This Calder Sky (36 page)

“I'd still rather go to my uncle's ranch in Montana,” Ty grumbled.

“That's enough discussion for now, Ty,” Phillip advised and changed the subject to one less painful to his wife. But the whole subject needed to be straightened out. Phillip waited until dinner was finished and Ty had excused himself from the table before bringing it up again. “Ty should meet your brother, Elizabeth. After all, Culley is the only uncle he has.”

“I'll invite Culley to come to California.”

“He won't come. He didn't come to your graduation or our wedding. He's always too busy,” Phillip reminded her. “Besides, it's the ranch Ty really wants to see.”

“It's just a phase he's going through. He'll outgrow it,” she stated.

“I seriously doubt it, Elizabeth. Ty is a natural horseman. That isn't something he is going to outgrow,” he reasoned.

“I don't care. He isn't going to Montana—now, or ever.” She resented that Phillip was taking Ty's side in this.

“What happens when he's older? When you can't tell him anymore what he can and can't do?” He studied her close-mouthed expression and sighed. “Elizabeth, Ty has the right to be told he's adopted. I've said it before.” That was one of the few points in their life on which he disagreed with his wife.

“What would it change? What would it accomplish, except to confuse him? Ty believes you're his father. You
are
his father,” she insisted.

“And if he finds out someday?”

“He won't. He won't ever find out.”

With a heavy sigh, Phillip let the subject drop. Maggie simply refused to see the trouble that lay ahead. It worried him, but, as in all things, he gave in to her wishes and held his silence.

PART VI
 

A sky of union,
A sky complete,
This sky that watches
Two Calders meet.

Her fingertips lovingly caressed the photograph of the lean, gray-haired man while her eyes misted over with tears. “My darling Phillip,” Maggie whispered, “we had ten wonderful years of marriage. I shall always treasure that.” It was still so hard to accept that he was gone, taken from her so quickly, without warning, the victim of a massive coronary two months before.

She looked around the room they had shared, scattered with boxes packed with his clothes slated for donation to a local charity. She had postponed this task for so long, knowing how empty the room would seem without his things. Her glance fell on the family Bible on the bedside table. It had been tucked away on a closet shelf. Everything seemed so final now that she had entered the date of Phillip's death in the record.

A car roared up the private lane, its unmuffled motor shattering the night's stillness. From the paddocks, a horse trumpeted its alarm. Maggie glanced at the luminous dial of the clock on the bed's nightstand. Ty was supposed to have been home over an hour ago.
The combination of his fifteenth birthday and his father's death had convinced him that as the man of the family, he could take liberties with the rules. To make matters worse, Jeff had just turned sixteen and obtained his driver's license, so there was always transportation available for Ty.

Reaching for her satin robe lying at the foot of the bed, Maggie pulled it on as she hurried out of the master bedroom, where she now slept alone. She was halfway down the white staircase when she heard the front door slam and the car revving its motor as it reversed out of the drive. A light was already on in the living room. The reason for it became apparent when Pamela wheeled her chair into the foyer.

“Hello, Ty. Did you have a good time tonight?”

The question irritated Maggie. Pamela virtually encouraged Ty with her attitude that anything he did was perfectly all right. It was undermining what authority Maggie did exercise over her son.

“You should have come with us, Pamela. It was great!” At fifteen, his voice was changing, cracking out of its low octave to the high squeak. “Have you ever been to a rodeo? Man, it's exciting!”

“Ty, do you realize what time it is?” Maggie came the rest of the way down the stairs, more upset than she might have been because of Pamela.

“I'm sorry, Mom.” He wasn't very successful at looking contrite. An inch short of six feet, he was starting to fill out in the shoulders and chest. His height and his heavy-boned features made him look older than he was. There was just enough fuzz on his cheeks that he had to shave, which really made him feel like a man. He had naturally respected Phillip's authority because he had been a man, but he regarded Maggie's orders with a kind of indulgence, as if he had to humor her because she was a woman. “But the bull-riding was the last event. Jeff and I didn't want to miss it.”

“Am I supposed to ignore the fact that you are more than an hour late coming home?”

“Oh, Elizabeth,” Pamela rebuked her sternness. “It isn't as though Ty had been to some wild party and come home drunk. It was all very innocent.”

“If you don't mind, Pamela, I will handle this,” she retorted, fed up with the woman's constant interference. It was difficult to believe she had once regarded her as a model of what she wanted to be. It had only been superficial. She often pitied Pamela because of the emptiness of her life, but it was empty because Pamela was essentially empty. It was something she had been slow to discover. It was only after Maggie had joined the executive staff of an international charity organization, where her facility with languages was so useful, and she had tried to interest Pamela in some volunteer work, that she realized Phillip's sister was a very shallow person, unable to help herself or anyone else. It was more than her body that was crippled.

“You are much too strict with him, Elizabeth,” Pamela criticized.

Controlling her temper with an effort, Maggie turned calmly to her son. “Ty, will you please go upstairs and wait for me in
my
room?” She waited silently while he climbed the stairs and she heard the door to the master bedroom close. Then she faced her sister-in-law. “Don't ever interrupt again when I am reprimanding my son, Pamela. I won't stand for it anymore.”

“What have I done?” She looked properly astounded.

“You encourage Ty to disregard what I say. I will not tolerate any more interference from you on matters that are strictly between me and my son.”

“I will not be told by you how I shall conduct myself in my own house!” Pamela flared. “In case you have forgotten, this is my house!
You
are merely a guest.”

“Yes, this is your house. Phillip left it to you, and I'm
glad he did. But, in case you have forgotten, Ty is my son. If I leave, he will go with me.” She considered that thought a moment. “Maybe it would be for the best, because it seems certain that you and I are not going to be able to get along.”

“You can't be serious!” The possibility frightened Pamela.

“If you and I can't come to an understanding about Ty, I don't see where I have an alternative.” Maggie pivoted with a swirl of her satin robe and ascended the stairs to the second floor. She didn't want to leave this house, where she and Phillip had lived so happily. It was filled with so many fond memories. Perhaps threatening to leave would be sufficient.

As she entered the master bedroom, she automatically glanced around the room to locate her son. He was seated on the side of the king-sized bed, his back turned to her, his wide shoulders slightly hunched. There was a dazed, pained look to his expression that brought a frown to Maggie's face.

“Who is Chase Calder?” he asked hoarsely.

Shock wiped the frown from her forehead and drained the color out of her cheeks. “Where did you hear that name?” she accused in a whisper.

“I read it. Here.” He straightened from the bed and turned to show her the book in his hand.

Maggie recognized the Malloy family Bible. “No.” It was little more than a breath.

“It says he's my father. Is that true?” He was tortured by confusion. “Who was Dad? You always told me he was my father, that the two of you just waited until you were older before you were married.”

“Phillip … was your father in every way that counts.”

“But who is Chase Calder?” Ty persisted, his voice breaking. “And why is he named here as my father?”

“Because …”—Maggie realized it was useless to try to keep up the lie; she deeply regretted the impulse that had made her write Chase's name in the Bible—“… he is your biological father. But Phillip is the one who raised you, who loved you as only a father can love his son.”

“What you're saying is that he adopted me and Chase Calder is my real father.”

“Chase was your
natural
father, but Phillip was your
real
father,” she reasoned. “He did all the things with you that a real father does.”

He stared at the Bible, opened in his hands. “I remember when we were studying genetics in biology class and I asked you why I had brown eyes when you had green eyes and Dad's were gray. You said it was because I took after my grandfather. But it's from my father, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

He turned away, abruptly closing the pages. “I can't believe this!”

“Ty, it doesn't make any difference.” Maggie crossed the room seeking to reassure him and ease his confusion and pain, but he turned on her when she approached, his hard gaze boring into her in a way that sharply reminded her of Chase.

“I want to know about him.”

“No.” She drew back.

“He's my father!” he insisted.

“He was just somebody who lived on the ranch next to ours.” What an understatement! “He didn't want us, Ty. Phillip did.”

“I was born in California. He's never even seen me. How do you know he doesn't want me?”

“Ty, stop it. Stop imagining things. Stop building up a lot of romantic ideas in your head,” she argued out of fear.

“But I have a father out there I've never even seen. He is alive, isn't he?” Although it was in a question form, it was a statement of conviction.

Maggie hesitated a fraction of a second, then lied: “I don't know.”

“He is,” Ty stated. “That's why you've never wanted to visit your brother—because you don't want to see
him
again.”

“That isn't true.” But it was.

He passed a hand over his face, as if the action would wipe away the confusion and enable him to understand what was happening. “Why didn't you tell me about him before? Why did you let me find out about him like this?”

“Ty, I'm sorry.” Sorry that he had found out at all. “I know it's difficult for you, but what would it have accomplished if I had told you about him?”

“You don't understand! He's my father,” he groaned and pushed past her, but not before she had seen the glimmer of tears in his eyes. Long strides carried him out of the room before he did something unmanly, like crying in front of her. She felt his pain, but doubted if he knew hers. He was at that difficult age where he was convinced no one could understand.

For days afterward, he was silent and brooding, shutting himself in his room or going off somewhere alone without telling her where he was going or when he'd be back. She was being punished, Maggie realized, yet she clung to the hope that sooner or later he would listen to her and forget about the man who had fathered him.

The jingle of the morning alarm awakened her and she rolled tiredly over to silence it. Her hand brushed a piece of paper, knocking it to the floor. She reached over the side of the bed to pick it up. The familiar
penmanship scrawled across the paper chased the sleep from her eyes as she sat up to read the note.

Dear Mom,

I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you good-bye in person, but I knew you'd try to stop me. Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. Please try to understand. I had to do this.

I love you,
Ty

She flung aside the bedcovers and raced to his room down the hall, but he wasn't there. His shaving equipment, toothbrush, and comb were all gone from the bathroom. She searched his closet and drawers, trying to determine what clothes he had taken, but she was too overwrought to remember accurately what he had. He had run away. She began imagining all sorts of terrible things, from Ty being hit by a car while hitchhiking along the highway to some psychotic motorist murdering him. When she called the police, they explained he had to be missing for a minimum of twenty-four hours before they could enter the case. Although Maggie could only guess that he'd left sometime in the night, she got dressed, phoned her office to tell them she wouldn't be in, and went out looking for him herself, driving up and down every street, highway, and interstate looking for him.

Chase wrapped both hands around the steaming mug of black coffee to warm them. It was a nippy spring day that turned his breath to a white vapor. The sheepskin collar of his jacket was turned up against the chill, and his Stetson was pulled down low and snug to keep his head warm. He watched the herd of horses come sweeping over the rise, a sea of chestnuts, bays, buckskins, and sorrels, their shaggy winter coats hiding their smooth, muscled lines. The ground vibrated with the thunder of their galloping hooves and Chase felt that old excitement flare.