The Pagan Stone Page 0,54

were-so happy when she got pregnant with you. You probably don't remember how it was... before. But we were happy. Cathy... Your ma had some problems with the pregnancy, and then it happened so fast, you coming. We didn't even get to the hospital. You come out of her heading up the pike in the ambulance."

Bill glanced away again, but this time-whether Gage wanted to see it or not-it was grief vivid in those faded blue eyes. "And there were some problems, and the doctor, he said there shouldn't be any more kids. That was okay, that was fine with me. We had you, and, Jesus, you looked just like her. I know you don't remember, but I loved you both more'n anything in the world."

"No," Gage said when Bill stopped. "I don't remember."

"I guess you wouldn't. After a while, she wanted another. She wanted another baby so bad. She'd say: Look, Bill, look at our Gage. Look what we made. Isn't he beautiful? He needs a brother or sister. And well, we started another, and she was careful. She took such good care of herself, did everything the doctor said, and no complaint. But it went wrong. They came and got me from work, and..."

He pulled out a bandanna, mopped at tears without any sign of shame. "I lost her, and the little girl we'd tried to make. Jim and Frannie, Jo and Brian, they helped all they could. More than most would. I started drinking, just a little here and there to get through, to get by. But it wasn't enough, so I drank more, and more yet."

His eyes dry again, he shoved the cloth back in his pocket. "I started thinking how it was my fault she died. I should've gone and gotten myself fixed, and not told her, that's all. She'd be alive if I had. Then that hurt too much, so I'd drink some more. Till I started thinking how she'd be alive if we hadn't had you. Hadn't had you, whatever messed her up inside wouldn't be, and she'd still be there when I woke in the morning. Blaming you didn't hurt so much, so I talked myself into seeing that as God's truth instead of a damned lie. Everything was your fault. Lost my job because I was drunk, but I turned that around so I lost my job because I had to look after you on my own. Anything went wrong, it was because of you, then I could drink some more, whale on you, and I wouldn't have to face the truth.

"There was nobody to blame, Gage." He let out a long sigh. "It wasn't anybody's fault. Things just went wrong, and she died. And when she died, I stopped being a man. I stopped being your daddy. What was left of me, your ma, she'd never have looked at twice. So that's the why. That's the long way around the why. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm not asking you to forget. I'm just asking for you to believe that I know what I did, and I'm sorry for it."

"I believe you know what you did, and you're sorry for it. You're well over your five minutes."

With a nod, Bill cast his eyes down, turned to open the door. "I won't get in your way," he said with his back to Gage. "You want to come in and see Cal, or have a beer at the grill, I won't get in your way."

When Bill closed the door behind him, Gage stood where he was. How was he supposed to feel? Was all that supposed to make a difference? All the sorry in the world didn't erase one minute of the years he'd lived in fear, of the years he'd lived in bitter anger. It did nothing to negate the shame or the sorrow.

So the old man got it off his chest, Gage thought as he strode back to the kitchen. That was fine. That was the end between them.

He saw Cybil through the window as she sat on Cal 's back deck drinking her tea. He shoved open the door.

"Why the hell did you let him in? Is that your superior breeding?"

"I suppose. I've already apologized for it."

"It's the day for goddamn apologies." The anger he hadn't let himself feel for his father-the old man wasn't entitled to it-sparked now. And flared. "You're sitting out here thinking I should forgive and forget. Poor old guy's sober now, and