Protecting Her Page 2

  “Garret, would you like to try out your crib?” I lower him into it, but as soon as I let go of him, he starts crying.

  Now what do I do? Why is he crying? They just fed him and changed him at the hospital.

  I pick him up again. He stops crying. So I guess he just wants to be held.

  I go over and sit in the rocking chair. As I hold him and rock him, he watches me. He keeps doing this. Looking at me. Watching me. I hope he only sees the good in me and not the bad. I hope he never sees the bad. I will shield him from that, just like I shield Rachel from that side of my life. But someday, I may not be able to. If I can’t find a way to get Garret out of the organization, I will be forced to tell him about it. And once he learns the truth and knows what the members do, he’ll know what a horrible person his father is. I don’t want him to know that. I need to get him out of his obligation. Or Jack does. We need to find a way to keep my son from ever having to join.

  He fusses a little and I notice I stopped rocking him. I start up again and the fussing ends. Just looking at him, I feel a huge smile cross over my face. It happens automatically, just like it did when I met his mother. I couldn’t wipe that big smile off my face.

  After a half hour, I get up and try placing him in his crib again. This time he doesn’t protest. He’s sound asleep. I turn on the baby monitor, then go down to the kitchen because I’m starving. I didn’t want the hospital food, so I haven’t eaten all day. I take some deli meat from the fridge and quickly make a sandwich.

  If my parents knew I was eating a cold sandwich, they’d be horrified. They’d feel that way about a lot of the things I eat now. Pizza. Grilled cheese sandwiches. Spaghetti and meatballs. Hamburgers. Rachel is the one who introduced me to those foods. I never had them when I was growing up. My parents forbid them, saying that’s what trashy, unrefined people ate.

  My son will eat all those foods, along with all the other foods his mother makes. Rachel is an excellent cook and can make most anything. But the past few months, since she couldn’t be on her feet much during her pregnancy, I was in charge of dinner. I’d either get takeout or grill something. I’ve become quite good with the grill, which is another thing my parents would disapprove of. They would be very upset that I’m preparing my own food. They’ve always had a cook and they expect me to have one as well. A Kensington does not prepare food, or do other tasks my parents consider to be menial and beneath them, such as laundry or cleaning. But Rachel didn’t want a cook or a maid, so we don’t have either.

  I’ve barely finished my sandwich when the baby monitor goes off. He was only asleep for twenty minutes, if that, and now he’s crying again. I go upstairs and see his red, teary eyes. I feel bad for him, stuck here with me, his clueless father, when his mother would be doing a much better job.

  “What’s wrong, Garret?” I pick him up but he’s still crying. The nurse said I wouldn’t need to feed him for at least another hour. Maybe he needs a diaper change. I can change a diaper. I did it on a doll several times at those baby care classes.

  I set him on the changing table and grab a diaper. Now he’s crying even more. He does not like being on this table. I quickly get to work on his diaper, putting the new one on him as fast as possible because now he’s screaming to the point that his whole face is red.

  “We’re almost done,” I tell him, fastening the diaper in place. But I must’ve done it wrong because it’s not a very tight fit.

  Garret is still crying and I don’t know what to do. The nurses told me infants find it soothing to be wrapped in a tightly bundled blanket, but I have no idea how to do that. I watched the nurse do it and it looked like she was doing origami. I take Garret’s blanket and attempt to bundle him up the way the nurses did, but I can’t figure it out. I give up and just wrap the blanket around him, then pick him up, and finally, the crying slows and eventually stops.

  I haven’t even been home for an hour and I’m already exhausted. Rachel’s right. I need help. I can’t do this alone. But I have no one to call.

  Royce and Victoria had a baby in July, but they wouldn’t be of any help. They’ve had a nanny taking care of their daughter since the day she came home from the hospital.

  Maybe I should call my mother. As Rachel said, I’m sure my mother took care of me at least some of the time. She must know something about babies. I have no one else to call so I decide to just call her and tell her the news. Maybe I’ll ask for her help, or maybe I won’t. It’ll depend on how the call goes.

  I bring Garret downstairs and go in the family room and sit on the couch. He’s quieted down now and is watching me again, probably realizing how incompetent I am and wishing he was back at the hospital.

  The phone is next to me on the table. I pick it up and call my parents’ number, but then remember that they have the hired help screen their calls. The help has been instructed not to put my calls through. That’s why I haven’t even bothered trying to call my parents for over a year, not even on Christmas.

  “Kensington residence,” someone answers. Probably the maid.

  “I need to speak with Eleanor, please.”

  “Who may I ask is calling?”

  I consider lying, but then change my mind. “Pearce. Eleanor’s son.”

  There’s silence and then, “One moment, please.”

  At least she didn’t hang up. Perhaps she’s new and doesn’t know the rules. I wait for her to return and tell me that my mother is busy, or out somewhere, or whatever other excuse my mother gave her.

  “Pearce.” It’s my mother’s voice. “Are you there?”

  “Yes. Hello, Mother. How have you been?”

  “Fine.” That’s always her answer. She’s always fine. “And how have you been?”

  “Good. Very good.”

  “Work is going well?”

  “Yes. It’s going very well.”

  The phone is silent. She doesn’t know what to say. I’m surprised she’s not asking me about the pregnancy. I know her gossiping friends told her about it. Victoria knew Rachel was pregnant and she’s the queen of gossip.

  “I was calling, Mother, to tell you that Rachel and I had a baby.”

  “Oh. Well, congratulations.” She sounds odd. I can’t tell if she’s happy for me or not. “What did you have?”

  “A boy. We named him Garret.” As I say his name, I look down at him in my arms. He’s watching me again and I smile.

  “That’s a nice name,” she says.

  Was that a compliment? If so, it would be the first one I’ve heard from her in years.

  Garret fusses and I rock him a little in my arms.

  “Is that the baby?” my mother asks.

  “Yes. I’m holding him.”

  “Are you at the hospital?”

  “No. I’m at home.”

  “Why doesn’t your wife have him?”

  My mother is someone who finds it odd for men to be involved in childcare, so I’m not surprised by her question. I’m sure my father never held me when I was a baby.

  “Rachel is still in the hospital,” I say. “There were complications during the delivery. She lost a lot of blood so they’re keeping her there for a few days.”

  “But you have a nanny, of course.”

  “No. We chose not to hire one. We’d rather care for Garret ourselves.”

  “You can’t care for a baby, Pearce. Not by yourself. Babies are a lot of work.”

  “Yes. I know. I’ve only been home with him for an hour and I’m already feeling overwhelmed.”

  “I’ll come right over. Where do you live?”

  I almost drop the phone. She’s actually coming over? Without my having to ask?

  “Thank you, Mother. I would appreciate the help.” I give her the address and she says she’ll leave right away.

  I can’t believe this. Is she not angry with me anymore? Or does she just want to see her grandson?

  Garret’s now asleep in my arms. I’m afraid if I move, he’ll start crying again. I turn on th
e TV, lowering the volume so he doesn’t wake up. I flip through the channels, stopping on a cartoon.

  When I was a child, I never watched cartoons. I wasn’t allowed to. We only had one TV in the house and my father used it mainly to watch financial news. I’m going to let Garret watch cartoons. I’m not going to rob him of his childhood the way my parents took mine.

  I flip to a sports channel. There’s a baseball game on. That’s another thing I’m going to do. Take Garret to baseball games. My father never took me to one, but I still went to games with people I knew from school.

  I attended a private prep school with other very wealthy students. Some of them had fathers who were members. My friends were chosen for me by my parents. I didn’t particularly like these friends, but having them in my life allowed me to do activities my parents had no interest in, such as going to ball games in New York. Or sometimes we’d meet up and play football. I played football in high school and my father never even asked me how I learned to play. He doesn’t like sports so I was surprised he even let me be on the team. But he said it made me appear to be well-rounded, which would be good for my image. Of course, he never went to a game and neither did my mother.

  There were no father-son activities when I was growing up. I had to teach myself how to do things. There was a time during my teen years that my father became so busy with work that he basically forgot I existed. I used that time to my advantage, doing things he’d never allow me to do if he were paying attention. That’s when I discovered girls and alcohol. The alcohol came first, which gave me the courage to talk to girls. It didn’t take long before I was drinking way too much, and by 15, I was having sex. I hid all of this from my father until one of the members caught me passed out drunk in my car with a half-naked girl.

  When my father found out, he beat me. He took me outside and hit me repeatedly in a fit of rage. I wanted to fight back but he had his gun on him, so I just waited for him to finish. His anger wasn’t because I was drinking or with a girl. It was because I was caught by a fellow member, and that member told the other members, which embarrassed my father. My behavior made it look as though he didn’t have control over me, and he couldn’t stand the idea that people were saying he’d lost control of his son.

  I was 16 at the time. After that incident, he kept a much closer eye on me. I didn’t drink again until I was in college. And the girls I dated in high school were all picked by my father. I didn’t actually date them. I escorted them to the events I was forced to go to with my parents. Sixteen was also the age my father told me about Dunamis, thus ending my childhood.

  “I will never treat you that way,” I say quietly to Garret. “I will never be like him.” I lean down and kiss his forehead. “I love you. And I promise you, I will never be like him.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  3

  PEARCE

  The doorbell rings. I notice the clock says it’s a half hour later. I must’ve dozed off. I get up, with Garret in my arms, and go answer the door.

  When I open it, my mother is standing there. She’s wearing a white cotton blouse and black dress pants. That’s casual for her. Usually she’s in a dress or a suit.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  She stares at my face like she hasn’t seen me in years. The last time I saw her was at a party, before Rachel was pregnant, so it’s been a while. And we didn’t speak at that party. She and my father ignored me.

  “Hello, Pearce.” She says it slowly and quietly, which is different than her usual short, forceful speech pattern. She looks somewhat sad and regretful. It’s almost as though she feels bad for disowning me, which is odd because if she did feel that way, she’d usually try to hide it.

  “Come inside.” I step aside to let her in, and as I do, she notices Garret in my arms.

  She instantly smiles, her eyes on him. “Can I see him?”

  “Of course.” I turn him toward her. “This is Garret. Your grandson.”

  She moves the blanket that’s around his head and just looks at him.

  “Would you like to hold him?” I ask.

  She glances up at me. “Yes.”

  I hand him to her and she smiles at him. “He looks just like you.”

  It’s true. At first I didn’t see it, but the more I look at him, the more I see the resemblance. But he definitely has Rachel’s eyes.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” I motion her to the couch.

  She nods and goes over to it. Once she’s seated, she glances around the room. “So how do you like the house?”

  “I like it very much.” I hope she doesn’t start telling me what a mistake I made buying it. We’ve had that fight and I’m not going to relive it. But I don’t think she’s here to fight. I think she really wants to help. I wonder what my father said about this. I’m sure he wasn’t happy about it.

  “You’re wearing denim pants.” I notice her eyeing them with disapproval. My parents never allowed me to wear jeans. What my parents consider to be casual pants are what most people would consider to be dress pants. This is the first time my mother has seen me in jeans.

  “I wear jeans sometimes when I’m around the house.” I also sometimes wear them when I go out, but I can’t tell her that. She’d be horrified.

  The baby squirms and fusses.

  “Would you like me to take him?” I ask.

  “He’ll be fine.” She bounces him a little. “Have you fed him yet?”

  “No, but it is time for his feeding.”

  “Where’s the kitchen?” She slowly stands up.

  “Right this way.” I take her in there. I have empty bottles lined up on the counter, next to the container of formula.

  “You take him.” She hands him to me. “I’ll get the bottle.”

  I watch as she prepares it.

  “Have you given him a bottle yet?” she asks, screwing the top on it.

  “No. The nurses did, but I didn’t.”

  She notices the family room off to the side and says, “Go sit with him over there.”

  I do as she says, taking a seat on the couch. I turn the TV off. Garret is crying now, his face getting red.

  My mother comes over, a kitchen towel in her hand, which she sets on my shoulder. “You’ll need this in case he spits up. Now lift him up slightly.”

  She hands me the bottle and continues to give me instruction, including how to burp him. I learned all of this in the classes but it’s good to have someone actually here, making sure I’m doing it right. And I’m shocked that that person is my mother. Completely, utterly shocked. The woman is not the nurturing type at all. I certainly don’t remember her that way. I guess that’s not entirely true. There were moments where she expressed care or concern, but they were fleeting moments. I’m not saying she was a bad mother. She just wasn’t someone who gave hugs or tucked you into bed at night. She kept her distance. As long as I was healthy and growing, she felt she was doing her job as a mother. And she always protected me from my father, standing up to him if he ever even considered hitting me. Unfortunately, she wasn’t home that day he took me outside and beat me, but when she found out about it later, she made sure it never happened again.

  After Garret’s feeding, we go upstairs and I put him in his crib. He’s knocked out after eating. I give my mother a brief tour of the upstairs, then the downstairs, and then we sit in the family room again.

  “Do you need to be getting home?” I ask her. It’s now seven, and she usually doesn’t stay out this late without my father.

  “I brought my things.” She smooths her short blond hair. “In case you needed me to stay in the guest room.”

  “Oh, yes, that would be good.” I’m shocked once again. She’s willing to stay here overnight? In this house, which she doesn’t approve of? “I’m glad that you’re staying, Mother, but won’t Father be upset?”

  “I left him a note. I’m sure he’s found it by now.”

  “A note. Why didn’t you just tell him?”

  She straighte
ns up. “Your father and I are not speaking right now.”

  “How long has that been going on?”

  “A month, perhaps? I’ve lost track of how long it’s been.”

  A month? They haven’t spoken for a month? They’ve never gone that long without talking.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t ask, but…what is the cause of your argument?”

  “You,” she says simply. “I want my son back and your father is too stubborn to accept you back into our lives.”

  “It’s because of Rachel, isn’t it? He’ll never accept her. You don’t either, do you, Mother?”

  She sighs. “I have nothing against the woman. She seems intelligent and I’m sure she treats you well. But she doesn’t fit in our family, and you knew that and married her anyway. Obviously, I wish you had married someone else, but it’s too late now and I feel the need to move on from this and move forward with our lives.”

  “I agree, but Father doesn’t feel the same way.”

  “He’ll have to get over it. This has gone on long enough and I will not allow it to continue. You’re our only son and we haven’t spoken to you for a year and a half. I had to find out about Rachel’s pregnancy from Victoria. Do you know how humiliating that was? Victoria Sinclair knows before I do?”

  “I would’ve called you, but you wouldn’t accept my calls.”

  “I wanted to, but your father wouldn’t allow it.” She quickly shakes her head, like she’s shaking him from her mind. “But now we have this beautiful grandchild and I am not going to miss out on his childhood. I don’t care what your father says. I am not listening to him when it comes to this.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever heard her this angry. She usually doesn’t show emotion, especially negative emotion.

  “Have you tried talking to him about this?”