Lost and Found Groom by McLinn, Patricia (most difficult books to read .TXT) 📗

going to the Sinclairs’ for dinner and maybe overnight.

She had to admit this semblance of calm was for her own sake, not his. She probably could have sobbed out the news and it wouldn’t have fazed her son. The prospect of going to the Sinclairs, where Meg and even Ben catered to his every whim, thrilled Matthew.

“I’ll be in my office upstairs for another hour doing paperwork if you need anything, Kendra.” Fran patted her on the shoulder before following Ellyn and Matthew down the hall.

“We’d best get going, too, Marti,” Luke said to his employer, who still held her daughter’s hand.

“Kendra–” She sounded worried.

“It’s all right, Marti.”

Marti nodded. “That boy’s got a lot of pain in him, but you can help him, Kendra.”

If she’d had time, the change in Marti’s attitude might have astounded Kendra. Instead, she was too focused on the man at the piano to do more than file away the comment.

In another minute the two adults and the little girl had disappeared up the stairs, and Kendra remained alone in the hallway with the haunting music seeping through the old walls.

She quietly opened the door and stepped inside.

Daniel sat on the battered wooden bench, slightly hunched, his eyes open but unfocused as his hands traveled the keyboard. Even from the distance she kept, the gaunt look his face had taken on shocked her. His jaw was darkened by stubble, the area under his eyes darkened by lack of sleep and his eyes themselves darkened by the same kind of pain she heard flowing through the music.

He gave no sign of hearing her.

She stood motionless, except for tears that slipped down silently and relentlessly. Luke was right about the pain in this beautiful music. And Marti was right about the pain in Daniel.

But was Marti right that she could help ease it?

And then the music stopped.

“Kendra.” He still hadn’t looked around.

“Yes.”

“I scared everyone else off, huh?”

“No.”

“I started playing, and . . .”

“It was beautiful.”

He half turned toward her, and she saw his attempt at a grin. It fell far short. “Madame Romaine would be pleased someone thought so. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Not after all the times she gave me grief for not applying myself. She never thought I deserved to create anything beautiful, because I didn’t practice. Didn’t give it my all . . . like everything else in my life.”

“Except flying.”

He didn’t look as surprised as she felt that she’d chosen that example.

“Except flying,” he agreed without inflection.

“And Taumaturgio.”

He said nothing. And before she could probe his silence, he positioned his fingers for a chord, then, instead of pressing all the keys together, he played each note separately.

“Being a father isn’t flying. What if I let Matthew down, like I let Madame Romaine down and–” His fingers curled against the keys. “–the others?”

“I don’t know how you can say that, Daniel.” She moved beside the bench, pressing her hand against her side to keep from stroking his hair as she would to console Matthew. As she had done to Paulo Ayudor during the storm, though then the gesture had brought rather than given consolation. “Think of all the people you helped in Santa Estella. The children. That’s not–”

“Helped? I let people down.”

“How can you say–”

“I flew in, dropped a few miracles with a flourish–showtime!” Even in profile she recognized his grimace. “But how many didn’t I help? Didn’t get to. Couldn’t get the right supplies. Didn’t have the time. So many . . . I failed. Had to fight the system. Tried for more, and lost it all. All those kids I can’t help now. How about them?”

“Maybe it’s somebody else’s turn to help them,” she said gently. “Maybe you can’t do it all.”

He shook his head. “It should be me.”

He slid over on the bench, and she took the invitation to sit beside him. But he stared at his fingers spread on the piano keys.

“All those years, I used to wonder. . . It didn’t add up. But on Santa Estella, it finally made sense.”

“What made sense, Daniel?”

“Why I got out. Why I didn’t die on the streets like so many other kids. Why the Delligattis came into my life. Why my life was the one changed–saved. I wasn’t any smarter or better than any of the rest of them. I stole the same things, told the same lies–It never made sense. But when I was helping those kids on Santa Estella, for the first time, I could see. . . Even the flying. Flying wasn’t just a gift, it was a tool.”

His voice dropped lower and harsher. “But now I’m not doing that–”

So he could no longer see any reason for his luck in escaping a hell that no child should be in.

Don’t waste any sympathy on me. I was lucky. I saw thousands like me, all trying to stay alive. A lot of them didn’t make it.

“It makes sense that the Delligattis rescued you. It makes all the sense in the world, because you’re you. You don’t have to earn that, Daniel.”

He said nothing. Still didn’t look at her. He pressed two keys lightly, first one, then the other.

“Daniel . . .”

Before she had recognized the impulse, her fingers lightly skimmed the scar on his cheek. He went absolutely still as she traced the raised skin with the tip of her finger.

How many scars did he carry inside? From a childhood she couldn’t even imagine. From years of trying almost single-handedly to right the wrongs of an entire country.

And from her?

Had she inflicted scars on him?

I know what it’s like not knowing who your father was. Matthew deserves better than that. He needs better than father unknown. I can’t give him much . . . but by God, I can give him that.

She hadn’t meant to add to Daniel’s scars. She’d meant only to protect Matthew . . . and, yes, herself.

Or had she?

Had she meant to punish him? To make him suffer as she had, first with the fear of not being able to find Paulo after the hurricane, then with the betrayal of realizing the name she’d called out in love belonged