Sins of Omission (69 page)

Château Fonsard sat nestled among the trees in their rich autumn coats, the sun gilding them to a burnished copper. Mickey sucked in her breath. It was so beautiful here, she always hated to leave, but leave they must. It was time for Philippe to return for the autumn semester. She wanted to keep him here, but her heart told her Paris and the boy's education were more important than her selfish wishes. Leaving this time was particularly bitter for both of them.

Just last evening Philippe had stormed into the library and ripped the Three Musketeers off the wall. He'd turned it to the wall and then stared at her defiantly. “It's time we had a talk, Mother.”

“No,” she'd cried, “not now, not when we're leaving tomorrow. I'm asking you, Philippe, to please hang the picture back where it belongs.” He'd done it, but his eyes were bitter, his mouth grim.

She'd lain awake all night long wondering and worrying. How was she to tell him about Reuben? How much should she say? How much did she want to say? Over and over she heard his words: “I am not a little boy,
Maman.
You can't keep telling me stories and expect me to believe them. If you won't tell me what I want to know, I'll find a way to learn for myself.” Over and over the words ran through her head until she thought she would go mad. He was angry with her and she with him. It had to be made right before things got out of hand. Now; she would talk to him now when he came down to the car. They'd sit on the steps with the beautiful leaves swirling about.

She saw him then, standing by the car she'd moved out of the barn earlier. He must have gone around the back. Tears rushed to her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. “Reuben,” she whispered, “please look back. If you look back, it is love…. Oh, Reuben, what am I to tell this son of yours?”

“I'm ready if you are,” Philippe shouted. He could see his mother was crying and tried to harden his heart, but he couldn't. He rushed up the path and took her in his arms. “I'm so sorry,
Maman.
Please don't cry. It's just that sometimes I get so frustrated. All I ask, and I don't think it's too much, is that you treat me like the adult I am. If you don't want to tell me about my father, for whatever reasons, I will have to accept it. You are not being fair to either of us,
Maman.
Only where my father is concerned are we at odds. Now, that's all I have to say. Did you forget anything? You always do, you know. Shall I take a last look around?” he asked briskly.

Mickey shook her head. “Sit down, Philippe. You're right—it is time for me to speak of your father. Yes, you are grown-up, and you look so much like him. All the little stories I told you when you were a child were true. Occasionally I added a detail or two to make you smile, but that's as it should be for a little one.

“Your father was much younger than I. I worried about it constantly, but he said age was a number and he didn't care. We were wildly, passionately in love. I think in those days I would have died for him the way I would die for you, because I love you so much. In my heart I believe he felt the same way.

“A short while before you were born, your father had a terrible accident in the barn. Somehow…he fell on a pitchfork that had manure on it. He was sick for a very long time. He almost died. I prayed night and day, and your uncle Daniel did the same. Eventually he recovered. But when he did, he was not the same. He was unable to make love, and I believe he thought he'd failed me because of this. He decided to return to America because he thought his…affliction would…that he would always have it. I tried to tell him otherwise, but I didn't want him to think I was begging him to stay with me.

“When you love someone deeply with all your heart, you want that person's happiness more than your own. My heart shattered when I watched him drive off for the last time, knowing I would never see him again. Oh, he said he would come back, but I knew he wouldn't. I was able to survive our parting only because of you.

“Philippe, Reuben Tarz, your father…he doesn't know about you. I never told him. If he had come back as he said he would, he would have seen you for himself. But he will never come, not for me and not for you. Can you accept this? Can we go on as before? Or will you want to go to America and see your father? I will understand if you do, and I will arrange it when you are finished with school. The decision must be yours. I do not have…my emotions are still…it must be your decision. There is more to tell you, but this is not the time. For now this will have to do.”

Mickey searched her son's eyes for some sign that he wouldn't press that matter. How in the name of God was she to tell him, ever, that she wasn't his real mother? Where would she get the strength to say the words?

More. There was more, but this wasn't the time.
Philippe felt a seed of anger sprout, but the look of torment in his mother's eyes made him gather her in his arms. His voice was low, husky, filled with emotion. “I think I knew,
Maman.
I believe knowing is better than suspecting all sorts of things. I thought for a while that my father abandoned us, that he didn't love either of us. Ah, the stories I used to make up, the things I'd rehearse to say to him. I guess I knew then, but the playacting made me happy for a while. He's never been in touch with you since he left?”

Mickey shook her head. “His wife sent me a little note after they were married. And he sent a cable when Daniel graduated from law school. A formal little message, nothing more.”

Philippe got to his feet and reached down to pull his mother to him. “So,” he said dramatically, “who needs an American father who earns his living making silly pictures! As for you,
Maman,
there is this professor at the Sorbonne who is dashing and debonair and just your age. A rogue unless I miss my guess. I will introduce you when we arrive in Paris. Now, you have given me enough of your life. It is time for wine, men, and song. Come!” he shouted. “I'm driving!”

“You've had only three lessons,” Mickey said helplessly.

“I know, but you've been driving for years and we always end up in a ditch because you won't wear your spectacles. We start fresh now, no ghosts behind us, eh,
Maman?
”

Only one little one, Mickey thought sadly. Then she smiled radiantly. “No ghosts, Philippe. You say this instructor is handsome and dashing?” Her son laughed, a sound full of happiness.

Forgive me, Lord, for my sin of omission, Mickey prayed silently as she settled herself in the car next to her son.

“I love you.
Maman,
” Philippe said quietly.

“And I love you, Philippe,” Mickey replied just as quietly.

“For now we are the Two Musketeers. When I marry we will be three, unless, of course, you become attached to Monsieur Claude Molenaux.” Philippe laughed uproariously.

“Who knows, we may be four,” Mickey shouted gaily. “To Paree!”

“…the gallant Frenchwoman whose name is important only to me.”

Reuben reached into his pocket for his glasses so that he could see something of the audience. He let his eyes travel the length of the second row. Daniel's wife, Rajean, and his stepdaughter weren't sitting next to him; somehow this didn't come as a surprise to him. Max was leaning forward in his seat, a silly smile on his face. And there was Sol, dressed to the nines, with Clovis at his side. Daniel—brother, friend, and confidant—sat next to her, a proud look on his face. Sterling—Daniel was sterling from top to bottom. Bebe, beautiful and glittering, was next to Daniel, Simon on the other side of her, and Dillon next to him. Jane blew him a kiss, and he smiled for the first time.

It was over now, his moment in the limelight. Time to go back to his world in Laurel Canyon. Time to get on with his life. If his memories haunted him now and then, if he hungered for something other than what he had, no one but he need ever know. Somewhere along the way, Bebe's ability to role-play through life had rubbed off on him.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”

Backstage with swarms of people congratulating him, Reuben smiled and joked, showing off his award with pride. When at last the crowd thinned, he made his way to a dressing room.

She
should have been here. He'd never felt so alone in his life. MickeyMickeyMickeyMickey

The hand on his shoulder was soft. He couldn't see her, but her scent wafted about him. His eyes closed wearily. So much, yet so little.

“Let's go home, darling,” Bebe said quietly. “Reuben, I think what you said was just beautiful. I'm sorry Mickey wasn't here to see you this evening. She would have been so proud, as proud as I am. I just wanted you to know I thought it kind and generous of you.”

But how could you thank a dead person? Bebe mused. She had personally buried Mickey in her thoughts…right outside her front door. Otherwise how could she walk through the door with Reuben and Lily? “Damn you, you're dead,” she snarled.

Reuben turned to her.

“Did you say something, Bebe?”

Bebe smiled tenderly. “As a matter of fact, I did. I talked to Simon and Dillon about this, and they agreed.” She reached into her purse and drew out an envelope. “They want you to have this.”

Of course it wasn't true; they hadn't agreed at all. She'd had to issue all sorts of ridiculous threats to coerce Simon and Dillon into turning over their Fairmont stock. But if she was going to fight a dead woman, she had to use every weapon at her disposal.

Reuben's eyes grew misty as he stared at the contents of the envelope. This was too much. First the award and now the shares of stock. Fairmont was his…almost. One of these days he was going to get in touch with Philippe Bouchet and offer to buy out his shares of the studio. But not tonight. Tonight was for celebrating.

“I know she was here in spirit, my darling. I think you know that, too. I want you to smile now for the children. They need you. I need you, too, Reuben. Can I hold your statue, darling?” How wonderful it felt, how solid and comforting. It should have been hers. Tonight's performance alone deserved an award.

Reuben searched his wife's eyes. Her expression was guileless, her smile warm and trusting. This was the real Bebe standing next to him. He put his arm around her shoulder. “Let's forget the parties and go home and make some popcorn. What do you say, Mrs. Tarz?”

“I think, Mr. Tarz, the offer is so grand, only a fool would turn it down.”

Arm in arm, Reuben and Bebe walked through the crowds, their sons alongside them. They were a family, and they were going home.

Together.

If you enjoyed
Sins of Omission
, you won't want to miss the sizzling sequel!

 

Sins of the Flesh

 

Reuben, Mickey, Bebe, Daniel. Their lives were forever entwined by the events of World War I. Out of their savage passions, desperate deceptions, and unrequited love, a legacy was born. Now, twenty years later, their story continues. As before, it will be Mickey who forges their destinies, with a frantic call on the eve of the Occupation, and the rescue of the unclaimed son who will send all their lives colliding once again.

 

From the danger and intrigue of the French Resistance to the glitter and grandeur of Hollywood in the 1940s, here is a spellbinding saga from one of the world's most beloved authors, Fern Michaels.

 

A Zebra paperback on sale in September 2010!