What the Heart Wants (24 page)

Kevin Short, wide receiver, was apparently the honoree, but where was Kev's old partner in crime, Gordie Gilliam, quarterback extraordinaire? Gordie was a nasty piece of work. Probably skipped town years ago.

Jase spotted a door labeled
GENTS
on the near wall and realized the beer was getting to him.

“Wait a second, Craig. Gotta make a pit stop.”

The restroom was strictly utilitarian, a white-tiled relief from all the kitsch outside the door. At the sink, a slender, vaguely familiar-looking man was washing his hands, his lime-green party hat on the counter beside him.

Damn. Wouldn't you know it—number one on Jase's do-not-call list—Gordie Gilliam.

Ol' Gordie had grown up in the west end, just like he had, but somehow he'd made himself everybody's favorite, in part by his constant jibes at Growler Red's oafish son.

Gordie glanced at Jase, wiped his hands on a paper towel, and walked unsteadily toward him.

He hadn't aged well, Jase noted. Gordie's bright blond hair had thinned, retreating several inches from his high forehead, and his skin seemed blotchy. He'd gained weight too, mainly in his belly. Golden Boy had been a heavy drinker back then, and apparently still was.

Gordie gave him a halfway smile. “Jase.” He slurred the
s
.

Great.
Gordie was soused. Should he ignore him or walk out?

“Kev told me you were in t-town. Heard you've been doing Dave Carson's ex-wife.” He balanced himself against the wall. “What's she like? Always—always had a fancy for that p-piece of honey myself. All lah-di-dah on the—the outside—but I bet she's a real tiger once you get her in the sack.” He winked at Jase. “With a father like hers was, you know she's no better than sh-she needs to be.”

Jase gave Gordie a stare that should have turned him to stone.

“Miss Harlow is a friend,” he replied in a soft, controlled voice. “I have a great deal of respect for her. In fact, my daughter is staying with her at present.”

Turning his back on the most popular boy at Bosque Bend High School, he began to push the restroom door open. He could wait till he got back to the house to relieve his bladder.

Gordie snarled and came after him, clutching at his arm.

“Damn you, Redlander, don't you s-snub me! You think you're s-so high and mighty, with Rick Simcek and that new guy at the bank sucking up to you! But I remember you when you were in the free lunch line at Westside Elementary because your father drank up every cent he made! And I remember when they ran you out of town because you did the job on the best English t-teacher that Bosque Bend High School ever had!”

Jase paused at the open door and looked back. “Watch it, Gilliam. I could head drop you so hard your skull would crack open and what's left of your brain would leak out.”

Bosque Bend's favorite son retreated toward the far corner of the restroom, but not without getting in his final volley.

“You're trash, Redlander! And as far as I'm c-concerned, you can have that Harlow bitch! You belong together! Two of a kind!”

Red flames erupted in Jase's skull and he started walking toward Gordie, his arms hanging loose like Growler's did when he was planning to take somebody down.

At the same time, the restroom door banged open and Craig Freiberg rushed in. “Let me handle this, Jase! He's drunk!”

Jase watched in surprise as Craig grabbed Gordie's arm, twisted it behind his back, and frog-marched him out the door. Then, breathing deeply for a minute, Jase willed himself to relax.

Who would have ever guessed Craig, the stereotypical ninety-seven-pound weakling, had it in him?

After using the urinal, he walked over to the sinks and looked in the mirror at his flushed face, realizing, not for the first time, that he looked like his father. He lifted his hands and looked at his palms. He, who'd played it so cool when swimming in Richard Simcek's shark tank, had nearly gone ballistic when dealing with a prawn like Gordie Gilliam. God, he'd wanted to grind Gordie into the concrete floor, but even if Craig hadn't appeared on the scene, he knew he wouldn't have done it.

And that's what made the difference between him and Growler.

Laurel settled Lolly on the davenport in the den, moved an ottoman between them, and shuffled the cards. Blackjack was a great way to pass the time—short, fast, and easy to learn. It was surprising Lolly hadn't encountered it before, but she attended an exclusive girls' school and, judging by what she'd casually let drop, had learned plenty of other things she shouldn't have.

Lolly cut the deck and gave her hostess an apologetic glance. “I'm really sorry to be such a bother, Laurel.”

“That's okay, honey,” Laurel said. She dealt a card to Lolly, facedown, then to herself, faceup. “Hey, I've got a ten, and I already feel lucky.”

“Don't trash-talk me, Laurel Harlow. You're just trying to get me rattled.”

Laurel placed a second card on the table in front of her. “Darn, the novice catches on quick. And here I had you pegged for an easy mark.” She slid a card off the top of the deck, a deuce, as Lolly picked up her cards and scrutinized them.

“Give me another card. I mean,
hit me
.”

“You lose ten points if you don't get the lingo right.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Laurel gave Lolly a second card and drew a five for herself. It was iffy, but she'd hold pat. The deck was fresh, and it was anybody's guess what would come up next.

Lolly's forehead creased as she studied her hand. Laurel figured that meant her cards added up to somewhere around fifteen, so she was surprised when Lolly asked for another card.

“Hit me.”

“Are you sure?”

Lolly nodded.

Laurel handed her a third card, confident that her opponent would go bust.

Instead, Lolly spread her hand on the table—a six, a nine, a three, and another three. “Twenty-one!”

Laurel gaped at her. “Talk about beginner's luck. I want a rematch.”

“Sure thing, sucker.”

Lolly's eyes sparkled, and her color was high. Laurel smiled to herself. Who would guess that blackjack would do the trick? She picked up the deck and dealt Lolly a card, herself a card, Lolly a card, herself a card.

Looked good. She had a deuce on the table and a jack in her hand.

Lolly looked at her hand, then at Laurel. “How in the world did you ever, like, learn to play blackjack? I mean, your dad was a preacher and all.”

“You might say I fell in with low company. My friend Sarah taught me.”

“Sarah. She's the one who wrote you that poem. I thought you said you'd lost track of her. Hit me.”

Laurel gave Lolly her third card and picked one up for herself too, a five. “I found her again. In fact, she's the one who helped me get Hugo.”

The big dog looked up from his nap at the sound of his name. Lolly smiled at him and reached out a bare foot to massage his back.

“Dad has a big dog at the ranch.”

“What kind?”

“Doberman—well, sort of. He always gets his dogs from shelters.”

“Do you miss him?”

“The dog?”

Laurel laughed. “Your dad. Hit me again.”

“Yes.” Lolly picked up her card. “Oh, damn, an eight. That makes me twenty-five. What do you have?”

“Seventeen again. Would you like me to call him? You could talk to him on the phone.”

“No. I want to talk in person, but I'm not ready yet. I need to think things out.” She gathered the loose cards and handed them to Laurel. “I mean, let's face it—my mother is a pervert. She's like those pathetic women you see on TV all the time who get sent to jail for having sex with kids.” Lolly shuddered. “It's so disgusting. How am I supposed to live with something like that?”

Laurel took a deep breath and put the deck on the side table. Playtime was over. “The same way I do. You just keep going.”

Lolly's head whipped around. “What do you mean? Did your mother…?”

Laurel shut her eyes for a moment, trying to summon the courage. Could she say it? She'd told Jase. Maybe it would be easier this time around. “Not my mother. My father.”

Lolly nearly came off the couch, bumping into the table in the process and scattering the cards across the floor.

“But your father was a pastor!”

“And Marguerite Shelton was a teacher.” Laurel shrugged. “Pastors can do all sorts of horrible things. So can teachers. They're just like everyone else.”

“Laurel, what—what did your dad do?”

“He took advantage of some of the teenage boys who came to him for counseling. He—he molested them.”

“My dad?”

“No. It happened later, after your father left town.”

“But…your father was good. Dad called him his moral compass.”

Laurel started picking up the cards. “Daddy was a good person in many ways, but he was bad in other ways.”

“I don't understand.”

“I don't either.” She stacked the cards and put them on the table again.

“Did you love him?”

She looked Lolly in the face. “I idolized him. I wanted to be exactly like him.”

“Do you still love him?”

“Most of him.” She covered her eyes with her hand.

Lolly touched her arm in sympathy. “I'm sorry I brought it all up, Laurel. You've been so kind, putting up with me. I don't want to upset you.”

“You needed to know.” And maybe she needed to hear herself say it too. Her father had been two people, and she had the same dilemma Jase did—how could she separate the good that was in her father from the bad?

Lolly returned to the den after lunch and lay on the couch, listening to her iPod, watching TV, and making notes on a tablet Laurel had supplied.

Laurel popped in and out of the room between cleaning up the kitchen and tending to laundry, then settled down in the big leather armchair with Jane Austen.

Lolly looked up. “I want to talk to Dad.”

“When do you want him to come over?”

“Tomorrow morning.” She looked at her notes. “That'll give me time to decide what I want to say.”

Laurel held the phone out to Lolly, but she drew back.

“Couldn't you talk to him for me, Laurel?”

“No, honey. You need to do this yourself.”

Lolly swallowed as though it hurt and reached for the phone. “Okay.”

She pushed the buttons carefully and out the phone to her ear. “Dad? I'm ready to see you…No, not tonight…How about tomorrow morning, maybe about ten?”

L
aurel's nerves tightened like piano wires as she and Lolly walked down the stairs to wait for Jase.

A vision flitted through her mind of Jase throwing himself at her feet, begging forgiveness for abandoning her, and promising they would never part again. She gripped the newel post to steady herself. Why was she torturing herself with fantasies like this?

Lolly glanced over at her. “Laurel, you okay? You looked sorta funny there for a second.”

“No problem. I'm just fine.” Not really. She was more uptight about Jase coming to the house than Lolly was.

God help her, how could she make herself stop loving him?

“Well, I like the way that dress fits you, and peach is your color.”

Laurel glanced down a herself. “This old thing?”

She knew the sleeveless shift looked good on her, and she hoped it would remind Jase of what he was missing, but she didn't want to be too obvious about it. “I've had it for ages.”

They walked into the drawing room and took seats across from each other, Laurel on the ribbon-back chair that should have long since been hauled off to the antiques man, and Lolly on the sofa.

Lolly glanced down at her tie-dyed tee. “Thanks for loaning me the clothes.”

“Sorry the hem and waist had to be safety-pinned.” Lolly not only had the tiny waist of an hourglass figure, but she was also a good eight inches shorter than the skirt was designed for.

“I'm just glad you have stuff I can wear. I hope you burned that awful pink dress.”

“It was really rather pretty, honey. I'll get it cleaned and send it to Dallas for you, if you want.”

Lolly shuddered, causing her curly doggie ears to bounce. “No. Donate it to Goodwill or something. I usually never wear things like that anyway. It's just that I thought…”

“I understand.”

“I'm keeping the necklace and earrings, though. Aunt Maxie gave them to me last Christmas.”

Laurel nodded, rising as she heard a car in the driveway. “I think your dad's here. Are you ready?”

Lolly caught a quick breath. “Maybe.”

“You'll do fine.” One thing was for sure: It was hard for her to face her father, but she wasn't backing out.

Laurel walked into the hall, opening the front door as Jase stepped onto the porch. Her heart fluttered. In jeans and long-sleeved shirt, he looked like the quintessential western hero. And judging by the mud he was scraping off his boots, he must have been checking out properties in the morning sun again. How Texas could you get?

He swept his hat into his hand and took off his dark glasses as he stepped into the foyer. His eyes checked out the shadowy hall. “Where's the canine?”

“Hugo? I thought it would be better for him to stay outside while you and Lolly talk.” Laurel closed the door, but didn't bother to lock it.

His voice dropped to a near whisper. “How's she doing?”

“A lot better.”

They entered the drawing room. Back straight, hands folded, feet together on the floor, Lolly was the picture of a prim, well-mannered schoolgirl. She moved over to give Laurel room beside her on the sofa, pointedly leaving the ribbon-back chair across from them for her father.

Laurel sat down and nervously ran hand across the wale of the sofa. This was where she and Jase had sat and talked before his appointments with Daddy and, more recently, where he had sat when he came to the house looking for Lolly. Every time she looked at the sofa, she thought of Jase. For her own peace of mind, she'd better ship it out on consignment quick.

Jase didn't say a word, just gazed at his daughter with an easy smile on his face.

Laurel gave him points. He was playing it smart, waiting for Lolly to take the lead. It was hard for any child to be slapped in the face with a parent's sexuality—as she very well knew—but Lolly should know that her father was a lot more than Marguerite Shelton's prize stud.

Lolly swallowed hard and leaned forward.

“Dad, I have something I want to tell you.” Her eyes were glued on her father's face, and her voice was strong and determined.

“First of all, I want to apologize. I will never,
never
, question your judgment again. You tried to warn me off looking for my mother, and you were right. I should've listened to you. And I shouldn't have gone to…to San Antonio.” Her chin quivered, but she recovered quickly. “I thought it would be wonderful, like on TV. You know…the reunion specials.” Lolly moved her hands in demonstration. “But it was horrible, and I don't…I don't ever want to see that woman ever again.”

The backyard resounded with barks.

Lolly raised her voice to be heard over the noise. “Second. I know I should feel sorry for her because she's sick or something, but she's mean and nasty, and I didn't like the way she talked about you.”

Hugo cut loose with a second fusillade of barking.

Jase waited for the tumult to die down before he spoke, his voice calm and cadenced. “I love you very much, Lolly, and I wish things had been different for you.” He opened his hands in a gesture of inadequacy. “I wish you'd been welcomed by Marguerite and that she'd told you what a lovely young lady you are. I wish she'd told you that she regretted not seeing you grow up and would keep up with you from now on. But things don't always work out the way they should, and you have to move on and forge ahead.”

Lolly's shoulders hunched, and her voice became very small. “But I'm afraid, Dad…I'm afraid I'm going to be just like her—like Marguerite.”

“No way, baby. You're not like her and you're not going to become like her—ever.”

Lolly's face squeezed up into itself. “You don't understand, Dad! It's in my DNA! She said I was like…like her clone! It's—it's as if I were bitten by a vampire! I don't have a choice!”

“No, honey.” Jase's voice went even softer. “We all inherit physical traits from our parents, maybe some psychological traits, but it's up to us to decide the way we live our lives. You're someone new and wonderful—not your mother and not me either. Marguerite may have given birth to you, but you're your own person, just like we all are.”

“You're just saying that!”

He looked down for a second, then right at her. “I
know
so.” He inhaled deeply. “I've never told you much about my father, have I? Maybe I should have.”

“Well, you said that after he got out of the navy, he became a pro wrestler, then he retired and ran a tavern called Beat Down. His name was Roland, but everyone called him Growler because his larynx had been injured when he was in the ring. I wrote that into my roots report. The other girls thought he was, like, supercool.”

Jase's grimaced at the idea of teenagers finding Growler Redlander cool.

“There's more to it than that, honey—a lot I didn't tell you.”

His eyes wandered aimlessly around the room. He'd buried Growler Red years ago, and he didn't like having to dig him up again, but Lolly needed to have a more balanced picture of him.

“Growler was kicked out of the navy for brawling. When he was on the wrestling circuit, they billed him as the Meanest Man in Texas—and he was. He ran a rough bar, sold liquor to underage kids, and knocked me around when he was drunk. I went to school hungry more days than not and started working odd jobs when I was nine to support myself. If it wasn't for your Aunt Maxie, he probably would have drowned me in the Bosque.” He grimaced. “I didn't want to be anything like him, and, God help me, I'm not.”

No, he hadn't wanted to be like his father. He'd modeled himself on Reverend Ed, but he wasn't going to say that. “Children don't have to be like their parents. Everyone has a choice.”

Lolly's eyes went big and round. “He didn't
feed
you? He
hit
you?”

Jase nodded. “Beat me within an inch of my life more than once.” He touched his chest. “You remember that big scar I've got here?”

“The one that goes all sorts of directions? You told me you got it from falling off your bike when you were in middle school.”

“Honey, Growler had long since tossed my bicycle in the Bosque. I got this little souvenir when he came home drunk one night and couldn't get in because I'd locked the door.” He grimaced at the memory. “Let's just say he wasn't happy with me.”

Lolly leapt up from the sofa and rushed over to throw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Daddy. I'm so sorry! I love you so much! I'll never leave you again!”

He hugged her with one arm, gently, because he knew she would be shy about physical contact with him for a while. “Well, not for a long time, I hope.”

“I wish I'd never found out about Marguerite. I just want things to be like they were—you and me and Aunt Maxie.” She glanced back at the couch. “And Laurel, of course.”

“We can't turn back time, Lolly. What's done is done. Now, let's sit back down and talk about where we're going to go from here, so Laurel doesn't feel like she's got a couple of raving lunatics on her hands.”

Lolly returned to the sofa. “Was Marguerite really your teacher, Dad?”

“Yeah. English lit—
Oedipus Rex
,
Romeo and Juliet
, all of that.”

“How did it happen—I mean, you and her?”

He wanted to be truthful, but only to a point. Lolly didn't need to know the unsavory details he'd confessed to Laurel. “I think she filled a gap for me. Marguerite gave me a lot of attention, but it was the wrong kind of attention. I was too young to be carrying on that intense a relationship with anybody, especially a woman more than twice my age.”

“Was she pretty back then, Dad? Her picture in the annual looks kinda sneaky.”

Jase laughed, remembering the sensuously seductive woman Marguerite had been. “She was dazzling, sweetheart. All the boys at Bosque Bend High School were crazy about her.”

Lolly cocked her head to one side. “And she, like, chose you over all of them?”

He didn't like the direction this conversation was taking. “She shouldn't have chosen any of us, Lolly. What happened between her and me was wrong. Adults shouldn't be sexually involved with kids. I was seduced—not forced—but it was still wrong.”

Lolly's voice turned soft. “Dad, do you hate me because I wanted to find my mother, because I met Marguerite? Are you sorry I was born?”

He'd always known she'd ask that question eventually, and the answer came easy. He risked lifting his hand to smooth her tumbled curls.

“No, baby. I love you and I'll always love you.” His voice choked. “You're the best thing that ever happened to me.”

The phone rang and Laurel hurried off to answer it. The Realtor had told her he might be calling today.

“Hello? Hello? Is this the Harlow residence?” Not her Realtor's friendly chirp. It was an old man's voice, breaking with agitation.

“Yes,” she answered, ready to slam down the receiver at the first obscene word.

“I need to speak to Jason Redlander. His aunt gave me this number.”

“May I say who's calling?”

“An—an old acquaintance. Please, get him for me. It's very important. Please, Laurel.”

How did he know her name?

She replaced the receiver and returned to the drawing room. “Someone wants you on the phone. He sounds odd. And he knows my name.”

Jase sighed. “Probably someone with another farm to sell. Sorry, but that's it for Bosque Bend.”

He rose and headed to the den.

Lolly looked toward the hall. “Who do you think is calling Dad?” she asked Laurel.

“I don't know. I know I've heard the voice before, but—”

Hugo started barking again.

“Lolly, we can't talk over that racket. Would you mind if I let Hugo in the house?”

“Of course not. I love Hugo.”

Laurel headed toward the kitchen door, picking up a doggie treat on the way. Jase would probably return to Lolly in the drawing room before she got back, but that was okay. Father and daughter could use a little private time together.

It took a few minutes, but Hugo finally allowed a rawhide bone to lure him away from the albino squirrel who was running across the yard. As Laurel led him down the hall, he pushed open the door to the den, and she had to pull him back by his collar before he could bother Jase, who was apparently engaged in a deep conversation about a woman who was sick—Maxie? Maybe the caller was a doctor.

Then why did he identify himself as an old acquaintance?

Suddenly she remembered the voice—school bells and Friday morning announcements, the pugnacious twang of the principal listing deeds and misdeeds of the previous week.

Bert Nyquist.
Come to think of it, Lolly had said Marguerite's husband was named “Bart or something,” and she knew Bert Nyquist had left town soon after Marguerite Shelton. Who would have ever guessed they'd end up together?

Footsteps sounded in the hall. One look at Jase confirmed Laurel's worst fears.

He took a seat on the sofa beside his daughter and lifted her hand. “Lolly, we need to discuss something very serious. I just talked to Marguerite's husband. He says she won't last more than a day and she wants to see you one last time.”

Lolly backed away into the corner of the sofa, her eyes opened wide in alarm. “I don't want to go, Dad! I don't even care if she's dying! She might say something even worse to me this time!”

Hugo rose from his place by Laurel's side, stretched, and ambled over to lay his head in Lolly's lap. She massaged his ears, then looked deep into his comforting eyes.

“Her husband was nice, though. He apologized all over the place and said she was overmedicated, that the doctor had upped her oxycodone the day before and she wasn't thinking straight, that she was talking wild.” She cocked her head. “He's sort of sad, I think. He must love her a lot.”