Suzanna's Surrender

“Mom!” Each child attached to one of Suzanna's jean – clad legs. At six, Alex was already tall for his age and dark as a gypsy. His sturdy tanned legs were scabbed at the knees and his bony elbows were scraped. Not from clumsiness, Suzanna thought, but from derring – do. Jenny, a year younger and blond as a fairy princess, carried the same badges of honor. Suzanna forgot her irritation and fatigue the moment she bent to kiss them.

“What have you two been up to?”

“We're building a fort,” Alex told her. “It's going to be impregnant.” “Impregnable,” Suzanna corrected, tweaking his nose.

“Yeah, and Sloan said he could help us with it on Saturday.” “Can you?” Jenny asked.

“After work.” She bent to pet Fred, who was trying to push his way through the children for his rightful share of affection. “Hello, boy. I think I met one of your relatives today.”

“Does Fred have relatives?” Jenny wanted to know.

“It certainly looked that way.” She walked over to sit with the children on the steps. It was a luxury to sit, to smell the sea and flowers, to have a child under each arm. “I think I met his cousin Sadie.”

“Where? Can she come to visit? Is she nice?”

“In the village,” Suzanna said, answering Alex's rapid – fire questions in turn. “I don't know, and yes, she's very nice. Big, like Fred's going to be when he grows into his feet. What else did you do today?”

“Loren and Lisa came over,” Jenny told her. “We killed hundreds of marauders.”

“Well, we can all sleep easy tonight.”

“And Max told us a story about storming the beach at Normally.”

Chuckling, Suzanna kissed the top of Jenny's head. “I think that was Normandy.”

“Lisa and Jenny played dolls, too.” Alex gave his sister a brotherly smirk.

“She wanted to. She got the brand – new Barbie and her car for her birthday.”

“It was a Ferrari,” Alex said importantly, but didn't want to admit that he and Loren had played with it when the girls were out of the room. He inched closer to toy with his mother's ponytail. “Loren and Lisa are going to Disney World next week.”

Suzanna bit back a sigh. She knew her children dreamed of going to that enchanted kingdom in central Florida. “We'll go someday.”

“Soon?” Alex prompted.

She wanted to promise, but couldn't. “Someday,” she repeated. The weariness was back when she rose to take each child by the hand. “You guys run and tell Aunt Coco I'm home. I need to shower and change. Okay?”

“Can we go to work with you tomorrow?”

She gave Jenny's hand a quick squeeze. “Carol – anne's watching the shop tomorrow. I have site work.” She felt their disappointment as keenly as her own. “Next week. Go ahead now,” she said as she opened the massive front door. “And I'll look at your fort after dinner.”

Satisfied with that, they barreled down the hall with the dog at their heels.

They didn't ask for much, Suzanna thought as she climbed the curving stairs to the second floor. And there was so much more she wanted to give them. She knew they were happy and safe and secure. They had a huge family who loved them. With one of her sisters married, and two others engaged, her children had men in their lives. Maybe uncles didn't replace a father, but it was the best she could do.

They hadn't heard from Baxter Dumont for months. Alex hadn't even rated a card on his birthday. The child support check was late again – as it was every month. Bax was too sharp a lawyer to neglect the payment completely, but he made certain it arrived weeks after its due date. To test her, she knew. To see if she would beg for it. Thank God she hadn't needed to yet.

The divorce had been final for a year and a half, but he continued to take out his feelings for her on the children – the only truly worthwhile thing they had made together.

Perhaps that was why she had yet to get over the nagging disillusionment, the sense of betrayal and loss and inadequacy. She no longer loved him. That love had died before Jenny had been born. But the hurt...Suzanna shook her head. She was working on it.

She stepped into her room. Like most of the rooms in The Towers,

Suzanne's bedroom was huge. The house had been built in the early 1900s by her great – grandfather. It had been a showpiece, a testament to his vanity, his taste for the opulent and his need for status. It was five stories of somber granite with fanciful peaks and parapets, two spiraling towers and layering terraces. The interior was lofty ceilings, fancy woodwork, mazelike hallways. Part castle, part manor house, it had served first as summer home, then as permanent residence.

Through the years and financial reversals, the house had fallen on hard times. Suzanna's room, like the others, showed cracks in the plaster. The floor was scarred, the roof leaked and the plumbing had a mind of its own. As one, the Calhouns loved their family home. Now that the west wing was under renovation, they hoped it would be able to pay its own way.