A Son's Tale

“You’re right. It would kill Sammie to stop now. He’s finally feeling happy about something in his life. In control.”

“I want to see you,” Cal said then, quickly, before she could close the small chink he’d made in her stoicism. In her certainty.

“It’s… Cal… I mean, Sammie’s in bed asleep. I can’t go out. And we have class in the morning. And it’s late and…”

She hadn’t said no. That was all the encouragement he needed.

“I’m parked outside your house,” he told her. “If I come to the door will you let me in?”

“Well, yes, but…”

He was out of his car and at the door before she could complete whatever objection she’d been trying to make.

* * *

MORGAN WASN’T DRESSED for company. Cal was tapping lightly on her door before she had a chance to tell him so. She’d pulled her hair up into a ponytail, thinking that she’d soak in a bubble bath, with a cup of chamomile tea in an attempt to relax enough to sleep.

She’d made no effort whatsoever to make the hairstyle look good, as evidenced by the bulges and loose tendrils that had escaped the elastic band. She was dressed in old cutoff sweat shorts and a tank top left over from her pregnancy days. And she’d cried off all her makeup in the glen.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she said, with a brief glance down at her bare feet as she pulled open the door.

Cal, on the other hand, looked perfect. The knot in his tie was, even this late at night, still nicely in place.

And his feet, she noted, were properly encased in freshly shined shoes.

Things got weird the second she looked him in the eye. His gaze was naked, exposing an emotion that was completely unfamiliar to her.

“I had to see you,” he said.

She stood back, letting him into her home, into her pain. And she waited.

He opened his arms. She walked into them. And settled against the rock-hard solidness of his body as though she’d been there before. And belonged. This was nothing like her fantasies about Cal Whittier. All she needed at the moment was comfort, a sense that she was not alone. That she could stand and survive.

Unaware of time passing, Morgan held on to Cal until she felt more like herself. And then, she led him silently to her living room and sat on the couch.

Cal took the seat next to her. Close, but leaving enough space.

“First, let me be clear about one thing. I’m here tonight as your friend, Morgan. What happens tomorrow in class is completely separate and apart from tonight.”

She already knew that, but nodded because he seemed to need her agreement.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to accept my presence or my questions or anything else because I’m your teacher.”

“If I felt that way, I’d report you to the university board,” she said. Morgan had no problem with sticking up for herself. Her problem lay in knowing when she needed to do so.

His grin was kind of disarming. “Okay, good. You sound more like the Morgan I know.”

She felt more like her, too, which was nice even if it served no purpose. How she felt didn’t change facts.

“Please tell me what your parents said today.”

Uh-uh.

“I can’t help if I don’t know what we’re up against.”

It was the “we” that did it. It took all of her strength not to cry when she heard that “we.” “It wasn’t good,” she told him. But there was no sense in hiding the truth from him, either. She was who she was. Or had been who she’d been.

She was a Lowen and that made her child vulnerable to crazy people. She had neither the resources nor the inherent mistrust in humanity necessary to keep him safe.