Harvest Moon by Rochelle Alers Read Free Book Online

which had indicated sorrow or grief. She thought perhaps because he was a doctor—who was familiar with death and dying—that he had become an expert in concealing his feelings. It was either that, or his and Oscar’s alienation had vanquished any or all love between father and son.
    She could not imagine not having her father in her life, even though she had spent the first nine years not knowing who he was. Closing her eyes tightly, she mentally dismissed the repugnant family secrets that had forced her twenty-two-year-old pregnant mother to flee Florida and hide from Martin Cole for a decade. If Martin hadn’t gotten his half brother to find her mother, her existence would have mirrored Aaron’s—not knowing where her father resided or whether he was dead or alive.
    She shook her head, not opening her eyes. That was not what she wanted for herself, and, if she ever remarried, for her children.
    “Are you all right, Señora Spencer? Perhaps you would like me to get you something to drink?”
    Regina opened her eyes, realizing the funeral director had returned. His expression mirrored his concern. Offering him a gentle smile, she said, “No,
gracias
, Señor Padilla. I’m fine.”
    And she was. She and Aaron had finalized the arrangements for the graveside service, and within another three days the earth would claim Oscar’s body as it had every existing organism since the beginning of creation.
    Aaron walked into the small, air-cooled antechamber and stared at his father’s cadaver. The sight of the emaciated form numbed him as he stood motionless, holding his breath. The man lying on a table bore no resemblance to the one he remembered. The Oscar Spencer he knew was tall, proud, elegant, not withered with age and disease. The angular face—which hadbeen a collage of African and Native-American features that had afforded him a refined handsomeness both men and women had found attractive—was now a shrunken death mask.
    Scathing, acerbic words he had rehearsed for years died on his tongue, and the longer his gaze lingered on his father’s body the more he knew he had made the most grievous mistake of his life. He should not have permitted a woman to come between them. It should not have mattered that he loved Sharon enough to offer marriage. She should have become the recipient of his venomous fury, not Oscar.
    They had been father and son—bound by blood. And there had been no doubt that his father had loved him, loved him more than he deserved to be loved.
    Turning on his heel, he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He delayed returning to the director’s office, pressed his back to a wall, and struggled for control of his fragile emotions. Covering his face with both hands, he mumbled a prayer of forgiveness.
    “I’m sorry, Dad. I am so sorry, Father.” His voice seemed to rumble in his chest, the very sound of it knifing his heart and leaving him to hemorrhage unchecked. Why hadn’t he followed through after the telephone call? Why hadn’t he hired someone to find his father? The whys attacked him relentlessly as he stood in the shadows, wanting to bellow out his pain and frustration.
    His mother had given up her life giving birth to him, and his father had wasted away slowly in a foreign country without the flesh of his flesh at his side. Pushing himself away from the wall, he retraced his steps and made his way back to the director’s office.
    His tortured gaze impaled Regina as she rose to her feet at his return. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to blame her—blame her for not contacting him sooner. What had she been trying to prove by playing the dutiful little wife and
obeying
her husband’s demands? As he moved closer to her somethingunknown communicated that Regina was anything but a docile or submissive woman.
    He stood over her, his eyes conveying the fury warring within him. “I’m finished here.”
    She tilted her chin and shifted an arching eyebrow. “So am I.”