Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter
Sixty-Seven
Stone
I didn’t wake Beulah when I finally got home. I hadn’t planned on being so late, but my flight had been delayed for three hours.
When I walked in at midnight, she was curled up on the bed in the room I’d given her instead of mine. I didn’t want to risk moving and waking her, so I climbed into bed with her. In her sleep, she had curled up against me and mumbled something I didn’t understand.
She would expect an explanation when she woke, as she should. I had planned on recapping my evening when I arrived home. However, the flight delay prevented me from having that conversation until this morning.
The coffee perked, and the smell filled the kitchen as I watched the sun slowly rise through the windows. It was something I was accustomed to, standing in a kitchen, drinking my coffee as the sun came up. The difference was that I had a woman I loved in bed. I should still be in bed with her.
My eyes had barely closed all night. Instead, I was going through all the different scenarios that could transpire when the results from the DNA test came back. From the moment Wills came home from the hospital, he had felt like my sibling. But I’d always felt the weight on my shoulders that he could be my child. The reality I was forced to accept was that Hilda had decided my father would be Wills’s father even after he beat her ass when she confronted him about sleeping with the college-aged daughter of one of his clients.
The designer clothing line that filled our stores should have been more important than a fucking vagina. Virginia was as empty-headed as a spoiled heiress could be, but my father hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her. Now, she was my stepmother. Hilda was thirty-eight, and as far as my father was concerned, she was over the hill.
I’d hoped she would at least seek revenge when he had divorced her. She hadn’t. She’d taken his threats to heart and given up on being a mother to Wills. Disgusted with my train of thought, I grabbed a cup more aggressively than needed and poured my first cup of coffee.
“What time did you get home?” Beulah’s voice was still raspy from sleep. I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts I hadn’t heard her in the kitchen behind me. That wasn’t like me. I was usually very attuned to everything around me. I turned to see her standing there in her faded and worn pink pajamas. Not one of my shirts. That had bothered me last night too. I wanted her in my bed and in my shirts when she slept.
I sat my cup down and walked to her. “Midnight. I didn’t realize it would be so late, or I would have called.”
She didn’t relax. There was tension in her shoulders as if she needed to protect herself. I slid a hand around her waist and pulled her to me before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Still, the stiffness remained.
“I went to see Hilda. My flight was delayed three hours. I expected to be home by nine. I was going to tell you all about it when I came home.”
She tilted her head back and gazed up at me. “Is she going to help?” Although her body remained tense, she was truly concerned. Her eyes were so damn expressive she didn’t need to speak for me to know what she was thinking.
“No,” I replied. “She’s not.”
Beulah sighed, and her frown deepened. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I didn’t expect her to, but I had to try one more time.”
“What are you going to do?”
I was waiting on the DNA results. I thought I knew what to do next, but I wasn’t sure exactly how I would react if I was told Wills was my son. I couldn’t leave him with my father another day. Knowing that taking him would be the worst move, my father’s wrath was a threat.
“I want to say I know this answer, but I don’t. I will have to wait and see.”
“When will you know?”
“Possibly today.”
Beulah laid her head on my chest for a moment. Something was still bothering her. But she was holding it close. Not wanting to say anything, I would give her some time to tell me what was on her mind. If she didn’t come out with it soon, I’d push until she told me.
“I don’t understand mothers like Hilda.”
She wouldn’t. She had an excellent mother. A selfless one. It was rarer in my world than she realized. I wish every kid could have a mother like hers. A mother like I knew she would one day be.
“He deserves more than Hilda. She’s better out of his life than in it.” And I meant that.
“Every kid needs a mother,” Beulah replied.
“I agree, but not every mother deserves a kid.” I’d seen that too many times.
Beulah pulled back and started to say something when my cell phone rang. She closed her mouth, and her eyes widened. It was early—too early for calls. I reached into the pocket of my flannel pajama pants and pulled it out. Glancing at the screen, panic set in as Wills’ name lit up the screen.
“Hey, bud.” I stepped back from Beulah because the anxiety made me want to pace.
“Did I wake you up?” he asked with concern way beyond his years. Living with my father and having no mother to care for you made you grow up fast. Already, Wills was more reserved than the other kids his age. The sadness in his eyes, when I had seen him a few days ago, mirrored what I’d once seen in mine when staring at my reflection. I hated it. I didn’t want that for him.
“Not at all. You know I get up before the sun.” I tried to sound cheerful. He didn’t call me often. I checked on him more than he reached out to me. When I did get him on the phone, he rarely talked. It was more of a stunted conversation, if not completely one-sided. I always had to force him to chat by asking questions.
“Mom’s coming today.” He sounded unhappy about seeing her. My grip on the phone tightened. Hilda hadn’t mentioned that to me. I wondered if my visit had something to do with it.
“Are you looking forward to seeing her?” I asked, knowing he wasn’t. He wished he was, and I understood that feeling, too. I had wanted to enjoy my mother’s visits but was afraid to want her. I had been afraid to care because she would leave and wouldn’t return for a long time. It had hurt. Wills was learning that young like I had.
“No.” He sounded guilty for saying it. He needed to remember that Hilda’s visit was fleeting, she was only passing through. He didn’t need to get too attached to her or hope for more. It seemed impossible to convey that to an eight-year-old.
“She misses you,” I said instead.
He grunted.
We were silent a moment while I tried to think of the right words.
“When will you be back?” he asked.
“I can be there when you need me,” I told him.
He didn’t say anything, so I waited. He was trying to be tough.
“Maybe next week sometime, I mean, if you get extra time and can.” I knew that tone. I read between the lines easily.
“I’ll see you in two days,” I told him.
“Okay.” And there was a hopefulness in his voice. For now, I’d have to be good with that. In two days, I’d know what I was going to do. I would know if Wills was legally my son or my brother.
Either way, I was saving him. I just didn’t know how.