Twice Dead - Catherine Coulter [141]
“No, Tyler, please, no.” She shoved hard against his chest and he quickly stepped back.
He was still smiling, breathing hard, his eyes bright with excitement, with sex, lust. “You’re right. Sam is standing right here. He’s not a baby anymore. We shouldn’t do this in front of him.” He turned to smile down at his son. “Well, Sam, here’s Becca. What do you have to say to her?”
Sam didn’t have anything to say. He stood there, his small face blank of all expression. It scared her to her toes. She walked slowly to him and went down on her knees in front of him. “Hello, Sam,” she said, and lightly touched her fingertips to his cheek. “How are you, sweetie? I want you to listen to me now. And believe me because I wouldn’t lie to you. That bad man who kidnapped you, who tied you up and put you in the basement, I swear to you that he’s gone now, forever. He’ll never come back, ever, I can promise you that. I took care of him.”
Sam didn’t say anything, suffered her touching his face. Slowly, she brought him against her even though his small body was stiff, resistant.
“I’ve missed you, Sam. I would have come sooner, but my father and Adam—you remember Adam, don’t you?—they were both hurt and I had to stay with them in the hospital. But now I’m here.”
“Adam.”
One word, but it was enough. “Yes,” she said, delighted, “Adam.”
She turned her head when she heard Tyler say something, but he shook his head at her. “Sam’s okay, Becca. I also brought some barbecue from Errol Flynn’s for our dinner. All the fixings, too. Would you like to have dinner now?”
And so they drank champagne, Sam drank his lemonade, and everyone ate barbecue pork ribs, baked beans, and coleslaw in Jacob Marley’s kitchen. The carrot cake from Myrtle’s Sweet Tooth on Venus Flytrap Boulevard stood on the kitchen counter.
After she’d answered countless questions about Krimakov, she said, “What about the skeleton, Tyler? Have the DNA results come in yet? Is it Melissa Katzen?”
Tyler shrugged. “No word yet that I know of. Everyone believes it is. But that’s not important now. What’s important is us. When do you want to move up here, Becca?”
Becca was handing Sam another rib. Her hand stilled. “Move back here? No, Tyler. I’m here to see Sam and pack up my things.”
He nodded and tore meat off the rib he was holding. He chewed, then said, “Well, that’s all right. You’ve just reconnected with your dad, so you need to make sure he’s okay, get to know him and all that, but we need to set our wedding date before you go back to see him. Do you think he’ll want to move up to be near you after we’re married?”
She set down her fork near the coleslaw. Something had gone terribly wrong. She didn’t want this, but there was no hiding from it now. She said it slowly, calmly, aware that Sam was now very still again, not eating, listening, but she had no choice. She said, “I’m truly sorry if you’ve misunderstood, Tyler. You and Sam are my very dear friends. I care about both of you quite a lot. I’ve appreciated all you’ve done for me, the support you’ve given me, the confidence you’ve had in me, but I can’t be your wife. I’m very sorry, but I don’t feel about you the way you want me to.”
Sam continued to sit there on two thick phone books, still and silent, the half-chewed pork rib clutched in his small fingers.
She forced a smile. “We should probably have this talk after Sam’s gone to bed, don’t you think?”
“Why? It concerns him. He wants you for his mother, Becca. I told him that was why you were coming back. I told him you were going to fix everything and you’d be here for him forever.”
“We should speak of this later, Tyler. This is between us. Please.”
Sam looked down at his plate, his small face drawn, pale in the dim kitchen light.
“All right then,” Tyler said. “I’m going to put Sam down with a blanket in the living room, on that real comfortable sofa. What do you think, Sam?”
Sam didn’t tell them what he thought.
“I’ll be right back, Becca.”
He scooped Sam up off his phone books and carried him out of the kitchen. She