Carrying Hope (12 page)

“Yeah, it’s cleaner, at least. The flowers won’t bloom until spring, but I’ve at least got most of it all cleared out for them.”

“I brought you some soup. You’ll catch your death out here if you don’t warm up soon.”

I smiled, taking the thermos from her with a quiet thanks.

“What are you going to plant?”

I drank a big gulp of the steaming broth, warmth seeping into my achy muscles and cold bones.

“Tulips,” I answered, “they’ve always been my favorites and the bulbs will be able to stand up to the winter.”

“Oh, that will be lovely!” She enthused, clapping her plump little hands together.

I nodded in agreement, wondering if I’d ever be able to see my hard work come to fruition.

“What’s on your mind, dear?” Clara asked in a soft voice.

I smiled sadly, trying to reassure her.

“Oh, nothing. I’m just thinking.”

“What are you thinking about? I can see those wheels turning in that pretty head of yours.”

Was I really so transparent? It seemed like everyone in this house was a mind-reader. I wasn’t able to hide my emotions from any of them.

“As much as I love it here, I can’t stay forever. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

She clucked her tongue and draped an arm around my shoulders in a half-hug.

“I assure you, no one is going to kick you out. You can stay for as long as you want to.”

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to think that things could stay this way.

“I’m not sure the master of the house would agree with that assessment. I haven’t even seen him in the past week.”

Her expression changed from carefree to ominous in the blink of an eye.

“I know. I worry about him, too. But there are just some things that you have to let a man deal with on his own.”

“Maybe it’s for the best. I don’t know what I expected from him. He’s already done more than enough for me. I just don’t like feeling so helpless and dependent.”

She gave me a big hug, squeezing me tight.

“There’s no shame in needing a little help now and again, sweetie. No man is an island. We all need each other. The time will come when you’ll understand why things worked out the way that they did, but for now, try to just worry about one day at a time.”

“I suppose so…” I didn’t know if I really agreed with her; worrying about one day at a time wasn’t going to help me prepare for a baby I didn’t plan for. I didn’t want to argue with her though, she’d been so kind and wonderful to me since I arrived that I couldn’t bring myself to be argumentative. I knew she was only trying to make me feel better.

“I
know
so. Take it from an old lady who’s been around the block a time or two. Things never go according to plan, but they always work out for the best.”

“Thanks Clara,” I replied with a smile before drinking more of her delicious soup.

“You know, when I do leave, I might have to sneak back in for your cooking.”

I was pleased to see the tinge of color creep into her cheeks at my compliment.

“No one likes a kiss-ass, Marcie,” she joked, nudging me with her elbow.

“No, really. Even my Nana couldn’t cook this well.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” she said sheepishly.

A cold gust of wind blew through the barren garden, sending shivers through both of us.

“Brrr, let’s go inside!” I suggested through chattering teeth.

“You don’t have to tell me twice!”

By the time I finished my meal and cleaned up, Francis had a warm crackling fire lit in my room. After a long day of working in the garden in the cold, the fire warmed me throughout and made my eyelids heavy. I fell asleep curled up on the chair in front of the fireplace, never even making it to my bed.

Chapter 14

“So we’ve ruled out Jenkins, Martin, Farthings, and Trawley,” Tanner rattled off a list of names of Senators whom we’d eliminated from the pool of men that could possibly be my father.

Every day the list of possible suspects shrank. Every piece of new information that we gathered helped to cross another name off the list. My office was covered in pictures, biographies, and documents ranging from arrest records to travel logs.

“What about McIntyre?” He asked.

“Yeah, sure,” I responded distractedly, my eyes glued to the window that overlooked the garden. Every day for the past two weeks, Marcie had been working in the garden, toiling away. I asked Clara about it and she said that it was something that Marcie wanted to do to keep herself busy.

I certainly didn’t have any objections to her tending to my over-grown disaster of a garden. I had even fewer objections to her working in my direct line of sight.

When she bent over, I admired the curve of her hips and bottom. I remembered what that soft pliable flesh felt like under my fingertips and my body responded instantly. She still wore the same clothes that she’d arrived with: a pair of ratty jeans and an over-sized t-shirt that did nothing to flaunt her incredible curves. I wanted to offer to buy her something warmer, at the very least, but I remembered the last time I tried to buy her something. Her reaction was less than ideal.

I didn’t know why I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I tried to distance myself from her. I tried to focus all of my attention on our investigation. Still, every time I let my mind wander, it wandered straight to Marcie. She was beginning to be a huge distraction.

“Earth to Bryce?”

“Hmm?” I turned to face my best friend. He was clearly annoyed with me and I wondered how long I’d spaced out for.

“McIntyre. Do we have anything on him?”

“Um…” I began rifling through the papers that were stacked two feet high on my desk. We tried to keep things organized, but Tanner was too good at his job; he kept coming up with more information than we could reasonably process.

“Nope, cross him off. He was stationed in Germany for the pertinent years.”

I turned my gaze back to the window, briefly.

Tanner sighed, dropping the stack of papers in his hand in exasperation.

“Why don’t you just go talk to her?”

I looked at him as if an alien had just popped out of his head.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he sighed again.

“I thought you hated her.”

“I hate that she’s a
distraction
. Everything is taking us three times as long as it should because you’re so moonstruck over this chick. Just go talk to her, spend some time with her. Get her out of your system so we can get back to work.”

I still couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I convinced myself to stay away from her partly because of Tanner’s objections. Now he was practically pushing me out of the door.

“I know you want to, so why are you fighting it?” He prodded.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I want from her. I just can’t get her out of my mind.”

“I’ve noticed,” he replied with a glare.

“Yeah, I know I’ve been a shitty person to be around lately,” I conceded.

In the weeks following our D.C. trip, not only had I completely avoided Marcie, but my temper was on a shorter fuse than ever. I couldn’t stand being under the same roof as her and unable to touch her, taste her, and explore every inch of her soft creamy skin. I wanted to lavish her with gifts, but I knew she wouldn’t accept them. I wanted to try to woo her, but I still had reservations about the ethics of it all.

“Hey, maybe it’s like that hero syndrome or something.”

“Hmm?” I didn’t have any idea what he was talking about.

“You know, like when a chick is saved by a firefighter or something and she gets all hot for him?”

“So… I’m the chick?”

His broad grin told me that he planned for his joke to go precisely like this.

“Exactly! It’s not like a real attraction; when your brain is full of adrenaline from a life-threatening situation, you’re like more susceptible to forming a strong emotional connection.”

I rolled my eyes. Who had ever heard of such nonsense?

“That sounds ridiculous. You just made that up to call me a chick, didn’t you?”

“No! Really, I read it?”

“You did what?” I teased.

“I read,” he said petulantly.

“I didn’t know you could,” I joked, grinning at the way he narrowed one eye at me.

“Oh, not the pirate look, I’m in trouble now.”

“Oh, fuck you. Why don’t you go bang your firefighter girlfriend and get your fucking head back in the game.”

I cocked my head to the side, mulling it over.

“You know, I think I just might.”

“Atta boy,” he encouraged, giving me a smack on the back. A twinge of pain shot through me; my injuries still weren’t fully healed. I’d started wrapping my torso to keep my ribs in place and it seemed to help.

“Are you really sure you still want to do all of this?” He gestured to the whole of my office, inundated as it was with the proof of my obsession.

I was surprised at my own hesitation. What would finding my father accomplish? By this time he was probably an old man. He lived his entire life without having to face any consequences for what he did to my mother. Or did he? I didn’t know what kind of life he led. For all I knew he could be completely miserable. What did I have to gain from dedicating all of my time to this quest for vengeance?

I remembered one of the many conversations I’d had with my mother about my father. She was a beautiful woman; fair skin, dark curly hair, and eyes the color of grass after a fresh summer rain. When I had trouble sleeping she would let me rest my head in her lap and stroke my eyebrows. It was a small thing, but it always helped me relax.

It was during one of these nights, a few months before my mother’s last winter, that I brought up my father again. I knew my mother hated how desperate I was to know more about him. Looking back on it, it probably made her feel like an inadequate parent that I constantly obsessed over him.

“Mom, don’t you think my father would help us if we asked him?” The old wood-burning stove barely put off enough heat to ward off the autumn chill. My stomach grumbled, protesting its emptiness. I cringed, hoping my mother hadn’t heard the pitiful sound. She ate even less frequently than I did; I wasn’t about to let her sacrifice more of her meals for me.

She stroked my hair back from my forehead and I closed my eyes, listening to her steady even breaths.

“Sweetheart, I wish it was that simple,” she sighed and I felt guilty for bringing the subject up again.

“But don’t you think he loves you?…Us?” No matter how hard I tried to be angry at my father for abandoning us, a small part of me still hoped that he’d come back to us one day and we’d all be a happy family.

She sighed again; I felt her breath stir my hair as she tried to come up with an answer for me.

“Your father… He’s a very complicated man.”

“What’s so complicated? We’re his family!” I cried. I knew my father had another family. I also knew that he was wealthy and well-renowned and that my mother and I were starving. In my mind the solution was simple.

“No, Bryce. Your father already has as family. I’m sorry, honey. If I could change things, I would, but you can’t force someone to love you.”

My lip quivered and I turned my head to the side to hide the single tear trickling down my face.

“But I will
always
love you. Besides, I love you enough for two people anyway,” she said gently, bending to kiss my forehead.

“I know, Mom. I love you, too.”

My hands clenched into fists at the memory. At the time, I was naive, innocent, and hopeful. By the end of that year, my mother was dead and I was well on my way to becoming the bitter angry man I was today. As an adult, I had a better understanding of the intricacies of a relationship. I wasn’t angry that my father stayed with his family. I was angry that he
abandoned
us. I was angry at the great lengths he went to to cover up my existence and his relationship with my mother. I was furious that it was well within his power to save my mother and he did nothing.