Ryan's Return (14 page)

"I didn't take away your mother, boy. She left you same as she left me. She didn't love any of us."

"That's not true. It was your fault. You wouldn't let her sing. You knew what a great voice she had, the opportunities she gave up to stay here with you."

"She could sing right here."

"But she wanted more. She wanted to go home."

"This was her home."

"She wanted to go back to New Orleans. But you wouldn't even take her back there to visit her friends. Too expensive, you said. But we both know the real reason. You were afraid to let her go, afraid she'd never come back. And your worst fear came true."

"I gave your mother food and clothing and a home. I tried to make her happy, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. She was spoiled and selfish, just like you. And she left with that man. She chose him over all of us."

"She didn't. I don't know where she went, but she didn't leave with him. I hired a private investigator to find both of them. He couldn't pick up a trail on Isabelle, but he followed the man all the way back to the day he left this town, through his divorce to the day he died, but they were never together. Never."

"That's not true."

"It is true. She left because of you, because you told her to get out, just like you told me to get out. You're he one who broke up this family, not her."

"Get out of my house."

"No."

"I said, get out," Jonas screamed. He threw his beer bottle against the wall in rage.

Ryan jumped back as the remaining beer splashed across the room. Then his father's face turned pale. He clutched his chest and sank to the floor.

"What's wrong?" Ryan asked.

Jonas struggled for breath. His eyes began to flutter.

Ryan rushed to his side. "Dad? Dad?" he cried out, suddenly terrified. "What's happening?"

"Heart," Jonas gasped. "Pills. Counter."

Ryan frantically searched the kitchen counter for pills, knocking over a stack of mail and a bowl of oranges before he found the small bottle next to the phone. His land was shaking as he tried to open it, and he swore is the childproof lid balked at his efforts. Finally he got it open. He handed Jonas a pill and ran for a glass of water. By the time he got back to his father, Jonas had swallowed the pill.

Ryan felt helpless watching his father struggle to wreathe. "What should I do?"

"Appleborne. Find Appleborne," Jonas moaned.

Ryan reached for the phone. Dr. Appleborne was unavailable. So he called 911 and prayed that they would arrive in time.

When he hung up the phone, Jonas tried to say something to him, but he couldn't catch his breath.

"It's okay. Just rest," Ryan said, kneeling beside his father.

Jonas closed his eyes. His head fell to one side, and his hand reached out to Ryan in a silent plea for help.

The front door slammed behind them. Ryan looked up, praying it was the ambulance. It was his brother.

Andrew stopped in the kitchen doorway. His face turned white at the sight. He had to swallow three times before he could speak. "My God! You killed him."

There was no hospital in Serenity Springs. The ambulance took Jonas to Sonoma, a twenty-minute ride. Ryan and Andrew followed in the Ferrari. They didn't speak one word the entire time, both caught up in their own thoughts.

Ryan had been in emergency rooms before, usually to photograph victims of some horrendous accident, some nightmarish act of God. But he hadn't known those people. He had seen their blood, but he had never felt their pain.

He didn't want to feel pain now. He didn't want to feel anything for the man they had wheeled behind the double doors a few minutes earlier. He hadn't wanted his father's ashen face to mean anything to him, or to have his stomach turn over at the sight of his father's limp body.

This was not the man who had raised him. This was not the Jonas who had towered over him like a tree, who had roared at him like the river, who had never weakened in the face of any storm, any danger, any heartache.

This Jonas had trembled, had been forced to his knees with pain, had needed him to help. Seeing his father like that had scared the hell out of Ryan.

He still felt shaky inside, almost nauseated. He was afraid that his father was going to die. It was ridiculous to have such feelings of desolation for a man he hadn't seen in years, but the feelings were there. He couldn't stop the memories, and each one eroded the wall he had built to protect himself.

His father had taught him to play basketball, given him his first camera, watched him score the winning rim at the high school baseball game.

Jonas hadn't talked much, hadn't showed affection, but he had been there. He had fed them and clothed them and put a roof over their heads. Ryan didn't want to feel thankful for any of that, but at the moment that's just what he felt, along with a sense of regret that this might be all there was, that Jonas might truly die and their relationship would be over.

Father and son.

He had once wanted the relationship with desperation. He had once walked away from it with determination.

Father and son. The words rang through his head until he put his hands over his ears.

Andrew and Jonas were the true father and son, two men so alike they were almost mirror images of each another. Ryan didn't belong. He had never belonged.

Why had he come home? Why the hell had he come home?

Andrew sat down in the chair across from him. Ryan didn't know what to say. Why was it so hard to talk to his brother, to talk to his father? Why was it so hard for him to have a family?

"He's going to be okay," Andrew said, repeating the one and only phrase he had uttered in the past half hour.

"I hope so," Ryan replied.

Another long silence. More people entered the waiting room -- a little girl crying over her swollen wrist, a man coughing and sneezing, a pregnant woman and her devoted husband. One by one they went through the double doors, leaving their loved ones to wait and wonder.

"This is your fault," Andrew said. "Why did you go there? Why didn't you just leave it alone?"

"I wanted to see the house. I wanted to see my father."

"After all these years -- why?"

"I was curious."

"About what?"

"Everything." Ryan tilted his head to one side, studying Andrew with an intensity that made his older brother flinch. "I thought I took all the secrets with me, but they were here all along."

"What are you talking about?"

"Why didn't you tell me Becky Lee was pregnant?"

Andrew looked down at the ground. "It wasn't any of your business."

"Wasn't it?"

"No. It was my baby. My responsibility. It had nothing to do with you. Nothing." Andrew got to his feet. "I'm going to see what's taking them so long."

Ryan thought about calling him back, about forcing the issue, but a doctor came through the doors and beckoned them over.

Dr. Robert Steiner, a cardiologist, had been called in to consult. After introducing himself to both Ryan and Andrew, he spoke briefly and bluntly.

"Your father suffered a heart attack," Dr. Steiner said.

"How bad?" Ryan asked.

"Bad enough to scare the hell out of him. But not bad enough to do him in. He said he was arguing with his son. That would be ..."

"That would be me," Ryan finished bitterly. "So he blames me for this, too."

"Blame is not important. What is important is getting your father to realize that he needs to take care of his heart. He was supposed to see me weeks ago. Dr. Appleborne went over his case with me at Christmas. Why didn't he come in?"

Ryan looked over at Andrew. His brother shrugged helplessly.

"He doesn't like doctors," Andrew said. "He thinks he can take care of himself."

"I see. Well, since he's here now, I'd like to keep him here for a few more days. Run some tests and give him a thorough workup. Then we can talk about proper diet, exercise, and rest."

"That sounds good," Andrew said. "Can I see him?"

"You can, but he's sleeping at the moment. Come oack in a couple of hours. Let things cool down a bit. And try not to upset him."

"All right." Andrew turned to Ryan when they were alone. "Dad is not going to want to stay here. He hasn't missed a day at work in thirty years."

"Looks like you'll have to put out tomorrow's edition of the paper," Ryan said.

Andrew looked taken aback, then nodded. "Yeah, looks like I'll have to do that."

"Want any help?"

"From you? I don't think so."

"Why not? I worked on the paper as much as you did when we were growing up."

"But you don't work there anymore, I do. Why don't you leave? Go home. You've done enough damage for one weekend, don't you think?"

"I'll go when I want to go. And since you're going to be busy with the paper, I'll keep Kara company." Ryan couldn't resist that last shot. He didn't like being told he should stay away from his father and the newspaper and the town he had grown up in.

"You stay away from Kara."

"I don't have anything else to do. You don't need me. Jonas doesn't need me."

"Kara doesn't need you either."

"Maybe I need her."

"What do you want?" Andrew asked again. "To come back and ruin my life for a second time?"

"I didn't marry your girlfriend, Andrew. I didn't steal the woman you loved right out from under you. So where do you get off acting like the injured party?" Ryan nodded slowly, as if he had suddenly seen the light. "You're just like Jonas, blaming me for what you did."

Andrew flushed at the charge. "I didn't steal Becky Lee. She made her choice."

"And why did she make that choice?" Ryan asked again. "Because she was having your child? Or because -- " he lowered his voice -- "because she was having mine?"

The blood drained out of Andrew's face. "Billy is my son," he said haltingly.

"He better be, Andrew. He better be."

Billy hung up the phone in Kara's kitchen and looked over at Angel and Kara. "My dad says Grandpa had a heart attack, but he'll be okay. He has to stay in the hospital for a couple of days, though."

"Oh, dear." Kara looked at Billy's troubled face and her heart went out to him. He had to be confused by all the animosity flowing through the Hunter household. Poor kid, probably didn't know what to make of his family.

"I think Uncle Ryan made him sick," Billy said. "Dad told me not to talk to him if he calls me or anything. I guess he's afraid he'll make me sick, too."

"Why would he do that?" Angel asked with her own sense of unerring logic. "Ryan is a nice guy."

"You don't know him," Billy replied.

"I know him better than you."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Time out," Kara said. "Let's leave the fighting to Andrew and Ryan. It's their business, not ours."

"I bet they're fighting because they found out that Ryan is not really a Hunter," Angel said, using her best story-telling voice. "That his father is an Italian count who came to America to find his lost love, only to discover that she was already married. They knew they couldn't be together, but before they left, they had one incredible night of passion, and ..." Angel's voice faded away as she looked at her mother in alarm.

Kara realized she was staring at her daughter with her mouth hanging open. "Incredible night of passion? What have you been reading?"

"Nothing," Angel said quickly.

Even Billy was staring at Angel as if she had suddenly grown two heads.

"That is enough," Kara said. "More than enough. Go to your room."

"Can Billy come with me?"

"Absolutely not," Kara replied, her mind still focused on that last line, one incredible night of passion. What did her eleven-year-old daughter know of such things, and just how close were these two kids? "You better go home, Billy. You and Angel can see each other later."

"Mom," Angel protested.

Kara shook her head, opening the back door for Billy. "Good-bye, Billy."

"Good-bye," he mumbled.

Kara turned to her daughter. "Are you still here?"

Angel's eyes grew teary. "How could you do that? How could you make my one friend in this stupid town go away?"

"He just went home for dinner. He'll be back."

"No, he won't. You make everyone go away," Angel declared.

"I do not."

"You made Dad go away. You wouldn't cook him dinner, and you wouldn't take his clothes to the cleaners. And he had to ask that other lady to do it for him. And now he won't even write me, and when I call him he won't talk to me. You made him hate me."

Kara's mouth fell open for the second time in less than five minutes. "I didn't -- your father doesn't hate you."

But Angel wasn't listening. She was running up the stairs to her room. Kara started to go after her.

"Let her go," Ryan advised, closing the back door behind him.

"When -- when did you come in?"

"Right before Angel said you made her father go away."

Kara flushed. "That's not true. I have to make her listen."

"I don't think she'll hear you right now, no matter what you say."

"But she has it all wrong."

"Don't we all."

"What does that mean?"

Ryan sat down at the table. He looked exhausted.

Kara thought about Angel and decided Ryan was probably right. It would be easier to talk to her once she calmed down.

"How's your father?" she asked.

"Still breathing."

"That's good."

"Yeah." He rubbed the muscles along the back of his neck.

"How did it happen?" Kara asked.

"I went to the house. Jonas wasn't home when I got there, so I went inside." Ryan looked at her through pain-filled eyes. "He kept my things, Kara. My room was exactly the same as I'd left it. And it was clean, not a speck of dust anywhere. Tell me Jonas has a cleaning lady. Tell me Mrs. Murray goes over there once a week and cleans his house."

"I can't tell you that, because I don't think it's true. As far as I know, Jonas cleans his own house. In fact, Andrew once mentioned that Jonas is a nut for neatness.

That you two used to have endless chores every Saturday, and that you couldn't play until Jonas could bounce a quarter off your bedspread."

"That's true. But I don't understand, Kara. Why didn't he throw my things away? Why did he keep them? Why did he dust them?"

"Maybe he was hoping you'd come back one day."

Ryan laughed bitterly. "And that's why he threw a drink in my face last night? To welcome me home?"

Kara sighed. "I don't understand Jonas any better than you do. The one thing I do know is that the Hunter men are filled with pride, way too much of it as far as I'm concerned." Kara paused. "You still haven't told me how Jonas came to have a heart attack."

"We started fighting. I guess this time he got the last word."

"What were you fighting about?"

"The old stuff." He looked at her with a bewildered expression in his eyes. "All this time I thought I knew the secrets, but I didn't." His expression turned thoughtful. "Maybe Angel knows, too."

"Knows what? Your secrets?" Kara asked in confusion.

"Not mine, yours."

"I don't have any." But they both knew she was lying. Kara picked up the knife on the kitchen counter and began to slice carrots, her motions getting faster and faster until her knife hit the cutting board so hard the carrots scattered across the counter.

Suddenly Ryan's hands were on her shoulders. She turned into his embrace, and they held each other for a long moment. A port in a storm, his arms felt strong and safe. She wanted to linger in his embrace, in a place where the past couldn't touch her and the future was out of reach.

But Ryan moved away. He didn't protect her. He forced her to open her eyes, to lift her head.

"What did he do?" Ryan asked.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine, don't tell me. Tell Angel. Don't make the same mistake my father did. Angel is a smart kid. She probably knows more than you think."

"The truth is so -- dirty," Kara whispered. "I don't want it to touch her."

"I think it already has. That's why she makes up stories about her father and everyone else. She doesn't like your world, so she's inventing her own."

Kara wondered if he was right. Angel had always had imagination, but she had never told lies, not until the divorce. She wanted Angel to stop, and yet in some ways she didn't. It was easier to hear Angel boast about her father the CIA agent than wonder what Angel would be saying about her father if she knew the truth.

"I can't," Kara said. "It's too hard."

"You don't run from challenges. You face them head on. I saw you do it last night at the dinner. I saw you stand up to those people."

"But I didn't stand up to my husband, not until it was too late. I was a coward. Maybe I'll tell Angel the truth when she's older."

"How old? Is there a magic age when we don't feel pain anymore, when we don't feel connected to our parents?"

"Yes. I think so."

"How old are you, Kara?"

"I'm thirty-one, why?"

The look came back into Ryan's eyes, the one that made her think he knew something about her. "Do you think you could handle anything I told you about your own father?"