The Truth (15 page)

“We’re moving?” Ryan asked from the doorway, causing both women to jerk around, startled.

Lexie could see the fear in his eyes. “No sweetie, we’re not moving. Mommy was just joking with Marissa.” She knew her excuse sounded lame, but she’d drawn up blank in her quick search for a response.

“That’s not a funny joke, Mom, and jokes are supposed to be funny. You should have Grayson tell some to you, his are super funny.” She knew the crisis had been averted when he threw the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and pulled Marissa’s hand to lead her to the door. “Come on,” he prodded, “we’ve gotta get this show on the road.” He paused, his face crinkling in thought. “What does that mean anyway?” He shrugged his shoulders and continued to propel Marissa out of the house.

“Hang on a second, Speedy,” Lexie called after him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Ryan sauntered back to where she stood in the doorway. She crouched down to his eye level. “Sorry, Mom,” he mumbled, and reached his arms around her neck to give her a hug and a kiss.

She smiled at him, stood and looked intently at her friend. “What if we’re wrong?” She whispered, panic threatening to overwhelm her.

“We’re not,” Marissa reassured her. “If you start to back out, I want you to think about Emily Sinclair. Would you want Grayson to go through life not knowing?”

“That was below the belt,” Lexie replied, recalling her friend’s hopelessness as she searched for her only child for twenty-eight years. She also realized that Marissa’s message stemmed from love. “I’ll tell him, I promise.”

“Maaaariiiiissssssa,” her son chimed from the porch.

“Coming,” she yelled after him, then turning back to Lexie, whispered, “We need to talk about this southern bimbo and what you know or think you know. Have a bottle of wine chilled when I bring Ryan home.”

With a final hug and wink from Marissa, and a wave from Ryan, Lexie shut the door behind them and leaned against the solid wood. She was petrified. And worse, she still had no idea what she’d say or how she’d say it.

Monday morning didn’t appear as if it were going to be any better than the previous mornings. Grayson had woken alone, with no word from Lexie — again. All of his calls had gone unanswered. She’d disappeared from the wedding without a word, and he still hadn’t been able to get the vision of her standing under the arbor holding a bouquet of flowers out of his mind. If she weren’t so mad at him, he would have walked across the aisle and kissed her right then and there. But she was mad at him, and thanks to Darla Mae, it didn’t look like she would get over it any time soon. He just wished he knew why.

He turned on the morning news and walked into the kitchen for another cup of coffee. He hated that he was making his own again. He missed the perfect way Lexie made his coffee at the shop. With half an ear he listened to the story of a hotel fire, the latest steroid accusation of a major baseball player, and the traffic back up on Highway 1. Walking back to the living room, he stopped to open the shades, and looked out at the thick gray fog that hadn’t yet burnt off. Taking a sip from his mug, he sat on the couch and kicked his feet onto the coffee table.

Hot coffee burned through his jeans, and he leapt off the couch holding his mug away from himself with one hand and brushing the scalding liquid from his legs with the other. His eyes never left the television screen. Big as life, on the morning news, was Darla Mae wrapped around him in what appeared to be a very intimate kiss. He groaned.

Why had they not continued to film the next fifteen seconds when he’d pushed her away and slammed the door behind her? At the time, he’d wondered what had possessed her to be so bold, but now he understood. She’d seen the cameras and wanted Lexie to see the footage. The blood rushed from his face as panic set in. Had Lexie seen the news? Would she believe he’d actually kissed another woman just hours after reminding her how much he loved her? Of course she would, it was in living color on the damn news.

He plopped back onto the couch and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He had to go see her, to explain what really happened, but he didn’t want to make a scene at the shop. And if he knew Lexie, there was definitely going to be a scene. The question was what was the best way to corner her and force her to listen without being in the vicinity of sharp objects or having the entire town, or worse, Ryan present?

He changed his jeans, gathered his wallet and keys, and threw open the door in a rush to get to Lexie, when he collided with her outside his front door. God, she was beautiful.

“We’ve got to stop running into each other this way,” he said lightly, hoping she would laugh, or smile. She didn’t.

Watching her, waiting for her to say something, anything, he noticed her eyes were swollen, and she had dark circles beneath them. She looked frightened, sad, lost, and somehow lonely. Seeing her this way broke his heart. He knew it wasn’t simply the news footage of Darla Mae, because the veins weren’t throbbing in her temples, and she appeared to be without a weapon of any kind.

“Would you like to come in?” he finally asked, stepping back inside.

“I can come back,” she said, stepping back. If he didn’t know any better, she almost seemed frightened. Of him? It didn’t make sense.

“Why would you do that? What’s wrong with now?” He watched her, silently willing her to look up at him.

“Well, you were just leaving, I don’t want to interrupt. I can come back later.” She turned to go.

Panic surged through him as he stared at her slowly retreating back. Without a thought, he dropped his keys and his helmet, and reaching out, clutched her shoulders and turned her around. “I was coming to find you, Lexie. Please talk to me,” he pleaded.

She looked up, mutely watching him, a million internal thoughts flashing in her expressive eyes. None of them clear, and none of them reducing the dread that settled in his stomach. Brushing past him, she set her purse on the table and sat down at one of the dining room chairs. He hadn’t sat at the table yet, and he’d pictured the first time with her much differently. Candles, wine, and dinner; definitely not Lexie’s head bent down, clutching a book of some sort tightly against her chest and unable to make eye contact with him.

She still hadn’t spoken and the air around them seemed to close in, filled with tension, fear, and sadness. Sitting down on the chair beside her he fidgeted with an imaginary piece of string on his jeans unsure of what to do with his hands. He yearned to bury them in her hair, to pull her onto his lap and kiss the sorrow from her eyes.

“Lex, about Darla Mae … ”

Her eyes flashed with rage, and he felt guilty about the feeling of relief that washed over him. Rage, he could handle, her sadness, her distance, whatever this was, frightened him.

“I didn’t come here to discuss your relationship with Darla Mae. I could really care less what you do with your free time,” Lexie snapped, her words were angry, but Grayson could see the pain in her eyes.

“I don’t have a relationship — ” he began, but she immediately cut him off.

“Grayson, enough.” The anguish in her eyes left him speechless.

“Lexie … ” his voice trailed off. He couldn’t find the words he wanted to say. To tell her how he felt about her.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she set the book she’d been tightly clutching against her chest onto the table.

“I didn’t come here to talk about you and me, at least not directly.” She took a deep breath and lowered her eyes to her lap. “It’s … ” Her voice hitched, then grew silent.

“Lexie, what is it? You’re really scaring me.” Grayson leaned forward and tried to take her hand.

She jerked it back like she’d been stung. “I don’t know how to say this … ”

“You can tell me anything.” Grayson urged.

Looking up into his face as tears poured down hers, she whispered, “I think Ryan is your son.”

Trying to process what she said, he started to laugh, assuming she was making a joke. “Lexie, unless there have been changes made in the last few years, I believe it takes more than six months to have a child together, let alone a four-year-old.” He looked at her, wondering why she still appeared so somber. “And if you’re trying to get me to marry you, I believe the proper way to trap a man is to tell him you’re pregnant first.”

When she still didn’t laugh, he grew silent, watching her. She wasn’t making any sense. She reached for the book on the table and pulled it onto her lap, stroking the cover.

“What is that?” he asked, gesturing toward the book.

“Ryan was adopted,” she said, not looking up.

“Yes, I know that,” he replied confused. “You told me already, and you know he means the world to me. It doesn’t matter to me if he’s yours by birth or by heart.” Assuming her sudden retreat had something to do with her son, he attempted to reassure her. “I knew you were a mother when we met, Lexie. If I’ve done anything to cause you to believe that I wasn’t in this for the long haul, I’m sorry. I love Ryan. I love you.” He ran his hands through his hair, struggling to find the perfect words. “I see you both in my life, and I was hoping you saw me in both of yours as well. I know Darla Mae, crazy as she is, has convinced herself that she and I will be together, but I hope you believe — ”

“Enough with Darla Mae!” she shouted, pushing back from the table, and pacing back and forth. She turned to him, tears flowing down her cheeks.

He opened his mouth to speak, and snapped it closed when he saw the look on her face.

“Grayson, my friend that died three years ago, her name was Maggie.” Lexie said, appearing to search for a reaction from him.

“Ok?” he finally said, still unsure where she was going with this conversation.

“Maggie was Ryan’s mother,” she said, bobbing her head at him.

“I got that,” he replied, still as confused as when she’d started.

“I believe she was
your
Maggie.” Lexie slunk back into the chair like the effort to say the sentence had exhausted her.

“I don’t … ” Grayson shook his head trying to clear the muddled feeling. “What do you mean she was
my
Maggie?”

Lexie looked him directly in the eye and whispered, “Ryan Hunter. My son’s name is Ryan Hunter. His mother was Margaret Austin.”

Grayson shot out of the chair, sending it scattering across the floor. His voice was louder than he intended, “Maggie? Ryan?” His heart was pounding hard enough to exit his chest if he removed his hand. His knees wobbled and tears burned behind his eyes. “She wouldn’t do that. It’s not true.”

Lexie took his hand, and wrapped his fingers around the book she’d been clutching. “She thought you were dead, remember?”

He shook his head, unable to speak.

“Read this. It’s Maggie’s.”

Grayson didn’t hear Lexie leave.

The road signs came into view of the windshield and raced past in constant repetition. Lexie didn’t know where she was headed; she just knew she wasn’t ready to go home. The look of agony on Grayson’s face would be forever etched in her mind. She couldn’t recall seeing that much pain in anyone’s eyes, at least outside of the hospice house.

Watching his reaction, she knew she’d misjudged him. And she should have known better. It would be a rare kind of heartless to walk away from your child, and Grayson was anything but heartless. She’d seen him with Ryan, his gentleness, patience, and most importantly, his genuine affection. That was not a man who would ever turn his back on any child, let alone his own.

Was it her own fears that allowed her to wonder if he was capable of letting the woman he’d loved believe he was dead? That was the only explanation, wasn’t it? Either that or she was a complete mistrusting, rotten judge of character. How could she have believed for a second that Grayson could ever do that? She didn’t deserve a man like him, and he deserved better than her. The reality of her behaviors overwhelmed her, and she pulled the car to the shoulder of the road.

Laying her head against the steering wheel, she cried. She thought of Maggie, of Ryan, of Grayson, and even of herself, and slapped her palm against the dashboard in frustration. Her crying turned to sobbing, and her body wracked with the pressure. Unsure of how long she’d been parked on the side of the road, she was startled by a rap on the window.

A state patrol officer stood outside, looking at her strangely. She lowered the window and tried to paste a reassuring smile onto her face. She hadn’t even noticed him pull up.

He looked at her, peeked into the back seat, and asked, “Ma’am, are you all right? Do you need some assistance?”

“I’m … ” her voice caught in her throat. “I’m fine, thank you officer.”

“Could I see your license and registration please?” he asked, still looking puzzled.

Reaching into the glove box, she caught sight of her reflection in the rear view mirror. She looked terrible. Streaks of black mascara ran down both cheeks, her eyes were swollen slits on her face, and the part of her eyes showing were bright red. She looked crazed, beaten, and exactly like she felt.

Embarrassed, she handed him her license and registration. “I’m having a rough day. I was just heading home.”

Looking from her license to her, and back to her license, he finally pointed out, “You live the other direction.”

“I was just turning around.”

“Any relation to Jordan Wayne?” he asked.

“He’s my brother,” she replied, wishing the cop world wasn’t so small. She knew she wouldn’t get two miles before her brother received a call.

“Okay, Alexis Wayne, head on home, drive safely, and try to have a better day.” He nodded his head and walked back to his car.

She waited for him to pull out, and turned her car back toward home.

An hour later, she pulled up at Marissa’s and wasn’t surprised to see her brother’s cruiser parked in the driveway. He’d gotten the call all right, and he knew her well. Of course she wouldn’t have gone home, she’d run to her friend if she was upset, and he’d need to see her for himself.

The front door flew open, and both of them came barreling toward her, yanking open her car door before she could pull the handle.