Wayward Hearts (18 page)

Maxi tried to believe her mother's words. “He never told me any of this. Just called me a whore for running off to meet a boy.”

Not any boy either. Jason Hanley whom Charlie loathed. Jason personified irresponsibility to Charlie, yet he'd never even bothered to talk to Jason.

“Your father was wrong to say that. It was his own anger and guilt speaking.” Mama's pale eyes grew watery. “He regretted it more than you know, except his stubborn pride would never let him apologize to you. Pride was your father's biggest flaw. Other than his drinking.”

Maxi sagged onto the nearest chair and faced her mother. “How did you put up with it, Mama? How did you ever forgive him?”

One lone tear traced a path over Bernice's pale cheek, but she smiled at her daughter. “I forgave him because I loved him. It's that simple.”

Maxi jerked upright as the truth slammed into her with the force of an airplane hitting a brick wall.
I forgave him because I loved him
. Could it really be that easy?

Mama patted her arm. “I know you can forgive your father, Maxine, because it's the right thing to do. And because deep down you loved him.”

Fresh tears flowed down Maxi's cheeks. Her voice croaked out as a whisper. “All I ever wanted was for Daddy to say he was sorry. So I could tell him I was sorry, too.”

Mama brought Maxi's hand to her lips and kissed it gently. “You just did.”

 

****

 

Jason wiped his sweating palms on his jeans, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door of Clint Hanley's room at the Rainbow Inn. The walls in the hallway needed painting, and the scent of pine freshener clung to the air, not quite masking the musky odor of the stained carpeting. Several seconds passed with no response, and Jason dared to hope Clint was out. He was about to turn away when shuffling footsteps sounded inside.

“Who is it?” came the gruff voice.

“Jason.”

After a brief moment of silence, the lock turned, and Clint slowly opened the door. Today, without the red haze of anger to cloud his vision, Jason took a critical look at his father. Clint stood almost the same height as Jason, his frame much slimmer. His black hair had turned mostly gray, even his mustache. Clear blue eyes had faded with time, or maybe the spark of life within had dulled. His unbuttoned shirt revealed a wrinkled white undershirt beneath. Red suspenders hung limply at his side. Clearly Jason had awakened him from a nap.

“May I come in?” Jason kept his tone even.

Animation returned to Clint's face. “That depends. You planning on perpetrating any violence?”

A reluctant smile tugged at Jason's lips. “I don't think so.”

Clint swung the door wide and invited Jason in. “Don't mind the mess. I wasn't expecting company.”

Take-out food wrappers littered the small table in the corner of the room. The bed linens sat in a tangled ball in the middle of the bed. The lingering smell of greasy food hung in the air. Clint moved to pull a pair of pants and a tie off one of the side chairs. “Have a seat. Give me one minute to straighten up.”

In silence, Jason sat on the uncomfortable chair while Clint hastily rearranged the bedding, picked up the trash, and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. Seconds later he reappeared, wiping his face with a towel. Jason watched as his father pulled over a second chair and took a seat. He put down the towel and fixed Jason with a solemn stare. “So what brings you by?”

“I've decided to hear your side of the story.”

Clint's eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. “I'm not going to ask what changed your mind. Whoever or whatever it was, I'm grateful.”

Jason folded his arms over his chest, not prepared to soften yet. “Why don't you start at the beginning? Why'd you leave mom and me?”

Clint lowered his head for a moment, and Jason thought he was going to try to weasel out of the truth. Then he raised his eyes to Jason's in a direct gaze, his face set in an expression of resignation. “I'm not going to make excuses for my behavior. Nothing can excuse what I did.” He sighed. “I was young and selfish. The realities of living with a wife and a child wore me down, little by little. One day, my boss called me in and told me he had to let someone on the sales team go. Said there wasn't enough work to keep two insurance agents on, and I was being laid off. I begged him to reconsider because I had family to support. But since the other man had four children, there was no choice. On the way home, I stopped at the bar in the hotel for some liquid courage before I faced your mother. But after a few too many, instead of going home, I left town.”

Jason curled his hands into fists. What kind of coward disappeared on his family? His disgust must've shown on his face.

“I know what you're thinking, and you're right. It was a lowdown, lousy thing to do.” Clint hung his head. “Once I sobered up a few weeks later and realized the mess I'd made, I went back and tried to make it up to Peg. But she wouldn't have anything to do with me. She thought there was another woman involved.” He held out a hand, palm out. “But I swear there wasn't.”

Jason grudgingly decided he was telling the truth. “Go on.”

“I tried everything I could think of to make amends. Nothing worked. She wanted no part of me. Even threatened to get a restraining order if I didn't leave her alone.” Clint fiddled with the tab of a soda can. “Finally I settled in Bismarck, taking odd jobs, and I kept trying to see you. Peg wouldn't return my calls. When I came to town on my days off, she would never let me in the house.”

A toxic swirl of emotions swam in Jason's stomach. Disbelief, anger, and resentment all warred to gain the upper hand. “You could've gone to court. Demanded visitation rights.”

Clint pressed his lips together. “If I'd had the money for a lawyer, maybe. I didn't have a steady income, so there was nothing I could do. Finally after about a year of trying to outwit your mother, I gave up.”

So he did give up on me after all.

Jason shifted in his seat to ease the pressure in his chest. “What happened then?”

Clint stood and walked to the grimy window. “I'm not proud of my life after that point.” He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. “Alcohol became my comfort and my mistress. I gave her all my money and all my time. In return, she gave me nothing but ill health and a stint in prison.”

“You were in prison?”

Clint nodded and shot a glance over his shoulder. “For the past eighteen years. Serving time for armed robbery.” He slumped forward as if the weight of his actions wore him down. “I got out two months ago.”

Silence sat between them like a stone as Jason stared at Clint's back. It was worse than he'd imagined. His father was a criminal. An ex-con.

Clint turned to face Jason. “I know I have no right to expect anything from you, but I had to see you at least once and explain myself.” He walked toward Jason, knelt down until their eyes were level, and fixed him with a sincere look. “I'm sorry for everything, son. All the hardships you endured because of me. All the pain. But I want you to know I've always loved you. Not being able to see you all those years almost killed me.”

Spasms gripped Jason's gut. The words he'd always longed to hear from his father, the words he'd imagined every night as a child, now filled him with panic. The room seemed to shrink, taking the air out with it. Jason jerked to his feet.

He looked once at his father, unable to comprehend the tears in the man's eyes—tears that matched his own anguish. “I have to go.”

He lurched toward the door, wrenched it open, and stumbled into the hallway. Without a glance behind him, he dashed down the hall to the staircase and kept running.

 

 

 

 

20

 

While Mama waited in the car, Maxi carried Charlie's remains home. His ashes were encased in an elegant pewter urn engraved with his name, date of birth, and date of death. Maxi set the container on the mantel over the fireplace, a temporary resting place, and ran her hand over the etching in the vessel. The weight of guilt in her chest eased for the first time in eight years. She would never forget the role her carelessness played in the events of the horrible night her brother died, but now she saw the bigger picture and realized others had played their own parts as well. The burden wasn't solely on her shoulders.

And according to her mother, her father had forgiven her. Could she really believe that?

Her fingers trailed over the mantelpiece and came away dust free. Someone had been in to clean the layer of soot off everything, she noted, inspecting the room further. Jason must have hired a crew. Maxi frowned. She must owe him a lot of money for supplies and labor. She'd have to repay him from her savings. What was left of them.

Maxi sighed. What a mess her life was in. Mentally she ticked off the problems: Philippe was hounding her to go back, Sierra was stealing her customers, the farm was eating her nest egg of savings with no sign of ever being sold—eating up the investment money she would need for a partnership if she were offered it—and they were no closer to finding a place for her mom to stay. As for Jason…well, she wouldn't even go there.

Maxi straightened her shoulders, pushed the negativity aside, and went to help her mother get some things from the bedroom. She would take her mother to Peg's and then come back and see what she could do about fixing the upstairs. Maybe some physical labor, like painting the new drywall, would distract her from her problems and bring her closer to returning to New York.

 

****

 

Jason stomped up the stairs of the North farmhouse, looking forward to some intense physical exertion to release the pent-up emotions swirling inside him. He'd expected his talk with Clint to make him feel better. Instead he was even more confused, not sure how to deal with an ex-con for a father.

He entered the bedroom, then froze at the sight before him. Maxi stood near the top of a stepladder, her hair stuffed under a spattered ball cap, paintbrush in hand. Her denim overalls sported more yellow paint than the wall. When she turned toward him, he stifled a grin at her speckled face.

She gasped, shock registering over her features, as she pulled out the earbuds attached to her mp3 player. “Jason, you scared me. I didn't hear you come in.” In one lithe step, she jumped down from the ladder. Music blared from her dangling earbuds.

“No wonder with your player set at fifty decibels.”

She shrugged and grinned. “I like my music loud.”

“So I noticed.” He walked around the paint tray to inspect her job. “Not bad. But why are you here painting?”

She dropped her brush in the can. “Restless, I guess. Needed something to keep me busy. This seemed like a good idea.” She swiped a hand across her cheek, smearing another streak of yellow. “How about you?”

He pulled a clean brush out of his pant pocket. “Same thing.”

Her eyes, which seemed more green than hazel today, sparkled with mischief, reminding him of the impetuous girl she used to be. “How about a race to see who can paint the most?”

“How is that fair? You have a huge head start.”

“I'll spot you half a wall.”

He laughed aloud, amazed at how great the sound felt. Seemed like he hadn't laughed in months. “I'll see your ante and raise you one paint roller.”

“You're on.”

The next two hours passed in friendly competition. Jason would never admit that his arms burned from the exertion of rolling color up and down the walls. If he kept up this pace, he wouldn't have to go to the gym tomorrow. He sneaked a glance at Maxi who barely seemed bothered. She hummed off-key to whatever song blared on the mp3 player as she studied a spot on the wall and then rolled viscously to cover it. Jason smothered a grin. This easy camaraderie reminded him of their former happy times. Times he missed more than ever.

When the whole room had a new coat of sunshine yellow, they plopped the rollers and brushes in the tray.

“I win.” Maxi raised her fist in victory and did her version of a happy dance.

Jason's heart pumped a little faster. She looked adorable covered in paint. Suddenly he didn't want this time together to end. He turned away in apparent nonchalance to pour the remaining paint from the tray into the can. “To prove I'm not a sore loser, I'll treat you to dinner.” Nerves rolled in his stomach, awaiting her response.

He turned to find her kneeling beside him on the newspaper. “Dinner? As in a date?”

Her face was too close. His fingers twitched, suppressing an urge to wipe the paint off the corner of her lower lip. “What if I said yes?”

Their gazes met and held. “Then I'd say yes, too.”

A bubble of elation rose in his chest. He hadn't felt this way since...since Susie Marshall agreed to go out with him. But this was even better. He smiled into her eyes. “Great. I'll finish here. You go get cleaned up, and I'll meet you in half an hour.”

 

****

 

Butterflies—no dragonflies—battled for footing in her stomach as Maxi waited on Peg's front patio for Jason to finish getting ready. Was she actually going on a date with him after all these years? What if she couldn't think of something to talk about? What if he found her boring? What if she spilled a drink and ruined her lime green sundress, which had fortunately been in the dryer at the time of the fire?

Seated on a wicker chair, she clasped her hands together in her lap to keep from ruining her hairdo. For once, she didn't resemble a Tinker Bell look-alike. She'd even put on strappy, high-heeled sandals and dangly pearl earrings.

The screen door opened beside her, and her pulse rate kicked up two notches. Jason stepped out, looking so incredibly handsome that Maxi's heart stuttered. He wore a dark brown jacket and a cream-colored dress shirt set off by a striped tie. He'd tamed his wild chestnut locks into a sleek GQ style, making him seem very sophisticated all of a sudden. And even more dangerous than his former motorcycle-riding persona.