Kate's Vow (Vows) (15 page)

He started to pace, stopping to finger the same objects that had intrigued Davey only hours earlier. Holding the Remington sculpture, he faced Kate. “I don’t know what else I can do, not now, anyway. Once this job is over, I can slow my pace down some, make more time for Davey.”

Kate recognized the excuse and the well-meant, but probably empty promise. “Will you do that?” she asked. “Or will you bury yourself in just one more project and then one more after that? I’m familiar with the pattern. I do it myself all the time. It’s a great way to avoid living.”

He scowled at her. She didn’t allow herself to waver, even though she badly wanted to recapture their personal rapport for reasons that didn’t bear too much scrutiny under the circumstances. Finally some of the anger eased out of his expression. He regarded her ruefully. “Sounds as if you’ve been engaging in a little self-discovery yourself lately.”

“Painful, but true,” she admitted. “Actually, I owe some of it to you. I recognized some of my behavior in what you’re doing. They always say recognizing what you’re up against is the first step toward change.”

He grinned and carefully placed the sculpture back on the credenza. “So you did read those pop psychology books your guests left behind after all?”

“A few,” she conceded. “Look, no one knows better than I how difficult it is to choose family over work, but it has come to my attention lately that I’ve made some lousy choices. Isn’t it just possible that you have, too?”

“Oh, I’d say it’s a dead-on certainty,” he agreed without batting an eye. “But, Kate, that doesn’t mean I know how the hell to change, not when I’m in the middle of a professional commitment. If I screw this up, my reputation for being on time and on budget will never be the same. This industry can be unforgiving.”

“Surely there’s room for compromise.” She held up the paper he’d signed. “You make the changes one step at a time,” she reminded him. “Isn’t that what they say?”

He sighed heavily. “So I’ve heard.”

“We can go over this, modify it so that it’s more reasonable, given your commitments for the next few weeks. It’s better to give Davey some realistic expectations than to have him constantly disappointed by your failure to live up to these.”

As she spoke, she realized that he was studying her intently. She lifted her eyes to his and their gazes locked. Electricity arced between them in sufficient voltage to light a soundstage.

“How about dinner?” he said. “Do you have plans? We could work out these modifications.”

Kate wanted badly to accept. She wanted to pursue the sensations that had the atmosphere in the room suddenly charged. She wanted to be held and kissed and…

“No,” she said with great reluctance. Pleased by his obvious disappointment, she added gently, “You do have plans, though. Go home to your son.”

“Could I persuade you to come along?”

“As a buffer? I don’t think so.”

“I was thinking more as a friend.”

Kate’s heart seemed to stand still. She knew how badly they both needed a friend right now, but not tonight. Davey came first.

“Because we are friends,” she said with an unexpected mixture of certainty and definite anticipation, “there will be other nights.”

He nodded finally. “I suppose you’re right.”

He stood up and Kate walked with him to the elevator. When the doors opened, he leaned down and gave her a quick kiss. The touch of his mouth was warm and feather-light, but it was a commitment nonetheless, a promise that the time was coming when they would explore these fresh, new feelings that were blossoming for both of them even under these trying circumstances.

“Thanks,” he said. “Despite my rotten attitude, I know that Davey’s fortunate to have you in his corner.”

Kate reached up and touched his cheek. “Don’t forget that he’s lucky to have you for a father, too.”

He regarded her ruefully. “I thought you just finished telling me what a lousy job of parenting I was doing.”

“Right now,” she said gently. “Not always. If you hadn’t been such a great father before, he wouldn’t be missing you so much now.”

“Thank you for saying that,” he said. Then, just as the elevator doors slid closed, he added, “I hope you know what an incredibly special woman you are, Kate Newton. I really mean that.”

Kate sighed. Thanks to him and Davey and her own family, she was just beginning to remember that she had a worth that extended far beyond her value as an attorney.

Chapter Eleven

W
hen David walked into the house, he found Davey seated alone at the huge dining room table, looking so forlorn that David felt his heart wrench with guilt and dismay. No little boy should ever look that sad.

“Hey, pal,” he said. His breath caught at the expression of happiness that instantly brightened his son’s face. How had he forgotten that this was what mattered? How had he lost sight of the wonder of having Davey regard him with such open adoration?

“Dad! I didn’t know you were coming for dinner.”

“Sorry I’m late. Where’s Mrs. Larsen?”

“In the kitchen. She wanted to watch the news and her game shows. Sometimes I watch with her, but it’s pretty boring. I told her I wanted to eat in here.”

“By yourself? Why not in the den, so you could watch a video or something?”

“Mrs. Larsen says the den’s no place for food. That’s why we have a kitchen and a dining room,” he said in a tone that precisely mimicked the housekeeper’s.

Suddenly angrier than he had been in a very long time, David forgot about his own meal. He pulled out a chair and sat down. He studied his son’s neatly combed hair, the spotless shirt he was wearing. He’d always assumed such things were an indication of what good care the woman was taking of his son. Now he realized what Kate had meant when she’d told him weeks earlier that the housekeeper was rigid, even though she clearly cared a great deal for Davey.

“What else does Mrs. Larsen say?” he said tightly.

“She says lots of stuff,” Davey said with a shrug. “She has rules for just about everything. I’ll bet she never had any fun when she was a kid.”

“How about shooting some baskets with me?” David said impulsively. Suddenly he badly wanted to see his son flushed with excitement and messed up from having exactly the sort of fun Davey assumed the housekeeper had missed in her childhood.

“Now?” Davey replied, his eyes lighting up. He glanced at the generous scoop of baby carrots and broccoli untouched on his plate and his face fell. “I haven’t finished my vegetables. Mrs. Larsen says beta…beta-something is an important vitamin.”

“To hell with your vegetables,” David said, thinking that Mrs. Larsen said entirely too much. “Let’s go.”

Davey started for the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to change into my play clothes.”

“You do not,” David said firmly, as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the dining room chair. Fortunately he was wearing jeans and sneakers. “Not tonight, anyway. Where’s the basketball?”

“In the garage.”

“Good. I’ll get it and switch on the outside lights.” He grinned at his son. “I hope you’ve been practicing, because I’m feeling very lucky tonight.”

Davey giggled as he darted past him. “Dad, you’re terrible, except at free shots.”

“Terrible?” David retorted indignantly. “I’ll show you terrible, you ungrateful little monster.”

They thundered through the kitchen, startling Mrs. Larsen, whose mouth immediately turned down into a disapproving frown. She opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, David gazed at her evenly and said, “You and I will have a talk later. I think some changes are in order around here.”

Eyes wide with astonishment and instantaneous anxiety, she stared after him. David felt only minimally guilty for disrupting her meal and her routine. He felt worse about making her anxious. Though his first ill-tempered instinct had been to fire her, he realized that would be unfair.

Over the years Mrs. Larsen had been good to all of them. In fact, she had been a real saint during Alicia’s illness, treating her as tenderly as if she’d been her own daughter. She was older, and no doubt a firm hand and rigid rules were her way of coping with an energetic boy. Hopefully he could make her see that a more moderate approach of discipline was called for.

As he and Davey played basketball, he realized exactly how much his son had improved since the last time they’d been on the court. Not only was he quick on his feet, but his shots were increasingly sure, despite whatever pressure David put on him. He was also sneaky as the dickens when it came to blocking his father’s shots. They called the game at nine o’clock, when they were tired and sweaty and dead even.

“Enough,” David cried, collapsing onto the grass beside the half court that backed up to the garage.

“Chicken,” Davey accused. “I had the ball. One more minute and I would have won.”

“Probably so,” David conceded with a laugh, wondering how his son had developed such a fierce competitive streak. Kate would no doubt say the boy had inherited it from him. But he hadn’t always been that way. He’d only become driven since Alicia’s death. Perhaps with Kate and Davey prodding him, to say nothing of Dorothy, he could get his priorities back in order.

He ruffled Davey’s damp hair. “Think how humiliating it would have been for me to lose. Give your old man a break.”

“You want a drink?” Davey asked. “I could bring us a pop.”

“Wonderful,” he said gratefully.

When Davey returned with the cans, he sat down next to his father. “I think Mrs. Larsen is really worried,” he said, sounding genuinely concerned about the housekeeper. “You’re not really mad at her, are you, Dad?”

“No, not really. I just want to talk to her about relaxing a few rules around here.”

“Good,” Davey said, “’cause she’s not so bad. It’s not like she’s really mean.”

David regarded his son proudly. “You’re a great kid to stand up for her.”

Davey shrugged. “She’s not like a mom or anything,” he said carefully. “But she bakes pretty good cookies and stuff, and she’ll usually take me places to see my friends. I think it makes her nervous, though, when they come here. She’s afraid we’re all going to fall in the pool and drown.”

“Is that why you don’t have your friends over so much?”

It was a long while before Davey answered. “Not really,” he said.

“Why, then?”

“I like to go to their houses better,” he admitted finally.

David thought of the way his own home had always been the center of his boyhood activities. He’d wanted that for Davey, too. He wondered why it hadn’t happened that way. Then he recalled the way things had been during Alicia’s illness, how quiet they’d tried to keep things for her. Had Davey stopped inviting his friends over then? Or was the answer as uncomplicated as the choices of entertainment available in his friends’ homes?

“Do they have more stuff to do?” he asked, though he couldn’t imagine any child having more toys than his son.

Davey shook his head, his gaze focused determinedly on a smudge on his sneakers. He rubbed it intently.

Puzzled by Davey’s sudden reticence, David prodded, “Son, what is it?”

Those huge brown eyes that could break his heart finally met his.

“Most of them have a mom and a dad,” he said wistfully. “It’s really nice.”

The pain that cut through David then was worse than any heart attack, worse than the anguish he’d felt the day Alicia had died. He reached over and gathered Davey close. Skinny arms circled his neck, the rare gesture all the more precious coming from his too-big-for-hugs son.

“I’m sorry, Davey,” he whispered, his throat clogged with emotion. “God, I’m so sorry.”

After a while he felt tears fall onto his chest, but he had no way of knowing if they were Davey’s or his own.

* * *

David got Davey into bed, then showered, put on pajama bottoms and a robe for Mrs. Larsen’s sake and went in search of the housekeeper. He found her in her room, still dressed, still looking as if she feared dismissal.

“Mrs. Larsen, I apologize if my behavior earlier worried you.”

“I try to make allowances,” she said primly, following him into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and sat down heavily, obviously expecting the worst.

David wondered guiltily how many allowances had been made in the months since Alicia had died and the burden for caring for his house and his son had fallen on Mrs. Larsen’s sturdy shoulders.

“You’ve done a wonderful job around here,” he reassured her. “I really don’t know what I would have done without you. But I am concerned about Davey.”

The relief that had flickered in her eyes gave way to defensiveness. “What’s he been telling you?”

“Nothing, I promise you. I just have the feeling that perhaps it’s time we were a little more lenient with him. He needs to learn to take responsibility for his actions. I think you’ve laid a solid foundation for that, don’t you?”

“But he’s still just a boy,” she protested. “He needs guidance.”

“Exactly. He needs guidance, not military discipline. Perhaps we could loosen the rules just a little. If I’m not home, for example, and he wants to eat in his room or the den, I think a tray could be prepared, don’t you?”

Though she looked horrified by the very thought, she nodded. “I suppose, though there’s bound to be a mess.”

“Then he’ll have to clean it up.”

She gave an approving bob of her head. “I suppose that would do.”

“And I’d like you to encourage him to invite his friends here. I know it’s asking a lot. Ten-year-old boys tend to be noisy and rambunctious, but I think it’s only reasonable that Davey pay them back for having him over so often. I’ll try to make sure that I’m home when they’re here, too.”

An idea from his own childhood occurred to him. “Maybe next weekend he could even have a sleepover, if you wouldn’t mind baking an extra couple of batches of those cookies he likes so much. I’ll order in pizza and soft drinks.”

The prospect of the deafening commotion a group of ten-year-olds could create was almost as daunting for him as it was for Mrs. Larsen, but he was determined that she not be the only one making changes around here. He would try to manage some without Kate’s insistence, though he couldn’t deny he wanted her approval.