Forbidden Son (20 page)

Chapter
Thirty

Tripp
needed to see Honey Belle. The sky looked low and bruised. Black thunderheads
gathered against the darkening sky. Dense and full-bellied, they threatened the
type of summer storm common in the south—intense rain for twenty minutes, then
bright clear skies.

He
turned into the driveway.

Instead
of getting out immediately, he cut the motor and stared at the two-story white
house surrounded by tall pine trees and low, neatly trimmed boxwood shrubs. The
house and yard looked peaceful and serene. Like a picture on a postcard.

He
stepped out of the Lincoln Town Car, unsure of his next step, except that it
had to be taken. Waiting for the ideal moment was no longer an option.

It
felt good to wear comfortable faded jeans and a golfing shirt—regular clothes.
Despite his position in life, he liked to think of himself as a regular guy.

How
did one converse with a sixteen-year-old? He tried to recall what he was like
at the age of sixteen. What was it Honey Belle had said? Oh, yes. JT excelled
in sports. Tripp couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually watched a
football game on television.

He’d
faced a lot of fear in his life—Vietnam, the loss of his leg. Today was no
exception. He actually feared the reaction he’d receive from his
sixteen-year-old son.

He
found Honey Belle waiting when he got to the house. Apparently, she was anxious
to get this meeting over with. She looked pale, carved out of ice. She greeted
him with just about the same level of warmth.

****

Honey
Belle couldn’t deny the thought of seeing Tripp again left an aching emptiness
in her heart. Watching him get out of the car and cross over the sidewalk, she
wanted him to go away, she wanted him to stay. In all honesty, she didn’t know
what she wanted but suspected it was about six-foot-two, chisel- featured, fair
haired, blue-eyed, tanned. So quick and sprightly and energetic. Full of good
humor, tall tales, laughter, and life. No wonder she had fallen in love with
him instantly, the first day she had set eyes on him.

So
long ago now.

In
his faded blue jeans and a pale blue golfing shirt, he cut a crisp stride up
the walk. Even with his prosthetic leg, she’d never seen him take an awkward
step. Something was wrong. He stopped in the shade of the magnolia tree. His
eyes shadowed with determination.

He
appeared nervous—unsure—his shoulders tense—his body stiff. Apparently this
wasn’t easy for him either, which brought some comfort. And he didn’t look any
happier than she felt.

This
morning, he’d said they had to talk. What if he tried to take JT away from her?
No, JT was old enough to make his own decisions. Like all sixteen-year-olds, he
wanted a car, a dune buggy, a telephone in his room, his own personal
television. All the toys every kid desired. In her heart, she trusted her son
wasn’t so shallow that he would cave in to the lure of money and expensive
gifts.

Until
this moment, she’d hoped for a reprieve. There was none. No masked man wearing
a black cape, riding up on his magnificent black stallion to rescue her. There
was only Tripp, and he didn’t look any happier than she felt. Where was Zorro
when she needed him?

She
opened the front door and took a step toward Tripp. “What’s so important that
you’d leave D.C. and come to Georgia?”

“My
father is seriously ill.”

As
much as she wanted to feel compassion for the Judge, her heart wouldn’t allow
it.

A
crescendo of thunder rolled across the sky. Fat drops of rain splattered the
sidewalk, forcing Tripp up the steps and onto the porch.

She
drew a breath as he stepped closer. She didn’t have the words to respond
regarding his father’s illness. How could she?

After
a second or two of reflection, she opened the screened door. “Please come in.
Breakfast is ready. I hope you’re hungry.”

Tripp
followed as she led the way down the hall and to the kitchen at the rear of the
house.

“I’m
starving, but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble, you know.”

“It’s
no problem. With Aunt Tess and JT and me going in different directions during
the week, Saturday and Sunday is our family time for a sit-down breakfast.”

“Speaking
of JT, does he know? About me, I mean?”

Slowly,
in an indifferent tone, she said, “Yes.”

“And?”

I
think you should marry him, Mom.
Her mind raced over the unexpected
declaration her son had made. She closed her eyes. Behind her lids she recalled
the uncertainty she’d read in the face that reminded her so much of his father.

She
flinched when Tripp touched her shoulder.

“Honey
Belle?

She
gave him a measured look. “If you were sixteen and this type of bombshell was
dropped on you, how would you feel?”

“Point
taken. Does he hate me?”

“JT
feels betrayed. By me, mostly.”

Honey
Belle looked at him, then away as she fought the emotions that threatened to
crumple her face. Tucking her hands inside the pockets of her apron, she
invited Tripp to sit at the dining table.

****

His
chest constricted. He couldn’t breathe. JT stood at the second-story bedroom window
gazing down at the man who walked up the sidewalk toward the front porch. Tripp
Harlan Hartwell, war hero and senator, was his father.

His
father.
The words echoed inside his head. They sounded so foreign to JT he
couldn’t grasp the meaning. All his life he’d secretly envied his friends whose
dads had coached little league or invited him on camping trips. Yeah, sure,
there were times he’d longed for a father and had even conjured up images.
Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he was the illegitimate son of a
United States Senator.

JT
stood there, his head resting against the window sill, staring out the window,
his mind awash with emotions he didn’t know how to handle.

He
wondered if the senator would sit him down and feed him a line of sorrowful
garbage about being a long-lost father, stepping up to the bat, doing the right
thing. Sure, he’d told his mom to marry the guy. Did he really mean it? For
sixteen years he’d never had to share his mother with anyone. Punching his fist
against the wall, JT didn’t know how he felt.

His
mother’s voice filtered up the stairs. “JT, breakfast is ready, and Senator
Hartwell is here.”

Slowly,
he walked across the room and opened the door. Smiling at his once childish
prank, he wondered if the senator was afraid of snakes.

****

Tripp’s
heart did a funny little lurch when JT entered the kitchen. He looked at the
boy in front of him. Tall, broad of shoulder, hair the color of beach sand, and
eyes that were clearly sizing him up, wary.

Offering
his hand, he watched a slight hesitation before JT accepted. Good, Tripp
thought, a firm handshake. In fact, the boy tightened his grip and matched
Tripp’s stare.
He’s letting me know I’m treading on his territory.
The
trait appealed to Tripp.

“Just
so you know, Senator, you hurt my mom and I’ll knock your block off.” JT lifted
his chin, his blue eyes unwavering.

Honey
Belle gasped. “Jack Tripp Garrett, you apologize this instant.”

Tripp
wanted to laugh out loud. Instead, he smiled. “No apology necessary. I respect
any man who stands up for his mother.”

Honey
Belle picked up the coffee pot. “Well, okay then. Let’s eat before the grits
get too stiff to soak up the egg yolks.”

Rather
than sitting in stony silence, or suffering through meaningless small talk,
Tripp filled his plate with grits, two eggs, bacon, and a biscuit. “I haven’t
had a good southern breakfast since my mother passed away.”

Silence
followed on the heels of polite requests to pass the strawberry preserves or
for more coffee, until JT blurted out, “Why are you here, Senator?”

“JT,
I swear, where are your manners?”

“It’s
a fair question, Honey Belle.” Tripp could feel the boy’s anger coming in
waves. “If I were wearing your shoes, JT, I’m not sure how I’d react. This is
new territory for both of us. Right now we’re treading water—not knowing which
way to swim. It isn’t every day a man learns he has a son, much less a
sixteen-year-old son. If you think I’m here to change your life or take your
mother away from you—that’s the least thing on my mind.”

“Same
question—why are you here?”

“Several
reasons, good ones, I hope. Are you willing to listen and give me a fair
chance?”

JT
nodded.

“First,
my father is an old man. A few days ago, he confessed to his duplicity. What he
did to your mother was reprehensible. I’ll make no excuses for him.” Tripp drew
in a sigh and blew it out. “The thing is, JT, he’d like to meet his only
grandchild.”

Tripp
watched JT weighing the question before giving an answer. Without glancing at
Honey Belle, Tripp felt her tension.

“I’m
not sure I want to meet him. I mean, I don’t owe him anything.”

“No,
you don’t. My father is dying. Oh, I know you might see this as a pitiful
excuse for my asking you to go see an old man who did a grave injustice to your
mother...and to me. The thing is, JT, a man’s character is determined by the
maturity of his decisions.”

JT
loaded his fork with eggs and grits. Then as if he’d lost his appetite, he set
the fork aside. “You said there were other reasons for coming here.”

Tripp
was impressed by his son’s directness. “Through circumstances beyond my
control, I’ve been denied the right to know you. I missed your birth, I’ve
missed out on your first words, first steps. I see by the trophies you’re an
excellent athlete. I’ve missed your games, missed sitting beside your mother in
the bleachers, cheering for you. You’re sixteen. I can’t make up for the lost
years, but if you’ll give me the opportunity, I’d like to get to know you.
Maybe we can eventually become friends.”

“And
my mom, what are your intentions toward her?”

This
time Tripp laughed out loud. “JT, my mother—your grandmother—would have spoiled
you rotten. You have her directness. In fact, I see much of her in your facial
expressions. She was also a master gardener. Do you like gardening?”

Not
to be shut out of the conversation, Honey Belle said, “I’ve always wondered
where JT inherited his green thumb. Aunt Tess and I are pitiful when it comes
to growing flowers and vegetables. Not JT. Even as a little boy, he loved
digging in the dirt and making things grow.”

“Mom...that’s
embarrassing.”

She
smiled, cut her eyes at the man sitting across the table from her son. “He even
likes cheeseburgers, extra pickles, hold the onions.”

“Man,
Mom, you’re killing me, telling all this personal stuff.”

“No
kidding. You like cheeseburgers, extra pickles, hold the onions?” Tripp beamed.

“Yeah,
so?”

“Tell
him, Honey Belle.”

When
she blushed, Tripp had the urge to kiss her petal-pink lips. She was incredibly
beautiful, watching him. He felt his loins stir. Shifting in his chair, he
reached for his cup, grimacing at the cold coffee’s bitter taste.

“Your
father, that is to say, the Senator—” her hands fluttered as if she was
confused about what to call him in front of her son. “Anyhow, I suppose you
still order your hamburgers the same as when we first met.”

“Exactly
the same.”

An
awkward moment passed as if no one at the table knew what to say next. Tripp’s
mood took a nose dive. This was tougher than he’d expected. He braced his
wrists against the table.

“My
last reason for being here is your mother. When I was wounded in Vietnam and
half out of my mind with delirium in a field hospital, more dead than alive, I
thought I saw your mother smiling down at me.” Tripp hesitated. What could he
say to win over his son without sounding maudlin? “Look, JT, in all these years
I’ve never stopped loving your mother. I didn’t know why she’d left South
Carolina. Then, to be honest, when I found out she’d lied about where she
lived, I was hurt, even angry. Things happened. I married, joined the Army,
immersed myself in politics. Until a few days ago, I thought your mom was lost
to me forever, and I didn’t know I had a son. All this may sound like pathetic
excuses to you. Unless I miss my guess, you’re a judicious young man. The truth
is, JT, I’d like your permission to date your mom.”

There.
He’d laid it on the line—all his reasons for coming to Valdosta. The ball was
in his son’s court. As much as he wanted to reach out and clasp Honey Belle’s
slender, delicate hands, Tripp refrained from touching her.

His
senses on edge, a drip from the kitchen faucet seemed to crescendo in his ears.
Tripp worked to quell his impatience as he watched the turmoil in his son’s
young face. The very act of wrestling with a grown-up decision was written in
the creases of his forehead, the taut muscles in his neck, the stiffness in his
shoulders.

Always
one to tackle a problem head-on, Tripp worried he’d asked too much too soon.

****

JT
scooted the chair from the table. He stood. “The Three Musketeers, you, me and
Aunt Tess. That’s what you used to call us. Remember?”

Honey
Belle smiled and nodded.

His
face sobered as he continued. “I’m not sure I want that to change.” He shrugged
his shoulders forward. “Aunt Tess is getting older, I’m going off to college...
Kids my age don’t usually worry about stuff like this, but I don’t want you to
be alone one day.”

Honey
Belle stared at her son, touched by his words. Then her brow drew together in a
furrow. “You’re worrying about my old age, is that it, JT?”

Laughing,
he shook his head. “Well, you
are
thirty-five.”