then ruffled his hair. âSometimes girls are fun.â
âI guess.â
He would find out about girls being fun soon enough, she thought, watching him bolt upstairs. Sheâd brought the portable DVD player he used when they traveled, along with headphones. So the house would be quiet. She couldnât use noise as an excuse not to work.
After booting up her laptop, she did a quick check of e-mail, then opened her Word document. But despite the half-written sentence and the blinking cursor, she couldnât think of a single thing to say.
Everyone always talked about how great she had it. That being a writer was so wonderful. She could workanywhere, at anytime. Which was, in theory, true. But there was also no one else to do the work when she wasnât in the mood, or when life interfered, like now. No meeting to take her mind off her swirling thoughts. At this point she would happily return to her waitressing days rather than try to come up with a few good pages. But that wasnât an option. She could only type and delete until something finally clicked or there was a miracle.
Today the miracle came in the form of someone ringing the doorbell.
Liz saved her pitiful three sentences and got up from the kitchen table. When she opened the front door, she decided miracle wasnât exactly the right word.
Denise Hendrix, Ethanâs mother, stood on her doorstep. The woman was well dressed, fit, attractive and based on the fire spitting from her eyes, really, really upset.
âMay I come in?â Denise asked, pushing past Liz and entering the shabby living room, then facing her. âWeâve never met, but Iâm Ethanâs mother.â
âI know who you are.â
âAnd why Iâm here?â Denise demanded.
As questions went, it wasnât a difficult one. She nodded.
Denise looked around. âWhere is he?â
Liz assumed she meant Tyler. âUpstairs, watching a movie.â
Deniseâs gaze went to the stairs. Longing darkenedher eyes, then faded as the other woman turned back to her. âProbably for the best. You and I need to talk.â
âEthan spoke to you.â Liz made the words a statement.
âYes, he did. He told me youâre claiming to have had his child. A child who is now eleven years old. A boy youâve kept from his entire family.â Denise glared at her. âI told him to be nice and rational. That it would be easier if we all got along.â
âAdvice youâre choosing not to take?â Liz asked, feeling defensive and understanding at the same time. Not exactly a comfortable combination of emotions.
Denise shook her head. âI should, but I canât. Youâve damaged us all, but your boy most of all.â
Liz grabbed hold of her self-control with both hands. Sheâd never thought to ask Ethan to keep the information to himself. She didnât go around talking about her private life with very many people. It didnât occur to her that he would speak to his mother, and so quickly.
But the Hendrix family had always been close. Something sheâd envied when sheâd been younger. Now the warm, loving, supportive mother had been replaced by one who perceived one of her own had been wronged.
âI came back to tell Ethan I was pregnant,â Liz countered, knowing there wasnât actually any point in defending herself, but unable to stop. âIâd been gone about two months. I found him in bed with someone else.â
Denise frowned. âWhich Iâm sure was very painful,but not an excuse to keep that kind of information from him. He was a father. He had the right to know.â
Liz drew in a breath. âYouâre right. He did. Which is why I came back five years ago to tell him. He wasnât home and I spoke to his wife. I told Rayanne everything and she promised to tell him. Less than two weeks later, I received a letter from Ethan telling me that he wanted nothing
âI guess.â
He would find out about girls being fun soon enough, she thought, watching him bolt upstairs. Sheâd brought the portable DVD player he used when they traveled, along with headphones. So the house would be quiet. She couldnât use noise as an excuse not to work.
After booting up her laptop, she did a quick check of e-mail, then opened her Word document. But despite the half-written sentence and the blinking cursor, she couldnât think of a single thing to say.
Everyone always talked about how great she had it. That being a writer was so wonderful. She could workanywhere, at anytime. Which was, in theory, true. But there was also no one else to do the work when she wasnât in the mood, or when life interfered, like now. No meeting to take her mind off her swirling thoughts. At this point she would happily return to her waitressing days rather than try to come up with a few good pages. But that wasnât an option. She could only type and delete until something finally clicked or there was a miracle.
Today the miracle came in the form of someone ringing the doorbell.
Liz saved her pitiful three sentences and got up from the kitchen table. When she opened the front door, she decided miracle wasnât exactly the right word.
Denise Hendrix, Ethanâs mother, stood on her doorstep. The woman was well dressed, fit, attractive and based on the fire spitting from her eyes, really, really upset.
âMay I come in?â Denise asked, pushing past Liz and entering the shabby living room, then facing her. âWeâve never met, but Iâm Ethanâs mother.â
âI know who you are.â
âAnd why Iâm here?â Denise demanded.
As questions went, it wasnât a difficult one. She nodded.
Denise looked around. âWhere is he?â
Liz assumed she meant Tyler. âUpstairs, watching a movie.â
Deniseâs gaze went to the stairs. Longing darkenedher eyes, then faded as the other woman turned back to her. âProbably for the best. You and I need to talk.â
âEthan spoke to you.â Liz made the words a statement.
âYes, he did. He told me youâre claiming to have had his child. A child who is now eleven years old. A boy youâve kept from his entire family.â Denise glared at her. âI told him to be nice and rational. That it would be easier if we all got along.â
âAdvice youâre choosing not to take?â Liz asked, feeling defensive and understanding at the same time. Not exactly a comfortable combination of emotions.
Denise shook her head. âI should, but I canât. Youâve damaged us all, but your boy most of all.â
Liz grabbed hold of her self-control with both hands. Sheâd never thought to ask Ethan to keep the information to himself. She didnât go around talking about her private life with very many people. It didnât occur to her that he would speak to his mother, and so quickly.
But the Hendrix family had always been close. Something sheâd envied when sheâd been younger. Now the warm, loving, supportive mother had been replaced by one who perceived one of her own had been wronged.
âI came back to tell Ethan I was pregnant,â Liz countered, knowing there wasnât actually any point in defending herself, but unable to stop. âIâd been gone about two months. I found him in bed with someone else.â
Denise frowned. âWhich Iâm sure was very painful,but not an excuse to keep that kind of information from him. He was a father. He had the right to know.â
Liz drew in a breath. âYouâre right. He did. Which is why I came back five years ago to tell him. He wasnât home and I spoke to his wife. I told Rayanne everything and she promised to tell him. Less than two weeks later, I received a letter from Ethan telling me that he wanted nothing
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