you understood I was doing it for you, that you wanted it as much as I did."
"I never wanted it," she cried. "Even when Mama was alive, I begged her to make you stay home."
He remembered that, but he and Erin had thought it was just a child's desire to keep both parents close.
"Mrs. Norwood was always the one who went to my school programs, met with my teachers, took me to the doctor, read to me and sat up with me when I was sick or too frightened to sleep. It was never you. I wanted it to be you. Just once I wanted to be more important than your work."
He hugged her again. "You are more important. You always have been. I didn't know what I was doing to you, but I do now and I'll never do it again."
"You'll go back to Geneva tomorrow. You'll - "
"I broke off negotiations this morning. I'm not going back."
"You didn't do it because of me."
"I realized the negotiations were not the most important thing in my life, and I didn't have the desire to stay there and pull them back together. I wanted to be back here with you."
"Did you really walk out of that meeting?" Cynthia obviously found it hard to believe.
"You can ask Kathryn." She had just returned to the room. "She saw me do it."
"Do you really mean to stay home?"
"I've decided to let Ben and Ted handle all trips abroad from now on. I don't know what I'll do, but I won't go far from home."
"Promise?" Cynthia looked like she didn't dare believe him.
"Promise. You'll never know what agony it has been to learn you wanted a baby to love you because you didn't feel your father loved you. If it takes the rest of my life, I promise to make you believe that was never true."
Cynthia's resistance collapsed. She put both her arms around him and started crying, deep, hiccupping sobs that shook her body. Ron's arms tightened around her as he fought the unfamiliar feeling that he was about to cry himself.
Kathryn tugged at Arthur's sleeve. "I think we should leave them alone for a few minutes," she whispered. She tiptoed out of the parlor, Arthur following.
"I need to talk to Cynthia," Arthur said as soon as they were outside. "We didn't get a chance to say much before you two turned up."
"Tomorrow might be a better time."
"She won't see me. I had to threaten to climb in through the window tonight." He looked back at the door into the parlor. "I have to talk to her father, too."
"I think that ought to wait."
"No. I know what I did was terrible, but I've got to do what I can to make it right. I've got to talk to him. I'm going to wait."
"Do your parents know where you are?"
"They think I'm with a friend."
"Don't you think you ought to give them a call?"
"I guess so."
"There's a phone in my office." She pointed to a door down the hall then watched as Arthur moved as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. His shattered world, she thought to herself. Just like her sister so many years ago. Why did it have to happen over and over again? Was it impossible to make young people understand what they were doing before it was too late?
Probably. With Mother Nature doing all she could to propagate the species, man's efforts at restraint were puny by comparison.
Kathryn didn't think Arthur should talk to Ron tonight, but she admired the boy for having the courage to accept his responsibilities. But as hard as it would be to face Cynthia's father, she imagined it would be still harder to face his own parents. She remembered what happened when her sister tried.
"Did you get your parents?" Kathryn asked when Arthur came back into the hall.
"Yeah. It's okay for me to be late."
"Why don't you wait in the TV room?" Kathryn said.
"Will you wait with me?"
"Sure. Don't worry about Cynthia's father. His bark is worse than his bite."
Arthur attempted a weak smile. "Glad to hear that. His bark nearly killed me."
They talked about unrelated things until Ron found them twenty minutes later. He looked unhappy to see Arthur was still there.
"I thought you'd be gone," he said.
"I wanted to talk to you."
Ron couldn't revive his anger. Cynthia's admission that a lot was her fault made it Ron's fault. If he'd been the kind of father he should have been,