Nightchild

Chapter 23

There was a long silence between them before Nate finally responded. "It's not exactly my style. I don't like gaudy exhibitions of self-importance or self-delusion." His voice was grim.

"But why, Nate?" she asked, unable to take him seriously. "Surely, you're proud of you accomplishments. You don't just throw all that stuff away, do you?

A wry smile twisted the corners of his mouth. "No, I don't throw all that stuff, as you call it, away. It is just stuff. That's all it is. My mother saves it. Has quite a collection over the years. It's all categorized by subject; sports in school, music in college, business later, now music again. If you're really interested I'm certain you'll see it all, but it has nothing to do with who I am.

"You didn't want to keep any of it?"

"Why? For my kids or to impress people? I used to dream about having a family of my own. We haven't discussed it though. You always avoid the subject. Don't you want to have children?"

Blythe became restless and, going to the small hearth, sat down with her back to the firelight, her face masked in shadows. "It's too soon to talk about it. Let's just enjoy us for a while. There's plenty of time to think about it later." The statement was almost a plea, but she went on quickly forcing herself to sound airy. "You're always changing the subject, but I won't be satisfied till you tell me why you feel so strongly about not having those things around. I'd have thought since you wanted a family, it would have been nice to save them to show your children...grandchildren even."

"Well, as old as I'm getting, I won't live to see grandkids unless I get to work on it pretty quickly...if you get my drift," he finished, giving her a lecherous wink.

"I get your drift," she shot back scornfully. "Now, back to the subject."

"You won't be deterred, will you? Oh well," he deigned, going to sit next to her in front of the small arched fireplace, "if you must know, it's a quirk I have because of my father. He collected everything that had to do with himself. We're talkin' pictures, pipes, bowling, tennis, golf trophies, his mother's china and sterling, business awards, his first dollar from the chamber of commerce. And it was all displayed.

"As a kid, I remember I wasn't allowed to touch any of it because it was his. He'd bring drinkin' or bowling or fishing buddies to the house and I'd listen to him drone on and on about this or that thing he'd done, till I'd get sick and have to leave the house.

"You see, he cared so much about all that stuff, lavished so much attention on it but he didn't give a damn about my mother or me. Hell, I was fifteen before I found out Mother had been an excellent musician herself. But when he was around, everything she'd ever had or loved or been was taken away from her. Then, one by one, he managed to eliminate every piece of her past...her life."

"But how? How could she have let him?"

"Good question. The answer to which I've never been able to discover. But it happened. Then later when I won awards in scouts or sports, he didn't care, didn't want to see or be bothered with the mess...that's what he called it, the mess. So Mother kept it all packed away in the bottom of one of her drawers.

"When we came home that day and he was gone, so were all his things, every last bit of it. After that, Mother started filling the empty spaces with my stuff and she's been doing it ever since. Only now, she has her own quarters and I don't have to look at it except when I'm there visiting. Usually, she comes here though. There's a cement path the entire way to the cottage and the nurse brings her in the wheelchair. Getting out and into fresh air does them both good."

Blythe wasn't interested in hearing about the invalid who obviously held such power over her husband, knowing only too well she would soon have to meet the formidable lady. There would be more than enough time later to find out all she wanted to know about the granddame, as she had begun to think of her, that seemed to wield her illness about, as one would a sword to get what she wanted. Her curiosity was sparked, however, by the mysterious disappearing Robert Stevens and she asked eagerly, "Do you know what happened to him, your father? Someone, somewhere, must have heard from him."