger-than-life being with the power to destroy her daughter.

Alice had given her that power.

As the truth of that began sinking in, layers of her childhood fears and pain began to fall away from her. Leaving her whole and strong. Unafraid.

She didn't need her mother's love or approval, she realized. Her mother was incapable of loving her. And that was okay. She loved herself. She approved of herself. She didn't need to be validated by her mother or anyone else.

She'd finally said goodbye to her past.

Alice stood. “I'm sorry, but it won't be possible for us to spend time together. Any relationship we had ended a long time ago.”

“What?” Her mother's face slackened, then tightened in fury. “Family should take care of each other. That's the way it's supposed to be.”

Alice sucked in a sharp breath, anger blooming inside her. Outrage that after everything her mother had done—and not done—she could sit there and spout words about family and responsibility. She fisted her fingers. “You know nothing about the way it's supposed to be. Being a family is about loving. About cherishing and protecting and sharing. Now that you're alone, you want me to take care of you. Where were you when I was five? When I was ten and fourteen?” She shook her head. “We're not family. We never have been.”

“You...can't do this,” Marge sputtered. “It's not right.” She followed Alice to her feet. “What kind of daughter are you? Abandoning your old mama when she needs you most? What kind—”

Alice stopped her. “I forgive you for how you treated me. As much as I can, considering I'm human. I give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that you didn't know any better, that your mother probably treated you just as badly as you treated me.” She started for the door, stopping and turning back to her mother when she reached it. She met her mother's gaze evenly. “I won't let you back into my life.”

“I gave you life!” her mother shrieked. “You owe me.”

Alice shook her head and opened the door. “I came here today because I believe people can change. And I believe everyone deserves a second chance. But you haven't changed and you don't want to. I don't owe you anything. I owed it to myself to face you one last time, and I did. You should be glad for me, glad that I broke the ugly cycle.” She stepped through the door. “Please don't contact me again. Goodbye...Marge.”

Alice shut the door, then drew in a deep, cleansing breath. The day tasted sweet and pure, the sunshine spilled over her, bright and healing.

She smiled. She
didn't
need her mother's love or approval anymore. She didn't need anyone's. She knew who she was, and she liked that person a lot.

She drew in another breath. She was no longer a needy and vulnerable little girl, hungry for love but certain of rejection.

She flew down the porch steps and to her car, feeling free for the first time in her life. Of the past and her fears. Of a need that had always left her feeling empty and lessthan.

She opened her car door and slipped inside. Catching a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror, she smiled. Then laughed. The past didn't matter. The girl she'd been didn't matter. She loved herself.

Hayes.

She'd expected something of him she hadn't been able to give herself. Trust. Emotional honesty. The courage to love no matter the outcome or consequences.

She'd been so sure he was going to reject her she hadn't given their relationship a real chance.

She shook her head. He wouldn't make her happy? He
did
make her happy. And he was as scared of being hurt as she had been.

He loved her.

And if he didn't, he should. She laughed again and started the car. She would prove it to him.

Pulling away from the curb, she left her past behind forever. And went in search of Hayes. And her future.

* * *

Hayes was nowhere to be found. Alice flexed her fingers on the steering wheel in frustration and turned onto her narrow street. She had tried his office, the hospital; she'd sat on his front steps waiting for him for nearly four hours. Where could he be?

On her own front porch.

She stopped her car in the middle of the street, forcing the driver behind her to slam on his brakes and earning the blare of his horn and shouted epithet.

Hayes looked up. Her heart turned over. Judging by the assortment of take-out bags beside him, all from the seafood joint down the street, he'd been sitting there a long time.

Waiting for her.

He loved her.

She squeezed her eyes shut. It had to be true. Why else would he be here, waiting for her?

The driver behind her honked again, and she started the car and maneuvered it into the space in front of her cottage, trembling so badly it took her three tries to get it right. Heart thundering, she turned off the engine and alighted from the car.

Hayes's eyes never left hers. He stood and watched her as she crossed to him, unmoving, his expression guarded.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and tilted her face up to his. In his eyes she saw something she never had before, but something she'd always longed to see. Hope blossomed inside her. “Hello, Hayes.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Hi.”

She motioned toward the bags. “Looks like you've been waiting awhile.”

“You could say that.”

And she'd been waiting all her life. For this moment. For him.
She took another step, then another, stopping when they stood face-to-face. She tilted her face up to his. “At the hospital I told you that unless you could tell me you loved me, we had nothing to say to each other.” She took a deep breath and said a silent prayer. “Do we have anything to say to each other, Hayes?”

He searched her gaze, his expression solemn. Then, without warning, he tumbled her into his arms. “God, yes. I love you...I love you...I love—”

She brought his mouth down to hers. Their mouths met and clung; they held on to each other tightly, afraid that if they let go the other would disappear.

After a time, Hayes drew away and cupped her face in his hands, touching her almost reverently. “I was so afraid of being hurt again, the way I was with Isabel, that I tried to keep you at arm's length. I told myself I was protecting you. I told myself that I would make you unhappy, that I would hurt you. But the truth is, I was protecting myself. I was certain
I
would be hurt. I couldn't see that I loved you until tonight, when I almost lost you and everyone else in my life.”

She smiled. “I was wrong, too, Hayes. I expected you to be someone you're not. Even though you're the man I love. Even though I love everything about you. Your strength and loyalty. The logical way you look at the world. The way you can express your feelings without ever saying a word.”

She touched his mouth with her fingertip. “The way you're doing right now. You're the right man for me, Hayes Bradford. You always will be.”

“I'll make you happy, Alice. I promise I will.”

She trailed a finger across his lips. “No,” she corrected. “We'll make each other happy. That's the way it's supposed to be.”

He kissed her again, this time taking her fully into his arms, possessing her mouth completely. A car full of teenagers drove by, and the rowdy kids honked and shouted. One of them recognized her and called her name.

Alice pulled back, her cheeks heating. “By noon Monday it'll be all over Hope House that I was necking on my front porch.”

He laughed softly. “We should have met on my front porch. It's more private.”

“I tried that.” At his look, she laughed and slid her hands around his neck. “While you were waiting here, I was on your front porch.”

“While I was here?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She leaned against him. “To the tune of about four hours. Before that, I went to see my mother.”

Hayes drew his eyebrows together. “But I called Maggie. She said she hadn't seen you.”