Key Of Valor k-3 Read online

  Zoe looked back, saw the sympathy, the understanding on Malory's face. The tension in her shoulders dissolved. "I really needed to hear that. So much. I didn't want James, Mal, not really, but part of me remembered how much I had wanted him."

  "I know. I know exactly."

  She could, Zoe thought. She and Dana were the only ones who really could. "Part of me felt that same way, had that same yearning. And it would've been so easy to drift back there and believe everything would turn out differently."

  "But you didn't drift back."

  "No." She began changing the cover on the treatment table, adjusting the pad, smoothing the cotton. "Everything but that one little part knew I didn't want it to turn out differently. I didn't really want the boy who couldn't stand by me or his own child. But I had to remember him, really remember him, and what I felt for him. So I could say good-bye."

  "Do you want the man who's willing to stand by you, and your child?"

  "I do." There was a flutter under her heart as she selected the lotion for Dana. "But I don't seem to trust either of us to make it work. Lie on your back," she said when Dana came back in. "And there's more than that, than not trusting us."

  Efficiently, she adjusted the towel that covered Dana from breast to crotch, then warmed the lotion in her hands. "If I take that last step with him, how much danger will that put him in? It's kind of a quandary. If you love someone, you want to protect them. If I'm going to protect him, I can't let myself love him. Not all the way."

  "If you love him, you ought to respect him enough to know he'll protect himself."

  Zoe stared at Dana. "I do respect him."

  "I don't think you do. You keep wondering if and when he's going to let you down, let Simon down. When he's going to walk. You're talking to somebody who's been there. You're thinking you shouldn't give him a hundred percent because you'll need something in reserve when he takes a hike. I'm not saying you don't have a right to that. You've got a lot on the line."

  "And what's most on the line for Zoe? Personally," Malory qualified. "The single thing you won't risk?"

  "Simon."

  "Exactly."

  "I know Bradley won't hurt him." Zoe massaged the lotion in, working her way down Dana's body. "But the more Simon looks to him for the sort of things a boy looks for from a father, the more of a jolt it'll be if things don't work out. He's had to deal with not having a father. Ever. Not like a divorce or even death, but never having one. However much I've smoothed it for him, however much he knows I love him, and I'm there for him, he's always known there was someone who didn't, who refused to be there. I don't want him to ever feel unwanted again."

  "And to keep that from happening, you'd sacrifice. You'd fight," Malory added. "Whatever it took, whatever it cost you, you'd fight. Because of all the choices you've made, Simon is the most important. He's your key."

  "Simon?" Zoe repeated as Dana sat up. "Oh, sorry, over on your stomach. My mind's churning."

  "Mal's clicked on something." Dana rolled over, but propped her head on her fist. "We're the keys, the three of us. That's been emphasized over and over. But of the three of us, Zoe's the one who has—you could say—re-created herself in a child. Simon's part of Zoe. Zoe's the key, ergo, Simon's the key."

  "Kane can't touch him." Fear wanted to leap up and choke her. "Rowena said she'd protected him."

  "Count on it." Dana looked over her shoulder. "If he could do anything about Simon, he'd have tried by now."

  "I think it might be more than Rowena that protects him," Malory added. "I think whatever can be done from the other side is being done. Someone's children were already harmed. They won't let it happen again. Between all that, and us, nothing touches Simon."

  "If I believed otherwise, I'd walk away from this in a heartbeat." Zoe paused as she caught Malory's nod. "Which Kane has to know, so he would have done anything he could to threaten my son. He hasn't, because he can't. Okay." She let out a long breath. "Okay, let's work from there. If Simon's the key, or part of it the way he's part of me, doesn't that take me back to choices I've made regarding him? Having him was a choice, keeping him was a choice—the best ones I ever made. But I've been back there. And though I think going back mattered, I don't have the key."

  "You made other choices," Dana pointed out. "Went in other directions."

  "Been over some of those, too. It's been a kind of journey, I guess," she continued as she finished slicking the lotion on Dana. "Remembering, seeing it again, thinking about it all. It's been good for me, all in all, because it validated my choices and let me see that the mistakes I made weren't all that big. You want to roll over? I'll get you your robe."

  "You came here to the Valley," Dana began. "You got a job, you bought a house. What else?"

  Malory held up a hand while Zoe helped Dana into her robe. "I'm not going to say all of that's not important, and maybe going through some of the details is one of the answers. But we could look at this from a different angle. What if some of the answers have to do with Simon's choices?"

  "He's a kid," Dana pointed out, rubbing a hand on her forearm to admire Zoe's work. "His biggest choice is which video game to play."

  "No." Thoughtfully, Zoe shook her head. "No, children have a lot of choices. Right or wrong. Some of those choices stick with them, and push them in a certain direction. What friends they make. Maybe they read a book about a fighter pilot and they decide they want to fly. Right now, in a hundred different ways, Simon's deciding what kind of a man he'll be."

  "Then maybe you need to take a closer look at some of those decisions," Malory suggested.

  A decision Simon was particularly pleased with at the moment was his choice of Homer as a name for the pup. It combined some of his favorite things into one—baseball, a cartoon character, and a dog. Outside in the crisp fall air, watching Moe chase a tennis ball and Homer chase Moe, Simon figured life didn't get any cooler.

  Plus, the guys were coming over pretty soon to watch the game while his mom and her friends did girl stuff. He could eat potato chips till he puked.

  He snatched up the ball Moe dropped at his feet, then did a lot of dancing and fake throwing to make the dogs totally nutso before he hurled it toward the trees.

  When he went to school the next day, he'd tell all his pals about Homer. Maybe, if it wasn't too goofy, he could get Brad to take a picture so he could show everybody.

  He looked back toward the river while the dogs rolled around together. He really liked it here. He liked his house, too, and the yard and all. And living next to the Hansons. But, boy, he really liked it here, with the woods to explore and the river right there.

  If they were going to stay longer, it would be so cool to have his friends over. Man, they would freak over the game room. And they could build a fort in the woods, and maybe go tubing on the river in the summer. If his mom didn't wig out over the idea.

  Maybe he still could, even after they went back home. He could ask Brad, and then Brad would help him work on Mom. That was cool, too, having another guy so they could double-team her.

  It was sort of like having a father. Not that he cared about that, but it was probably like it. Sort of.

  Anyway, it was going to be totally awesome to have Thanksgiving here, with everybody piling into the house, and the guys all arguing about the game, and eating pumpkin pie until they busted their guts.

  His mom made really good pumpkin pie, and she always gave him little pieces of the dough to make dough people with.

  He wondered if Brad would think that was lame.

  He looked over, then ran toward the house as Brad came out. "Hey! You want to throw the ball some? Moe's teaching Homer how to fetch."

  "Sure." He snugged the knit cap he'd brought out over Simon's head. "Getting cold."

  "Maybe it'll snow. Maybe it'll snow six feet and there won't be any school."

  "We can always dream." He picked up the ball and winged it in a way Simon desperately admired.

  "If it snows six fee
t, can you stay home from work?"

  "If it snows six feet, I'll make a point of staying home from work."

  "And we can have hot chocolate and play ten million video games."

  "That's a deal."

  "Do you wear a condom when you have the sex with my mother?"

  All the blood in Brad's head drained out of the soles of his feet. "Do what?" "Because if you don't, you could make a baby. Would you marry her if you made a baby?"

  "Holy Mother of God."

  There was a tickle at the back of Simon's throat, a kind of sick nervousness. But he couldn't stop the rush of words—they had to be said. "The guy who made me with her, he didn't marry her, and I think it hurt her feelings. I have to look out for her now, so if you're not going to marry her if you make a baby, you can't have the sex." Because his belly was jumping, Simon looked down and gave the ball a good kick. "I just wanted to say."

  "Okay. Wow. Okay, I really think I need to sit down." Before even the jelly his knees had become melted away. "Why don't we all go inside and do that… the sit down thing."

  "I'm the man of the house," Simon said in a small voice.

  "You're a hell of a man, Simon." In a gesture he hoped bolstered them both, Brad laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Let's go inside and sit down and talk about this."

  Brad prayed for wisdom, and whatever else would help while they peeled off their jackets. He figured the kitchen was best so they could occupy themselves with drink or food, or anything to make the discussion less horrendous for both of them.

  Though he wanted a beer in the worst way, he poured them both a Coke. "About sex," he began.

  "I know about sex. Mom said it doesn't hurt, but sometimes people yell and stuff because it's fun."

  "Good," Brad managed after a moment, and worried that he could actually hear his brain cells dying. "Your mother and I… Ah. Adults, healthy, single adults often have relationships that—the hell with this. Look at me."

  He waited until Simon lifted his head. All the doubts, the defiance, the determination were printed clearly on his face. Just, Brad thought, like his mother's.

  "I'm in love with your mother. I make love with her because she's beautiful, and I want to be with her that way. I want to be with her in every way because I'm in love with her."

  "Is she in love with you back?"

  "I don't know. I'm hoping."

  "Do you hang around with me so she'll be in love with you?"

  "Well, you know, it's a pretty big sacrifice for me, seeing as how you're so ugly, and you smell so bad. Plus you're short, and that's really annoying. But whatever works."

  Simon's lips twitched. "You're uglier."

  "Only because I'm older." He laid his hand over the boy's. "And somehow, despite your many flaws, I'm in love with you, too."

  Emotions rushed into Simon's throat and seemed to flood onto his face. "That's pretty weird."

  "Tell me about it. I want both of you more than I've ever wanted anything."

  "Like a family?"

  "Exactly like that."

  Simon stared down at the table. There were so many things he wanted to say, to ask, but he wanted to make it right. "Would you marry her, even if you didn't make a baby?"

  So, it wasn't to be horrendous after all, Brad mused. "I'd like to make a baby, now that you mention it. But… Hold on a minute, there's something I want to show you. I'll be right back."

  Alone, Simon rubbed his eyes hard. He'd been afraid he would cry, blubber like a girl or something. When you were having a real man-to-man talk, like Chuck's father called them, you didn't start crying.

  He took a drink of his Coke, but it didn't settle his stomach. Everything kept wanting to jump around inside of him. He struggled to calm down when he heard Brad coming back, and wiped at his face, just in case.

  Brad sat down again. 'This has to be just between us. Just the two of us, Simon. I need you to promise me."

  "Like a secret?"

  "Yes. It's important."

  "Okay, I won't tell anybody." Solemnly, Simon spat on his palm, then held it out.

  For a moment Brad could only stare. Some things, he thought—oddly comforted—never changed. He mirrored Simon's gesture, and they joined palms.

  Saying nothing, Brad put a small box on the table and opened it, showed Simon the ring inside. "This was my grandmother's. She gave it to me when she and my grandfather had their fiftieth anniversary."

  "Wow. They must be completely old."

  Brad's lips quivered, but he kept his voice steady. "Pretty much. It was her engagement ring, and he gave her a new one on their fiftieth. She wanted me to have her first, and to give it to the woman I'd marry. She says it's lucky."

  Lips pursed, Simon poked at the box and watched the ring beam. "It's really shiny."

  Brad turned the box so he could study the old-fashioned ring with little diamonds in the shape of a small flower. "I think it's something Zoe would like. It's delicate, and it's different and it's proved itself. I'm planning to give this to her on Saturday."

  "How come you're waiting? You could give it to her when she gets home."

  "She's not ready. She needs some more time." He looked back at the boy. "She needs to find the key, Simon, by Friday. I don't want to push her, or do anything that distracts her before then."

  "What if she doesn't find it?"

  "I don't know. We have to believe she will. Either way, I'm going to give her this on Saturday and ask her to marry me. I'm telling you now not only because you're the man of the house and deserve to know my intentions, but because you and Zoe are a package deal. You're entitled to your say in this."

  "Will you take good care of her?"

  Oh, you marvelous child. "The very best I can."

  "You have to bring her presents sometimes. You can make them, like I do, but you can't forget. Especially on her birthday."

  "I won't forget. I promise."

  Simon scooted his glass around in circles. "If she says yes and you get married, will her name be like yours?"

  "I'm hoping she'll want that. Vanes are really proud of our name. It'd mean a lot to me if she took it."

  He scooted the glass again, watched it intensely. "Will mine be like yours?"

  Everything inside Brad lit up like one big candle of love. "I'm hoping you'll want that, too, because it'll tell everyone how you belong to me. Simon, if she says yes, and we get married, will you call me Dad?"

  Simon's heart pounded so hard, he heard it ringing in his ears. He looked up, smiled. "Okay."

  When Brad held out his arms, he did what came naturally and went into them. There were so many things to think about, and all of them seemed to want to jumble in her head as she drove along the river. The day was almost over, and that left only five more. Five more days to find the key, to open that final lock. Five days to search her mind, her heart, her life.

  Nothing was the same as it had been. And when the week was up, everything would change again. All these new directions, she thought, so many roads, when before her route had been so direct.

  Earn a living to make a home. Make that home so her son could have a happy, healthy, normal life. However arduous it had been from time to time, it had been relatively uncomplicated. You got up every morning, took the first step, and kept going until you got everything done.

  Then you did it again, in some variation, the next day.

  It had worked, and worked well.

  But it was true, wasn't it? she admitted as she slowed to make a turn. It was true that under it all she'd still wanted more. The little things, the pretty things she saw in magazines. She'd found ways to have them by learning how to make them. Nice curtains, a table arrangement, a garden that lasted from spring till frost.

  And the big things. The college fund she'd started for Simon and built on a little each month. The business she'd begun.

  So however direct her route, she'd always had her eye out for a detour.

  Well, she'd taken one now.

  She
pulled up at Brad's, saw Flynn's car, Jordan's. It made her smile. Her detour hadn't just brought two women she'd come to love into her life, it had brought three interesting men. And in less than three months, they had become more like family to her than her own.

  She parked, waited for the guilt to creep in at that thought. When it didn't, she sat back and considered. No, she didn't feel guilty at all. She'd made this family, she realized. And through some miraculous twist of fate they understood her in a way her own never had. Probably never would.

  She could love her mother, her sisters, her brother, she shared hundreds of memories and moments with them— good and bad. But she didn't feel, couldn't feel, the same connection, the same intimacy with them as she did for the family she'd made.

  They were her more, she thought.

  Nothing would ever take away what they'd built together over the past three months. Whatever happened next, she would always have her more.

  Almost giddy with the sensation, she stepped out of the car and started toward the house. It felt good to stride up this walk, easy and natural to head for the front door not knowing quite what to expect when she opened it.

  Dogs running, three men and a boy in a football coma, a male-generated disaster in the kitchen. It didn't matter what she found, because whatever it was, she was part of it.

  Struck, she stopped. She was part of it, part of what went on inside this house. And the man who owned it. Slowly, she walked back to the banks of the river and turned, and looked.

  She remembered the first time she'd seen the house, how she'd stopped her car just to stare and admire. She hadn't known Brad, hadn't really known any of them yet. But the house had caught her.

  She'd wondered what it would be like to live there, inside something so wonderfully designed. To have some part in that perfect spot, woods and water, to call her own. And when she'd gone inside, she'd been drenched in delight and wonder. The warmth and the space had pulled her along. She remembered standing at the window in the great room and thinking how incredible it would be to live there, and to be able to look out that window whenever she liked.