Solomon's Decision (20 page)

"He is my son."

He went to her and slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her with him back
to the cluster of chairs. After an initial resistance, she allowed him to guide her. Bonelessly
she collapsed, sitting slumped and defeated.

"I still can't believe you." Her eyes overflowed. She seemed unaware of the tears
coursing down her cheeks.

"I tried to convince myself it couldn't be," he said. The last of his anger dissolved
with her renewed tears. "I told myself you were pregnant when...that night in Seattle. But
then I counted." Over and over he'd counted. "Condoms aren't a hundred percent
foolproof." He shrugged, still unwilling to believe. "I guess we're the fools."

Ginger's birthday, and therefore Kyle's, was August third. Exactly eight months,
three weeks, and six days after the night in Seattle. He'd used his modem, gone back into
his work diary which, fortunately, he'd put on disk last winter when he'd been forced into
temporary inactivity with a sprained ankle.

"Erik, You've got to be mistaken." She sat straighter, her tears gone now. "If you
used a...protected me, and I was inseminated that morning--no, it's just impossible.
Besides, I requested a donor with light hair and brown eyes." Biting her lip, she paused,
then said, as if admitting something faintly offensive, "I wanted their father to look as
much like Jesse as possible."

"That's sick!"

"You walk in here and claim to have fathered my children and you talk about
sick?" Her hoarse cry should have strained her throat.

Somehow Erik felt as if he had been put on the defensive. "Never mind who's sick.
I want to know if you're going to keep denying that you used me!" He'd fought the
suspicion that he'd been nothing but a convenient stud to her, and thought he'd conquered
it. Now, with her insistent denial, he was beginning to wonder if it might not be the only
possible explanation. "What'd you do? Decide it would be more fun to do it the natural
way? Go to Seattle, lure the first blond man you saw into your bed, and bingo! Natural
insemination."

He stood with such force that his heavy wrought iron chair tipped. Pacing,
avoiding the sight of her face, he snarled, "Well, think about this, lady. That boy is mine
and I have every intention of his knowing his father. You can either cooperate or fight me.
Either way, I'll win." He bent over her and waited for her to look him in the eye. When she
stubbornly kept her face turned away, he lifted her chin with an inexorable pressure.

"If I have to go to a geneticist for proof, I will," he vowed. "I haven't any doubt
Kyle is my son, and I intend to be his father. You've got a week to get yourself used to the
idea. Then I'll take whatever steps I must to be part of his life."

"I don't believe you."

"Whether you believe me or not, Madeline, I know Kyle is my son." Two steps
took him to stand behind her, not touching, for the rage within made him afraid to lay a
hand on her. "I want him."

"No!" Her gasp was as ghostly as a bat's wings in the night. "You wouldn't take
him away from me?"

"Wouldn't I?" Her face was twisted with pain, but he couldn't let it affect his
decision. "He's my son, and nobody's going to keep me from being a father to him." Even
as he spoke the words, he was amazed yet again at his primitive need to know his son.

"I still don't believe you." Desperation and denial.

"I can prove it."

"How?" Incredulity and more denial.

"Ever heard of genetic testing? It's a simple process to take a small sample, look at
the DNA, and tell that I'm one of Kyle's parents. Beyond doubt." He couldn't prevent a
smug tone from creeping into his voice. Geneticists were doing incredible things. Proving
paternity was only a small part of the miracles they passed before breakfast.

"Sample? Of Kyle's blood?"

"More likely of tissue. I'm not sure."

"You'd need my permission. What if I won't give it?" Now her voice and her
stance were stubborn, but the denial was still there.

"I'll get a court order." He gave himself a mental reminder to call Wils tomorrow.
Even if she stopped fighting him on this, he needed legal advice.

Her shoulders slumped. She refused to look him in the eye, hunching one shoulder
and staring at the ground. For a moment she gnawed her lip. "Will you give me time?" she
said. "I need to think about this."

He wanted to say no, because he wanted his son to know him. "Yes. I've got to go
to Minnesota tomorrow. I'll be back late in the week." He hoped. The project in Minnesota
sounded like one of those that dragged on three times as long as expected. "You have until
then." He went to his car, had his hand on the door handle when she spoke, finally.

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"What about Ginger? If Kyle is your son, she's your daughter."

Erik stared at her. Bitterly he heard again his mother's words, words he'd tried so
hard to forget.

I'll never forgive you, Erik. Never. You should have taken care of her. It was
your responsibility.

Even now, so many years later, he cried out, in his mind,
I tried, Ma. I tried.
But she was too big, and the water was so swift.

But his mother hadn't heard. In her grief and her anger, she'd raved on.
There's
not a man in the world can be trusted to take care of a woman. You're just like
him
, just like your father. With no thought for the females you're responsible for.
Oh, God! Why didn't he take you with him? Why didn't you go?

Knowing his own limitations, and hating them, Erik could not turn to look back at
Madeline. "I just want my son," he repeated.

What would he do with a girl? He could no more be a father to her than he could
fly.

* * * *

Erik kept his voice low as he hunched over the pay phone in the concourse at
O'Hare. Despite the sound made by hundreds of travelers, he wanted to be certain he
wasn't overheard. At least four other members of the EA team were in the Chicago airport,
waiting for the flight to Duluth. The way his luck had been running lately, they were in the
adjacent phone booths. "Wils? Where have you been, man?"

"In court. We're finally going after Lithops Petrochemical." Wilson Bates's deep
voice held a strong note of satisfaction.

"All right! Nail 'em to the wall." Erik knew how long and how hard Wils's law
firm had been working to put together a case against a major contributor to a toxic dump.
"How'd you finally get them into court?"

"A little, tiny loophole. One of their legal staff missed it and it gave us an
opening." Wils sighed. "The bad news is that this case is likely to drag on for months."

"Think of all that lovely money," Erik said, grinning. For years Wils had worked
for peanuts trying to save the world. With the birth of his fifth child, he'd decided to be
practical. Now he was a junior partner in a prestigious firm specializing in environmental
law. "You ought to make enough from this to guarantee college for all of your rug
rats."

"Fat chance. Have you any idea of the cost of braces these days?" His voice faded
briefly and Erik heard him say something to someone at his end. "Look, buddy, I've got
about ten minutes before I have to be back in court. What can I do for you?"

"I may have to prove a boy is my son. Can I get a court order for genetic
testing?"

"What the hell?"

"Wils, don't ask questions. Just tell me: is a court likely to go along with what I
want?"

"I'm an environmental lawyer. How should I know?" Again his voice faded. This
time Erik heard a woman's voice in the background, sounding urgent. "Okay, I'll be right
there. Look, pal, I can't give you an answer right now. Can I get back to you?"

Quickly Erik gave him the name and number of the hotel where he would be
staying for the next few days. "All I need is a name, Wils. I don't have a clue who to call
for this, but I know I need legal advice."

"I'll have some names for you by tomorrow. And buddy?"

"Yeah?"

"I want all the details. You hear me?
All
of them."

A quick glance at his watch told him he'd better get a move on. They were
probably boarding his flight right now. "You'll get 'em. That's a promise." He hung up, but
stayed in the enclosure for a few seconds, leaning his head against the cool plastic of the
pay phone.

God! It's all so damn complicated.

* * * *

"This is a new one on me, Linnie, but I'll say right now that you'll have to let him
have the children tested." Her lawyer looked genuinely distressed. "Unless there's no
possible reason he could be their father?"

"No," she said wearily, "it's possible." She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the
expression on his face. Another childhood friend of Jesse's, he had to be disappointed in
her. Had to believe she'd cared so little about Jesse to have slept with another man so
soon.

"Were there witnesses? Or is it his word against yours?"

"Witnesses? What on earth are you suggesting?"

He raised his hands, palms out. "I'm not suggesting anything, Linnie, except that
you may not have been a willing participant."

For just one reckless moment she actually considered it.

"No." The word came out a defeated sigh. "No, I knew what I was doing."
Shaking her head, wondering yet again at her foolish and desperate attempt to escape a
pain that had still been as fresh as the day Jesse died. "Or at least, I thought I did."

"Well, then, Linnie, I'm afraid you have no choice. As long as you're willing to
admit having been intimate with him, he'll win."

"Thanks, then. I guess the only thing left is for me to tell the children."

"Don't do that!" He came around his desk and knelt before her. "Not until you
know he's their father." Dabbing at her tears with his handkerchief, the lawyer said, "It
could
be the donor, you know."

"But--"

"Linnie, promise me you won't say anything. Not yet. It could jeopardize any case
you might have."

"Case?"

"Once he's proved he's their father, he could challenge you for custody."

"No!" She grabbed his hands. "It wouldn't do him any good, would it?"

"I'd like to say it wouldn't," he said, "but yes. It could."

"I can't believe it. Erik would never...."

"Linnie, we don't know what Erik will do. He seemed like a nice enough fellow,
but we're talking here about some pretty primitive emotions. People do the damnedest
things when their kids are concerned."

Madeline remembered the implacable expression on Erik's face when he accused
her of concealing the twins from him. She believed him to be a decent, honorable man, but
she'd seen he was also a man of stronger, more complex passions than she'd suspected.

Would he believe she'd never intentionally kept his children from him? Or would
he take revenge on her for doing so?

* * * *

"What's this?" Erik looked at the envelope the messenger had just handed
him.

"Don't know, sir. Sign here, please." He thrust a clipboard under Erik's nose.

Impatiently Erik scribbled his initials. He was already running late. He'd just have
to pay the premium on an empty gas tank, because there wasn't time to fill up before he
turned the rental car in at the airport. Ripping the envelope open, he pulled its contents free
and unfolded the thick stack of papers.

A summons! Quickly he skimmed down the top sheet. "Ferrous County vs. The
National Wetlands Trust." The date was day after tomorrow. What the hell?

He tossed his jacket and briefcase onto the borrowed desk. Somebody had better
have some answers, and fast. He had a plane to catch.

Fifteen minutes later a secretary was canceling his flight and Erik was closeted
with the rest of the project team and a lawyer. "The county is
fighting
us? You've
got to be kidding?"

"Not exactly," the project manager said. A lawyer with a background in land use
planning, she was one of the best Erik had ever worked with.

"According to their counsel, they foresee a legal challenge and want to shortcut it
up front. By having a judge rule on the validity of the county's claim, they'll have it on
record that there is a conflict between recreational development on the old Blackstone
Mine property and preserving the swamp. They aren't asking for a judgment on whether
the development will affect the swamp, just on the existence of a use conflict."

"Do you really need me?" There was one more flight he could catch and still get to
Boise tonight.

"You're our prime witness, Erik. We need to show that there's evidence of a
subsurface flow between the pit and the swamp."

"I don't know that for sure."

"But you have some evidence that points that way, don't you?"

He'd just spent three days going over old well records and other historical
documents. "Yeah, there's evidence. I couldn't swear to it, though."

"You won't need to. Just tell the judge what could happen to the swamp if the pit
were flooded and a connection
did
exist."

"That I can do." He could paint a graphic picture of what happens to a swamp
when the water level rises and it becomes a lake. He'd seen enough silvery skeletons of
trees standing in deep and stagnant water where once highly productive ecosystems had
existed.

Damn! He'd wanted to get back to Garnet Falls tonight. He wanted to see his
son.

Difficult as it was for him to admit, he wanted to see Madeline.

* * * *

"Why don't you marry him?"

Madeline stared at her cousin. Jon was usually a very serious person, little given to
joking. "Excuse me?"

Jon pushed his platter aside, having left nothing of the sixteen-ounce rib steak
dinner he'd ordered but the bone and a parsley sprig. Madeline was still toying with her
lady's sirloin, a delicious steak but one that seemed to swell in her mouth as she chewed
it.