Past Due (17 page)

Their mother worked out of town most of the week and when she did travel back to the farm, she spent most of her waking hours preoccupied with business. Her manner became efficient and professional overnight. Tres realized as he parked in the circle drive that he had lost both his father and his mother in one year. The joy of childhood doused. Until Jenna.

She brought back the purpose—the hope. When they were together, he imagined finally having the home he wanted—the life he needed. Gripping the steering wheel, the ragged truth made his chest hurt. He could have had it all. At least he could have had his son. If Jenna had trusted him, loved him as he did her. But she didn’t. Jake filled her head with lies then stole all that should have been his. He blamed Jake.

And his mother?

What role did she play? Or were Jake’s lies extended to everyone? But what of the letter Jenna gave his mother, why did she never tell Tres of Jenna’s visit?

He slammed his car door and headed to the house. He threw open the front door of the house banging it against the wall. He yelled for his mother from the door, continuing his calls as he moved through the foyer to the winding staircase. He yelled again and again, his voice nearly hoarse as it echoed back at him from the vaulted ceiling.

“What in the world?” his mother asked as she appeared, her slender body dressed in a crisp linen pant suit her blond hair perfectly curled, her makeup impeccable. Her face softened when she recognized her son. She walked toward him, a hand outstretched, a subtle smile at the edges of her mouth.

“What did you do with my letter, mother?”

Barbara Coulter halted; an eyebrow lifted a moment then returned to its normal place. She inquired gently, “What letter, dear?”

“Fifteen years ago, a girl came here,” Tres’s neck muscles bulged from the tension in his body and the veins in his temple throbbed as he spoke, “and she brought me a letter. Where the hell is it?”

“I don’t recall a girl,” Barbara answered, diverting her gaze from her son to imperceptible lint on her sleeve. “There were so many.”

“No, Mother. No there weren’t. Dammit, there was only one girl and you know it.”

“I recall there being several,” his mother answered sticking her chin out defiantly, her eyes locking on his.

The yelling brought his brothers, Craig and Trip, and Grams to the room. They stood in the doorway; none spoke, each silenced by the thickening tension.

“You know what Mom? I have come to my limit on games. Either you start remembering, or I walk out that door,” he pointed to the heavy oak door standing open to the deepening darkness outside, “and never come back.”

Barbara flinched, and then quieted a moment. Recall flashed across her face. She groaned. “Oh, that girl. Tres, really, she wasn’t the right girl for you. She did come here, and maybe she did bring a letter. I can’t really remember. It’s been so long ago.”

Tres’s mouth dropped open. Anger blocked his ability to speak or formulate thought.

“That summer,” she said with a sigh. “Tres, darling there are things you don’t know about. The situation you boys created on the island, well, it could have been quite disastrous.”

“We created?” He felt the fury pump through his veins with each quickening heartbeat. “We created, Mother?” He took a step toward her, Barbara stood her ground.

“Yes, Tres. The mess you and Craig created. I,” she pointed to her own chest, “fixed it. I protected you, darling. You don’t know how far in over your head you were.”

“Why Mother?” Tres asked, “Why was I in over my head? Because she had no money? No connections?”

“Being common was the least of her problems,” Barbara spat without apology.

Tres stood speechless. He had never realized how cold and arrogant his mother appeared until this moment. He began to comprehend what Jenna felt, what she must have learned from her visit to this place that day. Here she stood, a seventeen-year-old girl, pregnant and scared, greeted by his mother who most certainly did nothing to make her feel welcome. His mother was cold as winter wind, her iciness biting through flesh all the way to the bone.

Tres looked around with Jenna’s eyes. She must have been immediately intimidated by this cavernous room, the high gloss marble floor, the winding oak stairwell, the cut glass chandelier. Tres was used to it. It was just home. But to Jenna? This foyer had more square footage than her whole house. He imagined her here, nervous and out of place. Then what? He turned to his mother. “Where did you take her? What room?”

Barbara remained silent. Tres turned from her, using his own memory of Jenna’s words. She said she could see him at the pool. He turned toward the library. It overlooked the garden. He strode there, his family followed him. He looked out the window at the clear water. It was quiet now, but had once been the hub of teenage activity. Here she said she watched him with a girl, but that was crazy. He wouldn’t have been with anyone else. But there were always girls at the pool in the summer, but never at his invitation. They were always friends of his brother, Craig. Confusion began to clear as he turned and his eyes landed on his brother. Same hair, same build. Though Craig was three years his junior, they were often mistaken as twins. “She saw you. You were the one with the girl at the pool.”

Craig shrugged, “There were always girls at the pool. How the hell am I supposed to remember?”

Tres turned again to his mother. “So, you met with her in here. You didn’t bother to get me. You didn’t bother to tell her the guy in the window wasn’t me. And you didn’t bother to give me the letter she trusted you with.”

“I did you a favor, Tres. Look how far you have come in such a short period of time. You were going to throw it all away. All of your talent. I couldn’t let you make such a mistake.”

“Where’s my letter?”

“It’s history, Tres. It doesn’t matter.”

Her words stunned him. He stood staring at the faces of his family, these strangers who didn’t give a damn he had been in love. Was his family so snobbish and callous they could not understand he loved a woman even if she had no social status? Seeing his family from outside the inner circle, he began to understand how Jenna could believe she didn’t belong here, that she wouldn’t be welcome here.

“Darling, it is water under the bridge,” his mother answered firmly. “I took care of you, Tres. I protected you. You have always been a dreamer and this ‘love,’ would have destroyed you and possibly this family.”

“How could Jenna possibly harm this family?” Tres demanded.

Barbara gave him no answer.

His heart broke anew for Jenna. What had she gone through here? Why hadn’t he known well enough to protect her, to have brought her to this house himself? “I trusted you, Mother. I trusted you would be gracious to her because she was important to me. Didn’t it bother you how it broke my heart to lose her? You showed me the damned newspaper clipping of her wedding and the whole time, you knew she came here for me.”

“I only did what I thought was best at the time. And yes, I did feel guilty. I was plagued with it. But after a year you seemed to snap out of it. The girl was married. So, I assumed she got over her heartbreak easily enough. I certainly didn’t force her to marry someone else.”

“The hell you didn’t.”

“You’re being absurd, Tres. Let’s calm down and I’ll explain everything.” She reached out and touched Tres’s arm and he recoiled as if burned by her touch. His temper erupted, in a motion, he grabbed the marble bust of Voltaire on the desk and hauled it from its post and hurled it through the window. The violent sounds of broken glass and cracking marble erupted in a heartbeat. Then all was still except for the sounds of crickets and chirping frogs.

Pointing out the shattered window with its hanging shards of glass and splintered wood, Tres shouted, “She stood here. She watched Craig in the pool. You let her leave thinking it was me. You promised her with your saccharin sweetness that you would get her letter to me, right?”

“Yes, but I did it for you,” she answered, shoulders squared, jaw firm.

“Do you want to know what you did for me, mother?” He took a step forward, stopping within inches of his mother, his voice harsh but steady, “You saved me the responsibility of raising my son. My son, Mother. Your grandson. That’s what was in the letter.”

Barbara Coulter didn’t flinch, nor did she respond or utter a single word.

Tres shook his head. His surprise at her lack of response lasted only a moment. He started from the room and stopped at the doorway. He added in a way he thought his mother might understand, “If that means nothing to you, Mother, then look at it in a way you might give a damn. You created a media nightmare. The young political wonder, Tres Coulter, had a child he neglected for fourteen years.” His voice rose, his final words echoed in the room, “Think of that!”

The silence returned, even the hum of crickets seemed to halt. Tres turned and stormed from the room disgusted by them all. Their stiff lips and straight backs sickened him. He relished startling them when he overturned the table in the foyer, smashing their composure, causing them to gasp, to respond like humans.

Craig caught up with him on the porch and grabbed his arm. Tres turned, ready to fight.

“Hey, Tres, cool down. Mom didn’t know she claimed to have a kid. None of us knew for sure.”

“None of you gave a damn. I loved her, Craig.”

“Come on, Tres, love is bullshit. Women lie all the time to get the money. Spread their legs for a ride in a car.”

Tres grabbed his brother by the collar and slammed him into the side of the house. “Not Jenna. Never talk about her like that, or I swear I’ll kill you. You guys had no right. You had no right to make choices for me. Dammit, Craig. Why can’t you see? How many days, Craig? How many days did I spend trying to find her? Why didn’t you say something?”

Craig didn’t flinch, but he made no move to fight back. He sneered as he explained. “Because she wasn’t worth it. No woman is.”

“You’re serious?” Tres let go of him. His brother was more twisted than he ever imagined.

“Dead serious. She’d have broken you, Tres. Women are like poison.”

Tres shook his head, not really believing his ears, “What happened to you, Craig? When did you become so damned bitter?”

“If you recall, Tres, that wasn’t the greatest summer for me either. And I have had a bit more experience with the fairer sex than you.”

“She’s different, Craig.”

“They’re all different, they’re all special, and then they all bleed you. Mom did you a favor.”

“Just like she did you a favor sending you off to military school that fall?”

Craig shrugged. “Mom deals with problems.”

“Yeah, she amputates a leg for a broken toe.”

“She gets results.”

“But does that give her the right, Craig?” Tres thought on the rest on Jenna’s tale…that Jake had spoken with him. Jake had probably come here, but he hadn’t gotten the right Coulter to speak with. “Why did you help her, Craig? Jake talked to you—didn’t he?”

Craig nodded. “He came here a few times. He looked like a punk. Mom told me to get rid of him, and I did.”

“Do you realize what you’ve done to my life?” Tres asked his brother. “You and Mom—you two worked together to ruin me.”

“I thought she was crazy as her sister. You were too damned gullible. I knew what her family was like. I figured you were in too deep and needed help.”

Barbara joined them on the porch. “No one ruined your life, Tres,” she argued. “There are things you don’t know. Things I tried to protect you from. This situation. This child she claims is yours, we’ll get to the bottom of it. If you are a father, then we’ll do what’s necessary.”

Tres spun his attention from his brother to his mother. The fury in him blocked any rational thought. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. No words could mend the breach. She showed no concern about Jenna. Even her own son’s despair was a simple complication to her. A complication family dollars and judicial pull would sweep under the rug.

“Forget it,” He said, stepping off the porch. “Forget you have a grandson. Hell, forget you have a son.”

He moved to his car, his mother’s words followed him, though they failed to slow his departure.

“There are things you don’t know, Tres,” Barbara’s voice called from the porch, “Her whole life was chaos. The whole family was simply insane.”

Tres never acknowledged whether or not he heard his mother’s words. He started the engine, not bothering to respond to her as she yelled at the car, “You need to know the truth before you judge us, Tres!”

Barbara Coulter’s shoulders sagged for the first time in her life as she watched her son’s tail lights vanish as his car sped down the road, never slowing or turning back.

Chapter
13

Maureen skid her Cadillac into the parking spot and fled the cock-eyed car as quickly as her bulk and bum hip would allow. Any other day, she would patiently pull the full size car back-and-forth, back-and-forth until it was straight. But not today. Today, she had more important concerns on her mind. Parking skills didn’t mean squat when she questioned her ability to judge a man’s character, or more specifically, the character of Tres Coulter. She shook her head as she walked through the garage, the same thought echoed in her mind like the hollow sound of her footsteps on the pavement.