Shirley, Goodness and Mercy(10)
Catherine’s laugh was wry. “I couldn’t. I was the one carrying the baby.”
Greg briefly closed his eyes. “I regret what I did, Catherine. I wanted to know what happened, but was afraid to find out.”
“I know.”
He looked at her then, as if he found it difficult to believe what she was saying.
Catherine glanced away. “It happened a very long time ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” He choked out the words, his voice raw with emotion.
“Don’t say it,” she whispered.
His face revealed his doubt, his confusion.
“You don’t need to apologize, Greg. I forgave you years ago. You didn’t realize it at the time and neither did I, but you gave me a beautiful gift in Edward. He was a wonderful child and a joy to my parents, who helped me raise him those first few years.”
“You moved back home?”
“Until the baby was born. Then Mom watched him for me during the day while I finished college.”
“It must have been difficult for you.”
“It was.” Catherine wasn’t going to minimize the sacrifices demanded of her as a single mother. Those years had been bleak.
“Edward,” Greg said. “After your father.”
Catherine nodded, surprised he’d remembered her father’s name.
“How could you forgive me?” Greg asked, sounding almost angry that she didn’t harbor some deep resentment toward him. It was as if he expected her to punish him, to mete out her own form of justice right then and there.
“I had to forgive you, Greg, before I could get on with my life. After a while, the bitterness was more than I could endure. I had to leave it behind, and once I did, I discovered a true freedom. Soon afterward, I met Larry. We’ve been married for twenty-seven years now.”
“But I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
“That’s not for me to say. But don’t think forgiving you was easy, because it wasn’t. When I first heard you’d left, I refused to accept it. I read your letter over and over—even though I couldn’t take it in. I was convinced you’d be back. All you needed was time to sort everything out. I told myself you’d return to me and everything would be all right…but I had a rude awakening.”
“I…wasn’t ready to be a father. I guess I never was.”
Catherine wondered if she’d misunderstood him. “You mean to say you never had children?”
“None,” he said. “Three wives, but not one of them was interested in a family. For that matter, neither was I.” He hesitated and his gaze skirted hers. “I was a selfish bastard when I left you. Unfortunately that hasn’t changed.”
She couldn’t confirm or deny his words, for she no longer knew him.
“Would you mind telling me about Edward?” he asked.
Catherine leaned back and sipped her coffee. “In many ways he’s very like you. The physical resemblance is there, anyway.”
Greg looked up and smiled faintly.
“He’s six-two and muscular.”
“How old? Thirty-four?”
“Thirty-five,” she told him. “His birthday was last month on the twenty-ninth.”
“Is he married?”
“Yes, and he has a son himself and another baby on the way. Next spring.”
Greg’s smile grew wider.
“He’s a doctor.”
“Really?” Greg seemed to have trouble believing it.
“My husband is, too.” Perhaps it was time to remind Greg who Edward’s father was. “Larry raised Edward, helped make him the kind of man he is. Larry’s his father.”
Greg shook his head. “I wouldn’t interfere in his life.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in—and then it occurred to her what he’d meant. “Are you asking to meet Edward?”
Greg didn’t respond for a long time. His face pale and intent, he finally said, “Yes. Could I?”
Four
Matthias Jamison enjoyed puttering around in his greenhouse before breakfast. The mornings—that was when he missed Mary the most. She’d been gone fifteen years now, and not a day passed that he didn’t think about the woman he’d loved for more than thirty years. Some men he’d known were quick to remarry after losing their wives. Not him. Mary had been the only woman for him, and no one else would ever fill the void left by her death.
The sunrise over the Cascade Mountains was glorious, the light creeping up over the horizon, then spilling across his western-Washington vineyard like the promise it was. The morning sun was a reassurance, the pledge of another day, another opportunity. Mary had been the one to teach him that, but he’d never fully appreciated her enthusiasm for mornings until it was too late. He wished he’d shared more sunrises with his beloved wife.