too busy tryin' to run the government." Silence, then, "Sorry. Guess I shouldn't have brought up that subject."
"It's okay. Really. Confrontation between Johnny and my father isn't exactly news, is it?"
"Glad you don't take it personal. Hey, I got another call comin' in. I'll drop this kit by your place first thing in the mornin'."
The phone went dead and Leah gently replaced the receiver onto the cradle. A clock on the wall ticked. Through the closed windows the distant traffic sounded like the hum of insects as the Caller ID continued to shimmer WHITEHORSE FARM into the dark.
For that instant before grabbing up the phone, she had believed the caller to be Johnny Whitehorse.
But why would he be calling, especially after she had verbally blasted him earlier that day? After she had once vowed to love him forever, to spend her life rejoicing in his spirit and body and children—then, with none of the emotion ripping apart her insides, declared to his wounded eyes that their relationship had been a mistake from the beginning. Their lives were a universe apart. A forever relationship simply would not work—not between them.
Why had her heart tripped at the thought of speaking with him again? She had long since buried her feelings for Johnny in a deep grave of denial. She could not possibly love a man who would intentionally strike out at her father so maliciously. Her father had been right about Johnny. He was a hothead. A troublemaker. A user. His only aim in romancing her had been driven by a nasty need to avenge his father.
Why had apologies over her behavior earlier in the day bombarded her brain like neurotransmitters gone amok?
But most frustrating: Why was she disappointed that the caller had turned out to be Roy Moon, and not Johnny? Why, in those seconds as she raised the receiver to her ear, had anticipation flooded her with a rush of adrenaline that now, in its tide of withdrawal, left her feeling nauseated and irritable … not to mention stupid?
The back door opened and Shamika's voice rang out. "Home at last. I got to have a wee-wee and then we are going to chow down on Spaghetti-O's. Is that cool?"
"Cool," came the childish, slightly slurred response, making Leah smile.
She moved to the kitchen where her son sat in his wheelchair, smiling over the prospect of eating Spaghetti-O's for supper. His blue eyes brightened when he saw her. His head wobbled and he struggled to sit up straight. One hand opened and closed in his way of saying, "I want you. Come hug me."
To hold Val now was probably foolish; his immune system was not the greatest. A simple cold could sometimes put him to bed for a week. Leah reminded herself of that as she crossed the kitchen, went down on her knees, and unbuckled the straps and braces that kept him anchored to the back of his chair.
His smile widened and laughter bubbled like spring water through his lips. "Mama hold me?" he asked.
"Yes, Mama is going to hold you," she replied.
"Mama hold Val tight?"
"So tight you're going to squeak."
Wrapping her arms around her son, Leah lifted him out of the chair. She swayed unsteadily, his weight, at sixty pounds, more than half of her own. He rested his head on her shoulder, his lips near her ear as she gripped him fiercely, her eyes closed to allow the swell of feeling in her chest to radiate through her body.
"Mama love?" he asked softly.
"Oh yes. Mama loves." She smiled. "Mama loves you more than life."
Shamika regarded them from the door. "I knew you couldn't stand it for much longer."
"The fever is broken. I'm feeling much better."
"Good. Maybe you'll join us for some Spaghetti-O's."
"I'm not feeling that good."
Laughing, Shamika searched through the pantry and exited with a family-sized can. As Shamika rummaged through the cupboard for a saucepan, Leah kissed her son's warm head, enjoying the smell of sunshine that had been absorbed by his skin; then she studied his clothes, which were linted by animal hair.
"Why were you late?" she asked Shamika.
"Got caught by Estelle Wright, and you know what that means. She's got to tell everybody everything that's happened since the last time we saw her."
Leah turned Val's hands over and studied his palms, stained by oily dirt—the sort that coats a person's skin when stroking a sweating horse.
"You've taken him to Rockaway Ranch again, Shamika. If you're going to do something behind my back, you might consider cleaning