Pulling Home (17 page)

intentionally avoided her because she made him uncomfortable. The only question was why? “May I come in?”

The paleness seeped from his skin. “Of course.” He’d been blocking the door and

after a second’s delay, moved aside and ushered her in. “Please. Come in.”

Despite years of praying the rosary and attending Mass with Grandma Lenore,

Audra’s relationship with God took the form of casual conversation in the dark or heart-filled questions on long walks. No holy structures. No holy men.

Father Benedict led her into his office, a well-lit room filled with dark cherry and rows of leather-bound books. “May I offer you something to drink?”

She wanted a scotch, but shook her head. “No, thank you.”

He nodded and sat behind the same enormous desk she remembered years ago

when Grandma Lenore sought him out to buy Masses for dead friends. “I heard about your daughter, Mrs. Wheyton. I’ll keep her on our prayer list.”

“Thank you.”

“God hears those who pray,” he said. His face had regained a hint of color and

when he spoke he didn’t plunge into a coughing frenzy.

God hears, she wanted to say, but He doesn’t always answer, does He? “I’d like to ask you about my mother.” His face shifted from pale to pink in five seconds. “Father Benedict? Are you all right?”

He turned away and reached for the crystal decanter behind him. His fingers

shook as he removed the top and poured a drink. When he’d drained the glass, he sucked in a breath and faced her. “The loss of your mother was tragic.” He shook his gray head and repeated in a voice torn with grief, “Tragic.”

“You knew her well?”
Well enough for her to confide the father of her child?

“She came to me for a period of time.” He clasped his hands and stared at the

picture of Pope Benedict XVI on his desk. “She was having issues, temptations of the flesh, if you will, and she needed strength to deal with them.”

“So, she confided in you?” Doris was right—the priest knew something.

“She tried.”

Audra crumpled the paper in her pocket. She was so close. “Father Benedict, my

daughter has a disease that could be genetically linked. The more I know about her family history, the better chance she’ll have. I know you have confidentiality issues, but we’re talking about a life here.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I do. Trust me, I appreciate your vows, but this is my child. If you know who my father is, I need that information. Please. For Kara’s sake.”

He fell against his chair and clutched the arms so hard he left marks in the leather.

“When she came to me, she was chaste. I tried to help her but I’m only a man, weak in flesh, plagued by original sin.”

The room started spinning, the oxygen dissipating. “My God,” Audra croaked,

“what are you saying?”

“Forgive me. Please forgive me for that which I cannot forgive myself.” His voice grew dim, dimmer still as blackness enveloped her. Seconds before she slipped into oblivion, his final words pierced her brain. “I kissed your mother with the lust of a sinner and the heart of a man in love. One kiss, I swear on our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Chapter 20

“But I think it only fair to warn you I don’t like to lose and I usually don’t.”—

Grant Richot

“Dad, Jack’s giving a talk at the Kenston Civic Center next weekend.” Leslie

leaned over and stroked Jack’s cheek. “He’ll be discussing treatment for Pediatric Congenital Anomalies.”

“That’s a real honor, Jack,” August Richot said, raising his wine glass. “I’m proud of you.”

He wondered how proud the man would be if he knew what had happened in the

supply closet six days ago. “It’s the least I can do.”
The least I can do as penance for
banging my dead brother’s wife.
Just thinking about it made him hard. Deranged didn’t even begin to cover what he was. He’d tried to convince himself what they’d done had been the body’s response to a near death situation, nothing more than an adrenaline jolt to his dick.

But that was such bullshit. He’d wanted to get in Audra’s pants the second he

spotted her sitting all prim and aloof next to Aunt Virginia. And that really was a problem, that and the fact that despite Leslie’s tempting body and varied bag of sexual tricks, he hadn’t been able to get hard. Expecting Leslie to go without sex for six days was like asking a surgeon to turn in his scalpel.

Besides, she’d started watching him a bit too closely, like bacteria under a

microscope. It wouldn’t be long before the interrogations started, then the accusations, and she might even put the pieces together, like Bernie had. Jack needed to perform damage control before the whole situation imploded. The hell of it was he couldn’t stop thinking about Audra and her sweet body. How sick was that?

“I think Jack needs your ‘Take time to smell the roses’ sermon, Dad,” Leslie said, sliding a glance Jack’s way. “He’s been so busy lately he doesn’t have time for the basics of existence.”

There it was—sex.

Pastor Richot smiled. “You need the basics, Jack. For sustenance.”

Sex. Sex for sustenance. Jack attacked a slice of chicken with his knife. He’d had sex six days ago and look where it had gotten him? Mutilated. Confused. Destructive.

“Yes, hear that, honey?” Leslie inched her bare foot along Jack’s leg. “Sustenance is essential to life”—she licked her lower lip—“and love.”

“Amen.” Leslie’s father raised his wine glass and saluted. “To the two of you.

May you be blessed with a long and prosperous life.”

Leslie’s foot found Jack’s crotch. “Amen,” she whispered against his cheek.

Not knowing what else to do, Jack raised his glass and echoed, “Amen.”

Leslie’s cell phone rang just then, putting an end to the Amens and comments on

the necessity of sustenance. “Hello? Hi, Grant. When? Now?” She glanced at her father and smiled. “Sure, he’d love to see you. He was just saying he hasn’t seen you in forever.

Who? Oh, of course. Bring her along, too. We have plenty of chicken. Okay, bye.” She flipped the phone shut and announced, “Grant’s on his way.”

“I gathered that,” her father said. “I also gathered he has a woman friend with

him?”

A secret smile stole across Leslie’s face. “He does. And Jack knows her.”

He was not in the mood for one of Leslie’s twenty-five questions but at least she wasn’t hounding him about sex right now, so he decided to play along. “The brunette from Peds. Patricia something or other with the nose stud.”

“No.” And then. “You think she’s pretty?”

A guy could not win. “I think Grant would think she’s pretty.” There. Diplomatic as hell.

Leslie liked that answer. “Guess again.”

“The new anesthesiologist, Amanda whatever.”

“Who?”

“You know, long braid, big, brown eyes, big”—he caught himself and corrected,

“teeth. Big eyes, big teeth.”

“Sounds like you’re talking about the big bad wolf. And it’s Amani, anyway. No,

this one doesn’t work at the hospital. As a matter of fact, she doesn’t even live in this state.”

Jack tried to keep his expression neutral as the image of a woman wrapped in

honeysuckle bombarded his senses. “Surely, you can’t mean my sister-in-law?” He could manage better when he didn’t have to say her name.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” She pushed back her luxurious hair and laughed. “I for one, think it’s wonderful. They’ve both experienced horrible tragedies and honestly, unless you go through something like that, you just can’t relate.”

“Leslie—”

“I know what you’re going to say, Jack. It’s too soon, she’s still grieving, yada, yada, but seriously, they’re perfect for each other. And Grant loves children.”

Jack struggled to form a sentence. Audra and Grant. No. Never.

“Dad?” Leslie jumped from her chair and rushed to her father who had turned

three shades lighter than his white button down. “Are you okay?” She checked his pulse, examined his pupils, and placed her hand on his forehead. August Richot clutched his stomach and took several deep breaths.

“That’s it. Breathe. Nice and easy.”

Leslie glanced at Jack who had been observing her father. The man might look fit and trim for his age but maybe his insides weren’t quite so spry. “It’s okay,” Jack said.

“Just take it easy.”

August Richot searched his daughter’s face and said in a strained voice, “They’ve both suffered enough. It could never work. Please. Don’t encourage it.”

Jack blew out a long breath.
Amen to that.

***

What started as a simple cup of coffee with Grant Richot turned into a long drive

and a request to stop by his father’s house. How could she refuse when they’d just spent two hours swapping stories about grief, loss, and moving on? He’d told her about the accident that stole his surgical skills and his wife. She told him of the afternoon’s desperate search to find her real father. The words flowed, easily, swiftly, gladly. When he asked about visiting his father, she agreed. Pastor Richot had always been the one people went to with their troubles, not Father Benedict. She couldn’t even think about the priest or his confession right now.

“I like to keep an eye on my Dad,” Grant said as they pulled out of the parking lot of Eartha’s Kitchen and headed east. “He has more energy than most people half his age, but sometimes he forgets he’s not thirty-five anymore.”

“I look forward to talking with him. You know, I remember him at the funeral and the Mass, and I think the luncheon, but it’s all blurry right now.”

“Grief has a way of doing that,” Grant said. “I think it’s so we can get past it.” He glanced at her and smiled, “Valium helps, too.”

“True.” Audra leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes. She’d needed to

escape the Wheyton’s tonight. Everything in their house reminded her of the one person she was trying to forget. Distance would help. Bernie said Kara could leave soon, possibly as early as next Tuesday. One more follow-up and they could head back to San Diego and their other life.

“Have you ever thought of moving back here?”

“To Holly Springs?”

“Or nearby. I know it’s not as glamorous as California, but New York City’s only a short flight away. You could satisfy your culture cravings with a monthly trip there.

People do it all the time. And Landemere, where I live, has museums, three theaters, five star restaurants ...”

Jack lived in Landemere.

“Audra?” He reached for her hand, squeezed, and let go. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

“No. No, it’s just that I have a job in San Diego, and a house ...and friends.” She stumbled, unable to tell him the glaring reason she’d never return. She couldn’t live in the same city as Jack, not even in the same part of the country. The more distance between them, the better.

“What’s the old adage about a house is just a house? I know it would be an

adjustment, but I’m hoping you’ll think about it.” His voice dipped, “A lot of people care about you and Kara.”

“A lot of people care about Kara,” she corrected. “And I’m fine with that.”

“Audra—”

“Can we talk about something else? Like how you claim to know nothing about

maneuvering around in the kitchen, yet Eartha’s Kitchen has a chili named after you?”

He laughed. “I only helped them out with a few spices.”

“Uh-huh.”

He shrugged. “Okay, maybe a few more than a few.”

And like that, they were on comfortable ground again, away from talk of moving

back to Holly Springs. When they reached the Richot home, Audra was relaxed and

looking forward to seeing the pastor again.

August Richot lived on the east side of Holly Springs in a two story built by the parishioners of Our Savior Lutheran Church forty-two years ago. As Grant pulled into the driveway behind a Jeep Wrangler, he told her his father tended the gardens himself, taking great pride in the roses and hydrangea. “He took over when my mother fell ill but his true passion is his African violets. Wait until you see those.”

“I’m sure he thinks of her every time he sees one,” she said, admiring the pastor’s devotion to his dead wife.

Grant shut off the car and turned to her. “I’m sure he does.” His fingers grazed her cheek. “They loved each other very much.”

She caught his hand. “You’re a wonderful person but—”

“Shhh. I know it’s too soon, but I feel a connection with you and I haven’t felt this since Jennifer.” When she tried to speak, he stopped her again. “Don’t say anything right now. I’m just stating my intent.” He flashed a brilliant smile. “But I think it only fair to warn you I don’t like to lose and I usually don’t.”

Oh, Grant, you have no idea what you’re getting into.
Audra remained silent as they made their way to Pastor Richot’s door. Before Grant could reach for the knob, the door flung open and Leslie stood before them, dressed in a white tank top and jean skirt —tanned, shimmering, and voluptuous. “Hey, big brother. Hi Audra. It’s about time you two got here. The pumpkin pie’s half gone and you missed Dad. His diverticulitis is acting up. I guess I shouldn’t have put raspberries in the salad.”

“He needs to get that checked out,” Grant said following Audra into the foyer.

“I’m making an appointment next week, whether he likes it or not.” She grinned

at Audra. “The Richot men are very stubborn.”

Audra nodded as her gaze moved to the family portraits clinging to the walls,

another harsh reminder of sensible mothers and fathers and siblings. She tried not to notice the fine needlepoint blessings framed on either side of the entryway, no doubt the loving handiwork of Isabelle Richot.

“We’re in the family room. Right this way.” Leslie sashayed past her, emanating

amber musk and sensuality. “Baby, look who’s here.”

Baby
sat on the far end of the sofa, looking handsome and much too desirable. Of course, he could look that way in a sack.

Jack Wheyton nodded, his lips flat, his expression blank. “Audra. Grant.”

“Hi Jack. I didn’t know you were here.” Grant placed a hand around Audra’s