Love Will Find a Way (20 page)

"It's very good," she murmured.

"Does it look like the ones Daddy draws?"

"Yes, it does. Maybe you'll want to be an architect when you grow up."

"And work with Daddy." He sent her a defiant look. "I can't wait till our house is done and Daddy comes back to live with us. Then we'll be together all the time, not just on the weekends."

He dared her to deny his claim. She could see it in every taut little muscle in his body. "I can't wait until the house is done either," she said. Maybe she did need to take Wesley to a counselor. She didn't know whether to keep correcting him or just let him accept things in his own time.

"Am I in trouble?" Wesley asked, changing the subject when he failed to get the reaction he'd been expecting. "Is that why Mrs. Harrington asked you to come in?"

She shook her head. "You're not in trouble. But I would like to know why you spelled some words wrong on your test when you knew the right spelling."

"I forgot," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

"Really? Or did you stop trying?"

"It's just a stupid quiz. And the words are stupid, too. They're too easy."

"So you did know how to spell them?"

"I guess. Are you mad at me?"

How could she be mad at his sweet angel face, his expression so clearly worried as he was caught between defiance and confusion? So she did what she'd wanted to do all along: she pulled him into her arms and gave him a hug. She still couldn't believe her little boy was a genius. Where would he have gotten those genes? She'd never been more than an average student in school. And her father hadn't put much store in test grades. Which left only Gary or...

Not her mother!
Definitely not her mother.

Her mother had been an artist, not a math whiz. Although Rachel remembered her father using the same word, "gifted." He'd once said her mother was a gifted artist. And her mother had left because of that gift.

Now they wanted her to take Wesley to some place where he could use his gift. But their home was here. This was where they lived, where they would always live. She couldn't uproot her child, especially not now. They were building their dream house, for heaven's sake. They were going to live there together. Wesley wouldn't want to go to a private school. Even if she wanted him to, he wouldn't. There had to be some other solution.

"Can we help Dylan work on the house now?" Wesley pulled away from her arms with another show of independence. "I promised to help him after school."

"What about your homework?"

"I already did it."

"You did?"

He nodded and reached into his backpack to remove several sheets of math problems. "See?"

Rachel ran her eye down the problems, noting the neatness and accuracy of his answers. "Did you do this in class?"

"No, I did it while you were talking to Mrs. Harrington. It was easy."

"So it didn't take you very long?"

Wesley shrugged. "Nope."

"Do you have anything else?"

"I already read the story and answered the questions, too. I'm done, so can I go see Dylan?"

Rachel glanced at the clock on the wall. It was three-fifty-five, and she'd begun her appointment with Mrs. Harrington at three-twenty. In thirty-five minutes Wesley had finished three pages of math problems, read a short story and answered questions about it, not to mention drawing an incredibly detailed picture of a house. Had he always been this fast, this creative,
this
confident about his homework?

She certainly hadn't thought about it before. But then, she hadn't thought about much in the past six months beyond getting on with her life and making sure Wesley was reasonably happy. Now she felt guilty for not noticing. Even Dylan had remarked on Wesley's intelligence and he'd barely spent any time at all with him. She had to start opening her eyes and ears. She had to start listening, and seeing what was happening right in front of her.

"Mommy?" Wesley asked uncertainly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she answered with a smile as she ruffled his hair with her fingers. "Let's go home."

"To our new house?" he asked with a persistence that couldn't be denied.

"I have a better idea -- ice cream." Wesley looked disappointed, so she added, "Chocolate in a waffle cone dripping with hot fudge sauce, and we'll sit at the counter and spin on the stools."

His eyes lit up. "Okay."

Ice cream wasn't exactly a stiff drink, which was more along the lines of what Rachel needed, but then again, chocolate had always been her drug of choice.

"Can we have two scoops?" Wesley asked.

"We can have three." It was the easiest decision she'd made all day.

* * *

"Can I buy you a drink?" Dylan asked the young woman sitting across from him.

Beth Delaney patted her stomach, where he noticed a small bulge. "I'm afraid non-alcoholic only."

"Congratulations."

Her face lit up with a bright, joyful smile. "Thank you. Mike and I are so happy. We've been trying for three years."

"When are you due?"

"In the spring."

He looked up as the waitress came to take their order. "A beer for me and a --"

"Seltzer," Beth answered. "Thanks." She folded her hands on the table. "Now, do you want to tell me why you're buying me a drink?"

"It s about Gary," he said. "As his assistant for the last few years, you might be able to help me with something."

"Does this have something to do with Gary's cell phone bills?" Beth asked, the previous pleasure in her face completely gone. "I spoke to Rachel this morning. She asked me to send her copies of the bills. She wouldn't say why, and I hesitated to ask."

Dylan waited as the waitress set down their drinks. The bar was getting crowded; the large iron clock in the corner struck five-thirty. Soon, happy-hour would be in full swing and J&B's Bar was one of the hottest happy hour spots in downtown San Francisco. He and Gary had shared many a cocktail here over the years; the bar was just down the street from Gary's office.

He didn't remember the place being this loud, this chaotic -- probably because he'd spent the past few days in the country. Last week he would have told anyone who asked that this was the kind of noise he preferred, this energized bar filled with intense and ambitious people, passionate about their careers, living life in the fast lane. Now he wasn't so sure.

"Dylan," Beth continued after the waitress left, "can you tell me what's going on?"

"I can't," he said. "But I need to know if Gary told you who he was going to see in Lake Tahoe the weekend he died."

Beth didn't answer right away. He saw a battle going on behind her green eyes. She'd always been devoted to Gary.

"He didn't say exactly," she said. "But he was worried about something, Dylan. The two weeks before he died, he was taking off at strange hours, usually after he got a phone call from a woman named Laura."

Dylan's heart sank to the floor. Laura again? Who the hell was she? "Laura who?" he asked. "Do you have a last name?"

"No, and I was irritated that she wouldn't give me one. At first Gary seemed reluctant to take her calls, but then he made it clear she was to be put through to him wherever he was."

Dylan took a sip of his beer. "Do you think he went to Lake Tahoe with this woman?"

"I don't know. He mentioned something about a party. I didn't ask. It was the weekend."

"What was his mood, Beth? Was he happy, worried, depressed?" He still couldn't get the idea of suicide out of his mind. It certainly didn't seem plausible, but neither did this thing with another woman.

Beth ran her finger around the edge of her glass. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. Why? Was she trying to protect Gary?

"He was nervous, and it was odd, because Gary was never nervous. He was the most confident, happy, dare-devilish kind of guy I'd ever met. He didn't take things to heart. He didn't get stressed when problems arose. I marveled once that his blood pressure was probably zero. He just laughed and said he'd live longer that way." She bit down on her lip. "God, I can't believe I just said that."

"It's okay. He'd probably laugh if he heard you."

"I miss him so much, Dylan. They reassigned me to Harry Trent, if you can believe it."

"Old Harry? Ouch."

"I'm thinking about quitting after I have the baby." She paused. "How is Wesley doing? I used to love hearing Wesley stories. Gary was really proud of his boy."

"He's a great kid. I wish Gary could see him grow up."

"Me, too. Have I told you what you wanted to know?"

He smiled but shook his head. "No, but thanks anyway."

"I told Rachel I'd fax her copies of Gary's cell phone records. Would you like me to send them to you, too?"

"That would be great."

Beth gave him another long, thoughtful look. "Do you think Gary was having an affair?"

"Do you?" he countered.

"I never called him at a motel, if that's what you mean."

"You never called him on anything but his cell phone; he could have been anywhere."

"I think he really loved Rachel. Although ..."

"Yes?"

"I'm not sure I could have put up with my husband staying in the city during the week and only coming home on the weekends. I used to tell Gary to take off early some days and go home. He always acted like he wanted to, but then something would come up. He said Rachel was the most understanding wife in the world and the best thing that ever happened to him. It always sounded like true love to me."

"Yeah, true love." Dylan raised the beer bottle to his lips and took another swig. It didn't taste right. This bar didn't feel right. He had the sudden urge to go home, but it wasn't his apartment he was thinking about, it was the house in the country that called to him.

"Thanks for the drink," Beth said, getting to her feet. "If you need something else, let me know. And if you see Rachel, tell her again how sorry I am, would you? I didn't really know her, but I felt like I did after hearing Gary talk about her. She sounded pretty special."

"She is special," Dylan agreed. Too damn special.

* * *

She couldn't possibly be missing Dylan, Rachel told herself as she loaded the dishes after dinner Tuesday evening. The man had avoided her for nine years, and she'd grown accustomed to his absence. There was certainly no reason that she now couldn't go two days without seeing him.

But the two days had seemed endlessly long. She'd stopped by the house three times, hoping to find him there. Instead she'd found Travis and a plumber. Travis had said that Dylan had run into San Francisco to tie up some loose ends. What loose ends? Had he changed his mind about finishing the house himself? Travis seemed to think he'd be back soon, but maybe Dylan wasn't coming back at all. Maybe he'd changed his mind.

She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and walked out of the kitchen. Wesley and Carly were watching television in the family room, and her grandparents had retired to their house after dinner. Pushing open the front door, she stepped onto the porch and took a seat on the swing. It was a beautiful night, filled with bright stars, a big old moon and a cool breeze. Shivering, she wrapping her arms around herself. She needed a coat or a blanket or a man's arms, she thought with a yearning that stretched down deep into her soul.

But there was no reassuring voice coming out of the darkness, no strong male upon whose shoulder she could rest her head. She was alone, a truth she had to face. She wasn't a wife anymore. She was a widow. But she was still a woman -- a woman alone.

Some would say she wasn't really alone, not with her grandparents nearby, her sister and child living in the house with her, an assortment of cousins and aunts and uncles in the surrounding few miles, but still she felt lonely. In recent years she'd been too busy for girlfriends. Heck, maybe she'd been too busy for her husband. And why had she been so busy? Had her priorities been wrong? Had she spent all of her time trying to save the farm, save the family, when she should have been more concerned with saving herself and her marriage?

But she hadn't thought she was in trouble.

"Rachel?"

She stiffened when a male voice did come out of the darkness, but it wasn't Dylan's voice, she quickly realized. It was her grandfather's.

"Hi," she said as John came into view. He walked up the steps and sat down next to her on the swing.

"You should have turned the porch light on. I could hardly see you," he said.

"I like the dark."

"Easier to hide in, that's for sure."

"You think I've been hiding?" she asked. "Carly said the same thing earlier. Why didn't you tell me before? Why didn't you grab me by the shoulders and give me a good shake and tell me to open my eyes?"

John put his arm around her. "I think you've spent a lot of time and effort trying to make everyone in this family happy. Now it's time to concentrate on yourself."

"But I should have concentrated more on Gary. Maybe if I'd made him happy …" She couldn't finish the sentence or the thought.

"You did just fine by Gary. Don't be thinking you shortchanged him in any way."

"It's hard not to think that. I'm beginning to realize that my husband was not as happy as I was."

"That wasn't for your lack of trying."

"I guess not. But I can't help noticing you aren't disagreeing with me. You knew Gary wasn't happy, didn't you?"

He shook his head. "I just thought he had feet a little too restless for our neck of the woods. But if he was unhappy, if he wanted change, I'm sure he would have said something."

"Or not. He knew I loved it here. I never hid that."

"And he loved you. You can't keep looking back."

"I don't think I have a choice."

"Because of the insurance money, or is something else bothering you, Rachel?"

She supposed she should tell him about her conversation with Wesley's teacher, but she couldn't quite make herself bring up the subject. Once it was out in the open, she'd have to make a decision, and it was too soon for that. "I'm just on edge," she said instead. "I feel keyed up, and I don't know why. It's as if I'm waiting for something to happen, but I don't know what."