A Winter's Rose (10 page)

Stunned, Chloe's mouth dropped open. A moment later her eyes filled with tears. Chloe tried valiantly to act unaffected, visibly worked to pull her shield of sarcasm around her. Bentley's heart broke for her, and she had to fight the impulse to take the words back, to hold on to her resolve. “You act petulant and sulky. Most of the time you're uncooperative and selfish.”

“I thought you were my friend,” Chloe managed to say around tears. “I thought you liked me.”

“I am your friend. Real friends tell each other the truth.” Bentley took a step toward Chloe. “Before, I was just going along with you to get through our time together.”

Chloe looked at her toes. “I see,” she said, her voice small and broken.

“Do you?” Bentley reached out and touched Chloe's silky golden hair, lightly stroking. “But now, I do like you. A lot. I want you to be happy, Chloe. I want you to realize how really special you are.”

“Right,” Chloe managed. “Tell me another one.”

“Your father loves you.”

Tears welled in Chloe's eyes, so many that she could neither force them back nor hide them. “I think…it's you…he loves.”

The girl turned and raced up the stairs.

Bentley stared after her, too shocked to call out or stop her. Jackson in love with her? What could have given Chloe that idea? My God, he didn't even like her.

It would even be funny if it didn't make her ache so.

Bentley wrapped her fingers around the ornate old banister. Now wasn't the time to be wondering or worrying about herself. Chloe needed her. Taking a deep breath, she started up the stairs.

Chloe's bedroom door was closed, and Bentley knocked lightly. When the girl didn't answer, she knocked again. “Please let me in, Chloe. Don't shut me out, too.”

“Go away.”

Bentley opened the door instead. Chloe sat on her bed, clutching a worn teddy bear and staring broodingly at a poster of a teenage rock band on her wall. Her expression was stricken, but her eyes were dry. Bentley crossed the room and sat gingerly on the edge of her bed.

“We need to talk.”

“Says who?”

The girl didn't look at her, and Bentley bit back a sigh. “Me. But it's not an order.”

Chloe's jaw tightened, and Bentley was reminded of Jackson. Chloe was like her father in so many ways, Bentley realized. The cut of her jaw, the way she carried herself, the streak of pure stubbornness.
She wondered if Chloe—or Jackson—saw it.

Bentley tried another tack. “Chloe, downstairs, why did you say that your father loves me? He and I hardly know—”

“The way he looks at you,” Chloe interrupted, her voice painfully controlled. “Like you're special.” She tightened her grip on the stuffed animal. “He never looks at me that way.”

Bentley swallowed, unnerved by the comment and by the way she'd wished, deep in her gut and for more than a moment, that it was true. That Jackson did look at her that way.

Self-destructive foolishness, she told herself. Wishes born from her lack of belief in herself.

Bentley covered Chloe's hand. “You're just not seeing how he looks at you. The love, the yearning…the wanting to reach out to you. Chloe… Honey…” Bentley forced the girl to meet her eyes. “Your daddy just doesn't know how to love you.”

Chloe's eyes filled again, and her throat worked as she tried to control the tears. “But he's my dad. He's supposed to—”

“To know how to love you,” Bentley supplied. “He's supposed to know how to show you how much he cares?”

Chloe nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“Oh, Chloe…” Bentley gathered the child into her arms and stroked her hair. “If it was that easy, if it was merely a matter of blood, would there be so many lousy parents? And if it's so natural, why do so many people do it all wrong?”

Chloe shook her head, her shoulders shaking with the effort of holding back her tears. “But you…don't…know.”

Bentley drew her eyebrows together and tightened her arms around Chloe. “Know what, honey?”

Chloe shook her head, giving in to the tears until she was sobbing.

For long moments, Bentley held her, making soothing noises and stroking her hair. When the child's tears lessened, she prodded Chloe again. “Tell me, Chloe. What don't I know?”

The youngster met her eyes, and Bentley's heart ached for her. Her face stripped bare by tears, Chloe little resembled the impertinent, sassy and self-confident child she normally presented to the world. In her place was a frightened and hurt child, a child who needed love so desperately that she pushed it away with everything she had.

“They didn't want me,” Chloe said softly, averting her gaze and plucking at the lacy pink coverlet. “Mama got…knocked up. Daddy did the right thing by her. But they didn't…want me. I was—” her voice caught on a sob “—a mistake.”

No wonder, Bentley thought. No wonder. “Oh, Chloe…. Do you have any idea how many children are conceived that way? A lot, let me tell you. But that doesn't mean your parents didn't want
you.
It only means they weren't ready for you. Once you were born—”

“No!” Chloe shook her head. “I overheard Mama tell Grandmother Ellerbee that…she…should have had—that she wished she'd had an…”

Chloe's words trailed off, and Bentley squeezed her eyes shut.
Please don't say what I think you're going to. Please have it be something else, something—

“An abortion,” Chloe finished, her voice a broken whisper. “She wished she'd had an abortion.”

Oh, dear God, Bentley thought, sickened. Victoria Ellerbee couldn't have said that. She couldn't have.`

But she had.

The words—their meaning—slammed into Bentley, ripping and tearing. How could those words ever pass a mother's lips? How could Victoria Ellerbee have looked at this child, her own flesh and blood, and thought them? Bentley tightened her arms around Chloe, aching for her, realizing the pain overhearing such a vile wish must have caused her.

Chloe started to cry again, and Bentley pressed the youngster's face to her shoulder and rocked her. She didn't know how to comfort her. What could she say? She couldn't deny that Chloe had heard her mother, just as she couldn't claim Chloe had misinterpreted her mother's meaning.

Victoria Ellerbee had regretted giving this wonderful being life.

Bentley's stomach turned over. She thought of how she had wished and prayed for a child during her marriage, recalled the emotional debilitation each menstrual cycle had brought. And she recalled the twin expressions of hope and misery that had painted the faces of the other women who had populated the fertility clinic's waiting room.

Bentley squeezed her eyes shut and worked to get a grip on her emotions. This, she reminded herself, was not about her. It was about Chloe. And Jackson.

He had to know. She had to tell him. And it would hurt him. Badly.

“Chloe,” she said softly, tipping the girl's chin up so she could look her in the eyes while she spoke. “Listen to me. What your mother said was unforgivable. I won't deny that, and I certainly won't make an excuse for her. There aren't any. But I
know
your father loves you. I know it with my heart. With what I see. With what I hear.”

“But he…let me go,” Chloe said, hiccuping. “He let her take me.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Bentley stroked Chloe's hair, tears thickening her own voice. “He didn't know what else to do.”

Bentley and Chloe talked quietly for a while after that. Chloe was drained, and although there was much Bentley wanted to say to the girl, she didn't push. There would be time over the next few days, Bentley knew, to talk more.

When Bentley was certain that Chloe felt strong enough, she suggested they head into the office. Chloe went along without a murmur. An hour and a half late, Bentley and Chloe swung open the doors to the
Baysafe offices and stepped inside. The reception area was empty.

“Jill,” Bentley called out, “sorry we're late.” She slipped out of her coat and hung it on the tree. “I hope it wasn't a problem. Chloe and I…”

Bentley's voice trailed off as the other woman, white as a sheet and trembling visibly, emerged from the back of the office. Bentley rushed over to her. “My God, Jill, what's wrong? What's happened?”

“I just…” Jill shook her head and sank into a chair. “I don't feel too well.” She tried to smile and grimaced instead. “I'll be fine.”

Even as the words passed Jill's lips, she doubled over.

Bentley took a step back, alarmed. “I don't think so. I think you'd better go home.”

The other woman brought a shaking hand to her head. “I'll be fine,” she repeated. “Ya'll just go on and get busy—”

Making a sound of pain, Jill jumped up and raced to the rest room, barely making it in time. Bentley looked at Chloe. The girl's eyes were huge with worry.

Bentley swallowed nervously. She had to do something. But what?

Jill returned, looking even worse than before. “I've had these cramps in my right side all morning, and they're—” she gasped and clutched her middle “—getting worse.”

“Chloe,” Bentley said, swiveling to face the girl, “go get Jill a cool, damp towel for her forehead. Jill, what's your husband's number at work?”

Jill shook her head. “He's offshore this week.”

“Can you drive?”

The other woman laughed, the sound so weak Bentley wondered how Jill continued to stand. “Truthfully, I don't think I could crawl right now.”

Chloe came running into the room with the cloth. “It's paper,” she said apologetically. “I didn't know—”

“It's fine.” Bentley took the cloth and after easing Jill onto a chair, pressed it to her forehead. “You're burning up. I'm driving you home.”

“But the office—”

“Chloe can manage.”

“Don't leave me here!” the youngster cried. “I don't know what to do!”

“Then we'll all go,” Bentley said, working to keep her voice even, to sound in control. “It'll only take—”

“I'm expecting some calls,” Jill whispered, her face ashen. “Jackson's waiting for some—”

Another cramp took the woman, so strong it nearly brought her off her chair.

“Do something, Bentley!” Chloe cried, wringing her hands. “Something's really wrong with her!”

Frightened, Bentley raced for the phone and dialed 911. Heart pounding, she described Jill's symptoms and ordered an ambulance.

It took less than ten minutes for the ambulance to arrive, for the paramedics to get Jill onto the stretcher and on her way to the hospital, but to Bentley they seemed to be the longest minutes of her life.

Bentley and Chloe watched the ambulance speed away, then turned and headed into the now quiet Baysafe office.

“What are we going to do?” Chloe asked, looking around the office as if seeing it for the first time.

Bentley knew exactly how the girl felt. She felt the same way—stunned. “I don't know,” she said. “I really don't.”

“Let's call Daddy.” Chloe tugged on Bentley's sleeve. “He'll know what to do.”

Bentley reached for the phone, then dropped her hand. Jackson couldn't do anything from Washington, if he'd even arrived yet. “No. Let's wait until we know for sure what's going on with Jill and how long she'll be out. You heard the paramedic, it might not be as bad as we think. It could just be that nasty flu that's going around.”

It wasn't.

An hour and a half later, Bentley thanked the doctor and hung up the phone. Turning, she met Chloe's worried gaze. “It's acute appendicitis. Jill's scheduled for surgery.”

“Oh, no.”

“She'll be fine,” Bentley hurried to add. “But she'll be out for the duration of your father's trip. Longer, really.”
And now everything rests on our not-so-capable shoulders.

“We better call Daddy.” Chloe bit her lip. “He'd want to know. He might even come home.”

Call Jackson.

Bentley looked longingly at the phone. Maybe they should. She knew shockingly little about the workings of Baysafe and about the duties that filled Jill's day. So far, all she'd done was run errands, answer the phone and file.

She did know there were several projects hanging in the balance right now—a study some marine biologist was knee-deep in, a publicity campaign and several fund-raisers under way, a newsletter to get out this week.

Bentley laced her fingers together and looked longingly at the phone once more.
Call Jackson
.

And what?

Admit that she wasn't competent enough to run Baysafe for four days without help?

“I know!” Chloe said suddenly. “We could call one of those agencies. You know, one of those places that sends out people for jobs.”

Even Chloe didn't think she could do it.

Coming to a decision, Bentley squared her shoulders. “No,” she said briskly. “We can do it.”

“What?”

Bentley smiled at Chloe's shocked expression. “We can do it. You and I.”

Chloe shook her head. “I think we better call Daddy.”

“Look, your father left a list of the things he wanted Jill to do this week.” Bentley picked up the neatly printed list and scanned it. “If we get in trouble, we talk to Jill. Or, if it's really serious, then we call your dad.”

Chloe still looked doubtful, and Bentley laughed. “Think of your dad's surprise. Think how happy he'll be. We
can
do it, Chloe.”

And they did. The week flew by. Chloe manned the front desk and the phone, buzzing any urgent calls through to Bentley. Bentley got the newsletter written and ready to mail out, and took care of every other item on Jackson's list.

Over the week Chloe blossomed. She'd risen to the occasion and proved herself to be a capable and extremely levelheaded almost-fourteen-year-old. Bentley suspected this was the first time anything had been expected of Chloe. She could relate.