Child of Their Vows

“What are you doing?” Max demanded, toweling his head. His pale hair had turned dark with rain and now stuck out in spikes. “We’re booked for another night.”

“I can’t sleep in this bed with you.” She tossed in her cosmetics case with an angry jerk of her wrist. “Not with your affair making a mockery of last night and of every night of our marriage. I want to be with my children.”

“Kelly, for God’s sake.” He threw down the towel and tried to take her in his arms. “Don’t do this.”

Shrugging him off, she snapped the locks shut on her suitcase and faced him, chin in the air. “I want to go home.”

On the drive back to Hainesville, Kelly couldn’t look at Max. In her mind, she replayed endlessly that summer they were apart. How could she not have known he was up to no good? How could she not have gleaned from his infrequent phone calls and hesitant assurances of affection that he had someone else on a string? At the time she’d put his awkwardness down to the difficulty of communicating on the public telephone in the lodge. God, but she’d been naive.

Max slid his hand onto her knee and squeezed tentatively. “Talk to me, Kelly.”

“I have nothing to say.” Her voice was as dead as love gone wrong.

“Come on, you must. What are you feeling?”

“What am I feeling?” She twisted in her seat to face him. “Now you want to talk. Suddenly you’re interested in feelings. Well, listen up. I’m hurting, Max. I never imagined I could hurt this badly. And I’m angry. I’m so furious I could kill you. While I was sewing my wedding dress, you were sleeping with another woman. While I was counting the days until we could start a family, you were making a baby without me. While I poured out my heart in long loving letters, you were already lying to me. Our whole marriage is a lie.”

“Kelly, you know that’s not true.”

Scalding tears heated her already flushed cheeks. “You led me to believe I was your first, just as you were my first. And only. How many other women have you had that you haven’t told me about?”

“None.”

“How can I believe you?”

He didn’t answer. Finally, in a low voice, he said, “I guess you can’t. You have to trust me.”

With a snort, she threw up her hands. “Trust? What’s that?”

“Except for that one time, I’ve never lied to you or cheated on you.”

Kelly rubbed her hands over her face, suddenly exhausted, as though her anger had drained all the energy out of her. “I know. Or do I? That’s the problem. I’ll never know for sure.”

Silenced, Max drove on through the rain and the dark. Once or twice she glanced sideways, to see his hands gripping the wheel and his jaw set. He was thinking about Randall. She couldn’t stop thinking about the boy, either.

She didn’t want to talk, but she had to.

Her fury had dissipated, leaving behind an icy calmness that frightened her almost as much. “I can’t believe you fathered a baby and didn’t tell me.”

He took his gaze off the road. “I was eighteen. I was stupid. And too much in love with you to risk losing you by confessing the truth.”

“And now you’re not.”

The blaring horn of a passing semitrailer snapped his attention back to the wet highway. “Not what?”

“In love with me,” she said, exasperated by his inability to grasp the logic. “Now you can tell the truth because you don’t love me anymore and don’t care if you lose me.”

“For God’s sake, Kelly. That’s not true. It’s only come up because the boy contacted me.”

He had a son, not by her. Calmness deserted her as hysteria clawed at her throat. “The boy, the boy. He’s the boy you always wanted.”

“You know I love the girls more than anything. Randall isn’t going to change that.”

“You’re already saying his name as if you know him. What does he want, anyway?”

Max shrugged. “Just to see me. He’s curious about his biological parents. And no, I don’t know if he’s contacted Lanni.”

“Do…do you want to meet him?”

“Yes. Would that bother you?”

She stared at him. “Are you crazy? It would tear me apart. It would tear us apart.”

Max shook his head. “You’re overreacting.”

“Don’t tell me I’m overreacting,” she warned. “You don’t know how I feel. What are the girls going to think?”

“They might be pleased to have a big brother.”

Kelly refused to even contemplate that scenario. “You went straight from me to her.”

“No, not right away. It was—”

“Please, I don’t want details.” She stared out the window, watching the dark sodden shapes of trees flicker past. “How long?”

“Three weeks.” She winced, and he reminded her, “You called off our engagement.”

“You could at least say you’re sorry.”

“I never meant to hurt you, Kelly. What is the real issue? Is it that I slept with another woman, or the fact that I had a child you didn’t know about?”

In the reflection from the window, Kelly watched raindrops stream down her face. Lanni, the lies by omission, the secret he’d kept from her all these years. Hurt didn’t begin to describe how she felt, and forgiveness wasn’t even on the horizon.

“I can’t separate the two.”

What she couldn’t say, even to Max, was how inadequate she felt at never having given him a son. Max didn’t value her work outside the home; he only valued her as the mother of his children. She hadn’t even gotten that right. Supposedly the man’s sperm determined whether a child was a boy or a girl, but he’d had a boy with another woman. Maybe it was Kelly’s own body chemistry that had favored the survival of a sperm with an X chromosome and caused her to produce nothing but girls.

She had a bad feeling in her gut about Randall, and she didn’t think it was just because she was jealous of Lanni. Her and Max’s marriage had been on shaky ground for more than a year. If Max let this boy into their lives, he would turn them all upside down. He might somehow take Max away from her and the girls.

They got home late; the kids were in bed and Nancy was watching TV in the family room. Hiding her tear-stained face from the surprised teenager, Kelly went straight to the bedroom while Max made up some excuse for their early return. She heard the front door shut, and a few minutes later Max came into the room. He had a piece of folded foolscap in his hand. The letter.

“Would you like to read it?” he asked.

“No.”

He held out a photograph and tried to show her. “He looks like a nice kid.”

“I don’t want to see.” She pushed him away, then grabbed his arm. “Oh, give it here.”

Thoughts of DNA testing to prove paternity dissolved as she gazed at a younger version of Max. Randall’s eyes, the angle of his jaw, the slight tilt of his head were all pure Max, even if the boy’s coloring was not. Kelly’s head began to throb. She hadn’t wanted the kid to be real to her and now he was. “Let me see the letter.”

Reading Randall’s words compounded her mistake. She felt a physical ache in her heart from empathizing with the boy. No, she thought, deliberately shutting down her feelings. She could never feel anything warmer than dislike for Max’s son by another woman.

“He’s got a good home, with loving adoptive parents,” she said callously, thrusting the letter aside. “He doesn’t need you.”

“Maybe not,” Max agreed tightly. “Maybe I need him.”

Kelly closed her eyes on a sharp stab of pain, unable to speak.

“He wants to meet me,” Max went on. “I’d like to meet him, too.”

Opening her eyes, she reached for his arm. “Don’t go, Max,” she pleaded. “For the girls’ sake if not for mine. You can’t undo the past, but to some extent you can choose your future.”

“I want to meet him,” he repeated. “Kelly, he’s my son.”

“I…I’m not sure I can go on living with you if you contact that boy.” She knew she sounded melodramatic, but she was desperate.

“I can’t live with my conscience if I don’t contact him.” Max slipped the photo back into the envelope and spoke with a new determination. “Randall’s part of me, Kel. You can’t just ignore him, and I won’t. I’m going to Wyoming. I’m going to see my son.”

CHAPTER THREE

MAX’S LAST THOUGHT before his finger touched the doorbell of Randall’s house in Jackson two weeks later was, Am I doing the right thing? Then the chimes sounded, and whether or not coming here against Kelly’s wishes was right, the point became moot. He could hardly run away, or pretend to be a door-to-door salesman. Besides, now that he knew of Randall’s existence, nothing would stop him from meeting his son.

Yet he wondered at the wheelchair ramp that paralleled the steps to the front door. The photo of Randall had been head and shoulders only. Could he be handicapped?

Max heard footsteps inside the house and wiped his palms against his slacks; he hadn’t expected to feel so nervous. Would the boy like him? Would he blame him for the past? Could Max bear to find a son and not keep him? Would Kelly forgive him if he did?

The door opened. The boy in the photograph, standing firmly on two feet, stared back at him through clunky glasses. His pressed cotton shirt was buttoned up to the collar and his gabardine pants held a perfect crease. Randall turned a fiery red that clashed with his carroty hair and stammered a greeting. “H-hello. Are you…?”

“I’m Max. Hi, Randall.” Max reached for his son’s hand. The contact almost undid him; suddenly his throat was thick and his eyes moist. He coughed, Randall shuffled his feet, and their hands fell apart.

“Come in and meet my parents,” Randall said. “They’re in the living room.”

Randall’s parents had insisted on meeting him, and Max couldn’t blame them—for all they knew, he could be an ax murderer or a pedophile. But he hoped he and Randall would have some time alone; they’d need it if they were going to get past this awkward phase. Patience. He’d waited thirteen years for a son; he could wait a little longer.

He followed Randall into a room furnished with spare Scandinavian designs and a wall of books. A telescope on a tripod stood before a picture window looking across the broad valley known as Jackson Hole to the Grand Teton mountains. A baby grand piano dominated one corner, while precisely executed oil paintings of mountains and lakes lined the walls. The atmosphere was one of intellect and good taste, but to Max, used to the controlled chaos of life with four young children, the room seemed strangely sterile.

Mr. Tipton, dressed in a maroon cardigan and tie, rose as they entered and ran a hand sideways over his thinning pate, smoothing the sparse gray hairs into place. “Hello. I’m Marcus Tipton. This is my wife, Audrey.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Max said, extending his hand. “Are you the artist?” he asked Audrey, gesturing to the paintings.

“Clever of you to guess.” Audrey smiled warmly up at Max from her wheelchair. She had on black slacks and an ivory twin set, and wore her smooth gray hair in a chin-length bob. “I’ll get coffee. How do you take it, Mr. Walker?”

“Please, call me Max. Cream, no sugar. Thanks.”

Max settled onto the couch catercorner to the chair in which Randall sat, hands folded on his knees, and let his mind run over his first impressions. Audrey was in a wheelchair, and Marcus Tipton had to be well over fifty; how did they keep up with an active teenage boy? Although judging from Randall’s quiet demeanor that might not be a problem. No unrestrained bursts of youthful energy here.

Obviously, they’d managed perfectly well. Max was surprised and not very happy with his critical assumptions, and his protectiveness of a boy he hadn’t raised. He had no rights here, he reminded himself, only privileges.

“Did you have a good flight?” Randall inquired politely. The question had the air of being rehearsed.

“Fine, thank you. I had a window seat and got a good view of Jackson as we landed. I’d forgotten how beautiful the country is around here.”

Silence followed, awkward and begging to be filled. “Do you play any sports, Randall?”

“I played soccer when I was nine, but it was pretty wet and muddy and…” He glanced at his father, then at his hands. “I just didn’t care for it.”

“I see.” Meaning he didn’t see at all.

“Randall is more interested in intellectual pursuits,” Marcus interjected. “Piano, the chess club, debating society, art…”

“Very commendable. You must be very proud of him.”

Marcus smiled genially. “We are, indeed. He’s never been anything but a credit to us. Top in his class, well respected by teachers and fellow students alike.”

But did he have fun? Max wondered, then reproached himself for nitpicking. If any of his daughters achieved that kind of academic success he would be ecstatic.

He found himself looking for similarities between him and Randall. The boy had his build, tall and lean, and his long, tapered fingers. But Max’s love of sport and his easy athleticism seemed to be missing from his son. Hell, he thought, the ability to sink a basketball wasn’t exactly a genetic trait.

He turned to Marcus. “Do you have any other children?”

The older man shook his head. “Audrey and I weren’t able to have children of our own. We planned to adopt more after Randall, but when Audrey lost the use of her legs in a car accident we decided against it.”

“An accident,” Max repeated. “Was Randall—” He broke off. Randall was fine. Even if he’d been in the car, he’d clearly survived intact.

“Randall was strapped into his booster seat in the back when the other car crossed the white line and hit the front of my wife’s car. He had a few minor cuts, nothing serious.”

“I’m sorry—about Audrey, that is. Dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of a serious injury plus taking care of a toddler must not have been easy.”

“We managed,” Marcus said simply. “That’s what you do when you’re a family.”

Max nodded. If there was an implied reproach he accepted it.

Marcus turned to Randall. “Son, could you help your mother with the tray, please?”

“Sure, Dad.” Randall immediately got up and left the room.

Son. Dad. Max was reminded again that he was an outsider. No rights and only limited privileges.

Now that the boy was out of hearing, Marcus became serious. “We adopted Randall because we wanted to give a home to a baby whose parents couldn’t care for him. Naturally, Audrey and I were concerned when after all these years he decided to contact his biological parents.”

Max had a sudden sympathy for Marcus and Audrey; watching their son discover his biological father couldn’t be easy for them.

“If my circumstances had been different when he was conceived…” Max spread his hands in the effort to explain. “I would have kept him. Maybe I should have tried harder to, but I couldn’t—” He broke off. Woulda, shoulda, coulda. Pretty lame.

Marcus waved away Max’s apologetic floundering. “All I meant was, Randall’s been our whole life. For Audrey, especially. And Randall has been looking forward to meeting you so very much. His expectations are high and I’d hate to see him hurt. He’s already been disappointed by his biological mother.”

“The last thing I want is for any of us to get hurt,” Max said quietly. After a pause, he asked, “What happened when he contacted Lanni?”

Marcus might have answered, but at that moment, Audrey wheeled into the room, followed by Randall bearing a tray laden with steaming cups and a plate of homemade banana bread. “Coffee’s ready.”

While Audrey served the cake, Randall handed around the coffee, impressing Max with his manners. Marcus and Audrey had done a good job with Randall on that score, at least.

“Would you like to see some of Randall’s baby pictures?” Audrey said to Max.

“I’d like that very much. Thank you.”

Flipping through early photos of Randall was an eerie experience. Aside from his hair coloring, he looked very much like Max had as a baby and he bore a family resemblance to all his daughters, especially Robyn. As he paged through Randall’s first smile, first step, first day of school, Max couldn’t help but be jealous of Marcus and Audrey for witnessing the milestones in his son’s young life.

“He’s obviously been raised in a loving home,” Max said, handing the photo album back. “I’m grateful…if that doesn’t sound presumptuous.”

“Thank you,” Audrey said. “It doesn’t sound presumptuous at all.” She glanced at her husband. “Well?”

Marcus nodded. “We’ll leave you two now so you can get better acquainted.”

Max watched them go, then turned to Randall. “They’re nice people. They love you very much. And despite all that care and attention, they’ve managed to raise you unspoiled. You’re lucky. I’m lucky.”

Randall frowned. “Why are you lucky?”

Max smiled wryly. “That you’ve turned out so well lessens my guilt.”

“I don’t blame you for having me adopted out,” Randall said earnestly. “I don’t know why you gave me up, but you must have had good reasons.”

“Your mother and I were too young to marry. Her parents wouldn’t allow it.” Not that he’d ever actually suggested it. To Max, that whole summer seemed like a bad dream. “Your father told me you contacted Lanni.”

Randall’s gaze dropped to the toes of his polished leather shoes. “She didn’t want to meet me. She just got married last year and she’s going to have a baby. She never told her husband about me and doesn’t want to. She said I would make her life too complicated.”

Max knew he shouldn’t judge, but he could imagine Lanni saying something like that. His heart ached for the boy. “I’m sorry.”

Randall shrugged. “Do you have other children?”

“My wife, Kelly, and I have four daughters.”

“Four kids! Wow. I’ve always wished I had brothers and sisters. I mean, I wished I had a brother, but sisters would be okay—” He broke off, abashed. “Not that I expect you’d want me to meet them or anything.”

Max shifted uncomfortably. “I would, but…to tell you the truth, Kelly wasn’t too happy about me coming here.”

“I’m sorry if I caused you trouble.”

“Don’t be.” Max leaned over and squeezed Randall’s forearm. “I wouldn’t have missed this meeting for the world. I’m only sorry it didn’t take place years ago.”

“Did you…did you ever think of looking for me?”

The naked yearning in his voice dredged up a barge-load of guilt and regret in Max. The reasons he’d never gone looking for Randall had more to do with Kelly and Lanni than with the boy, but if he said that, wouldn’t he be giving Randall the impression he wasn’t important?

“I…I didn’t want to disrupt your life.”

“Oh. Okay.” His dispassionate acceptance of the explanation made Max feel even worse. “How old are your kids?”

“Robyn’s twelve, Beth’s ten and the twins, Tammy and Tina, are four years old.” Max pulled out his wallet and extracted a photo. “This was taken a year ago, but you get the idea.”

Randall studied the picture. “You must have gotten married quite soon after…after you knew my biological mother.”

“Yes.”

“Were you in love with my mother?”

“I was very young. We were both very young. I don’t think I knew what love was.” Liar. He’d known then that he loved Kelly. But he had to give this kid something. “Lanni was fun loving and adventurous. I liked her a lot.”

Randall handed back the photo. “What do you do? I mean, for work?”

“I’m an architect. I design houses.”

“Wow. That’s interesting. I like to draw. Sometimes I think I’d like to be an artist when I grow up. Would you like to see my sketchbook?”

Randall ran off to get his sketchbook and Max leaned against the couch and shut his eyes. He’d been naive to think Randall wouldn’t want answers to difficult questions. Naive to think he could visit and go away again untouched. Randall was no longer just a face in a photograph or a product of his imagination. He was a boy with hopes and dreams, and Max himself was one of Randall’s hopes and dreams. Marcus was right; Randall had expectations. The question was, could Max fulfill them?

And what were Max’s expectations? He’d been so fired up to meet Randall, he hadn’t thought through the consequences of an ongoing relationship, if there was to be one. He’d been focused on Kelly and overcoming her objections, instead of thinking about how he would incorporate a son into his life.

Randall returned and placed a well-used sketchbook in Max’s lap. Max thumbed through meticulously executed pen-and-ink drawings of old barns, a mare and foal, a jackdaw on a pine branch. The boy had an eye for detail and a facility with his pen, although in Max’s opinion the pictures were too careful to be really good. Like the drawings of a child afraid to color outside the lines, they lacked individuality.

“You show a great deal of promise,” Max said, and Randall flushed beneath his freckles. “You’re fortunate Audrey is interested in art. I’m sure she’s very encouraging.”

“She signed me up for art lessons when I was ten,” Randall said. “And she buys me any materials I want.”

“That’s wonderful. What else do you like to do?”

“As Dad said, I play piano and chess and belong to the debating society. Oh, and I’ve recently built my own Web site so I can attract chess players from other countries.”

“What about friends? Do you hang out with a gang of kids from your school?”

“Not really,” Randall admitted, pinching the crease in his pants. “I have a couple of friends in the chess club. But Mom gets migraines and can’t handle having a bunch of noisy boys around. Not that I blame her,” he said hastily. “Teenage boys can be very rowdy.”

Randall Tipton wouldn’t know “rowdy” if he stepped in it, Max mused, then chastised himself for the uncharitable thoughts he was having toward Marcus and Audrey Tipton. They’d raised a well-behaved, polite young man who was a credit to his parents. And Randall seemed to be happy enough.

“Do you have a dog or a cat?” Max asked.

“No, sir. Dad’s allergic to pet fur. Actually, it’s not the fur but the mites that live in the fur. I’m allowed to keep tropical fish, but they don’t interact much with people. Do you have pets?”

Max almost didn’t like to say. “Two dogs and some chickens.”

A wistful gleam appeared in Randall’s eyes. “My chess friend in Alaska has a husky. He scanned the dog’s photo and e-mailed it to me.”

“Well, Randall—” Max glanced at his watch “—I have to catch a plane back to Seattle in an hour. I’d better go.” He’d deliberately ensured that his time here would be limited, just in case the meeting didn’t work out. Now he wished he’d planned to stay the weekend. Maybe he and the boy could have gone horseback riding or fishing.

“I’ve enjoyed meeting you very much, sir,” Randall said, rising.

“You don’t have to call me sir.”

“What should I call you, then?”

Max hesitated. He could hardly ask the boy to call him Dad; he already had a dad. “Max. Max will do just fine.”

Randall walked him to the door. “Say goodbye to your folks for me,” Max said, unwilling to share the final moments with his son with the Tiptons.

Randall stuck out his hand. Max took it, hesitated a second, then pulled the boy into a hug. The tightness in his chest seemed to expand until he found breathing difficult. “Take care.”

They separated awkwardly, and Randall stared fixedly at his polished shoes. “W-will I see you again?”

Max had told himself this would be a one-off deal. More to the point, that was what he’d told Kelly. But how could he say no to his kid? Randall needed…something from him, some spark in his existence. And Max…well, Max needed to know that his son was okay. On the surface it certainly appeared that way. The boy had no material wants, he had parents who loved him and encouraged his interests, but Max sensed an underlying loneliness. He knew what it was to be an only child. “Lonely” was the one thing Max had never wanted for his children. It was the reason he’d had so many, and the reason he wanted still more.

Randall needed siblings. Max could give them to him.