Donovan's Child (18 page)

She folded her hands on the table. “I don't want to fight, Donovan. I just want to talk. To talk honestly.”

His Adam's apple lurched as he swallowed. And he nodded. But he didn't speak.

It was up to her.

Fair enough. “For weeks now, I've wanted to tell you what I feel for you, in my heart. But I kept thinking I shouldn't rush things, shouldn't rush
you.
Or myself. I kept telling myself that it was too soon to start talking about the future, that now was the time to just be together, to let the future take care of itself. I reminded myself to enjoy being with you, to allow what we have to be…open-ended, I guess.”

“Has it been so bad?” he asked, carefully. “Just being together, just taking every day as it comes?”

“Oh, no. Not bad.” She felt the tears rise. And she gulped them back. “Far from it. It's been beautiful. Perfect…”

He was leaning toward her a little now. “So, then. Can we leave it at perfect? Why can't we do that?”

Because you are leaving me. And that is about as far from perfect as it gets….

She cleared her throat. “I just, well, I can sense that what we have together is not open-ended, not for you. You know what you're doing,
exactly
what you're doing.
You're giving me everything. Everything but the chance of a future with you. And today—which is the second day you haven't even put in an appearance on the project—today, for me, it all just got to be too much.”

He tipped his head to the side, asked, “Is there a problem on the project?”

“No. Everything's going well. That's not what we're talking about.”

“It
is
what we're talking about.” He parsed out each syllable. “I'm available, if you need me. But you don't. You're up to speed. You can run this thing on your own.”

She braced her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. “I'll ask you again. Is it the ground breaking? Is that when you're going back to West Texas?”

There was only silence from his side of the table.

She lowered her hands and she stared straight at him. “Just tell me, Donovan. Is it the groundbreaking?”

And finally, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. After the ground breaking, I'm going back to West Texas.”

“Without me,” she said in a hollow whisper.

He gave her a slow, regal nod of his golden head. “Alone.”

Her throat locked up. She looked away, coughed into her hand to try and clear it. The effort was pretty much a failure. When she spoke again, her voice was tight, ragged. “Why?” She faced him. “Oh, Donovan, what are you doing, just throwing it all away like this, throwing
us
away?”

His gaze was gentle. But he wasn't budging. “I told you. I told you that morning I wheeled in on you in the shower. I'm no good for this, no good for…love.”

“And I told
you
that people can change.”

“Not me. Not about this.”

Her anger mounted. She tried to tamp it down. She spoke through tight lips, with measured care. “This is not about what you
can't
do, and you know it's not. It's simply that you
won't
. You won't move on from the horrible things that have happened to you, from the loss of Elias, from those days on the mountain, when death almost found you, but didn't. You're like Javier, you know that? Unforgiving. He can't forgive the woman he loves, even though that's the only way for him to find meaning in his life again. And you, Donovan—you can't forgive yourself.”

His hands were on his wheels again, gripping tight. He continued in that so-patient, infuriating tone, “You're young and you're beautiful. And you're a fine architect. Exceptional. You're going to do great work. And someday you're going to find the right guy, a really good guy, a guy who's not all broken up inside and out. You'll settle down together, have children, build that special house of yours….”

It was too much. She wanted to jump up, start shouting, to try and get through to him by sheer volume, since nothing else seemed to work.

But she didn't jump up. She refused to raise her voice.

She stayed in that chair and she spoke with furious softness. “Don't you get it? I love
you,
Donovan. You
are
the right guy. I want my children to be
our
children. Don't you know that? I want to build that house for
us.
”

He flinched as if she'd struck him. “Stop.”

“But—”

“No more.” He did back his chair from the table, then. But instead of turning and wheeling away, he jerked to
a stop and told her flatly, “Never. No. I will never have another child. I couldn't do that, couldn't go through that again—and yes, I've been selfish. And wrong, to be with you, to give in to wanting you. I see that. I know it. I guess I knew it all along.”

“Wrong?” She couldn't believe he'd actually said that. She did jump to her feet then. “Of course, it wasn't wrong.
This
is what's wrong.”

“This.” He glared up at her. “This…what?”

“This. You. Making my choices for me.
That's
wrong.”

“I made no choices for you.”

“Oh, yes you did. You decided to set everything up for me, to give me everything I've ever wanted, to make my life perfect for me—only without
you
in it. You decided that I wanted kids and you didn't, and then you decided that therefore it's impossible for things to work out with us.”

He demanded, “Did you or did you not just say you wanted your kids to be my kids?”

“I only—”

“Answer me! Did you say it or not?”

“I did, yes. But nothing is absolute. It doesn't all
have
to turn out a certain way.”

“Oh, right, Abilene. You go ahead. You tell me that you don't want to be the go-to architect for the children's center.”

“I didn't say that.”

“Tell me that you don't want children. Tell me that right to my face.”

“Of course, I want children. But if
you
don't, well, we could at least talk about that.”

He made a scoffing sound. “We could talk.”

“Yes. Talk. Please.”

His lip curled in a sneer. “What is there to talk about?”

“Plenty. Maybe I could live without kids. Did that ever occur to you? And even if I couldn't, how would you know what I can or can't get along without, if you haven't even asked me?”

He rolled back to the table. “All this is just so much noise. You have to know that.”

“Noise? After all these weeks, we're finally talking, finally saying the things that need to be said—and you call it noise?”

“It's a waste of breath, to hash it out like this. Because it's not up for discussion. None of it is up for discussion. I was wrong, to get personally involved with you. I see that now.”

She stared at him. The distance across that table seemed to be miles—endless, unbridgeable miles. Her knees felt all quivery. She sank back into the chair and asked, her voice breaking, “Wrong? You keep saying it was wrong. You really think that? That what we've had is wrong?”

“I've only hurt you.”

“No. No, that's not true. You know it's not. Oh, why can't you see? We've had more, so much more than just this, just the hurting. And we could make a life, a
good
life. You know that we could. If you would only—”

“No.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you're not listening.”

She was running out of arguments, running out of ways to try and get through to him. “Just…like that? Just, no?”

“I will be at the groundbreaking.” His voice was quiet, resigned. “I'll play my part. And if I'm needed on the
project, I'm there for it. But as for the rest of it…” He winced, turned his head away and stared off toward the bow window. It was dark out by then. All he could possibly see was his own ghostly reflection. “It's over. And it's time we accepted that.”

It's over….

All the breath seemed to leave her body. She was empty. A shell. Finished in the worst, most final way. What more could she do? She had told him she loved him, that she wanted a life with him, a life on
his
terms.

And it had meant nothing to him.

Less than nothing.

He had denied her. He was sending her away.

And still, somewhere deep in her obstinate, hopeful heart, she wanted to fight for him. She did. She wanted to believe that if she could only find the right words, it would make all the difference, would make him admit that he loved her, make him beg her to stay.

But words had deserted her. And she didn't believe. Not anymore. He turned his gaze to her again.

She looked into his eyes and all she saw was a weariness to equal her own. The only thing left for her to say was, “I'll just get my stuff together, then.”

Carefully, feeling as though she might shatter if she moved too fast, she pushed herself to her feet again. She put one foot in front of the other. She went out of the kitchen and down the hallway to his bedroom.

She took her clothes from the closet, went to the bathroom, got her toothbrush and hair dryer, her shampoo and her makeup. She packed it all up. When she had everything, she rolled the full suitcase back to the kitchen.

He was still sitting at the table. She was careful not to look directly at him as she got her tote from the chair
where she'd dropped it, took out the key he had given her, and laid it on the counter.

He said nothing as she left him.

The silence between them was absolute.

F
or Abilene, the days that followed were a grueling exercise in concentration. She found that if she could manage to keep the focus on her work—and not on her battered heart—she got through the daylight hours well enough.

Nights were another story. She had trouble sleeping. And when she did drop off finally, Donovan's very absence seemed to weave through her dreams, where she wandered, lost and disoriented. And cold.

She would wake to find herself curled in a ball all the way over on the far side of the bed—
his
side of the bed. Seeking his body's warmth.

Seeking
him.

Four days later, true to his word, Donovan attended the groundbreaking ceremony.

Abilene wished he hadn't. She was suffering enough, thank you very much. Seeing him, hearing his voice…
it only made the hurt sharper, made her poor heart ache all the harder.

He made a brief speech about the project—and about the brilliant young architect he had found to create the perfect space where children could have the chance they needed to learn and grow. He spoke from his wheelchair, using a wireless microphone, and he was as charming and inspiring as he had been all those years ago, the first time she saw him, when he came to give that talk at Rice.

Abilene thought he looked killer handsome, if a little tired—and then reminded herself that it shouldn't matter to her if he was tired. His well-being was not her problem. She'd been a fool ever to have imagined it was.

After the ceremony, a local gallery hosted a party in honor of the big day. Donovan put in an appearance. Abilene kept her distance from him and he steered clear of her, as well.

Her mom and dad were there, to celebrate her success with her. And three of her brothers and their wives showed up. And Zoe and Dax, too. They all knew that Abilene and Donovan were through. Out of respect for one of their own, they avoided him.

Except for Dax.

As the party was winding down, Abilene spotted the two men in an isolated corner of the gallery, speaking quietly to each other, both of them looking way too intense. Donovan glanced over and saw her watching.

Their gazes locked. She felt the floor drop out from under her, felt her heart tear in two all over again.

And then came the quick, flaring heat of her fury—at herself, for caring so damn much. At him, for turning his broad back on the best thing that had every happened to him.

She tore her gaze from his and turned away.

He left soon after that. She didn't ask Dax what he and Donovan had said to each other. She told herself she didn't want to know.

 

A week after the groundbreaking, Ruth Gilman offered her a position at Johnson Wallace. She accepted the job and also the great starting salary and nice benefit package.

And a week after she got her dream job, out of the blue, Ben Yates called. He said he'd kept her number and had been thinking about her.

At first, she was wary, afraid that maybe Donovan was using Ben to check up on her, to make sure she was taking full advantage of the “perfect” life he had set up for her. But Ben said he was living in Fort Worth and had managed to land a good job with a top firm. He said he hadn't spoken to Donovan since the day he walked out of the house in the desert.

And he told her that he'd been regretting the way he'd left, without even saying goodbye her.

“It's okay, Ben,” she reassured him. “I understood why you had to go. And I'm happy that things seem to be working out for you.”

“So, then. Good. And the children's center…”

“Under construction. I'm the supervising architect. And I'm at Johnson Wallace now.”

“Congratulations. They're the best.”

“Thanks. I love the job. It's working out well.”

“So…are you seeing anyone? I was just thinking, if you're free some evening, I would catch a flight down to San Antonio. We could have dinner.”

She really wanted to say yes. She liked Ben, so much. He was the kind of guy she'd always thought she would finally fall for. Fun to be with. A good guy, honest. Forth-
right. Without a lot of emotional baggage—completely unlike the man she was trying so hard to get over.

But she just couldn't do it, couldn't use Ben to try to forget Donovan. She needed to do the forgetting first.

And then maybe, someday, she would be ready for a guy like Ben.

So she laid the hard truth right out there. “I would like to be your friend, Ben. But that's all.”

“I see,” he said, softly. And then he thanked her for being honest with him. And he said he thought that may be it was better, if they just let it go at that.

She hung up feeling a little sad, but grateful to have achieved something like closure with Ben. And she was also longing for Donovan.

She tried to remind herself that her broken heart would mend, that even the deepest hurt someday heals.

But the platitudes weren't helping. She loved him.

She missed him. She wished she could fast-forward time past the hurting and the yearning. She longed to be all the way over on the other side of heartbreak. To be at that moment when she could think of Donovan fondly, without that empty aching feeling, without wanting to wring his obstinate neck.

The next day, Ruth shared some gossip. She'd learned from a colleague at the Johnson Wallace Los Angeles office that Donovan had accepted a commission to design a theater complex in Century City. Abilene pasted on a smile at the news and said how fabulous that was for Century City. And it
was
fabulous. Even if he couldn't accept love in his life, well, at least he was working again. That was something. That was important.

She would try to focus on that, on how he was living a productive life now. She would tell herself that maybe
she'd had a little bit to do with that, with waking him up from his long, painful retreat into solitude and loneliness, with bringing him back to the world.

Did it help, to think that she might have helped
him?

Not really.

In the end, she just had to set her mind on acceptance, on getting through the days away from him, on letting time do its job much too slowly, on telling herself that she was getting there, getting over Donovan McRae.

 

On the first Monday in April, Javier came to see her at Johnson Wallace. He told her that he had a client who wanted a house.

A very special house.

Javier said the client was a dear friend of his, a woman, a single mother with three children, a family law attorney. His friend wanted to adopt a fourth child. She planned to build her dream house for her family—and her three large dogs. She owned the property already, in the Hill Country—the perfect piece of land, with beautiful views.

He described what his friend wanted, how big the house should be, and the general arrangement of the rooms. Was Abilene interested?

Abilene almost said no automatically. Which was insane. She had a living to make. And she wouldn't get far if she started turning away potential clients, sight un seen.

And she
wasn't
turning down any clients. Her no had been merely a protective reaction. Because as Javier had described what the woman wanted, a chill had snaked its way down her spine.

Abilene knew that house.

It was
her
dream house.

The house that would always now, to her, be Donovan's house, too.

The house she needed to relinquished, because there was no way she would ever have it built to share with another man.

Javier asked, “So? What do you say?”

And she got it then. She saw that this could be an answer for her. Creating her dream house for Javier's friend and her family could be a big step in getting free of the pain, in letting her love for Donovan go.

She said, “Well, as it turns out, I have a house in mind, just from what you've told me. Something I've been tinkering with over the years. It's really pretty amazing, how close my design is to the house you just described.”

“Ah,” said Javier, the crinkles at the corners of his dark eyes deepening with his smile. “So maybe this is meant to be, huh? It's fate that you should design this special house.”

“Well, I don't know about fate. But I'm definitely interested in meeting with your friend—and I wonder, is it possible for me to see the property first? I just want to make certain that the design I would propose is right for the setting.” Okay, that was stretching the truth. What she really wanted was to reassure herself in advance that the property was right for the house.

And why shouldn't she want that? If she was going to give this single mom
her
dream house, well, it would have to be built on the ideal piece of land.

If the property didn't cut it, fine. She'd come up with something different for Javier's friend.

“I don't see why not,” Javier said. “Let me call her, see if it's okay with her. And then I'll call you back.”

Javier did call, the next morning.

He said his friend was excited at the idea that the architect needed to see the land first. In fact, his friend was hoping that maybe Abilene could meet her on the property. His friend would love to have the chance to show Abilene the spot where she wanted to put the house—a spot not far from the creek that ran through the property, with a view from the kitchen of a certain craggy peak, and from the master bedroom of a wide, open field, a field that was thick with Texas bluebonnets this time of year.

It seemed to Abilene a good omen for the project, that she and the prospective client viewed the process in a similar light. Abilene wanted to like Javier's friend, to be able to believe in the happiness that the woman and her family might find in the house.

So Abilene agreed to meet the client on the property. She gave Javier a couple of prospective meeting dates and times. He called back again later that day to say his friend would meet her the following morning at 11:00 a.m.

She laughed. “Don't you think it's about time you told me this woman's name?”

“Donna,” he said. “Donna Rae.”

Donna Rae.

Abilene felt that chill down her back again. Donna Rae?

It was just a little too close to Donovan, a little too much like McRae.

But really, she was being silly. The similarity between the two names was a coincidence, no more. She refused to get all freaked out because the woman's name reminded her of the man she couldn't seem to forget.

Javier said, “So then. I'll email you a map with directions to the property.”

“Fair enough—and Javier, thank you for thinking of me. I'm excited about this, I really am.”

“I'm glad,” he said, his voice strangely somber. But then, Javier was too somber, too much of the time. “Call me tomorrow, after the meeting. Let me know…how it went.”

She promised him that she would. And the next morning at nine-thirty, she was on her way.

It was a lovely ride. The Hill Country was beautiful any time, but never more so than now, in the spring, with wildflowers in bloom in every rolling, green field. She cranked the radio up loud and rolled her windows down.

At five to eleven, she turned onto the freshly paved road that would take her to the property. Live oaks lined the way, casting leafy shadows on the hood of her car as she sailed along. And beyond the screen of the trees, she could see open country, green and rolling and draped in a blanket of bluebonnets.

Yes,
she thought.
This is exactly right. This is the place where my house should be.

She slowed to make the turn onto the dirt driveway, stirring up dust as she rolled onto the unpaved surface. Limestone outcroppings flanked the way to either side and she was aware of the rising feeling of her own anticipation. She was almost there.

She rounded a gentle curve, saw the cleared space, the van parked and waiting.

And Donovan standing beside it.