Raphaela's Gift (32 page)

"I love you, Ella. I would do anything for you. You know that, don't you? And I won't try to change you. You're the most wonderful, beautiful girl in the whole world."

Raphaela opened her mouth, her lips curling and uncurling, forming a variety of odd formations. And then a sound rumbled from her throat. Low and croaking, like a frog's call. Yet it didn't stop. It continued, until it changed, took on a more human sound. "I…"

"I?" he repeated. Was she trying to speak?

Her mouth changed shape. "L…uh…"

"Luh?" He encouraged her to continue. "What are you trying to say, Ella? Iluh?" His heart pounded in his ears, thumping against his chest. His hands shook as he reached to her and brushed a curl back from her face.

"Vvv…"

"Iluhvvv?" he repeated, wanting more than anything to understand her, to finally have that connection. And to know she understood what he'd said. To know the sins of the father would not be brought upon the son.

To know he would not repeat his father's crimes.

Raphaela nodded her head and smiled, then leaned forward and brushed his cheek with a soft kiss.

He leaned back, and his hand flew to his face settling where the dampness of her kiss still lingered.

"Uuu…" she said, her mouth puckered in an exaggerated circle.

And then he knew.

"Oh, God, Ella. I love you too!" He wrapped his arms around her and held her as tightly as he could. "I love you, too. And now I need to go tell someone else that too. Daddy will be back in a little while, okay?"

"Fai…th…?"

"Yes, baby. Faith. You love Faith, do you?"

Raphaela nodded.

"So do I, Ella. So do I." He gave her one last squeeze and stood, and as he turned toward the door, Marian stepped aside to let him pass.

Her face was red, her eyes teary. "I hope you're happy, Garret. Really. I mean it. I hope you're happy," she said, gripping his arm to stop him for a moment. Her eyes traveled over his face, and she smiled as she released his arm.

"Thanks, Marian." He dashed out of the room, down the stairs and through the sheeting rain to his car. The air crackled and hissed, the wind blustered, bending tree limbs and sending leaves and dirt swirling into the air. He started the car, and with the wipers set at high speed, drove through the torrent, through the rivers that had been roads, to Hartville.

The storm slowed him down, and it took three times as long as it would otherwise to get to Faith's grandfather's home. In the over two hours, between praying for his life as his car skidded over flooded rural blacktopped streets, he rehearsed his apology and explanation. But no matter what he said, how many fancy clinical words he used, it still sounded trite and rehearsed.

No, it would be better to just wing it, say what came to his heart.

When he pulled into the driveway, he noticed Faith's car wasn't there. Maybe she was running errands, he told himself, refusing to acknowledge the nagging fear at the back of his mind. Who ran errands in the middle of a storm?

She wouldn't leave town again.
The thought popped into his head.

He dashed up the walk to the front door and knocked, his heart pounding in his ears with equal volume. And then heavy footsteps approached on the other side of the door.

When it slowly opened, an elderly man, stooped, but still tall, stood before him, his soft blue eyes studying him with curiosity. "Hello," was all he said.

"Hello, sir. My name is Garret Damiani. I'm looking for Faith."

"Garret? The doctor from Kent?"

Garret nodded. Had she left a "thanks for nothing" message with her grandfather? He didn't think he could listen to it if she did.

No. He wouldn't let her give up. Not without a fight. He would find her and apologize, explain everything, no matter what she'd told her grandfather to say. She had to listen.

Her grandfather smiled. "She went looking for you."

Relief washed over him. She would forgive him. "Oh. Thank you, sir!" He was so grateful he almost wrapped his arms around the old man and hugged him. He turned around and ran through the rain to his car.

"Good luck, Garret Damiani." The croaking voice followed him through the rain as he opened his car door. He glanced up, and the old man waved, his encouraging smile still in place.

He returned her grandfather's wave and smile, then slid into the driver's seat and started the car. It took him another hour and a half, twice as long as it would otherwise, to drive back to his house. The whole ride there, he wondered if she would wait for him, or if she would get frustrated and leave. Marge was good at chatter. Hopefully, she would keep Faith company if she did decide to stay.

When he pulled into his driveway, he saw her car.

She had waited for him, for untold hours. He thanked the God he'd taken for granted for the blessing He had given him and ran up the brick walkway to the front door, not caring about the storm that raged around him. Rain pelted him, wind roared in his ears, and all he cared about was holding Faith in his arms.

She was in the library, snuggled into the brown leather couch, her legs curled under an afghan and a book in her hands. She glanced up at him and smiled when he walked into the room, and he hoped he would always see that smile when he returned to her.

"I hope you don't mind me coming in here. Marge told me this is your most private space, and I don't know what made me want to come in here…" Her voice trailed off as he walked toward her, and she studied his face. An eyebrow tipped ever so slightly. "What is it? Do you want me to leave?"

"Absolutely not," he said as he opened his arms. "I'm glad you're here. You have no idea."

She stood and threw her arms around his neck, then laid her head against his chest, and he relished the feel of her body pressed to his, the smell of her hair, the knowledge that she hadn't run.

"I didn’t expect you to come back," he said into her hair as he sifted his fingers through its silken weight.

"Neither did I, but a wise old man showed me the mistakes I'd made, and I didn't want to give up on us yet. You're not disappointed are you?" She tipped her head and looked at him. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and sent a spray of gentle lines from the outside corners of her eyes.

He chuckled. "Does it look like I'm disappointed?"

"I wasn't sure what to expect, after yesterday."

"Yeah, yesterday," he repeated, and then kissed her forehead. He wanted to do more than that, but resisted. He needed to keep on track, clear the air, explain what had happed first. There would be plenty of time for the other later. "I want to talk about what happened yesterday."

He motioned for her to sit on the couch and then he pulled up a chair so he could sit across from her.

She pulled her legs up onto the couch and covered them with the afghan again, then looked at him, expectation in her face.

"I realize I've been sending some mixed messages."

"Downright confusing would be more accurate," she said with a nod.

He smiled. "Sorry. I never meant to do that. I thought we were doing okay. I thought I was doing okay, but when you and I were in the pool…" His face heated. Would she understand?

She nodded in apparent encouragement.

He decided to try a different approach. Would he ever get this out? It was much harder than he thought it would be. "You know my parents were divorced when I was young."

"Yeah, so were mine."

"I remember." He drew in a slow breath. "Well, what I didn't tell you about, because I honestly hadn't remembered, or didn't think about it…Anyway, I didn't tell you about my father. What it had been like before he left."

Her expression grew even more perplexed, but she simply said, "Okay."

"There is a point to this, I swear."

She smiled.

"The day my father left, I begged him to stay, but instead he apologized to me for all the misery and sadness he'd caused by failing to be the father and husband he'd wanted to be. He said we would be better off without him."

"How sad." Her eyes dropped from his face to her hands, and she fingered the edges of the crocheted afghan.

"I always thought I'd handled their divorce well. Thought it was such ancient history, it wouldn't impact me. Not after all the years that had passed. But I was wrong.

"After Marian and I divorced, I thought I was fine. We hadn't worked out, and I admittedly blamed myself, but I was certain if I met the right person, things would be different--I would be different. I was a fool to assume that."

"Aren't we all?"

"The thing is, I had failed to make Marian happy. Failed to keep Raphaela's family intact. Failed as a husband and a father, just like my father had. And although I didn't consciously admit that much to myself, I guess it had kept me from getting close to another woman. I couldn't fail again."

She raised her gaze to his face. He wanted to see happiness and love on her face, not the shock and disappointment he saw there now. "Oh God, Garret. Do you still feel that way?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Maybe a little. I know it makes me act in some pretty crazy ways, and I don't know if I can change that. I'm obsessive when I'm in a relationship. I've known that for some time now. Basically, I beat our marriage dead with all my obsessing." He paused. The next question stuck in his throat. He coughed as though that might allow it to escape, then drew in another deep breath. "Are you sure you want to be with a man like that? With me?"

She paused a moment, then chuckled.

"You think this is funny?" Her reaction was so unexpected, he didn't know how to feel.

"I'm sorry. I know that's mean, but in a way, yes I do think this is funny. Not you, but our situation. We both fought through so many obstacles to reach each other. You had to overcome your problems with Marian and Raphaela, and I had to overcome my problems with work, and Marian--"

"And that punk, Steven," he added, leaning back in his chair.

"And Steven." She bit her lip, pausing before going on. And he waited, wondering what she would say next. "And now that all those things have been pushed aside, we still can't get things right."

Realization struck him. "That's because all along, those were just excuses."

"Right," she agreed.

His burden was bared, the weight of it lifted and he laughed. With each guffaw, he felt more and more liberated as though each one broke another link in a heavy chain. "Now, we're both doing it," he said through the laughter.

"Doing what?"

"Analyzing everything."

Her smile was warm and accepting, and then she leaned forward, and he held her. She smelled so good, felt so good. He inhaled the scent of her, of flowers and body lotion, and relished the feel of her arms wrapped around his neck, her breasts brushing against his chest.

"Maybe we're more suited to each other than we both thought, although I have my own confession to make," she whispered.

"Confession?" He leaned back and waited. "What sort of confession?"

Her gaze dropped to her hands as she toyed with the holes in the crocheted afghan. He'd shared so much with her, opened up to her, risked rejection, risked humiliation. She wanted to share everything with him. If she was going to approach this relationship with a personal vow of honesty, she had to begin right now. "I've had my own problems, my own demons to exorcise." She stood. "It's so complicated, but I'll try to explain."

Garret nodded, looking at her expectantly, silent. She drew in a slow breath, knowing he wouldn't reject her for what she had to say, but wanting to keep it buried anyway. If she didn't speak it, admit her problem aloud to someone else, she would likely fall back into old habits. And if she did that, her relationship with Garret was bound to fail.

That was obvious.

"It's so strange how things that happened years ago can affect a person…" she started. Her admiration for clients, like Alex's father and even Marian swelled. They had talked about their problems and weaknesses with such frankness. She'd never realized how hard it was to do that, until now.

He smiled and nodded.

She continued, determined to push her way through this. "And how relationships with parents, good or bad, can affect a person into adulthood. My mother was really the only parent I had in my life, since my dad lived in New Jersey most of my childhood. She was a strange woman, judgmental, critical, always pitting me against my brothers and them against me. I still don't know why she did that. It caused all sorts of problems between my brothers and me."

She stepped away from him, and ran her hand over the top of his chair before walking to the fireplace. The marble mantle felt cool under her hand as she touched the smooth surface. "Worse, it made me so desperate to connect with someone, with anyone, that I learned to keep my feelings and thoughts to myself. Whenever I got into a relationship, whether it was a friendship or otherwise, I changed, turned into someone else. I became whoever the other person wanted me to be."

She looked at Garret, waited for him to say something. He studied her for a moment, his expression kind, rather than condescending or judging. "Do you feel that way now? With me?" he asked, standing and walking toward her. He didn't touch her or crowd her.