BOMAW 1-3 (21 page)

Lowell drew in a deep breath, sighing as he closed the door,
turning back into their small study office to see his wife’s grinning countenance.
“I swear, those two are going to be the end of me,” he complained lightheartedly. She rose from her chair and sashayed over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, devilry in her eyes as she promised him, “The end?
You sure?
Well, I’ll have to help you with that later…won’t I?” Blushing and shaking his head, Lowell looked up from his wife to their guest. “See what I have to put up with? That’s how those last two up and surprised me!” He grinned.

“Lowell!” Mercy exclaimed.

Shawn smiled.

“Eh, it’s true! Now, behave yourself, you. I’ll take care of you later.” He winked, looking down at his wife, slapping her bottom. “Now get over there and get down to business.” Grinning, she winked a promise to him and did as she was told.

Pulling away from their condo summer home, Shawn couldn’t help but think about his own life. What the James’ had, he’d always wanted. A
close-knit,
happy family.
A house filled with noise, children, and excitement.
Husband, wife, and children who admired, respected, and obeyed their parents…all from a foundation of pure love. Not too different from the life he’d had growing up in his family. Yet all he had to show for it was a divorce certification. Considering his lovely daughter, not all was a failure.

This only brought Sylvia to mind. She was tough, but he knew he could handle her. She was just unsure of him. But he knew that there were feelings there. Just as he’d asked, she’d been there for his phone call. They’d stayed on for two hours,
him talking about everything and nothing.
She had done
the same. Mainly about her children, and her marriage of so many years to a husband that never quite got the picture of how to handle a woman such as she. After the first conversation on the phone, he’d called her twice more.
Leaving her with a means to contact him for any reason should she find one fitting, besides the obvious one,
that being, to hear his voice.
To assure herself that he indeed still found her to be
utmost
in his mind. A week had gone by. It was Friday, and he’d been instructed by Angela to pick up an outfit belonging to a friend who needed it for some event that evening. As he stood on the doorstep of
Deidre’s
parent's
grand mansion, he felt completely out of place as he always had, hearing the echo of the cathedral-like chiming doorbell. The door opened with a smiling Anthony to greet him, as usual.

“Afternoon, Mr. Styles.”

“Afternoon, Anthony. My daughter has a package here for me to pick up to deliver to a friend. Would you know anything about that?”

“No, sir, but perhaps Ms.
Deidre
would, hold on while I get her.” Shawn smiled. “Thank you.” As the butler turned to do so, Oscar T.
Wherrington
stepped into the foyer from his den, its door not far from the
entryway. He stood there, staring with obvious displeasure at the unwelcome visitor. Shawn felt a tightening in his stomach, not of fear, but of discomfort. He’d just as soon not be bothered with this man. Standing there watching Oscar watch him in return, brought back many unpleasant memories. Oscar had had plans for his daughter - none of which included Shawn's act of impregnating her, and filling her head with idealistic dreams of a happy marriage and home life; of having babies in some northern hick town, where she would have no doubt learned to milk cows.

“What could you possibly want now? You have your daughter, isn't that enough?”

“Calm down, Oscar.
Just here to pick up a little package.
Nothing to get all worked up over.
I’ll be gone in no time,” Shawn returned calmly.

Oscar turned to the side with an arm open and out to invite him into his den.

“No, thank you. I’m fine where I stand.”

“Maybe so,
but there’s something I wish to discuss with you. It won’t take much more of your time. Please.” Again he gestured for him to enter the den. Inhaling deep, Shawn finally stepped forward down the hall a bit, turning to enter. “Have a seat. Would you like a drink?”

“No. I’d just as soon you get on with it,” Shawn requested from the diamondback leather chair positioned before Oscar’s desk. Oscar stood across the room behind him, fixing himself a
drink.
“I hear you’re an illustrative artist for
romance novels
,” he opened, the disdain and distaste obvious in his pitch.

“It’s a living,” Shawn answered simply, not caring to get into a discourse apparently contrived to make him feel like cow dung.

“I suppose,
but, what about Angela?
I’d think you’d want something better for her.”

“That’s for Angela to decide, and whatever that is, I will support it.
Just as my parents tried to support me.”

Oscar chuckled. “Ah, yes, a cover maker for romance novels…I see.” He walked towards his desk with drink in hand, and circled it to take a seat in his throne-like leather chair.
“Seems to me, your lot in life has already been cast.
But Angela…well, I’m thinking there can be something better out there for her. As her father, I would think you would want the absolute best for her. I have the means to offer her that. All I need is a little cooperation from you…with something in return for you as well, of course,”
Oscar suggested. Shawn sat back with an incredulous lifted brow. “What exactly are you getting at?”

“That you leave Angela’s upbringing to us. Let us steer her in the direction for a future career that any father would be proud of.”

“Pride, or being proud of my daughter, does not hinge upon her career choices.”

“I would expect such a comment from you, considering where you come from. But I know that in this world—”

“You mean in your world! And I might interject that your world is small, a minority.”

“Perhaps…but it is here, in my world, where power—true power—and control stems from.
Here is where the template of standard and acceptance originates.
So, small?
No. Few…the privileged?
Yes. That’s the difference in our understanding. All depends on your place of origin,” Oscar added.

“Look, I don’t have time for this. Nor am I interested in whatever scheme you’ve concocted to get your way. Fact is, Angela, is
my daughter
. I will decide what is best for her,”
stating that,
Shawn stood.
Oscar followed, growing impatient.

“Wait a minute,
McPherson!
Hear me out. I’m willing to support your talent of painting…artistry.
You can pursue a more worthy place in society as a respected artist,instead of wasting it on five dollar drugstore, paperback romance novel - nonsense!”

“Oh, really?
And all I have to do is sacrifice my daughter to you.”

Deidre
walked in the room after standing outside to eavesdrop on the conversation. “Father, what are you doing?” Oscar looked at his daughter then back to Shawn.
“Trying to salvage something of your life by making a better one for your daughter.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my daughter’s life,” Shawn defended.

“To you, no.
You can’t see that there is because you’re too busy riding thecountryside
with your hooligan Harley gang. And in between, you get to paint a few naked women, have a few affairs and fly in to pick up a check. You drop in on your daughter, who spends most of her time pining for your presence, by the
way,
because you seduce her…just as you do any other woman who crosses your path,
including my daughter!”

“Daddy!”

“You shut up! Let me handle this!” he shot out to quiet her,
then
turned back to Shawn. “A million dollars will support you comfortably in the way you like to live. You can use it as you see fit. Maybe even use some of it to become a real artist…one worthy of attention and praise.”

Shawn stood steaming, trying to fight down an equal hatred for this man, as he no doubt felt for him.

“Think about it, McPherson. End that child’s misery. Erase all of this nonsense of you trying to be something you’re not! You really care anything about
her,
you’ll turn her over to our care—entirely. That way, you can get on with your life.”

Shawn turned his angry stare away from Oscar to
Deidre, who stood lividly shaking as well. She turned from her father to her ex-husband.

“I had nothing to do with this, Shawn.
Nothing.
Please believe me!” she cried, holding the plastic store bag that he’d come to pick up in her hand. With nostrils flared, Shawn stepped from between the two chairs where he’d stood and walked pastDeidre; who turned to follow him.

“Deidre!
Leave him! Give him time to think. It’s a million dollars, after all.”

Deidre
stopped, turning with a heated blaze from her gold-hazel eyes towards her father.
“Was ruining my life and our marriage not enough for you?
Will you do it to Angela, as well?”

“Sorry, but ruining your life was your doing, when you came home to us pregnant with that man’s child. Don’t blame me for trying to fix it for you,” Oscar defended.Deidre
turned away from him, shaking her head, and
following
Shawn as he headed for the door.

“Shawn, wait! Hold on…the bag!” she called, speeding up to catch him as he made his rapid exit out the door and down the few steps.

“Wait, Shawn, you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with what he said in there. You have to believe me. I know you love Angela. I agree with you. I want her to lead her life in the direction she wants as well.”

“Then why do you stay here? Why do you continue to subject her to this man’s bullshit? Why can’t you stand on your own two feet and get out of here?
You that stuck on this lifestyle,
that you’re willing to sacrifice your daughter’s happiness to keep it?”

“You don’t understand!”

“An’ don’t want to!
The bag, please!”
He held his hand out to retrieve it. Sighing, feeling lost and hopeless, she handed it over.

“Can we get together and talk, Shawn…before you leave town, following your business here?” she asked, following him to the car where he opened the door, throwing the bag to the back seat.

“About what?”
he asked sharply.

“I want us to talk,” she admitted softly.

“We have nothing to talk about,
Deidre. Only thing between
us,
is our daughter.”

“Surely she’s worth us at least getting together to talk?
To resolve some things between us,”
she furthered. Shawn ran his hand over his face, his foot propped up inside his car door as he leaned his triceps on the top of the open door. Turning to her, he looked at her. It suddenly occurred to him that way back when, he hadn’t really been
in
love with
Deidre. But he’d been raised right,
raised
to be responsible for his actions.
Though they hadn’t been teenagers—Deidre, 28 and he, 33—Shawn still thought it was the right thing to do; get married and try to build a family, since it had already begun. He’d gotten so caught up in her being pregnant with his child and the fun they had together, he honestly believed they could make it…that they were in love.Had he been in love, he would be trying to rekindle it now…instead of opposing it.There was only one woman on his mind he was trying to gain the acceptance of love and marriage from, and that was Sylvia. Suddenly it became abundantly clear to him, that he was in love with her…
in
love with Sylvia Payne.
That’s what he wanted. That’s who he wanted.

“Shawn?”

“Look,
Deidre. Thank you, for not being in on that with you father. That’s nice. That’s good, and I’ll do my part to be more present for Angela. I want her to come and stay the summer with me next year. I, too, would like for us to get along better than we have,
for her sake.
But…that’s all that can be fixed between us. That’s all. As long as you understand that, we’re fine.”

“I see. So, there’s someone else in your life then?”

“Yes.”

“Who is she?”

“The woman I’m going to marry.”

Deidre
sucked in, stunned. “Oh.”

Shawn
swallowed in sympathy to her obvious distress. “I’m sorry,
Deidre, but…too little, too late.”

“So, who is she? Where’d you meet her?”

“Why do I get the feeling you probably already know?”

“How would I know?”

“Our daughter, of course,”
he replied.