The Way Home (21 page)

“I don’t know. But he’s not getting a chance to hurt her again. She’s not going back to that house.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

The only idea,
Ty thought. He took a swallow of coffee, feeling his stomach chum as it went down. He hadn’t eaten since sometime the night before, he realized. But he made no move to get up and get something to eat.

“What’s going to happen to Meg when you leave?” Jack asked slowly.

Ty felt the momentary feeling of peace disappear like a popped balloon. It was the same question Meg’s mother had asked. He’d had no answer then and he didn’t have one now.

“I don’t know.” He set his cup down and stood up, moving to the window to stare out at the gray landscape outside. “But she’s not going back there.”

“Well, she’s going to have to go somewhere because it’s a cinch your mother won’t let her stay here.”

Ty didn’t need Jack to tell him that. His mother was not without her sympathetic side, but taking Meg in would be as foreign to her nature as going out to get the mail in her nightdress. It just wasn’t done. No, having Meg stay with his family was out of the question.

“What about her sister?” he said suddenly, turning to look at Jack. “Maybe Meg could stay with her.”

“Patsy?”

“Why not?” Ty asked, warming to the idea. “Meg and I saw her when we went to the fair this shmmer.”

“How did she look?” The question seemed to come without his volition, his tone enough to shake Ty out of his preoccupation with Meg.

“Why? I thought you didn’t really know Meg’s sister.” Jack shrugged, his expression controlled as he got up from the table. “We dated a time or two.”

“When?” Ty’s interest was caught. Something in Jack’s tone said that there was more to it than just a casual date or two.

“A few years ago. The winter Dad died, actually. You remember, I came home for a couple of months to take care of things, get Mom and Beryl settled.”

“I remember. But you never said anything about dating Patsy Harper.” Ty moved out of the way so that Jack could rinse his cup in the sink.

“There wasn’t much to say. We went out a few times, then I took Mom and Beryl to Europe for a few weeks. By the time I got back, Patsy had gotten married.” He shrugged. “End of story.”

Ty doubted that. Something told him there was considerably more to the story than Jack was admitting. But the problem of settling Meg was more urgent than Jack’s past involvement with her sister.

“Do you think Patsy would take Meg in?” he asked. “How would I know? I haven’t seen her in almost five years. She seemed fond of Meg. But even if Patsy is willing, there’s no saying how Patsy’s husband would feel.”

“True.” Ty frowned into the middle distance. He didn’t want Meg living where her presence was only tolerated. She deserved more than that.

“Look, you don’t have to make any decisions this minute.” Jack set his cup down and crossed the room to take his jacket from the coat hook beside the door. “I’m going to go home and see if Beryl has a few things she can loan Meg.”

“Things?” Ty had only been listening with half an ear, his thoughts still circling the need to get Meg properly situated.

“Clothes,” Jack clarified. “Or do you expect her to continue living in your pajamas indefinitely?”

“No, of course not.”Clothes. Why hadn’t he thought to ask her mother to pack some of her things? “Ask Beryl not to mention Meg to anyone, would you? If people find out she’s staying here with me, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Speaking of which, Mrs. Vanderbilt was over this morning, a few minutes after you left. Said she was worried that something might be wrong when she saw you leave.”

“Busybody,” Ty muttered as he followed Jack to the front door.

“I don’t think it’s fair to say that, Ty.” Jack paused in the doorway and shook his head. “She’s carried gossip to a new high. It’s almost an art form with her. Give credit where it’s earned, Ty. She’s gone far beyond such a common term.”

“You’re right. They ought to invent a new word for someone like her.”

“It’s raining again,” Jack commented, frowning at the light drizzle that was falling.

“Looks like.” Ty thought of the storm the night before, of how wet Meg had been when he brought her inside.

“You know it’s really too bad Meg isn’t a little older,” Jack commented, apropos of nothing.

“Why?” Ty shifted his attention from the lowering sky to Jack’s face. “What’s her age got to do with anything?”

“Well, if she were just a little older, you could marry her. That would solve all her problems. I’ll bring some clothes by later.” He lifted one hand in farewell before hurrying down the steps and into the rain.

Ty watched him dash across the wet lawn to the black Studebaker parked at the curb. It was a good thing he hadn’t waited for a response to his comment, because Ty doubted he could have said a single word at that point.

Marry Meg? Jack was off his rocker. Shaking his head, he pushed the door shut, closing out the damp afternoon. Meg was just a kid.
Please don’t call me a kid, Ty.
The words she’d spoken — my God, was it only last night? — came back to him.

Heaven knew, she didn’t feel like a kid in his arms. When he was holding her, she was all woman and a desirable one at that. But that wasn’t the point. She was too young for him. Besides, he had no intention of getting married. He had neither the money nor the inclination to be taking on a wife. Jack must have been joking. That was it. Jack had been jerking his chain.

Ty stopped and stared up at the door of his room, just visible at the top of the stairs. Marry Meg? The idea was ridiculous.

Meg came downstairs for supper and ate some of the soup Ty fixed, though he suspected it was more to please him than because she felt hungry. After supper, they sat in the living room and listened to the radio. Meg seemed wrapped in her own thoughts, so withdrawn that not even Amos and Andy managed to draw more than a vague smile from her.

Seeing her so subdued, noticing the way she tended to jump at the smallest sound, Ty found himself bitterly regretting the lost opportunity to plant his first squarely in Harlan Davis’s face.

It was barely nine o’clock when Meg stood up and asked if he’d mind if she went to bed. Ty followed her upstairs and rifled the medicine chest for another of his mother’s sleeping pills, which he insisted on Meg taking before she lay down. She looked so small and fragile lying there. Her hair tumbled over the white linens like warm gold silk and her skin was nearly as pale as the pillowcase. The blue of her eyes seemed dull, the life drained away.

“You’ll feel better tomorrow,” he said, making the words at once reassurance and command.

“I know.” She made an effort to smile for him but her eyes remained shadowed.

“You don’t ever have to be afraid of Davis again.”

“I keep thinking about him,” she admitted. “The way he looked at me. The way he … touched me.”

“Try to put it out of your mind.” He gave in to the urge to stroke his fingers across her forehead, brushing her hair back from her face. “I’ll keep you safe, Meg. Trust me.”

“I do.” The soft words were solemn as a prayer.

It occurred to Ty suddenly that he was responsible for someone else’s life in a way he’d never been before. He’d promised her that he’d take care of her and she believed him.

It was a promise he’d keep, come hell or high water. All he needed was a few days to figure out how to go about it.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to have those few days.

With all that had happened, Ty had all but forgotten his parents’ imminent arrival. Since their wire had simply said that they’d be home in a few days, giving no specific date, it had been easy to shove it from his mind. Which was exactly what he’d done.

The first time he thought of them was when the front door opened the next morning and he heard his mother’s sharp voice telling someone to be careful with the luggage because it wasn’t made of granite. His eyes flew across the table to where Meg sat, a cup of coffee steaming in front of her. She stared at him in dismay and not a little fear.

“Don’t worry,” he said automatically.

“Tyler? Where are you, dear?” His mother’s voice preceded her as she apparently decided to check the most likely spot for him to be at eight-thirty in the morning.

He stood up, half thinking to stop his mother before she got to the kitchen and saw Meg, though he could hardly conceal her presence for more than a few minutes. But he’d taken only one step toward the hall before his mother sailed through the door, her still-pretty face wreathed in a smile.

“Tyler! It’s so wonderful to see — “ She broke off as she registered the scene before her.

Ty closed his eyes, knowing exactly how it looked, exactly how she’d interpret it. Damn, but this was the last thing Meg needed. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the color rush up under his mother’s smooth skin as she took in the sight of her son, in his shirtsleeves, standing next to the table where he’d obviously been sharing breakfast with the girl still seated there. A girl who was not only young and beautiful but who just happened to be wearing that same son’s bathrobe.

“Oh!” She put her hand to her chest and staggered back as if from an actual, physical blow.

“What’s the matter, dear?” Elliot McKendrick, as always, trailing behind his wife, put his hands on her upper arms to steady her and peered over her head. “My, my,” he murmured, a masterpiece of understatement if ever Ty had heard one.

He opened his mouth to offer some explanation, something to diffuse the scene before it got started. But what came out was: “How was your trip?”

CHAPTER 10

Not surprisingly, no one was interested in discussing the McKendricks‘ recent European jaunt. In fact, for a moment, Ty wasn’t sure there’d be any discussion at all, since his mother looked as if she might faint. But he underestimated her. After a moment of stunned silence, she straightened away from her husband’s support and drew herself up to her full, if not particularly impressive, height.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, in a tone that left no doubt in anyone’s mind that the meaning of it was perfectly clear. And appalling.

“Calm down, Mother,” Ty said. He stepped forward so that he stood between her and Meg, instinctively trying to protect Meg from the scene that was sure to follow. “There’s nothing to get upset about.”

“Nothing to get upset about?” she repeated. Her voice rose questioningly. “I come home to find my son — my only remaining son — having breakfast in my kitchen with some … some floozy who’s wearing his bathrobe and you tell me I shouldn’t be upset. How could you, Tyler!”

“Meg is not a floozy. And this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Then what is she doing in my kitchen wearing
your
bathrobe?”

“She’s not doing what you obviously think she is.” He thrust his fingers through his hair, wishing he’d had a chance to prepare for this. “I wish you’d let me know when you were coming,” he said, speaking his thoughts out loud.

His mother gasped indignantly. “We certainly didn’t think there was any reason to warn you of our arrival!”

“That’s not what I meant.” He hadn’t thought it possible that things could get worse, but he seemed to be doing a pretty good job of insuring that they did.

“I was so looking forward to coming home,” she said, her voice breaking. “I thought you’d be glad to see us.” She searched through her purse to come up with a handkerchief with which to dab at her eyes, though Ty saw no sign of tears.

“Of course I’m glad to see you, Mother. It’s just that, if I’d known when you were arriving, I could have picked you up at the station and … explained things to you so that you wouldn’t jump to conclusions about Meg’s presence.”

“Then why don’t you explain it now,” she snapped, clenching the linen handkerchief into her fist. Before Ty could respond, her eyes widened and the narrowed. “Meg?” She seized on the name, her finely plucked brows drawing together. “Not George Harper’s daughter?” Her appalled tone made it clear that she was hoping for a denial.

“Yes, as a matter of fact she is.” Ty was vividly aware of Meg sitting behind him, listening to what was being said. The last thing she needed at this point was this encounter with his mother’s razor-edged tongue.

Helen started to say something, caught the blaze of warning in her son’s eyes, and changed her mind abruptly.

“I must say, I’d thought better of you, Tyler. I know a boy’s expected to … sow some wild oats,” she said delicately. “But to bring a woman into your own home … I just can’t believe you’d do something so . .

“Ty didn’t anything wrong.” Ty turned as Meg stood up.

“Meg — “

She ignored his half-spoken protest and came to stand beside him. She was pale as a ghost but determined to come to his defense. “Ty was helping me, Mrs. McKendrick. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” There was a moment’s silence and Ty wondered if it was possible that her words had gotten through to his mother.

“What happened to her face?” Helen snapped, looking at Meg but addressing the question to Ty.