A Time To Come Home. Darlene GardnerЧитать онлайн книгу.
guy, was destined for great things. The town had been named for his great-grandfather, his father was the Laurel County state’s attorney and the senior class had voted Tyler Most Likely to Succeed.
Everybody also knew Diana had gone off the deep end after her brother died: skipping school, shoplifting, drinking. Before Tyler, she’d also made out with a few boys who’d greatly embellished how far they’d gotten with her.
She still remembered the hurt in his eyes when she’d confirmed the false rumors about her loose reputation, the utter look of betrayal on his face the night before she’d left Bentonsville for good.
She blocked out the image, replacing it with the beauty of the countryside. The deep, rich green of the grass hinted at a summer generous with its rain. Wildflowers in purple and yellow added splashes of color. Horses grazed near white-framed homesteads and cool, blue ponds.
The transformation from rural to urban happened gradually, with a gas station and a convenience store announcing the small town ahead. She drove the lightly traveled street past the timeless brick beauty of the town hall, what looked like a newly built fire station and a quaint shopping area where not much had changed.
Cutaway, where her mother had taken her and her brothers for haircuts, still occupied a corner building. She also recognized Bentonsville Butchers, the local dry cleaner and the convenience store where she’d been caught shoplifting cigarettes and beer.
At a red light, she glanced down at the piece of paper lying on the passenger seat. The address she’d gotten from the white pages of an Internet search engine jumped out at her in black, bold letters: 276 Farragut Street.
She’d mapped the location, again on the computer, to help her remember how to get there. Tyler’s neighborhood was grander than the one where she’d grown up, but the suggested route took her through her old haunts.
The cut-through street was long and winding, the houses spaced a fair distance apart. If she turned right at the next corner, she’d reach the house where the mother she hadn’t seen in more than ten years still lived.
She braked at the stop sign, but then continued straight ahead on a road that transported her back in time. For there was the playground where she and her brother J.D. used to compete to see who could swing the highest. Heavy wooden equipment with plastic toddler swings had replaced the metal swing set, but the weeping willow nearby was the same.
Diana remembered sitting motionless on one of the swings after J.D. had been stabbed to death by another teen during his senior year of high school. She’d stared at the tree, wondering how she could feel so miserable without actually weeping. The playground had later become the place she met Tyler when she snuck out of her house.
Not that her parents, consumed by their own grief, would have noticed had she strolled out the front door. Later, her mother had all but pushed her out, screaming that she’d shamed the family instead of recognizing that what her pregnant daughter needed most was support.
She stepped on the gas pedal, driving faster than she should past the playground with its collection of memories, some sad, some merely bittersweet. Within moments, the tenor of the neighborhood changed. The yards became more spacious, the houses bigger, the very feel of her surroundings more exclusive.
She would have known Tyler had fulfilled his early promise even if she hadn’t researched him on the Internet. A third-generation graduate of Harvard Law, he worked as an assistant state’s attorney in the same Laurel County office as his father before him. Tyler had already distinguished himself by winning a number of high-profile cases.
She rolled her car to a stop in front of an impressive two-story Colonial she thought was his, except another man hosed down his golden BMW in the driveway.
Spotting her parked in front of his house, the man turned off his hose and approached her car. Trim, gray-haired and wearing tailored shorts and a polo shirt, he looked like someone who would have his car washed for him. She hit the automatic control that rolled down the window and breathed in the scent of freshly cut grass.
“Can I help you?” The man bent at the waist to peer into the car. “You look lost.”
He didn’t know the half of it, she thought. “I’m looking for 276 Farragut.”
“You’re in front of it.”
“Then Tyler Benton lives here?”
“You’re looking for Ty?” Interest bloomed on his face, but he merely pointed down the street. “You must have transposed the numbers. He lives at 267. Four doors down on the left. The only Cape Cod in the neighborhood. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.” She rolled up the window, not taking a chance that curiosity would get the better of him, and drove on.
She soon spotted a pale yellow house with blue-shuttered windows, a wide, inviting porch, a spacious lawn and lots of charm. Exactly the kind of place she’d choose if she could afford to buy a single-family house.
Two people stood on the porch, one with wheat-colored hair she instantly recognized as Tyler. She braked, her palms growing slick on the steering wheel. Taller and broader than he’d been at seventeen, he towered over the woman whose hand lightly touched his chest. Her face tilted up to his, her long, black hair cascading down her back.
They both wore sunglasses and casual clothes, as though heading for a picnic or perhaps a day on the water. Tyler’s parents, she remembered, had kept a motor boat docked at a marina on the Potomac River.
With the backs of her eyes stinging, Diana pressed her foot down on the accelerator. Now, obviously, was not the time to approach Tyler. Especially considering the woman might be his wife. She could have discovered his marital status easily enough on line, but she hadn’t thought to check.
Diana blinked rapidly a few times until her eyes felt normal again. She couldn’t let whether or not Tyler was married matter. Not when she’d given up her foolish dreams of a future with him when she was sixteen.
In retrospect, it had been naive to expect Tyler to seek her out after she’d taken refuge at her aunt’s house. Still, she’d envisioned him getting wind of her pregnancy and showing up at the front door. She’d imagined him claiming to know in his heart that he was her baby’s father.
But Tyler never came. He never even called.
She supposed his silence had been understandable. What high school boy sought to be saddled with a baby—or the stupid girl who’d dreamed of becoming his wife?
But she hadn’t considered Tyler to be a typical teenage boy. She’d thought he was… special.
She pushed aside the long-ago hurt and tried to view the new development dispassionately. She needed to think about whether the possibility of Tyler being married impacted her decision to tell him about Jaye. She supposed not. He was either the kind of man who’d seek to develop a relationship with his daughter—or he wasn’t.
She knew from experience that not all men made good fathers, whatever the circumstances. She’d spent most of her formative years in a traditional household with two parents, and she’d never been close to her own father.
Denny Smith had been a good provider, but he’d focused most of his attention on ensuring that J.D.—the second of his three children—developed his amazing physical gifts.
Her mother had explained that Denny had passed on his dreams of playing pro football to his son. Unlike his father, J.D. had a spectacular arm, superior coordination and good speed. Armed with a full scholarship to Penn State, J.D. had also had an excellent chance of making his pro-football dream come true.
Diana didn’t remember resenting J.D. for being the favorite or her father for favoring J.D. That’s just the way it was. In his own way, she knew, her father loved her. When Diana had lived with her aunt during the first years of Jaye’s life, her father had regularly mailed checks to help with baby expenses.
He still wanted to send her money. She’d called him on a lark yesterday, expecting to be grilled