Page 54 of Summer Weddings

I n all the years Mitch had lived in Hard Luck, he’d seen very few mornings when Ben wasn’t open for business.

Mitch wasn’t the only disgruntled one. Christian met him outside the café. “Do you think Ben might have overslept?”

Mitch doubted it. “Ben?” he asked. “Ben Hamilton, who says he never sleeps past six no matter what time he goes to bed?”

“Maybe he decided to take the day off. He’s entitled, don’t you think?” Christian asked.

Mitch had thought of that, too. “But wouldn’t he put up a sign or something?”

Christian considered this, then said, “Probably.” He frowned at his watch. “Listen, I’m supposed to meet Sawyer over at his place.”

“Go ahead.” It was clear Christian had the same fears as Mitch. Something was wrong. “I’ll check things out and connect with you later,” he promised.

Ben’s apartment was situated above the café.

Mitch had never been inside, and he didn’t know anyone who had.

Ben’s real home was the café itself. He kept it open seven days a week and most holidays.

Occasionally he’d post a Closed sign when he felt like taking off for a few days’ fishing, but that was about it.

The Hard Luck Café was the social center of town, the place where people routinely gathered. Ben was part psychologist, part judge, part confidant and all friend. Mitch didn’t know a man, woman or child in town who didn’t like him.

Growing increasingly worried, Mitch went around to the back door that led to the kitchen. After a couple of tentative knocks, he walked into the dark, silent café. Flicking on the light switch, the first thing he noticed was shattered glass on the floor.

“Ben!” Mitch called out, walking all the way inside.

Nothing.

The door to the stairs leading to Ben’s apartment was open, and Mitch started up, his heart pounding in his ears. He paused halfway, afraid of what he might find. If Ben was dead, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d come upon a body. The last had been when he’d found Lori.

He broke out in a cold sweat, and his breathing grew shallow. “Ben,” he said again, not as loudly. It was another moment before he could continue upward.

The apartment itself was ordinary. A couch and television constituted the living room furniture. Small bath. Bedroom. Both doors had been left ajar.

“Ben?” he tried once more.

A moan came from the bedroom.

More relieved than words could express, Mitch hurried into the room. Ben was sprawled across the bedspread. It took him a full minute to sit up. He blinked as if the act of opening his eyes was painful.

“Are you all right?” Mitch asked.

Ben rubbed a hand down his face and seemed to give the question some consideration. “No,” he finally said.

“Do you need me to call Dotty? Or take you to the clinic?”

“Hell, no. She can’t do anything about a hangover.”

“You’re hung over?” To the best of his knowledge, Ben rarely drank.

Ben pressed both hands to his head. “Do you have to talk so blasted loud?” He grimaced at the sound of his own voice.

“Sorry,” Mitch said in an amused whisper.

“Make yourself useful, would you?” Ben growled. “I need coffee. Make it strong, too. I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”

Mitch had the coffee brewing and had swept up the broken glass by the time Ben appeared, his eyes red-rimmed and clouded. His gaze shifted toward Mitch before he took a stool at the counter.

Mitch brought him a cup of coffee the minute it was ready.

“Thanks,” Ben mumbled.

“I’ve never known you to get drunk,” Mitch said conversationally, curious as to what had prompted Ben’s apparent binge.

“First time in ten years or more,” he muttered. “It was either that or… I don’t know what. There didn’t seem to be a whole lot of options. Fight, I guess, but there wasn’t anyone around to punch. Not that it would’ve done any good, since I had no one to blame but myself. Damn, but I messed up.”

“Can I help?” Mitch asked. He’d often gone to Ben for advice about something or other, including his feelings for Bethany.

Most of his visits had been on the pretext of wanting a cup of coffee.

It appeared that the tables were turned now—so to speak—and if he could assist Ben in some way, then all the better.

“Help me? No.” Ben shook his head and instantly seemed to regret the movement. He closed his eyes and waited a moment before opening them again.

“You want me to make you breakfast?” Mitch asked. “I’m not a bad cook.”

He couldn’t tell whether Ben was taking his offer into consideration. Lowering his head, Ben muttered something Mitch couldn’t hear.

Mitch leaned closer. “What did you say?”

“Have, ah…have you seen Bethany this morning?”

“No.” He’d actually come to tell his friend what had happened between them last night and—once again—seek his advice.

“Have you tried calling?”

“No.”

Ben gave a slight nod in the direction of the phone. “Call her, okay?”

Mitch looked at his watch. “It’s a little early, isn’t it?”

“Maybe, but try, anyway.”

Mitch wasn’t keen on the idea. “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to ask her?”

Ben propped his elbows on the counter and covered his face with both hands. He rubbed his eyes, and when he glanced at Mitch they seemed to glisten. “I didn’t know,” he said in a frayed whisper. “I…never knew.”

“What didn’t you know?” Mitch asked.

“Marilyn was pregnant.”

Ben might as well have been speaking in a foreign language for all the sense he made. “Who’s Marilyn?” Mitch asked in calm tones.

Ben dropped his hands. “Bethany’s mother.” He paused. “Bethany’s my daughter. I’m the reason she came to Hard Luck, and when she told me… I pretended I never knew any Marilyn.”

“You mean—”

“Yes!” Ben shouted, pounding his fist on the counter. “I’m Bethany’s father.”

Mitch swore under his breath.

“It was the shock. I… I never guessed. Maybe I should have… I don’t know.”

Mitch sat on the stool next to Ben, feeling the weight of his friend’s burden as if it were his own.

“When she told me, I denied ever knowing her mother and then—” his face contorted with guilt “—I said some things I regret and sent Bethany away.” Ben wiped impatiently at his eyes. “She ran out of here, and now I’m afraid she won’t be back.”

“I’ll talk to her if you like.” Although Mitch was happy to make the offer, he didn’t know if he’d be a help or a hindrance. His own track record with Bethany wasn’t exactly impressive.

“Would you?” Ben clung to Mitch’s words like a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea.

“Sure.” Mitch needed to see her for his own reasons, anyway.

“I’ll do it right away,” he said, eager now to find her.

They’d parted on such cool terms Bethany might not be as eager for his company.

But Mitch was willing to risk her displeasure.

She needed him. When he’d been in pain and grief, she’d been there to comfort him.

Ben’s rejection must have left her reeling.

Mitch suddenly understood how important it was to be the one to console her.

“Tell her…” Ben hesitated, apparently not knowing how to convey his message. “Tell her…” he began again, his voice weak. His eyes brightened and he drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “That I’m proud to have her as my daughter.”

In Mitch’s opinion, Bethany should hear those words from Ben himself.

* * *

Mitch left the café, and Ben was alone once more to deal with the pain and the guilt that had accompanied him most of the night. Even the brandy hadn’t dulled the shock.

He had a daughter.

The words still felt awkward on his tongue.

Getting used to the idea was going to require some doing.

What bothered him most was the thought of Marilyn struggling alone, without him.

It stung a little to know she’d married someone else so soon after his departure.

But he couldn’t blame her. What was she to do, pregnant with his child and unable to let him know?

Even if he’d learned the truth, he didn’t think he could’ve helped her the way she needed.

He might’ve been able to marry her. Maybe that could’ve been arranged.

But he was at war, and it wasn’t like he could call time-out while he dealt with his personal problems. The navy wouldn’t have released him from his obligations because he got a college girl pregnant.

If there was any one thing Ben regretted most about the past, it was returning Marilyn’s letter unopened.

It hurt him almost to the point of being physically ill to think about her alone and pregnant, believing he didn’t care.

The truth of the matter was that he’d loved her deeply.

It had taken him years to put his love for her behind him.

She’d done the right thing in marrying this other man, he decided suddenly. Ben wouldn’t have been a good husband for her, or for any woman. He was too stubborn, too set in his own ways. It was easier to comfort himself with those reassurances, he realized, than deal with all the might-have-beens.

The fact was, he’d fathered this child. Except that Bethany wasn’t a child. She was an adult, and a mighty fine one at that. Any man would be proud to call her daughter.

Bethany. Ben would give anything to take back the things he’d said to her. It was the shock. The fear, too, of her wanting something from him when he had nothing to give—emotionally or financially. He couldn’t change the past or make up to Marilyn and Bethany for what he’d done—and hadn’t done.

Ben poured a second cup of coffee in an attempt to clear his head. His temples still throbbed—enough to convince him not to seek solutions in a bottle again.

There was a knock at the front door. He’d forgotten that he’d left it locked. With a definite lack of enthusiasm, he shuffled across the café and unlatched the bolt. To his surprise, he saw it was Mitch.

“She’s gone,” Mitch announced, sounding like a man in a trance.

“Bethany gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“I just saw Christian. Duke flew her out this morning.”