Wild Honey

But it hadn’t been hers. Before she took it from him, he noticed the unfamiliar initials embroidered on one corner. And although he’d been only thirteen, he’d known. When he asked her, she’d told him that, yes, his father had a mistress.

“What’ll you do, Mother?” he’d asked next.

“Do, darlin’? Why, what can I do?”

“You can leave him! He can’t possibly love you if—”

“Love has nothin’ to do with it, Travis,” she’d interrupted.

“But he’s lied to you!” Travis had been outraged. “Lied to all of us! All those excuses ‘bout how he’s always tied up in surgery or goin’ off to lecture on—”

“Travis McLean, I’ll not have you speak of your father that way! Of course, he hasn’t lied to y’all. Your father does work long hours at the hospital, and his work most certainly takes him out of town to lecture sometimes. Your father is a world-famous heart surgeon!”

And then, with the uncanny perception of the young, he’d said, “That’s why you’re stayin’, isn’t it, Mother? It’s because of who he is, not because you love him. Isn’t that why you said love has nothin’ to do with it?”

Fresh tears welling in her eyes, his mother had nodded, then taken him in her arms. “But I was wrong to say it that way, son,” she’d murmured. “I may not love him, but I’d do anythin’ for you children. Love has everythin’ to do with that!”

Now, as he sat in this bland, sterile room, Travis wondered about that, too. Did she really love her children as she’d professed? Over the years he’d assumed they were the reason she stayed in a loveless marriage. But when the day had come when he’d dared his autocratic father’s wrath by choosing to follow his own path, she’d meekly aligned with her husband against him. Had let him cut Travis out of their lives.

As for their loveless marriage, Travis soon began to suspect it was nothing out of the ordinary. He’d spent a lot of time growing up amidst the privileged children of families where divorce was rampant; his prep school had been full of them. Soon he began to accept the fact that the love he thought was missing in his parents’ marriage simply didn’t exist.

Still, until five years ago, he’d believed in parental love. Now he wasn’t even sure about that.

With an irritated gesture, he steered the conversation to more certain ground. “Tell me about Sarah. Is she well? Happy?”

Obviously relieved by the shift in topic, his mother managed a smile and nodded. “She loves Georgetown. Doin’ splendidly there, too. Of course, we all know she would. Her adviser says she’s taken to pre-med like a duck to water.”

Unlike her long-lost brother. But Travis didn’t voice this. The bitterness was fading now. Maybe he’d exorcised it. “And Troy? He holdin’ up all right?”

His thirty-three-year-old brother had had to struggle for the grades that would get him into a decent med school. Or a career in medicine, period.

Troy had been the athlete in the family. A natural, who could have gone on to qualify for the Olympics in swimming, they’d been told. Or a career in tennis. He’d once beaten Bjorn Borg in a match at their club, and Borg had offered to sponsor him.

But that had been out of the question. In fact, Travis was the only one his brother had even told about it, and Troy’d insisted he keep it secret.

“Good Lord, Troy, why?” Travis had exclaimed. He could still recall his incredulousness at Troy’s request.

The brother he loved hadn’t been able to look him in the eye. “You know why,” he’d mumbled, staring at his Nikes as they sat on a bench in the club’s locker room.

And Travis had. Telling the family, or more specifically, their father, would only result in the same cold dismissal his swimming coach’s suggestion had brought the previous year: “You are a McLean, Troy. With a long and illustrious tradition of medicine to follow. Swimmin’ is a fine pastime, but it can’t be allowed to distract you from your career. From surgery as a profession. You’ll thank the coach and tell him no, of course.”

So Troy had acquiesced without a whimper, submitting to a regimen of tutors and summer schools to help him attain the grades necessary to enter medicine. And managing to graduate from a med school that, while not Harvard, was respectable enough for the father he tried so hard to please.

His mother’s sigh brought Travis back to the present. “Well, your brother does try hard, but sometimes I think he ought to have pursued another specialty. Your aunt Louise did suggest he join her at Stanford and go into research, you’ll recall. But as I told her, your father…”

And so it goes…

“Right.” Travis’s voice was tight with anger. “Nothin’ would do for his sons but to follow in his illustrious footsteps. No matter that the shape of those feet, as they tried to follow—tried so hard, Mother!—was so different. No matter that they longed to take another path.”

“Now, Travis, your father—”

“Is a cold, selfish bastard who never had time for any of us while we were growin’ up! And made it plain only one thing mattered to him—that we live our lives to please him. To be a self-perpetuatin’ testament to the great Dr. Trent McLean, heart surgeon nonpareil!”

“Oh, Travis, I know he’s hurt you, but try to understand. In his own way, your father loves you. I know you find that hard to believe. I didn’t believe it myself at one time. But in the last few years…well, I think he’s mellowed. And perhaps…perhaps even begun to realize what his unbendin’ ways have cost him.”

Travis’s smile was bitter. “Like a son, maybe? Well, that shouldn’t faze him, Mother. He has one to spare.”

“Travis, I don’t s’pose I can blame you for feelin’ bitter, but—”

“What do you want from me, Mother? Why’d you really come here? It wasn’t entirely to see how badly injured I was. Wally Reston could’ve given you all the particulars—and very likely did.”

Travis leaned toward her and didn’t let go of her gaze. “So what is it you really want from me?”

She made a helpless gesture with her hands. “I—I was hopin’ that maybe there was some way to…to put an end to this terrible estrangement. Maybe if you were to go to your father, Travis, and try to—”

“Forget it. He’d never listen, and I…” He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “Well, let’s just say I’m well past tryin’, okay? I have my own life now, and while it’s—”

“But what kind of life, Travis? A life where you’re constantly in danger? Where you’re shot at and could be gunned down at…at any moment? Dear heaven, sometimes I think I’ll go out of my mind, worryin’ ‘bout you! And missin’ you so!”

She’d begun to cry now, and Travis felt like a twenty-four-carat heel. He should’ve withheld his anger, done his best to soothe her.

And so it goes… Not exactly a banner day for Southern manhood, he thought, again echoing the famous phrase from Slaughterhouse Five. Shifting to the side of the bed, Travis put his good arm around his mother’s shoulders.

“Shh, don’t cry. It’s really not as dangerous as all that. A desk job more often than not, honest.”

Judith made an effort to pull herself together. Taking care not to jolt his injured side, she embraced him quickly, then groped for a handkerchief in her purse. She nodded gratefully when he handed her a tissue from the bedside box.

“You won’t even consider…?” she said tentatively after drying her eyes.

“What? Goin’ to see him? D’you recall how many times I tried to—unsuccessfully, I might add—five years ago?” Travis snorted. “I’m not in the habit of knockin’ my head against a stone wall, Mother.”

Judith bowed her head and sighed. “I s’pose that’s what I expected you’d say, but—’ she met his eyes again “—I hope you’ll understand that…that I had to try?”

He nodded grimly.

“And on the outside chance you’ll change your mind, I’ve taken a room at the inn across the street—just for this evenin’, that is. I’ll need to leave by—”

“Save your money, Mother. And your hopes. I won’t be callin’. I can’t.”

She nodded, silently rose from the chair and bent to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be leavin’ now, son. Get yourself well real soon now, hear? And remember, I do love you, no matter what I might’ve foolishly led you to believe these past five years.”

He wanted to ask her about that. About how she could have stayed away all that time, no matter what her husband threatened. But somehow he hadn’t the heart for it. What good would it do? Likely just hurt her more than he’d already managed with his less-than-genteel tongue. And so it goes…

“I love you, too,” he murmured softly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. But as he watched her turn to leave, he saw the tears in her eyes, and the remorse was back.

A FEW MINUTES LATER Travis stood at his third-floor window looking down at the street facing the Johns Hopkins Inn. He’d managed, one-handed, to strip off the hospital gown, wrap a towel around his hips and secure it at the waist—all the nod to modesty he was willing to make at the moment; if any more unannounced visitors dropped by, he was more than ready to tell them to go to hell if they complained.

His mood was sour again, and he didn’t need to wonder why. A sardonic smile twisted his lips. At one time he’d reckoned a visit from his estranged mother would have made his day. He supposed he’d always been given to optimism in his life, and that had applied even to the one corner of it that rankled. But instead of heartening him, seeing her had only served to make him realize how hopeless it all was.

He caught a flash of red below, and he watched his mother walk toward the street. To a stranger she’d appear utterly poised, her head held gracefully erect, her carriage straight. But he could see things a stranger would miss. The suggestion of a defeated cast to her shoulders, a certain hesitance in her step as she approached the curb, the last lingering look she cast in the direction of his window before she entered the inn.

Sighing heavily, he was about to return to the Vonnegut novel when something else caught his eye. A blonde with a knockout figure emerging from the hospital. She headed toward a dark red Saab that had just pulled up out front.

Nurse Randi Terhune.

“Well, well, well.” Travis’s first genuine smile of the day accompanied the softly drawled syllables.

Her legs looked longer than ever in a pants uniform with a tunic top that stopped just where they began. Sunlight glinted off her honey-colored hair. Worn loose now and minus her nurse’s cap, it hung down her back nearly to her waist. Lord, Lord…

He was able to make out the Saab’s driver as she reached across the passenger seat and said something to Terhune. A brunette who bore a strong resemblance to Nurse Randi. He supposed they could be sisters, despite the difference in coloring. Beautiful features like theirs leapt out at you and—“God almighty!”

Travis sucked in his breath and closed his eyes, fixing on the image that filled his mind’s eye. An image from the past. Now he realized why the dumb stunt he’d pulled in Cambridge had been teasing his brain, just as Randi Terhune’s face had been nagging at him. He opened his eyes and gazed into space in stunned awareness. Terhune had been in the clinic that day! She was the nurse who’d admitted him!

His gaze shifted to the scene below. The passenger in the Saab was now opening the door and climbing out.

Travis hadn’t noticed him at first, and no wonder. This little guy stood only about three feet tall, if that. He was all tousled blond hair and energy about to explode as he gave Terhune a whopping big hug.

It became apparent the boy was giving up the navigator’s seat to Terhune, who opened the rear door; there was a car seat in back, and he took a step toward it. Then she said something to him, and he turned toward her, affording Travis his first clear look at the child’s face.

Great God in heaven!

Terhune fastened the boy’s seat belt, shut the rear door and got in up front, closing her own door. The Saab pulled away from the curb.

Travis was left with his jaw hanging open.

The kid in the car was the spitting image of himself when he was four or five years old!

CHAPTER FOUR

TRAVIS WATCHED the Saab drive away feeling as if he’d been poleaxed. It had been like looking at a mirror into the past. Thirty years past. Even if his memory was playing tricks on him, which he knew it wasn’t. He’d seen enough snapshots of himself over the years to know damned well what he looked like as a kid.

Gathering his spinning thoughts, Travis made his way slowly to the bed. He lowered himself to the mattress that barely accommodated his big frame. Tucking his free hand behind his head, he stared pensively at the ceiling.

His thoughts gravitated inexorably to the clinic in Massachusetts. The clinic where he’d first seen Randi Terhune. The fertility clinic where he’d donated his sperm. On a dare. And suddenly he knew: the results of that irresponsible stunt had come home to roost.

“Damn!” The oath exploded in the quiet room as he went over the episode in his mind….

He’d been hitting the books hard, averaging maybe four hours sleep a night. Then exams were over and he’d wanted nothing more than to crash for twenty-four hours. But he hadn’t. Jenkins and Henley waylaid him on his way to his apartment and convinced him they all owed themselves a night on the town to celebrate.

So he’d gone with them from one watering hole to the next. Drinking more than he ever had or likely would again. Taking their dare had been the most singularly immature act of his so-called manhood.

Yet he’d done it. Despite the host of misgivings that plagued him when he realized what he’d committed himself to. From the moment he awoke with a king-size hangover the next morning till the instant, two days later, he walked through the clinic’s doors, he’d regretted that commitment.

His discomfort level had been acute. He’d always loved kids. The mere thought of a child of his walking around somewhere without him left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Ah, hell!” Travis shifted restlessly on the bed, his mind swinging mercilessly back to that time.

All the regret in the world hadn’t swayed him. He’d honored that commitment, no matter how stupid it seemed in the harsh light of day. Because honor was the operative term here. A McLean didn’t welsh on a dare.

Another fact of the immaturity that characterized the whole mess, he told himself grimly. A mature man would have gone to Jenkins and Henley and told them flat out that it was a dumb idea. That it violated an underlying code of ethics he intended to live by, and that was that.

But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d rationalized, telling himself his donation was a selfless act; he hadn’t sold the specimen, after all, as some impecunious med students were rumored to do. What’s more, he’d told himself, he would probably be making some childless couple very happy.

That was what he told himself whenever a twinge of conscience nagged him over the years. And eventually the twinges grew fewer and farther between. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even thought about it.

But he did remember. He’d thought about it not an hour ago. Very likely spurred by a subliminal recognition of a face he’d seen before, even if it took a while for his conscious mind to make the connection. And now that kid…

Closing his eyes, he pictured the child—all big blue eyes and engaging grin under a cap of unruly blond curls. Curls exactly like his. And he’d hugged Terhune.

Dammit, there was no getting away from facts. In his line of work, lives often depended on the ability to quickly assess the facts at hand, no matter how meager, and draw conclusions from them. And right now, the few facts he had were leading him to one earthshaking conclusion: that kid could very likely be his son!

JILL TERHUNE eyed her sister with concern as she handed Randi a mug of decaf. They were in the kitchen of the house they shared, inherited from the great-aunt who’d raised them after their stepfather’s death. Matt had gone next door to play with Robbie Spencer the minute they got home, so it was just the two of them. Jill could finally pursue what had been on her mind since picking Randi up.

“Wanna tell me about it?” The older sister kept her voice casual, pouring herself a coffee and taking a seat across the table from Randi.

Randi glanced up from her mug with a look of surprise. “Tell you about what?”

“Whatever it is that’s got you so on edge.” Jill smiled to soften her words. “You’ve been strung tighter than a guitar string ever since I picked you up from work.”

Randi grinned sheepishly. “That obvious, huh?”

Jill grinned back. “It’s me, pipsqueak—ol’ eagle eye, Jill the pill, remember?”

Randi laughed, relaxing for the first time since the upsetting encounter in the ER. Jill’s use of their childhood names for each other could do that. It could also evoke a host of memories. Memories that bound them, reminding them of what they were to each other. Of the love between them, shared gladly these four years with the small boy they both adored.

Suddenly Randi frowned. Was her sister the only one who’d noted her unease? Besides half the ER staff? “Jill, do you think Matt noticed…”

Jill laughed and shook her head. “Fortunately he was too wrapped up in the news about the Spencers’ new baby—even if she isn’t the brother Robbie’d been hoping for.”

“True,” Randi said with a chuckle. “Remember when he told us Robbie had put in an order for a boy?”

Jill chuckled, too. “And if it turned out to be a girl, he was going to tell his mother to send her back?”

“Uh-huh. And then he asked if we could…Oh, God!” Randi dropped her face into her hands. Matt had asked if they could order a baby brother for him.

Jill reached across the table and gently touched her sister’s shoulder. “Randi, what is it?”

Randi collected herself, lowering her hands and reaching for her coffee. She took a sip and heaved a sigh. “I’d love to be able to give Matt a baby brother or sister, but…I can’t.”

“Not by going the route you used to conceive Matt, I agree.” Jill knew her conservative sister was troubled by misgivings over the ethics of what she’d done in that clinic, despite her reluctance to voice them. But they were close; she needn’t be a mind reader to tune in to Randi’s feelings.

“But last I heard,” Jill went on, “the more conventional means of having kids hasn’t gone out of style. Randi, you’re only thirty-two. That’s hardly over the hill. I mean, look at me. I’ll be marrying at thirty-four. You could still meet someone special, if only you’d—”

“Jill.” Randi said her name softly, but to Jill it had the impact of a shout The topic was not to be pursued. They’d been over this before, always with the same result: Randi wanted no part of dating. No part of men and marriage. Of sex. Although she’d never put it to Jill in those terms.

The problem was that Jill was certain she knew why but could say nothing to Randi about it. Your sister’s not yet ready to deal with the deepest roots of her emotional distress, Jill. Dr. Carol Martin’s words threaded through her mind as she and Randi quietly sipped their coffees. Beyond that, I can tell you nothing. Her sessions with me—like yours—are entirely confidential….

Jill could still see the counselor’s face on the day she’d told her this. It had been calm, relaxed. But by then Jill and Carol had known each other several years and become friends. So Jill had been able to see that, while her face was professionally neutral, Carol’s eyes were troubled. Because on that day, Randi had elected to end her counseling.

Carol had urged Randi to continue, but to no avail. Basing her decision solely on the fact that Carol had declared her sister healed of the emotional wounds of sexual abuse, Randi had reasoned she must be healed, as well.

If Carol says you’re okay and ready to get on with your life, I should be, too. Now it was Randi’s words that drifted through Jill’s mind, spoken in reply to Jill’s asking her why she wasn’t returning to Martin’s office. After all, Jill, darling, you were the one—I mean, I was only a frightened witness, wasn’t I?

But Jill knew otherwise. She’d seen their stepfather coming out of Randi’s room, too, during that terrible time after their mother died. More than once. He’d been abusing Randi, too.

But Randi apparently had no memory of it. “Blocking” was the psychological term for what she was doing, according to the books Jill had read on the subject. Not that Carol Martin would confirm or deny this to Jill—that professional confidentiality again. But Jill had certainly told Carol what she’d seen, so Carol knew the score. She just couldn’t discuss it with Jill, although she’d warned the older sister not to broach it with Randi on her own.

She’d likely deny it, Jill, the doctor had said. And you might even find it causes an estrangement between you. Worse, hearing you recount what you saw might cause a traumatic reaction in Randi—especially if she’s not emotionally prepared to deal with it. I caution you to leave it alone.

And so Jill had. But on the day Randi decided to leave counseling, she’d been sorely tempted to speak. Only her fear of making matters worse had kept her silent. The best she’d been able to manage had been a faint argument that implied she accepted Randi’s version of what happened…

But being a witness is still traumatic, Randi. Remember? Remember how we both broke down and cried at school? Jill still thanked God they’d somehow found the courage to approach someone with their tale after their stepfather was killed in that car crash. Their guidance counselor had told Aunt Tess and recommended the sessions with Carol Martin. The sessions that had healed Jill, but not her sister.

Jill barely suppressed a sigh. No matter how hard she’d argued, she hadn’t been able to persuade Randi to go back to Martin. It’s time we both put the whole ugly business behind us, Jill, she’d replied, and had never gone to Carol’s office again.

The whole ugly business. Yes, it was ugly, and yes, Jill was able to put it behind her. Carol Martin’s work had gently led her to a point where she could. By focusing on her strength as a survivor and helping her to feel empowered. And accentuating the positive in her experience with men. Especially her healthy relationship with the biological father they’d lost. Carol had been able to help Jill reconstruct the positive self-image that was badly threatened by her stepfather’s abuse. Threatened, but not shattered, thanks largely to Daddy and the caring relationship the girls had had with both their parents while they were alive.

Jill had come out of counseling a whole woman. Her relationship with David was proof of it. David, a decent, stable man she trusted completely—and loved to distraction! She could barely wait for the wedding. Yes, she was ready to get on with her life.

Just as she knew Randi wasn’t. If only she’d go back to see Carol. Something had to give. Her sister was a warm, loving woman. Jill didn’t believe a career, even combined with mothering, would be enough to fulfill Randi’s deepest needs. Not for the long haul. Besides, kids had a way of growing up and—

“So I seem on edge, huh?” Randi’s question pulled her back.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Jill shrugged. “You could, of course, have taken up shredding Kleenex as a hobby, I guess.”

Randi grimaced, recalling the tissues she’d absently torn to shreds in the car. She took a sip of coffee, setting the mug down with a sigh. “Something, uh, unexpected happened in the ER last night—and I don’t mean the emergencies. Except that the man happened to be a patient, that is.”

“The man?”

Randi’s face tightened with strain. “His name is Travis McLean. I know it means nothing to you, Jill, because I never mentioned it to you. But he’s—” she paused for a deep breath “—Matt’s father.”