Come the Night. Susan Krinard
and he’d changed his mind.
This was his world. She had stepped into it whether she’d intended to or not. All that mattered was that he had a couple of days to find a chance to talk to Toby alone. It wouldn’t take many questions to find out how Toby felt about being part-human…or if Gillian had done anything to make him feel bad about it, deliberately or otherwise.
Ross shoved his hands into his pockets and scanned the street. Automobiles and streetcars puttered up and down Surf Avenue, narrowly avoiding the hordes of pedestrians that crossed boldly in front of them. Gillian had said that she and Toby would arrive in a limousine. There weren’t too many of those on Coney Island these days; ever since the new subway extension had been put in and the beaches had opened to the public, Manhattan’s most humble citizens had become the majority of the island’s visitors.
That wouldn’t bother Toby, Ross was certain. There wasn’t a prejudiced bone in his body; he was a democrat at heart. And when he got a look at the Thunderbolt…
Ross caught himself. He’d never suspected how easy it would be to slip into that dangerous kind of thinking. There was no logical basis for it; he’d spent less than an hour with Toby yesterday, and yet he already thought he understood the kid just because he’d had something to do with bringing the boy into the world.
All he really knew was that Toby had any normal child’s appreciation for hot dogs and amusement parks. That he didn’t share all his mother’s views. And that he was brave, smart and determined to get what he thought he wanted.
Ross had believed the same things of Gillian when they’d met. Brave and smart and willing to throw caution to the winds once she’d decided that she wanted a doughboy boneheaded enough to wear his heart on his sleeve.
A young man and his girl brushed by Ross, hand in hand. Ross watched them walk through Luna Park’s garish entrance. Gillian’s qualities and his former relationship with her, good or bad, had little to do with his purpose now. The whole point of this meeting, and any others he could finagle, was to determine if Toby was safe and happy.
The first step had been convincing Gillian that there wouldn’t be any harm in letting him see his son. He’d played her the same way he played suspects, harsh at first and then gradually relenting, so that she started to think he was harmless. Reasonable. Willing to compromise.
Ross loosened his tie as the sun emerged from behind a cloud, reflecting heat up from the sidewalk under his feet. Obviously Toby hadn’t realized that he was part human until he’d found the diary. But had he sensed something amiss, something he could never quite define?
He’s eleven years old, for God’s sake. He didn’t act like a kid who’d had a difficult upbringing. But Ross couldn’t ignore the possibility that Toby was hiding his own private fears—fears he wouldn’t share with his mother. If there was any chance that Toby was going to suffer just for being Ross’s son, Ross wanted to know about it. If the kid was going to grow up feeling that something was wrong with him, Ross intended to do whatever was necessary to make sure that didn’t happen.
A few days was all Ross had to get at the truth. Gillian hadn’t given in because she had any regard for him; she’d just realized that he wasn’t going to walk away quietly, and that compromise was better than an outright battle.
Still, Ross knew she would never have let Toby anywhere near him if she’d heard about the scandal. The longer she stayed in New York, the more likely she was to run across that information. She’d said that Toby had an idealized image of the father he’d never known. And ideals…they had a way of crumbling under your feet when you least expected it.
The blare of a horn interrupted Ross’s thoughts. A black limousine pulled up at the kerb, and a uniformed chauffeur got out. Ross beat him to the back door and opened it.
Gillian looked up at him from beneath the brim of her rolled silk hat, and he caught his breath. Nothing in her appearance had changed since yesterday. That was the problem. She could still make him feel as addled as a schoolboy catching his first glimpse of a girl’s knees.
He held out his hand, and she accepted it, rising from the automobile like a swan unfurling its wings. Her georgette frock, plain enough to be almost severe, was a shade of green that brought out the same color in her eyes. She wore no rouge or lipstick. She needed none.
Damn her.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Kavanagh,” she said. She lifted her head, and her nostrils flared to take in the cacophony of smells that even the least sensitive werewolf would find overwhelming. A large, laughing family bearing baskets stuffed with bread and sausages careened by, trailing the scents of garlic, perspiration and smoke. Gillian watched them recede into the crowd, her face expressionless.
“Hallo, Father!” Toby popped up beside them, nearly bursting out of his blue serge suit. His face was scrubbed pink, his hair was neatly groomed and his shoes had been shined to a mirror finish; he looked as if he ought to have been in church instead of on the boardwalk.
“Hello, Toby,” Ross said, taken aback by the sudden tightness in his throat. “Glad you could make it.”
“So am I.” Toby’s gaze swept over the street, the vividly painted buildings and the people hurrying from one attraction to the next. “It’s even better than I imagined.”
Ross tried to remember when he’d last felt as excited as Toby was now. “Are those the clothes you usually wear when you go to an amusement park?” he asked.
Toby looked down at himself in surprise. “I’ve never been to one before. Mother always insists that I dress like a gentleman when we are away from Snowfell.” He grinned. “But I don’t see any gentlemen around here.”
Ross glanced at Gillian, who didn’t seem to be listening. “Does that bother you, Toby?” he asked. “Would you rather go someplace where your clothes won’t get dirty?”
Toby raised his fair brows in exaggerated disbelief. “You must be joking. I’d much rather wear dungarees like a cowboy, or a jumper and plus-fours like Uncle Hugh.”
“Maybe that can be arranged, once we’re back in the city.”
“Capital!” Toby tapped the leather bag dangling from a strap over his shoulder. “Mother did let me bring my bathing costume,” he said, lifting the bag for Ross’s inspection.
Ross hid his astonishment. Obviously Gillian had no conception of what the beaches would be like, swarming with uncouth human bathers competing for their small patches of sand. His treacherous thoughts shifted, constructing a detailed picture of Gillian in one of those revealing one-piece jersey swimming suits, her curves no longer hidden by a shapeless, low-waisted frock.
“Did your mother bring hers?” he blurted.
This time Gillian was paying attention. Her fair skin went pink. “I do not own a bathing costume,” she said. “We purchased Toby’s at a shop near the hotel.” She looked from side to side as if she were seeking escape. “If you will excuse me, I need to speak to the chauffeur.”
“You don’t have to keep him here,” Ross said. “I’ll make sure you get home safe and sound.”
She hesitated, probably wondering just how far she should trust him. “Yes,” she said. “Of course.” She turned to address the driver, who touched the brim of his cap and returned to the car.
Toby had spent the brief interlude bouncing in place, ready to bolt for the park entrance as soon the adults finished their boring conversation. Gillian moved to take his hand. He shook himself free as unconsciously as a dog shakes water from its back.
Gillian dropped her hands to her sides. “Where do we begin?” she asked.
Her voice was brisk, but there was uncertainty in it. She was as out of place here as Ross had been in the Roosevelt Hotel. Her wealth and perfect breeding bought her nothing in this egalitarian human world. She was lost, and that was exactly how Ross wanted her to feel.
But