Crossroads (14 page)

Mitch did the same, keeping a surreptitious eye on the teenager. Bruce had been unusually subdued this
morning—which wasn't surprising, considering his father was being buried even as they worked. The funeral was clearly on his mind, though he hadn't mentioned it. Tess had warned Mitch about Bruce's reticence. Other than telling her he'd decided not to go to the funeral, he hadn't spoken about the subject. He was making a valiant effort to ignore the whole thing, pretend it didn't matter. But Mitch could sense the tension in the boy. His movements were stiff, and there was an unnatural tautness to his face. Mitch had tried to raise the subject of the funeral during the drive to the farm, only to have his efforts rebuffed. But the boy was clearly hurting, so Mitch decided to make another attempt using a different approach.

“I wonder if Uncle Ray will miss having the farm,” he said, keeping his tone conversational. “He hasn't said much about it.”

At first Mitch thought Bruce was going to ignore the comment. But after a few moments he spoke. “He has to me.”

“Is that right? So what do you think?”

Bruce kept digging. “I don't think he'll miss the work. And he kept some land, so he can still have a garden. I think he's happy. At least, he seems like he is whenever we talk about it.”

“You two seem to talk a lot.”

“Yeah. We e-mail almost every day. He's a great guy. It must be neat to have an uncle like that.”

“It is. He's been almost like a father to me since my own dad died ten years ago,” Mitch said evenly, keeping his tone casual.

There was silence for a few moments, and again
Mitch thought Bruce was going to shut down. But the boy surprised him. “Did you have a good dad?”

“Yes. He worked too hard. And he wasn't around as much as I would have liked. But he loved me. And he let me know it. In the end, that's all that matters.”

“You were lucky.” Bruce thrust the posthole digger into the ground and clamped it shut on the dark earth.

“Yes, I was.”

Bruce withdrew the dirt and deposited it in a pile beside the hole, kicking a few wayward clumps back into place. “I guess Mom told you a lot about my dad.”

“Some.”

Bruce looked at him skeptically. “More than that, I bet.”

“Enough,” Mitch amended. “He didn't sound like the best dad—or husband.”

“He wasn't,” Bruce said tersely, his voice edged with anger. He thrust the digger into the ground again. “He hurt Mom real bad.”

“I figured that. What about you?”

Bruce shrugged as he withdrew another digger of dirt. “He never wanted me around. That's pretty hard for a little kid.”

Or a teenager, Mitch thought silently. “Even adults have a hard time dealing with rejection,” he replied quietly.

“Yeah. I guess so.” Bruce paused and wiped his forehead on his sleeve.

“How about some lemonade?” Mitch suggested.

“Sure.”

Mitch filled two paper cups from the cooler Uncle
Ray had provided, then nodded toward a large rock a few yards away in the shade. “What do you say we take a break?”

“We'll be stopping for lunch in a few minutes.”

Mitch smiled. “I don't think Uncle Ray will fire us if we cut out a few minutes early.”

Mitch headed for the rock and settled down. Bruce followed more slowly and perched on the edge, his body tense, his eyes fixed on the distant field. It was quiet at the farm, the stillness broken only by the faint hum of a tractor and the birds twittering in the trees. There was silence between them for a minute or two, but finally Bruce sighed.

“I wish my dad had been more like Uncle Ray,” he said, his tone subdued but intense. “I only met him a couple of months ago, but already I know I'd miss him real bad if…if anything happened to him. I never felt that way about my dad. He was never very nice to me. Or to Mom. It's real hard to…to love somebody like that, you know? Even though you're supposed to.”

Mitch took a sip of his lemonade.
Lord, let me say the right thing,
he prayed silently, forming his words carefully. “You don't have to love him just because he was your biological dad, Bruce. That kind of love isn't something that's owed. It's something that's earned. And from what I know about your dad, he didn't earn your love. Or your mom's. And you know something? That was his loss. Because he could have had the love of two very special people if he'd just made an effort.”

Bruce turned to look at him, and Mitch met his gaze directly. After a moment Bruce blinked and
turned away. “He didn't think I was special,” he said in a small voice. “He never wanted me.”

“Then he was a fool. I would give anything to…to have a son like you.” Mitch's own voice broke, and he suddenly found it difficult to swallow past the lump in his throat.

Bruce turned back to him, remembering the photo that Uncle Ray had so carefully placed in his dresser drawer, recalling the scene he'd witnessed—and the confession he'd overheard—the night of Mitch's nightmare. “That picture in Uncle Ray's room…the day you came in to call us for lunch. That boy was your son, wasn't he?” Bruce said slowly.

Mitch nodded.

“I'm sorry he died. He looked like a nice kid.”

Mitch sucked in a deep breath, struggling to control his own emotions. “He was.”

“You still miss him, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“The same way Uncle Ray misses his son.”

Again Mitch nodded.

“I know that they both died when they were pretty young, but they were kind of lucky in a way,” Bruce said, his eyes suddenly old beyond his years.

Mitch frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “They had fathers who cared. And who loved them. And who still think about them a long time after they're gone. If something had happened to me, my dad would never have even given it a second thought. He would have forgotten all about me by the next day.”

Mitch's heart contracted, and he once more silently cursed the man who had come very close to ruining
a young boy's life. But he couldn't deny what was obviously a true statement. So he didn't even try. “Maybe you should follow his lead, then.”

Bruce sent him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“Now that he's gone, forget about him. Recognize him for what he was—and what he wasn't—and move on with your life. You don't need your dad to validate your worth, Bruce. You never did. You're a smart, caring, talented young man. And if your dad failed to recognize how special you are, that's his fault, not yours.”

Bruce's face grew slightly pink at Mitch's compliment, and he looked away. “It's not easy to forget,” he said quietly.

A flash of pain flared in Mitch's eyes. “No, it's not. That's why it's important to have people around who love us and believe in us and stand by us when we have doubts.”

“Like Mom.”

“And your friends, too. Like Uncle Ray. And me.”

Bruce looked at him, and for a moment their gazes connected and held. The boy's Adam's apple bobbed convulsively, and he took a deep breath. “I haven't been very friendly to you.”

“Principals are used to that.”

“I thought you were picking on me when I first came to the school.”

“How about now?”

Bruce met his gaze steadily. “I guess I was wrong.”

The clanging of the dinner bell suddenly broke the
stillness, and after a moment Mitch forced his lips into a smile. “Sounds like Uncle Ray's ready for us.”

“Yeah. He's worse than Mom when you're late for a meal.”

This time Mitch's grin was genuine. “Then we'd better hurry.”

They stood, and Bruce shoved his hands into his pockets. But when he held back, Mitch turned to him questioningly.

“I don't think I ever said thanks for everything you've done for Mom and me,” the boy said quietly.

Mitch put his hand on Bruce's shoulder. “You just did. And it was my pleasure.”

He slung his arm around Bruce's shoulders, and as they made their way to the house, Mitch felt more at peace than he had in a very long while. Because for the first time he and Bruce had finally found some common ground. And in the process they'd forged a new bond.

“I
take it the news was good.”

Mitch paused at Karen's desk and grinned. “Did you have a spy planted in the boardroom?”

“Didn't need one. Your face tells the story. Let me give you one word of advice—don't ever play poker.”

“Don't worry. It's not my game.”

“Good. So…the assistant-principal position was approved and you will now have some time to call your own. You should go out and celebrate.”

Mitch reached into his pocket and fingered the square velvet case, anticipating his dinner with Tess. “I intend to.”

“Not alone, I hope.”

“Hardly.”

“I didn't think so. Give Ms. Lockwood my best,” Karen said breezily, turning back to her word processor.

Mitch stared at her. “How did you know?”

Karen sent him a smug look over her shoulder. “I have my ways.”

Mitch shook his head. “I told you you missed your calling. Would you care to let me know how you found out I was seeing her?”

“Well, I usually don't reveal my sources,” Karen said, pretending to give his request serious consideration before relenting. “But just this once I guess it couldn't hurt. My neighbor, a nice older woman, Mrs. Brown, was at the grocery store and ran into Ted Randall—you remember Ted, he used to do some of the groundskeeping work here—and he told her that he'd seen you going into a very nice restaurant the night you left here in the suit. He couldn't remember the name of it, but Mrs. Brown did, and I happen to know one of the hostesses there. Strangely enough, I crossed paths with her a couple of days later, and I asked if by chance she'd seen you at the restaurant. She knew what you looked like from that article in the paper when you won the award, because I'd called it to her attention and she thought you were a hunk. Well, turns out she did see you. And oddly enough, she recognized Tess Lockwood from some meeting she attended that Tess was covering for the paper. So she told me who you were with. Small world, isn't it?”

Mitch gave her a dazed look. “I think I'm sorry I asked.”

Karen chuckled. “That's what my husband always says. So why don't you get out of here? For once in your life, leave before seven o'clock. The world won't end. And remember—thanks to the board, help is on the way.”

“Not until next year,” he reminded her.

She waved his caveat aside. “Be here before you know it. And school's almost out for this year, anyway. There's more to life than work, you know.”

He thought of Tess, and his lips slowly curved upward. “Yeah. I know.”

“Well, it's about time,” she declared with a satisfied smile.

Mitch chuckled and shook his head. “Karen, you are priceless.”

She sniffed. “Remember that when it comes time for raises.”

Mitch was still chuckling as he entered his office and headed for his desk. All he had to do was put a few papers in his briefcase and he could be on his way.

Out of habit, he glanced at the phone, noting that the message light was on. Nothing new there. It always seemed to be on. He hesitated and glanced at his watch. The board meeting had run long, and Tess was expecting him in less than fifteen minutes. There was no way he'd be on time if he began checking his messages. And tonight was one night he did
not
want to be late, he reminded himself, reaching into his pocket again to finger the velvet box.

His expression grew tender and a smile stole over his face. He'd hinted to Tess that big things were up at school and he might have some news after the board meeting. So she was expecting a celebration dinner. But although the addition of an assistant principal was definitely worth celebrating, he had an entirely different kind of celebration in mind.

 

“
That
was a fabulous dinner,” Tess declared, leaning back with a sigh in the upholstered chair. “And so is this restaurant,” she added, glancing around admiringly at the discreetly elegant decor.

“And how about the company?” Mitch teased with a smile.

Her gaze returned to his, and her own lips curved up. “Even better than the food and the setting,” she assured him softly.

He reached for her hand and leaned closer. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

Tess studied him for a moment in the candlelight. It still astounded her that this amazing man had come into her life. He was handsome, yes. But even more, he had integrity and character and compassion and honor—all the qualities that really mattered, but which were so lacking in her first husband. Those were the qualities that had made her fall in love with him.

Best of all, he loved her, too. He'd told her so. But he'd also made it clear that he was scared. And that he'd never planned to marry again. He'd been very up front about that. But she sensed that, like her, he'd undergone a change of heart in recent weeks.

Because more and more, she had come to believe that having Mitch in her life—in
their
lives—was in both Bruce's and her best interests. Mitch had graciously offered her time to think things through, but she didn't need any more time to make up her mind. She wanted him in her life. For always. And maybe it was time to tell him that.

Tess took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the waiter.

“Could I offer you two some coffee or dessert?”

It took Tess a moment to switch gears, and Mitch seemed to be having the same problem. At last they reluctantly broke eye contact and looked up at the waiter.

“Coffee for both of us,” Mitch said, then transferred his gaze to Tess. “How about dessert?” He winked at her wickedly. “I will if you will.”

She smiled and reached for her purse, glad now for the interruption. She needed to escape for a moment, compose her thoughts, decide exactly what she wanted to say to Mitch so she didn't sound pushy, just receptive. “Anything chocolate will be fine. Surprise me,” she said as she stood. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

Mitch stood as well, and the warmth in his smile made her tingle. “Hurry back.”

He watched her disappear before he took his seat again and turned back to the waiter. “You heard the lady. Bring us two of your best chocolate desserts.”

The waiter bowed slightly. “Of course.”

Mitch reached for his wineglass and leaned back, willing his pulse to slow down. In a few minutes he was going to ask Tess to be his wife. And he wasn't at all sure of her answer. Yes, they'd acknowledged their love. But they'd also acknowledged their reservations. He'd admitted his fear. What he hadn't yet told her was that now he was more afraid of living without her than of taking another chance on love. On her side, she'd told him of her concerns about Bruce, and he'd promised to give it a little time and see how things worked out. Maybe he was rushing it. But frankly, his patience was wearing thin. He wanted
her with him every day, wanted to wake up beside her in the morning and hold her in his arms through the night. He wanted their lives to merge. He wanted to create a new, shared life together. And he didn't want to wait any longer to tell her that. He reached in again and touched the velvet case. In just a few minutes he would…

His pager began to vibrate, and he automatically reached to his belt and shut it off. He probably should have left it in the car, he realized with a frown. That would have eliminated the possibility of distractions. Since he used the pager only for emergencies, the vibrating warning always signaled a crisis of some kind. Karen had the number, as did the president of the school board. And the police, in case there was an off-hours emergency at the school. So a vibrating pager was
not
a good omen.

Mitch debated for a moment, fighting against the urge to check the message. Tonight was supposed to be about him and Tess, alone, and he resented the intrusion. But it simply wasn't in his nature to ignore an emergency—much as he might want to.

He checked his pager. The message was cryptic, and it was from the police. “Please call ASAP.”

Mitch felt his stomach clench. He'd never been paged by the police. Something must be very wrong.

“Mitch, what is it?”

He looked over at Tess, who had already taken her seat, and frowned. “I don't know. The police just paged me.”

Her face grew concerned. “You'd better call right away.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated for one more moment, then
laid his napkin on the table and stood. “I'll be right back,” he promised. “And I'm sorry about the interruption.”

She waved his apology aside. “Emergencies come up. Take your time.”

He sent her a grateful look and his eyes grew tender. “Thanks for understanding.”

It took Mitch only a moment to locate a phone, and a few seconds after that he was talking to the sergeant on duty, whom he knew.

“Thanks for calling so quickly, Mitch.”

“Sure, Jack. What's up?”

“Steve just called in. They've got an OD situation, and they found your name and phone number in the kid's pocket. No other ID. Could be one of your students. We need you to do a positive ID.”

Mitch's grip tightened on the phone. “Is he…still alive?”

“No.”

He closed his eyes and sucked in his breath, feeling the color drain from his face. “Where is he?”

The sound of papers being rustled came over the wire, and then the sergeant gave Mitch the location—a small, largely unused park in Southfield.

“I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“You don't need to do that, Mitch. Might be easier just to stop by the morgue in an hour or so.”

“No. I'll go. Thanks, Jack.”

“Sure. I'll let Steve know you're on the way.”

The line went dead, and Mitch slowly replaced the receiver. His hands were shaking, and he jammed them into the pockets of his slacks, fists clenched. Dear God, it was like being plunged back into his
own nightmare! It wasn't
his
son this time. But it was
someone's
son. And deep in his gut he had a feeling he knew who it was. Very few of his students were likely to carry his phone number. Except Tony Watson, who had come to him on more than one occasion to talk through his problems. Who had thought of Mitch as his friend, as someone he could count on. The knot in his stomach twisted more tightly.

He hadn't even reached the table before Tess was on her feet and reaching for her purse. “What's wrong?” she asked, panic edging her voice. “Is it Bruce?”

He shook his head. “No. But the police think they've found one of my students. He overdosed. My name was in his pocket, and there was no other ID. They need me to come and identify him.”

“Oh, dear God!” Tess breathed, her face a mask of shock. “Is he…is he alive?”

Mitch shook his head.

She swallowed, and he could see the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Though he hadn't expected that offer, he was tempted to take it. Maybe it would be easier to face if Tess was beside him. But that was selfish. He couldn't subject her to the scene in the park. He'd been there before, and he knew it would give her nightmares for months. Slowly he shook his head. “You don't need to see this. I'll have the restaurant call you a cab.”

She studied his face for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

He reached out to her then, laced his fingers with hers. “I'm sorry about this, Tess.”

Her earnest gaze connected with his. “Don't be. I understand.” And then she moved closer and wrapped her arms around him, as if she sensed his need for some concrete sign of reassurance and support. Despite the curious, if discreet, glances of diners at nearby tables, he held her fiercely, letting her love envelop him and insulate him for just a moment from the horror ahead, drawing from her the courage to face what was to come.

“Be careful,” she whispered close to his ear.

“I will.”

“Call me later?”

“It could be late.”

“I'll be up.”

“Okay.”

Reluctantly he released her and stepped away, hesitating long enough to reach over and touch her face. She covered his hand with hers, and for a moment their hearts touched. Then he turned away.

He looked back once, when he reached the door. Tess was still standing by the table, her beautiful features bathed in the golden glow of candlelight. And suddenly he had the oddest feeling. It was almost as if his time with Tess had been merely a dream, a brief respite from his true reality—a destiny of nightmares and loneliness. And as he stepped out into the night, a frightening sense of foreboding swept over him that the dream was about to come to an end.

 

It was a scene right out of his nightmare. The harsh glare of spotlights. The static buzz of walkie-talkies. The flashing lights on police cars. Reporters jockey
ing for position behind the police barricade. It was surrealistic—and all too familiar.

Mitch hesitated on the sidelines until Steve noticed him and came forward.

“Sorry to interrupt your evening, Mitch,” the officer said.

Mitch tried to speak, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “No problem.”

Steve lifted the police tape and Mitch ducked under. “He's over there.” The man pointed to a heavily wooded section of the park, then led the way.

Mitch followed. His legs felt wooden, and he had to concentrate on simply putting one foot in front of the other. Steve held aside the brush as they made their way about ten yards into the woods, to a small clearing where a draped body lay. For a moment Mitch thought he was going to lose his dinner, and he forced himself to take several slow, deep breaths.

“I guess you've been here before, in your police days,” the officer said sympathetically.

The man's comment jolted Mitch, until he reminded himself that no one on the force knew about David. The man was simply talking in generic terms. “Yeah.”