Found: A Mother for His Son (15 page)

She knew the waiting game. Knew it well. But for Max, there was someone there to hold him as he waited. He was a lucky little boy.

“It’s purple!” Not just purple walls. Purple everywhere. Ceiling, floor, walls. Jenna squinted at what looked like an explosion of grape jelly. “Very, very purple.”

“And I’m not!” Max exclaimed, proud of his handiwork.

“Purple’s not bad for a bathroom,” Dermott conceded. They’d worked all morning, painted everything that could be painted in a bathroom and now his budding Picasso was ready for a nap in spite of that fact that he had purple streaks in his hair. It had been a good morning and, surprisingly for his age, Max hadn’t lost interest. The kid had an attention span better than some adults Dermott knew and he was proud of that. “And speaking of purple, I think it’s time to take your purple-haired self off to bed for a while, don’t you, Max?”

He shook his head to protest, then had second thoughts. “Just a little one. And when we get up we’re going to paint your bathroom.”

“Purple?” Jenna asked, as Max scooted down the hall.

“Not if I can hide the purple paint first.” Dermott dropped down on the couch and propped his feet up on the table across from it, then patted the seat next to him. “Might as well relax. We’ve got about an hour before Clyde Fister comes in for a consultation.”

“I didn’t see it on the books.”

“Because he’s nervous. Afraid that I’ll leave the appointment book open and someone will accidentally see that he’s coming in.” He settled down into the couch a little more.

“And you’re going to keep me in suspense?”

“Thought you might like to guess.” He raised a teasing eyebrow.

“I’m playing a game where I have to guess the patient’s condition?” Dermott would never disrespect a patient, so this wasn’t going to be a patient with a problem.

“He’s not exactly the patient.”

Now she was curious. “Do we have to unlock the back door for him? Maybe put a trench coat and dark glasses out in the alley for him to wear so no one will recognize him? Check to make sure that Mr. Ketterman isn’t out there with his cigar when Mr. Fister comes sneaking in?” This was such a different kind of medicine from anything she’d ever done, and she liked it. Liked knowing the intimate details of her patients…Mr. Ketterman and his once-a-week cigar. Mr. Fister and the secret that was about to be revealed. It made her feel like she belonged somewhere…belonged here.
Right here.

She did want to believe that, and part of her was letting the feeling seep in and linger. But the other part was spitting it back out because she knew better. She’d had an entire lifetime of knowing better and even though she desperately wanted this situation with Dermott to be different, it wouldn’t be. Because, in the end, she was still Jenna Joann Lawson, and nothing about that had changed.

“It’s not quite that secret, but it is a big surprise. A birthday gift for his wife.” He grinned. “An unusual birthday gift.” Pulling a pamphlet from his pocket, he dropped it into Jenna’s lap. It was entitled “Hair Plugs”.

Jenna blinked. “So let me get this straight. The big secret is that his wife is going to get hair plugs for her birthday?”

Dermott laughed. “Not Mrs. Fister. Mr. Fister. He’s been saving his money, stashing it away in secret to do this, and I’ve helped him find a reputable clinic. Plastic surgeon.”

“For his wife. Do you know if his wife really cares?” Jenna glanced up at Dermott’s dark brown hair, his angular face, his beautiful blue eyes. All very classically handsome, all very sexy. How would he look without hair?

She shut her eyes for a moment, trying to raise the picture, but all she could get was sexy. And it wasn’t in the way he looked so much as the way he was. With or without hair, Dermott was a sexy man and if his looks changed, that wouldn’t make him any less sexy to her.

“I think it’s more about Mr. Fister’s perception of himself than anything. His hair is thin, and he wants it back.”

“We all want things back, Dermott, but that doesn’t mean we can get them. Or even should get them.”

“But what do you do when you’re Clyde Fister, who doesn’t like what he sees when he looks in the mirror, and there’s a way to change that?”

“It shouldn’t be about changing what he sees in the mirror. It’s more about what you can’t see in the mirror.” Impulsively, she reached up and ran her fingers through Dermott’s hair. “It’s a beautiful mane you have, Dr. Callahan, but it doesn’t make you who you are.”

He shivered under her touch. “Maybe it depends on the person who’s there to help you be everything you’re supposed to be.”

“Then you think it takes two people to help one of them realize their fullest potential, that one person can’t do that on their own?”

“Are you trying to provoke something?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

Scooting closer to Dermott, until they were pressed lightly side-by-side, she leaned her head over on his shoulder. “Sometimes I think I want to. But then other times…It’s complicated.”

Resisting the natural urge to pull her even closer, Dermott merely took Jenna’s hand in hers. It was a quiet, affectionate thing to do that seemed right at that moment. “Well, what I think is that any one person can achieve amazing things on their own. To come into your own doesn’t
require
another person, but to have someone there for you, to support you, to sit and hold your hand is much nicer than doing it alone.”

“Even if he’s five?” she asked.

“Even if she’s thirty. We all need someone, JJ. It’s easier that way.”

“Not always.”

“What did your father do to you that keeps you running? What did he do that hurt you so badly you’re afraid to let anyone get close?” He could feel her body stiffen, and he fully expected her to get up and leave. So he held on to her hand a little tighter. Enough to let her know that she was supported, but not enough that she felt restrained.

“Drank. Went to work sober, came home and got drunk. Told me I was worthless, that I’d ruined his life.”

“You believed that?” There was more. Something she wasn’t telling him because she was still rigid, and this seemed so rehearsed. It was the little speech you practiced over and over in your mind for the day when you’d finally have to give it. No emotion. Just words. And if there was one thing he knew about Jenna, she was tied up in so many different layers of emotion, layers all waiting to be peeled back and revealed. It was something he loved most about her because her emotional depths made her so vital, so caring.

“As a little girl, sure I did. You’re supposed to believe your parents. Even when they’re like my dad was.”

“And how was he, Jenna? Other than mean, how was he really?”

She shivered, then shook her head rather than speaking. But she didn’t try pulling away from him, which he found surprising. Maybe this little bird didn’t want to fly away as badly as he thought she did. Or as
she
thought she did. “How did your father hurt you?”

“He hit me,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. “Every day. It became part of my daily routine. He didn’t like the way I fixed his coffee, so he’d hit me. His shirts weren’t pressed to suit him so he’d hit me. I was there so he’d hit me.”

His stomach started to knot, and he could feel the acid burn of it all the way down. To hit a child like Max, or to hit Jenna…

“Sometimes he’d lock me in the closet. If he didn’t want to be bothered with me, he’d shove me in and lock the door.”

“For how long?”

“A few hours, maybe. Then he’d let me out.” She took in a deep, wobbly breath. “A couple of times he got drunk and forgot and I was in there for a day. But I always knew that he’d come back for me when he needed something.”

Dear God, he couldn’t even imagine. Not for Jenna, not for Max. “Did he molest you, Jenna?” he asked, trying to sound more like a doctor than the man who loved this woman. But he was the man who loved her and his voice trembled.

“No. I guess even my father drew the line somewhere. And the thing is, I was always glad when he hit me because I knew he wouldn’t do it again for a while, then I would have a few hours where I didn’t have to be so scared.” Finally, a single tear slid down her cheek, and she let it fall. “And I functioned. I went to school when I was supposed to, did my homework, and to everybody looking on, we were a good family. Admirable single dad raising his daughter alone. Pretty little girl making good grades in school, always wearing nice clothes, always smiling. Who would have guessed all the ugly secrets behind our doors?”

No one in town, Dermott thought. Not one single person. Suddenly, he understood. Now that this wasn’t about him, he did see it. “But you went to live with your grandparents, didn’t you? They saw what was happening?”

“Not until I was thirteen. They’d come to visit unannounced, and literally walked in on us. My father had just slammed me into the wall, and at the point my grandfather walked through the door, my father had hit me only once. He was ready to hit me again. Grandpa asked me how often that happened, and I told him it happened all the time. He took me by the arm, took me out of there, and I never saw my father again.”

“Your mother’s father?”

Jenna shook her head. “My father’s father. My grandfather told me years later that my father had always had a bad temper. That even when he was a little boy my grandparents couldn’t control him. But they were sure he’d grow out of it, and they’d never thought he could do anything like he’d done to me. At the time I wanted to believe that, but sometimes I wondered if, deep down, they did know and just couldn’t face it. I mean, how do you look at someone you love and see so much ugliness?” She laughed bitterly. “Maybe you don’t. Maybe when you love someone that much blind spot keeps growing until it blocks out everything you truly aren’t able to deal with. You know, love is blind, and all that.”

This was incredible. With the exception of a few details, it was Max’s story and, dear God, that scared him in so many ways. He wanted to hold her tighter, wanted to know more, wanted to say so many things, but the doorbell jingled downstairs, and Clyde Fister had arrived to discuss hair plugs. If ever there was a time Dermott didn’t want to discuss hair plugs, this was it. But the moment was over. Jenna was pushing away from him now, looking much more composed about what she’d told him than he felt. It was his knees that were wobbling when he stood up, his hands that were shaking, his head that was spinning.

And it was Jenna who walked solidly down the stairs and greeted their patient.

Dermott sagged against the wall at the top of the stairs before he went down, trying to compose himself, trying to make some sense of this. But there was no sense to be found, no composure to be had. He was mad as hell at the bastard who’d hurt Jenna so deeply. Mad as hell at Nancy for what she’d done to Max. Mad at himself. Mad at the world. So mad that he balled his fist and hit the wall. Over and over. Until his fist was bloody and swollen. And that didn’t make him feel any better. Not any better about anything.

J
ENNA
dropped the gauze pad in the trash and pulled a fresh one from the stack. “I don’t think anything is broken,” she said as she dabbed at the scrapes across his knuckles. “Without X-rays it’s hard to tell, but your function is intact, so unless you have complications, like smashing the wall with your other hand, I’d say you’ll be better in a day or two. Just keep your hand away from plaster for a while.”

“You’re not very sympathetic,” Dermott grumbled.

“And you’re not a very convincing liar.”

“I stumbled,” he grunted.

“And caught yourself on the wall with your knuckles.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

But it was. She knew why he’d punched the wall. Some of it was for her, some of it was what he saw for Max. She knew that same anger, but she’d had years to put it in its proper place. Dermott was only just now beginning to deal with it. The trouble was, as the outsider looking in, he was experiencing the rage, but not the deep-down kind of emotions that caused people to do the crazy things like run away from a good thing the way she’d done before and would probably do again. Rage resulted in scraped knuckles. The deep-down emotions that tended to keep themselves locked away resulted in scraped lives. “What’s a big deal, Dermott, is that someday, somewhere, Max is going to say something to you about what happened to him, and you’re going to feel like putting that fist through the wall again. You’re justified in your feelings, but Max will need more than your gut reaction, and if he was hit by his mother, that gut action could frighten him. Or, worse, cause him to retreat.”

“And you don’t think I haven’t thought about that? I mean, what if he’d seen me do this?” He held up his battered fist.

She smiled gently. “He didn’t. No harm done.”

“Isn’t there?”

They were in exam one, he on the table, she standing in front of him. Mr. Fister had come and gone, taken his hair-plug pamphlet with him, and promised to try shaving himself totally bald and living with that manly look for a while before he put himself through the new hair ordeal. Jenna had convinced him that a nice head such as his deserved to be on display, and she reminded him how many people were doing that these days. The truth was, he had a look that would support being bald. Maybe an earring, too. But he’d said he’d have to think on that one for a while. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything to you. Don’t know why I did, because I never talk about it to anyone. Not even my therapist when I was a teenager and my grandparents forced me to have counseling.” She’d told him because she’d never known anyone as easy to talk to as Dermott.

“I’m sorry, Jenna. For what you went through. For overreacting. All the time when you were telling me about your father, I was picturing Max with his mother.”

“I know,” she whispered, as she applied a bandage to his hand, crossing the gauze over the back of his hand and bringing it around to cover his palm. He had nice skin, soft. And nice fingers. She loved those fingers, loved the feel of them on her flesh—just a few nights ago in the stream, just a few years ago…Time blurred for a moment, thinking about the way her skin prickled with the sensation of his touch—prickled even though she didn’t want it to.

But she always had, and that was the problem. Always had, always would. She knew that as surely as she knew that her heart was beating a little faster right now, and that her breaths were slightly quicker. “I, um…It’s not easy to blot it out, and sometimes…” Sometimes, what? It just overtook her? How could she tell him that, when he applied everything she said to Max—how he would react, the things he would say, the feelings he would have? It was such a delicate line, and she wasn’t the one who should be walking it. Heaven knew, when it came to the emotional journey, she was barely able to take care of herself. So how could she ever do anything for Dermott’s little boy?

She wanted to, though. Deep in her heart she wanted to pick him up and hold him and never, ever let anything else bad touch him. No one had done that for her, not even her grandparents, and in the deep, dark hours when she’d slept alone in her bed she’d clung to her dolls, wishing the lifeless stuffing inside them could hug her back. But Max had Dermott to do that, and he would. Of that, she had no doubt. So there really was nothing else to say. “You know, Dermott…I think your hand is all fixed up now. Provided you don’t put it through another plaster wall, you should be fine in a few days.”

She backed away, took a look at her bandaging job, and nodded. “And make sure you don’t do something stupid with your other hand in the meantime.”

“Something stupid?”

“Walls, doors, any solid object. The town doctor really does need one hand available to him.”

“The town doctor might have to rely on the town nurse for an extra hand for the next few days.”

“You know where to find her. She’s right upstairs.” Scared to death of what might happen when he did find her. And wanting it
so
badly.

Tonight she was especially restless. She’d been holed up in her apartment for hours, reading, pacing the floor, reading some more. A while ago she’d gone to the diner for a light supper, then taken a good, long walk, but once she’d come home the restlessness had begun again. So much so that she needed to get out of there. Needed to go for another walk, or perhaps a good, hard run. Something…anything to take her mind off Dermott, Max…her future here.

After tying on her white athletic shoes, Jenna dashed down the flight of stairs, pausing briefly at Dermott’s door, wondering what he and Max were doing inside, wishing that she could be part of it, knowing that she didn’t have that right. Then she hurried on down to the first floor and out the front door, but when she made it to the sidewalk and looked back at the building to make sure the door had latched, she noticed a light on in exam one. She couldn’t see into the room, of course, but there was a faint glow through the shade, so she went back to turn off the light and discovered Dermott in there, sitting in the dimness.

“Is it your hand?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

“Hand’s fine,” he snapped. “Max thought it was funny that I tripped and broke the wall.”

“You lied to him?”

“I protected him. How could I tell him that I got angry and hit the wall? He’s an abused kid who has no concept that his dad could ever have a bad temper. So what should I have done? Planted an image in his mind that the one person he trusts most in the world got so angry he hit the wall? Would that somehow remind him of his mother?”

“Max knows what his mother did, Dermott. Even in his young mind, he understands how she was. And he also understands how you are. What happens, though, if in an unguarded moment he sees you react, sees you hit that wall? What then? Does he live in mortal fear of you because he never knew it was in you? Or do you let him know that you do react that way on occasion, but that it has nothing to do with him and never will? He lived in a secret world for a long time. Think about that. He never told anybody what was happening to him…maybe because he was ashamed and thought he deserved the abuse, or maybe because Nancy threatened him. We really don’t know yet, but what you don’t want to do is force him to go back and live with secrets again. Even if it’s your secret.”

“It’s always going to be a balancing act, isn’t it? My need to protect him versus doing the right thing.”

“You’re a good father. Just start from there and the rest will work itself out.” She took several steps closer to Dermott, then studied him for a moment. He was agonizing over the little things and she loved that in him. Never, in her life, had she known anybody who tried so hard to do the right things by everyone the way he did. To the exclusion of himself, actually. Which was a shame. Dermott had become so involved in caring for all the people around him that he’d forgotten about himself. “Is Max upstairs?”

“He’s spending the night with his grandparents. Under the circumstances…” he held up his bandaged hand “…we all thought that would be better. And they’re going to make popcorn and root-beer floats. I was going to make…boxed cookies and nothing.” He laughed. “Never let it be said that my son doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it.”

Jenna laughed. “Well, then. Since that means you’re a bachelor for the evening, do you want to go out and take a run with me? I need to work off some energy, and a couple of kilometers might just do that.”

“Run?” Dermott sputtered. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve done anything like that?” He shook his head. “Even if I wanted to, I’m so out of practice I’d make it a block or two, then you’d have to carry me back. Maybe I could drive alongside you and watch?”

“Drive? How’s that going to be good for you?”

“It’s not the driving that’s good for me. It’s the watching…watching you.”

“You’re trying to be incorrigible, aren’t you?”

He chuckled. “Am I succeeding?”

He was, in so many ways. Which should have made her happy, buoyant, dancing on clouds. But she wasn’t, because the happier she was, the more she stood to lose. Happiness was such a risk in her life and it frightened her more than just about anything she could think of. Suddenly, she was sober, sad, depressed. “Look, I’m going for a run. You can come, or you can stay here. Just…just do whatever you want.”

A puzzled frown crossed his face when he saw her mood swing so quickly. “What is it, Jenna? What does that to you?”

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “Can’t talk about it, Dermott.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Pushing himself up off the chair, he took a few steps toward her, and she took a few steps backward.

“Of course I do. It’s just that…” She’d never wanted to settle more than she did now. Better than anyone else, she knew what she had in her, and it always made her leave. A person’s true nature had a way of winning even when it was being held down. But, oh, in the dim light of the night, with nobody around except the two of them, she really
didn’t
want to run away, and she so much wanted to tell him that. She also wanted to take those few steps forward, into his arms. To stay there forever. Wanted it so badly she could feel it. But she could also feel the fear running through her, cold and brutal. And that’s what stopped her, what pulled her back. “Why are you making this so difficult on me, Dermott?” she asked, her voice frail, on the verge of tears. “I’ve been honest with you, and that’s all I have.”

“No, it’s not, JJ. You don’t allow yourself…anything. Don’t allow yourself to be honest with yourself. You get so close, then…” He shrugged. “Is it me? Am I reading something into this that’s just not there? Or is it about my screwed-up mess of a life?”

Jenna shook her head. “From where I stand, your life looks wonderful. And no, it’s not you, Dermott. It’s just that…that my life has these patterns that keep repeating themselves. Nothing works out and I move on, start over. I’ve already told you all that.”

“But how would you know that it won’t work out if you never stay in one place long enough to find out?” He reached out and ran his hand through her hair. It was tied back for her evening run, and he pulled the clips away, letting it down. “Life doesn’t come with guarantees, but that doesn’t mean it’s always best to just give up on it and go away.”

“It does if you hurt other people. And that’s what I always do—I hurt other people.”

“Have you ever thought that the biggest hurt those other people might suffer is losing you?”

The biggest hurt, or the biggest blessing. The two were interchangeable. “Pretty words, Dermott, but we still can’t do this. As much as you want it, and as much as I want it…you know we can’t. You both need someone stronger than me. And I’m not strong, Dermott. I go through life being scared…of everything, of everyone.”

“Oh, Jenna. You are strong, even if you don’t see it. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. And if you are scared, that’s OK. We all are at some time.”

“But other people get over it. I don’t.”

“Because no one has ever helped you. You’re always so busy taking care of other people, but you’ve never let anyone take care of you. And here we are, both of us scared, both of us playing all the way around our feelings—circling, but never quite landing. What I know more than anything else, JJ, is that if this is something we both want, shouldn’t there be a way to have it? To make it be what we want it to be?”

“Ideally, maybe,” she admitted.

“So tell me what you want, Jenna. If your deepest hopes and dreams came true, what would you have?”

She spread wide her arms and spun around. “This. All of it.” She wanted it like she’d never known she could want anything. Except Dermott. And she wanted him even more. “But what happens if Max gets attached to me and I just can’t do this? What if I’ve overestimated myself? And what happens to you?”

Dermott drew in a stiff breath, held it for a moment, then let it out. “But what happens if you
can
do all this, Jenna? What happens if you allow yourself to have it all?”

“If I allow myself? It’s not like I want things to turn out the way they do.”

“But don’t you predict the outcome before you begin anything? Don’t you always have an escape plan ready before you open the door and walk in? I mean, you expect things to turn out badly for you and when they do, you simply accept it as your lot. When your father beat you, he made you believe you deserved it, and you’ve never stopped believing it. Not in the most profound sense, anyway.”

“How can you say that to me, Dermott? Nobody deserves what he did to me.”

“No, they don’t. But the little girl still inside you doesn’t believe that. She’s still taking the blame for things she didn’t do.”

“And things she did do.” She turned to leave the room, but stopped short. What he said was right. Here, in this situation, she’d set herself up with so many different escape plans it surprised her. Small-town life too confining, Dermott’s son with too many problems, too little work to keep her happy, their past, or even their current relationship getting in the way…there were so many excuses, so many reasons to leave, yet she didn’t want to. Dear God, she didn’t want to. Which was why she piled excuse on excuse. The more she wanted to stay, the more she had to go. Somewhere in the pile, she’d find the one reason that would work best, the reason that would sever the attachment she’d formed here. “You have a right to dictate my professional life, but that’s all you get. All I’m going to give you.” And that was another exit excuse.