Crossroads (13 page)

“When Dana died, I couldn't think straight. Even though I dealt with life-and-death situations every day, it had never even occurred to me that my own life could be affected by an untimely death. I just figured that the three of us had plenty of time to be a family, and that I'd get around to it eventually. Then reality hit me in the face.”

He paused, and a flash of pain seared across his eyes. “You'd think that an experience like that would make me step back and take stock of my priorities. To back off the job and spend more time with the people I loved—particularly my son. Instead, I immersed myself even more deeply in my work. Not because of the excitement anymore. At least I'd gotten past that. But because it was an escape. I simply couldn't deal with my loss, and I figured if I kept
myself busy enough I wouldn't have time to think about it.

“And that was a huge mistake. Because David needed me during those months. Desperately. He'd lost his mother, and he needed my emotional support. But I was so caught up in my own grief, I was oblivious to his. For all intents and purposes, I was lost to him, too. My mother, who was a widow, moved in with us and she tried her best to help David, but he needed me. She told me that, many times, but I simply didn't get the message.

“That's when David started slipping away, finding his own way to deal with his grief. Namely, drugs. I had no clue what was happening—that's how out of touch I was with my own son.” He paused and gave a brief, bitter laugh, his mouth twisting in irony. “Me, the hotshot cop who dealt with dealers and addicts every day, didn't even recognize the signs in my own son. Until the night of…of the nightmare.”

Mitch closed his eyes, and a spasm of pain crossed his face. When he spoke again, his voice was raw, his words choppy. “One night my partner and I were sent to check out a deserted warehouse. It was reportedly being used for drug deals. The minute I walked inside I sensed something was wrong. You develop that sixth sense after a while working as a cop. You have to, or you don't survive. My partner and I split up to check the place out. It was absolutely quiet inside. And dark. All I had was a flashlight. The place was littered with debris. There was so much trash that I almost missed…the shoe.”

Mitch's grip had tightened painfully on her hand, but Tess remained silent, her gaze riveted on his face.

“I was sweeping the flashlight back and forth, and I went right over it. But something…something made me turn the light back on it. It was a sneaker. Next to some crates. And it was…attached to a leg.”

Tess drew in a sharp breath, and her heart began to beat rapidly. Mitch continued to speak, but it was almost as if he didn't realize she was there anymore. He was staring past her, his gaze focused not on this safe, cozy room, but on a dark warehouse that held unspeakable horror.

“I had this…this awful feeling of dread,” he said in a choked voice. “I moved the light up the body. Slowly. Everything suddenly seemed to be happening in slow motion. But finally I got to the face, and it was…it was…” His voice broke on a sob and his head dropped forward. “Dear God! I can never forget that moment! He was my only s-son and I f-failed him. He d-died because of m-me.”

The knot in Tess's stomach tightened convulsively, and for a moment her lungs seemed to stop working. The horror of it was almost too great to imagine. How could a parent survive such a cruel twist of fate? No wonder Mitch was still having nightmares about it six years after the fact. Especially since he held himself responsible for his son's death.

Tess looked at Mitch's bowed head. His shoulders were heaving, and though his tears were silent, they were no less wrenching. Tess knew intuitively that Mitch rarely, if ever, cried. And that when and if he did, it was in solitude. He was the kind of man people leaned on, the kind of man people looked to for strength. And he knew that. And lived up to those expectations. But once in a very great while that bur
den was too great to bear, too heavy for even the strongest shoulders. And this was one of those moments.

Tess didn't have to reassess her feelings for Mitch. If anything, his confession made her care for him more, not less. Yes, he had made mistakes. Bad ones. But he had learned from them. Had transformed his life because of them. And while he couldn't bring back his son, he had given the youngster's death some meaning by subsequently devoting his own life to helping other troubled teens avoid that same tragic end.

Tess's heart contracted with tenderness for this special man who had suffered such loss. She'd always sensed that his character had been forged in fire, and now her intuition had been verified. Despite his own self-deprecating remarks, Tess knew in her heart that Mitch had always been a good man. But it was the trials he'd gone through that had made him a
great
one. A man worthy of admiration. Of respect. And of love.

Love. Tess replayed that word in her mind, savoring the sound of it. Until Mitch came along, she had believed that love wasn't in the cards for her. But he had changed all that. He'd made her feel young and beautiful and desirable. And he'd made her believe in happy endings again. He'd given her hope that her tomorrows need not be as lonely as her yesterdays. He'd opened the door to a whole new world of possibilities. And along the way, she'd fallen in love with him.

Hot tears rose to her eyes as her heart overflowed with love and compassion for this wonderful man
who gave and gave without asking anything in return. Who was capable of dealing with pain alone. But who didn't need to anymore.

Tess reached out to him then, scooting closer until she could wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. His arms went around her involuntarily, and he buried his face in her neck, clinging to her with a desperation that said more eloquently than words how much he needed her, how much he cared for her, how much he trusted her.

For several long moments they held each other, until Mitch at last backed off slightly to stare down at her. He touched her face gently, reverently, as if to reassure himself that she really was there. “You didn't bolt.”

“Did you think I would?”

“I wouldn't have blamed you if you had.”

“You're harder on yourself than anyone else would be.”

“I'm honest. If I'd been there for David in his grief, he might still be alive.”

“You were dealing with your own grief, Mitch. You weren't thinking clearly.”

“That's no excuse,” he said harshly. “I neglected David. And he died. Period.”

“A lot of kids get involved with drugs even when they have attentive parents.”

“Yeah. But I was never an attentive parent even before Dana's death. I was always too busy with my job. And both she and David suffered.”

“Would you do the same thing today?”

He frowned and gave her a startled look. “Of course not.”

“Because you learned and you grew and you moved on. You devoted yourself to helping kids, and you're making a difference in a lot of lives. Like Bruce's. And you do it with absolute dedication and selflessness. I suspect you're a different man today than you were six years ago, Mitch.”

He stared at her. “That's what Uncle Ray said.”

“He's a very wise man. You should listen to him.”

“He also said I shouldn't spend the rest of my life alone. And lonely.”

Tess stared at him silently in the dim light, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. “And what did you say?”

He drew a deep breath. “That I was scared. Of messing things up. Making the same mistakes. Hurting the people I love. Just like before. But he didn't buy it. He said I'd changed, and that it was time to move on.” Mitch gently caressed her face, and she quivered under his touch. “I think maybe he's right,” he whispered hoarsely.

Tess felt as if her heart was going to burst, it was so filled with joy and elation and hope. “Oh, Mitch!” she said in a choked voice.

“I love you, Tess.”

“I love you, too.”

“I didn't plan for this to happen, you know.”

“Neither did I.”

“Are you sorry?”

She smiled up at him, and though the light was dim, there was no mistaking the happiness in her eyes. “Do I look sorry?”

One corner of his mouth rose in amusement. “Hardly.”

“Are you…sorry?”

His smile disappeared. “No. But I
am
scared.”

“Join the crowd.”

He ran his hand around the back of her neck, under her hair, and caressed her nape. “Maybe cautious is a better word,” he said softly. “Because when I'm with you, I'm not scared at all. It's only when we're apart that I have doubts.”

“I feel the same way,” she breathed.

“Then there's only one solution. We have to spend as much time together as possible.”

“I like the sound of that. Except…” Her eyes grew troubled, and though her instinct was to throw caution to the wind and simply go with the flow, her maternal instinct was too strong to allow her that luxury.

“Except what?” he prompted gently, caressing her nape with his thumb.

She swallowed, trying to hold on to rational thought for at least another few seconds. “Except I have to think of Bruce, too. And what's best for him.”

“And?”

“And you two haven't exactly…I mean, I'd want anyone I was going to—” She cut herself off. She'd almost said “marry,” but she suddenly realized that Mitch hadn't used that word. “Anyone I was going to be involved with to have a good relationship with him.”

“I understand that, Tess. He's your first responsibility. Trust me, I respect that. And I like Bruce. He's a great kid with great potential. And he and I are making progress. How about if we just put this in the
Lord's hands, give it a little time and see how things go?”

Her eyes misted. “You're willing to do that?”

He smiled gently. “If that's what it takes to put your mind at ease.”

She shook her head unbelievingly. “How did I ever find you?”

“I've been asking myself that same question about you for quite a while now.”

She searched his eyes, and the love she saw made her throat tighten with emotion. She reached up and touched his face, and suddenly he pulled her even closer, until she was again pressed tightly against him. She clung to him for a long moment, then drew a shuddering breath and gazed up at him.

“I should leave,” she whispered tremulously.

His eyes deepened in color, and he swallowed convulsively. “In a minute,” he replied hoarsely.

And then his lips came down on hers, as greedy, hungry and demanding as her own. It was a kiss filled with urgency and need and long-suppressed desires, a kiss that ignited, that consumed, that possessed, that promised. And though they both knew that there were still challenges ahead, for just this moment they forgot the world. As his hands pressed her closer, Tess was lost to everything but his touch. Just as he was lost to everything but the feel of her soft curves and her sweet lips on his.

In fact, they were so lost that neither saw the shadow of the lanky teenager slide across the hall wall and disappear into the darkness.

“B
ruce! What on earth happened?”

Tess crossed the kitchen in two swift strides and took Bruce's chin in her hand, tilting his head toward the light coming from the window to examine a brand-new black eye that was discoloring rapidly.

“Nothing,” he replied, trying to pull away.

“This is not nothing,” she said sharply, leading him toward a kitchen chair. “Sit here while I get some ice.”

“I don't need any ice.”

“Sit,” she repeated sternly.

He complied without further argument, and she turned away to prepare a makeshift ice bag out of a dish towel. Her heart was pounding, and she had to force herself to take several long, slow breaths as anger, concern and disappointment all clamored for top billing. Anger because Bruce appeared to once again be in trouble. Concern about his physical condition. And disappointment because things had been going
so well. But when she turned back to her son and looked again at the angry purple and red of his injured eye, her heart contracted and concern won hands down.

She walked over to him and placed the bag carefully against his bruised skin, touching his shoulder comfortingly when he flinched. “I'm sorry,” she said gently. “I know it hurts. But this will keep the swelling down. Hold it in place, okay?”

“Yeah.”

She sank into the chair next to him and reached out to cover his free hand with her own, noting with a jolt that his knuckles were bruised and scraped. “Oh, Bruce!” she said in dismay, rising as she spoke. “I'll get some antiseptic.”

“It's okay, Mom.”

She ignored him and headed for the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, suddenly wondering as she rummaged among the first-aid items if he might have other, less visible injuries. She hurried back, and though she tried to remain calm, there was a note of panic in her voice when she spoke. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No.”

“Bruce.”

For the first time, he met her gaze. “No, Mom,” he said firmly. “This is it.”

She searched his eyes, but saw only honesty. With a sigh, she nodded and set to work with the antiseptic. “Okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I got in a fight.”

“I figured that. What about?”

Her question was met with silence, and she looked over at him. “Well?”

He shifted uncomfortably, and his gaze slid away. “Nothing.”

She expelled a long, frustrated sigh. “Come on, Bruce. Fights don't happen because of nothing. Does Mr. Jackson know about this?”

He gave her a defiant look. “No. If he did, don't you think he'd have called you by now?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You guys tell each other everything.”

Her frown deepened. “Why do you say that?”

He shrugged. “You hang around together a lot.”

“We're friends.”

“Yeah, well…the guys say you're more than that.”

She looked startled. “What?”

His gaze skittered away. “They say you're sleeping together.”

Bright spots of anger began to burn in her cheeks. “What guys are these?”

“The guys I used to hang around with.”

The gang. It figured. “And what did
you
say?”

“I told them they were full of cr…that they were wrong.”

Suddenly the light began to dawn. “Is that how you got the black eye?” she asked slowly.

“Yeah. I was just going to ignore them and walk away, but they started shoving me around.”

Tess's stomach clenched. “How many of them were there?”

“Three. But only two of them hit me.”

Anger bubbled to the surface again—and with it, fear. If they'd beaten up on Bruce once, they could
do it again. And next time he might not escape with only a black eye. Abruptly she rose and headed for the phone.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked in alarm.

“Calling Mitch. Those hoodlums need to be reported.”

“Mom! Don't do that! This didn't happen at school. Besides, they won't bother me again.”

She paused in midstride and turned to him. “Why not?”

“Because they look worse than I do.”

She stared at him, then slowly walked back to the table and sank into her chair. She knew he'd been going to the gym for the past few weeks, knew that he'd filled out and was developing muscles. But she hadn't realized he was so capable of taking care of himself.

“Joe's been helping me with my workouts. And he showed me some tricks,” Bruce added, confirming her conclusion.

There was a touch of pride in his voice, and Tess couldn't blame him. She didn't condone fighting, but she was relieved to know he could defend himself if necessary. And the ability to deal with a situation like today's was obviously a boost to his self-esteem. Besides, he'd done nothing wrong. He hadn't started the fight. He'd just taken care of himself when things started getting rough.

“I think you handled this in exactly the right way, Bruce,” she said slowly. “I'm proud of you. I'm just sorry they said those things to you about me.”

He shifted uncomfortably, and when he spoke he sounded suddenly like a little boy, uncertain and
afraid and desperately in need of reassurance. “They aren't true, are they, Mom?” he asked in a small voice.

She stared at him. “Of course not!”

He flushed and looked away. “Sorry. I didn't think so, but…well, you and Mr. Jackson seem pretty…close. Even the guys noticed.”

Tess took a deep breath and then reached out to hold his bruised hand, forcing him to look at her again. She needed to be honest, and to say this just the right way, so she chose her words carefully. “We are, Bruce. We're very close. In fact, we've fallen in love. Mitch is a very special man, and I feel blessed that he's part of our life. But just because we're in love doesn't mean we're sleeping together. That would go against everything I believe, everything our faith teaches. Sleeping together, making love, only means something when it's done in the context of a long-term commitment. Of marriage. Knowing that your partner will be with you for always, through the good times and the bad times, is what gives love-making its deepest meaning. Mitch feels the same way.”

“So are you going to marry him, then?”

She took a deep breath and once again struggled to find the right words. “First of all, he hasn't asked me to yet. And second, a lot depends on you. You are my first and most important commitment,” she said fervently, her gaze locked on his. “I would never do anything that wasn't in your best interest. I happen to think that having Mitch in your life
is
in your best interest, and I hope you will feel the same way in time. Because I have room in my life—and my
heart—for both of you. Loving Mitch takes nothing away from the special relationship that we have. Do you understand that?”

There was silence for a moment, and then he slowly nodded. “Yeah.”

He sounded sincere, and relief surged through Tess. “So tell me how you feel about Mitch.”

Bruce shrugged. “He's okay, I guess. He's not as bad as I thought at first.”

Tess considered extolling Mitch's virtues, pointing out all the wonderful things he'd done for Bruce and for her. The evidence was pretty compelling. But she refrained. Bruce needed to come to those conclusions himself. And he would, she was sure, given time.

Mitch was willing to wait, so that wasn't a problem.

The problem was her. Because after years of being alone, she was suddenly tired of waiting.

 

“Tess? Jenny Stevenson.”

Tess frowned at the phone. Why in the world would Peter's sister be calling her?

“Tess? Are you there?”

“Yes. Hello, Jenny. Sorry. I was just surprised.”

“I'm sure you were. We haven't talked in years. And I wouldn't have bothered you now, except I thought you might want to know, for Bruce's sake.” The woman's voice broke on the last word, and Tess heard her take a deep breath as she struggled to regain her composure. “Peter had a massive heart attack yesterday. He died this morning.”

Tess stared at the phone. Peter dead at age forty-
two? Of a heart attack? He'd never been sick a day in his life!

“Tess?”

“Yes. I—I'm here. I'm just so…shocked.”

“We all feel the same way. The funeral will be in Washington on Saturday, and I thought maybe Bruce might like to come.”

“Thanks for letting me know. I'll…I'll talk with him about it.”

“Let me give you the information. Do you have a piece of paper handy?”

She reached for a notepad. “Yes. Go ahead.”

As Tess jotted down the details, her mind was reeling. Even after she'd expressed her polite condolences and said goodbye, she was still too stunned to fully absorb the news. She sat there unmoving as the minutes ticked by, thinking about the man who had been her husband, and about the sham of their marriage. About his selfishness and unfaithfulness. About the way he'd hurt his only son. His legacy to both of them had been only pain and tattered self-esteem.

Tess supposed she should feel some hint of sadness at his death. Some remorse.

But, God forgive her, all she felt was relief. Because now he could never hurt them again.

 

“Hey, Mom, I'm home!”

Tess's heart began to pound and she carefully set the paring knife on the counter. She didn't know how Bruce was going to react to the news about Peter. He'd talked so little about his father through the years, guarded his feelings so closely, that she had no idea how he felt about him now. For that reason, she
had decided to leave the decision to him about whether to attend the funeral. If he needed to go, for closure, she would see that he got there. But she would also fully support him if he decided to stay in St. Louis.

She turned as he came into the kitchen and threw his books onto the table, noting with relief that the black and blue of his eye had faded dramatically in the week since the fight.

“What's for dinner?” he asked.

“Stir-fry. How was school?”

“Okay.”

“And the play?”

“Scenery's almost done. But I'll probably have to stay late again tomorrow to help finish up.” He reached over and snatched a piece of raw carrot from the pile of crisp vegetables. “I'm gonna check my e-mail before dinner. Uncle Ray's supposed to send me some stuff about putting up fences before I go out there Saturday.”

He started to turn away, but Tess reached out a hand to restrain him. “Bruce, before you go I need to talk with you for a minute.”

At the serious tone of her voice he turned back to her with a worried look. “What's wrong?”

“Let's sit down for a minute, okay?”

“You aren't sick again, are you?”

He followed her to the table but stood hovering over her anxiously, his face tense.

“No, honey, I'm fine. Come on, sit down.”

“Is something wrong with Uncle Ray?” A note of panic crept into his voice.

“As far as I know, he's fine, too. It's your…your dad, Bruce.”

Bruce frowned and slowly sat down. “What about him?” he asked cautiously.

“He had a heart attack yesterday. He died this morning.”

Bruce's face grew a shade paler, and his eyes shuttered. Tess couldn't even begin to gauge his reaction. But his hand was ice-cold when she reached for it. She waited for several moments, but when he made no comment, she continued.

“Peter's sister, your aunt Jenny, called about half an hour ago. She gave me all the information on the funeral. It's going to be on Saturday, in Washington. You can go if you'd like to, Bruce.”

He frowned. “Do I have to?”

“No. It's completely up to you. I just want you to know that you
can
go if that's what you want to do.”

“You aren't going, are you?”

“Not to the funeral. But I'll go to Washington with you and make sure you get to the service if you decide to go.”

Bruce stared down at the table. “Do you think I
should
go, Mom?”

Tess leaned closer and put her arm around his shoulders. “You don't owe your father anything, Bruce,” she said quietly. “Don't go because you think you're supposed to. Only go if you want to. And either way is fine with me.”

He was silent for a moment. “Can I think about it tonight?”

“Of course.”

Bruce sighed. “He wasn't much of a father.”

Tess felt her throat constrict. That was the closest Bruce had ever come to revealing his feelings about the man who had been a father in name only. “No, honey. He wasn't. It just wasn't a role he was cut out to play.”

“Yeah.” He leaned over and gave her a quick bear hug. “But you're a great mom.” When he drew back, his eyes were suspiciously moist, and he swiped at them with the back of his hand as he stood. “I think I'll check my e-mail now.”

Before Tess could respond, he grabbed his books and headed for his room. She watched him disappear down the hall, too choked up to speak. Peter might not have been much of a father. But he had certainly fathered a wonderful son.

 

“Well now, I think it's about time for lunch.” Uncle Ray mopped his brow and squinted at his watch, shading it from the sun. “Putting up fences sure can build up an appetite. You boys hungry yet?”

“I could use some food,” Mitch replied. “How about you, Bruce?”

“Yeah. I guess so,” the teenager concurred. “Do you need some help, Uncle Ray?”

“Nope. Got all the sandwich fixings in the refrigerator. Only take me a few minutes to whip everything up. I'll ring the bell when it's ready.”

For a moment they watched the older man make his way back toward the house, and then Bruce reached for the posthole digger and went back to work.