Another Woman's Man (18 page)

D
awn glanced down at her iPhone to see that her sister Cynthia was calling her. Just as she was about to answer the call, the door to her father's mansion swung open. She stepped inside and a minute later handed off her coat and gloves to Carl, her father's housekeeper. She gazed hesitantly at the stairs leading to the east and west wings.

“Would you like me to take that too?” Carl asked, reaching for the large bouquet of roses and calla lilies she clutched in her arms. “I can have someone put it in water and a vase for you.”

Dawn quickly shook her head. “No. No, I'd . . . I'd like to give these to my father myself, if that's okay.”

The tall older man nodded. “Of course. I'll take you to him directly.”

She started to walk toward the stairs, expecting to be led to one of the upstairs bedrooms since her father had told her he was now on bed rest, but instead Carl turned and walked toward one of the side corridors.

She frowned. “He isn't in bed?”

Carl shook his head. “No, I'm afraid he isn't, ma'am.”

They walked down a series of halls and finally emerged onto a stone portico leading to the back of the Windhill Downs grounds. Dawn found her father sitting in a wheelchair, bundled in a coat and blankets, staring off into the distance. A plump, perturbed-looking black woman in a long puffy pink coat and green scrubs was sitting on a stone bench beside him. Dawn assumed she was his nurse.

She wondered where Constance and Raquel were. The mansion had seemed awfully quiet when she entered, and now she knew they weren't with Herbert either.

Carl, who had been holding Dawn's coat and gloves the entire time, offered them to her. “You'll need these.”

She walked onto the portico seconds later, pulling her coat collar tightly around her neck with one hand and holding the bouquet in the other.

“Herb,” she said, noticing that when she spoke, a gust of mist went into the air because it was so cold outside. “Herb? What on earth are you doing out here? It's freezing! You should be inside in bed.”

He looked up at her and grinned. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Why didn't you tell me you'd be stopping by today?”

Though his expression was jolly, he looked ghastly. The cancer was taking its toll on him. His face was gaunt. His eyes were sunken. His pink lips were chapped and cracked. The coat that he wore dwarfed him. He looked like he had lost at least fifteen pounds since she had last seen him a couple weeks ago.

“Hortense,” he said, turning to his nurse, “meet my daughter, Dawn.”

The irritated expression didn't leave the woman's face, but she nodded and mumbled a “Hello.”

“Dawn can take over from here,” Herbert said. “I know you're cold. You can go back inside.”

“But I'm
supposed
to stay with you at all times, Mr. Allen,” the nurse insisted in a Caribbean lilt.

“Yes, I know, even when I have to relieve myself,” he said with a roll of the eyes. “But I believe I can be out of your sight for a mere fifteen minutes
with
supervision, can't I?”

“I'll take care of him,” Dawn promised. “We won't be out here much longer. He should be in bed. I know.”

The nurse gazed at her warily for several seconds before finally rising from the bench and following Carl through the glass doors.

“I brought you flowers,” Dawn said, handing the bouquet to him.

“Thank you. They're lovely, sweetheart.”

He sounded hoarse. He was also breathing harder than she would have liked. She watched as he gazed down at the flowers before setting them on his blanket-covered lap.

“You know, you should be going inside too,” Dawn said as she sat down beside him.

He shook his head. “No, I shouldn't. I refuse to spend my last dying days cooped up in a stuffy bedroom.”

He pointed to the wintry landscape in front of him. The trees were bare but the setting sun shone through the branches, creating a beautiful tableau of shadows on the remaining snow on the ground. Shades of orange, purple, and blue were splashed across the horizon.

“
This
is what I want to see when I take my last breath,” he whispered.

Dawn reached out to him and placed her hand on top of his own. “Don't talk like that. Please?”

“Don't talk like what?” He turned to her. “Don't admit that I'm dying? But, sweetheart, I
am
dying. I've seen myself in the mirror. I feel my body getting weaker and weaker. There's no denying it.”

“Yes, there is. You'll get better.”

He has to,
Dawn thought stubbornly. She had just gotten to know him. He couldn't die now, not when they were still building a relationship, not when there were so many talks for them to have and moments for them to share.

She forced a smile and squeezed her father's hand. “You have to get better. You have a wedding in a couple of months that you're going to attend. Remember? Constance needs you there to walk”—she glanced at his wheelchair—“well,
roll
her down the aisle.”

She laughed but her father didn't join her in her laughter. Instead, Herb shook his head solemnly.

“Frankly, I wonder if there is going to be a wedding in May.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because things have changed between them. Xavier and Constance aren't getting along at all. In fact, just a couple of days ago, I heard that Xavier stormed out after arguing with her. It's not like him. He will usually do anything to appease Connie, to make her happy. But that's no longer the case. They haven't spoken to each other since.”

Dawn lowered her eyes and stared guiltily at her lap. She hoped she wasn't the cause of that argument. Though she was heartbroken by Xavier's rejection and his insistence that she needed to be exorcised from his life, she knew—in the end—his decision was for the best. She couldn't take the emotional roller coaster anymore. Constance had laid claim to Xavier a long time ago. She was the woman he wanted, not Dawn, a twice-over divorcée with a bad reputation who wasn't sure if she was ready to commit to a relationship anyway. Though Constance was spoiled and not the smartest woman, she was perky, pure, and beautiful; she was the perfect woman for a conservative corporate climber like Xavier to have on his arm—the Black Malibu Barbie to his Ken.

“Couples argue, Herb. Even couples like Constance and Xavier,” she urged softly. “That doesn't mean they're breaking up or that the wedding is off. They'll patch things up. You'll see.”

“I don't know. It's not just the arguing. I told you something has changed. Their feelings aren't the same. I can tell.” He looked away from her and off into the distance again. “I think . . . I think Xavier has fallen in love with someone else.”

She frowned, not understanding why her father was saying all of this. “I highly doubt that! Xavier is head over heels in love with Constance. Anyone can see that.”

Her father returned his gaze to her. “Remember when I said a while ago that I thought Xavier was a little smitten with you? Now I know it's more than just a little. I think you're the one he's fallen in love with.”

Dawn's eyes snapped up from her lap. She stared at her father in horror and genuine disbelief. “With . . .
with me?
”

Xavier wasn't in love with her! There was a steamy attraction between them—yes. Xavier had confessed as much, and Herbert had rightly picked up on that. But Xavier didn't—
couldn't
love her. That was just crazy!

“It's not just my imagination. I noticed it not too long after you started working at the community center . . . how eager he was to see you, how he couldn't stop raving about you, and how he looked at you when he thought no one else was watching. I tried to push those suspicions aside for many reasons.” He sighed. “One being that it was pretty unsettling realizing that the man I thought had fallen in love with one of my daughters was now in love with the other. He and Constance have been together since they were teenagers. They're supposed to get married! But I'd hate watching him act out that lie, putting a ring on one woman's finger—even if she is my Connie—while his heart belonged to someone else. I suppose in a way it's my own fault,” he said ruefully. “I threw you two together in the first place.”

“Herb, I can
assure
you that Xavier isn't”—she paused and swallowed, feeling tears prick her eyes—“that he isn't in love with me. He wants to marry Constance. He knows that they belong together, and he would never do anything to hurt her.”

Herb stared at Dawn, staying silent for several seconds. “Yes, I suppose you both would put your love aside if you felt it was the right thing to do, wouldn't you?”

She instantly opened her mouth to lie that she wasn't in love with Xavier, but her father hastily waved his hand.

“Please, don't deny that too. I've also known for a while now that Xavier isn't alone in this. Your feelings for him are just as strong, aren't they?”

One of the tears that Dawn had been holding back spilled onto her cheek. She fussily wiped at it and sniffed. She could blubber so easily now. It was really starting to piss her off.

“You can be honest with me. Are you in love with him?”

Dawn hesitated then slowly nodded. After she did, she looked away, wiping her eyes with the backs of her gloved hands. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You must be so pissed at me right now.”

“Why would I be pissed at you?”

“Because you think I ruined everything! And maybe I did. I don't know. Xavier and Constance were the perfect cookie-cutter couple . . . and then a woman like me came into the picture.”

Herbert placed a consoling hand on her shoulder, making her feel even worse. She didn't want to be comforted, especially by a man she knew she had disappointed.

“But I swear, I
swear
to you that I didn't come here to hurt anyone or cause anything. I-I came here to get to know you. I wanted to bond with my father. I wasn't trying to come in between them! But I . . . But I guess I do stuff like that without even trying. Maybe it's genetic.”

“I really wish you wouldn't talk about yourself that way.”

She sniffed again. “I am what I am, Herb. If we're going to accept the truth about you dying, then we need to accept the truth that I'm a gold digger and a home wrecker, but I won't do it this time. It's not past the point of no return with Xavier. Don't worry. Nothing happened between us.”

“Except that kiss,” the voice in her head whispered, but she ignored it.

“I don't work at the community center anymore. He asked me to quit and I did. He told me how much he cares about Constance—about all of you. He knows what's right. They're going to get married and have a family and they
will
be happy together. You can be sure of that.”

“Can I?” Her father tilted his head. “I don't think I can be certain of anything anymore, sweetheart. Not my health. Not the future. Neither can you or Xavier.”

“But I walked away! I did what he asked and—”

“You are too smart a woman to think it can be that simple,” he said wearily. “Once things start to speed in one direction, it's pretty hard to just . . . just slam on the brakes and suddenly do a U-turn. Life isn't like that, Dawn. What you feel for—”

“What I
feel
is irrelevant,” she said firmly. “Herb, I'm a big girl. I know how to suck it up and put all this stuff aside. I can snap back to my senses. Hell, give me a few months and whatever I feel now probably will have faded away by then,” she said, though part of her wasn't totally convinced. “I want to focus on
you,
not Xavier. I told you, that's why I came here. I won't let anything get in the way of that.”

He squinted at her, searching her face. “You are so strong . . . so resolved.”

She chuckled. “Not as strong as you think.”

“No, you are. And you're nothing like my Connie. I love her with all my heart . . . but I wish she had more of your will and your fire. You couldn't find two sisters that are more different.”

“We grew up very differently.”

“Indeed you did. And in some ways, I regret that. You know your mother isn't my favorite person in the world, but she did a better job with you than I could have imagined. Still . . .” He lowered his gaze. His eyes rested on their clasped hands. “I know I failed you. You became the woman that you are because you had to. I should have been there as your father to protect you, to let you know that sometimes it's perfectly acceptable to be vulnerable. I will never forgive myself for that.”

“What's past is past, Herb. I won't hold any grudges against you . . . if you won't hold any against me,” she whispered.

He looked up at her. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure! Name it!”

“Can you call me Dad just . . . just once? I know I haven't earned it. But I'd . . . I'd love to hear you say it.”

She grinned, leaned forward, and kissed his weathered, wrinkled cheek. “Of course I can . . . Dad.”

They both turned and watched the last of the setting sun. They watched the shadows grow and stretch across the field in front of them, reaching for them eagerly as the night descended.

Dawn pulled her hand out of Herb's grasp and petted his shoulder. “It's getting dark. I think it's about time we head back inside, don't you?” She stood from the bench and gave one last look at his property, admiring its serenity. “So why don't we . . .”

Dawn's words died on her lips when she looked down to find her father clenching the arms of his wheelchair. His eyes were squeezed shut so tightly and he gritted his teeth so hard that the veins along his temples were bulging. The bouquet of flowers she had given him tumbled to the stone portico as he hunched forward.