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“It’s true.” Bliss’s eyes clouded with genuine worry. “There were a few boys about Stephen’s age at the ceremony, and more here.” Her gaze swept the area. “But it’s easy to
get lost in this place.”
Tiffany’s stomach, already tense, tightened another notch. “You don’t mind if we look around?”
“Of course not. Dad will be thrilled that you’re here,” Bliss said.
“Not if he found out I came here because I lost his grandson.” Why did her tongue still trip over the word?
Bliss nodded. “But you should let him know. He does care about you and your kids. I know that sounds weird, considering all that’s gone on and how he dealt with you in the past, but I’ve seen firsthand the pain he’s been going through, the struggles. He would want to help find Stephen, and he’d be mad as a hornet if we didn’t let him know Stephen was missing.”
Tiffany’s heart was drumming, her pride dissipating by the minute. “I’ll take all the help I can get,” she said fervently. When J.D. had suggested coming to this party, she’d been reticent, but a part of her had hoped that she would locate her rebellious son, stay long enough not to offend anyone, then hightail it back to her house. Now, all she wanted was to find Stephen.
“He’s not here,” she whispered to J.D.
“We don’t know that yet.”
Again, Tiffany searched the faces of the people talking in small clusters. She recognized a few of the townspeople, and several of the kids, but she didn’t see any sign of her son. Music filtered through the throng. On the dance floor Brynnie, dressed in a lacy creamy-white gown that showed off her ample cleavage, smiled radiantly up at her new husband. Her flame-colored hair was pinned in curls to her crown and decorated with tiny rosebuds and sprigs of baby’s breath. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, merriment fairly oozing from her expression.
For a second Tiffany forgot her worries and watched as John Cawthorne twirled his bride around the makeshift floor, dancing as if he were a man twenty years younger, a man who didn’t fear another heart attack or facing the Grim Reaper. Dressed in a gray tuxedo, he swirled and dipped, causing Brynnie to laugh out loud.
They stared into each other’s eyes as if they were high-school sweethearts about to embark upon a new adventure instead of two older people who had kept up a clandestine love affair for years; a man and woman who had brought an illegitimate daughter into the world and let another man claim that child as his own. Katie had grown up thinking Hal Kinkaid was her father. Neither her mother nor her biological father had discouraged the lie—until a few months ago.
John was an adulterer, a cheat and a liar. Brynnie was a loose woman who had married a string of men before finally claiming the love of her life as her husband. There had been lies, neglect, dishonor and betrayal; but tonight, under a kind, pearlescent moon, with romantic music filling the air and champagne flowing from a silver fountain, Brynnie and John looked for all the world like a couple in love.
Like they belonged together.
Tiffany’s heart tore. She would never be a part of her father’s life. It had been his choice when she was a child, it was hers as an adult. Her throat was hot, her eyes burned a little as she turned to J.D. “I don’t see Stephen.”
“Neither do I, but I’m going to start asking some questions. Why don’t you walk around, see if there is anyone here he might hang out with?”
“Okay,” she said and started working her way through the crowd. She smiled at people she met, managed a few words to those she knew, but her eyes were forever moving, hunting, seeking a glimpse of her child. She paused beneath the branches of a large locust tree in the backyard and silently prayed that Stephen was all right.
“The bride has requested a snowball dance,” the bandleader said over the microphone before the melody of “The Blue Danube” filled the air. Tiffany was vaguely aware of John and Brynnie dancing as she wended her way through the guests gathered around the dance floor. She saw several boys she recognized but didn’t know their names, and when she questioned one lanky, pimply-faced kid, he said he hadn’t seen Stephen since the end of the regular school year. This is a wild-goose chase. He isn’t here! Dear God, where is he?
“Switch,” the bandleader instructed, and Brynnie and John broke up to pull two unsuspecting people on to the floor. Brynnie nabbed her eldest son, Jarrod, who eased his mother around the parquet as if he’d done it all his life, while John took hold of Bliss’s hand and led her to the middle of the temporary dance floor. Tiffany, though she fought the urge, couldn’t help but watch her father and half sister, smiling, laughing, gliding easily in front of the crowd. To her absolute horror, she experienced a little nudge of envy.
Don’t do this, she warned herself as she edged closer to the dancers.
Bliss looked as though she belonged on the dance floor. She was in perfect step, smiling and laughing, tossing back her head, her cheeks tinged a deep pink, her eyes glimmering as she danced with her father.
As if they’ve done it a hundred times before.
They probably had. Not that it mattered. Tiffany didn’t care. The past was long gone, and right now, her only purpose was to find Stephen. That was why she was here. Nervously she scanned the crowd. Oh, this was getting her nowhere.
“Switch.”
She barely heard the bandleader’s command as she started toward the back door of the house. There was a chance, though slim, that Stephen, if he had come here, was inside.
“Dance with me.” Strong fingers surrounded her arm.
Oh, no.
Her heart sank as she whirled around and faced the man who had sired her. Reflexively, she jerked her arm away. She was about to tell John Cawthorne to leave her alone, just as he had for most of her life, when she realized that over fifty pairs of curious eyes were trained her way. This was her chance. If ever she wanted to pay him back, to mortify him for all those years of neglect, she could simply stomp away and show her utter disdain for a selfish son of a bitch who’d never so much as sent her a birthday gift or a card at Christmas. She could not only personally belittle him but publicly embarrass him at his own wedding reception. If she had the guts.
“I—I—”
“Come on, Tiffany. You’re here. Let’s get to know each other.” His hint of a smile belied the inner torment she saw in his eyes.
