Free Doves Migration by Linda Daly Page B

.”
“You heard Mrs. Honeycutt. That will be all, Beatrice.”
As soon as the young woman exited the room, Michael bent down and
fiercely began kissing Sarah. Within moments, Michael had gratified his
needs, without the tenderness the two of them usually shared. Feeling
bereft and empty--more of a sexual object than someone he loved and
cherished--tears stung Sarah’s eyes.
As Michael pulled his body from her, he looked at Sarah, hoarsely
whispering, “Oh God, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I just needed
you so desperately, I wasn’t thinking. Only reacting.”
Seeing her tears, Michael tried to pull her to him. Feeling Sarah pull
away from his touch, he apologetically said, “Please don’t cry, darling. Did
I hurt you?” Tenderly Michael wiped her tears, still pleading for her to
forgive him.
“You didn’t hurt me, Michael. I just don’t understand what has
happened . . . Why are you behaving so strangely?” she pleaded, looking at
him.
Rolling onto his back, Michael shook his head and sighed, “I overheard
Miranda.”
Sarah gasped, “Oh no . . . Surely darling, you realize Miranda would
never say anything deliberately to hurt you. Anyway, it’s only her opinion.”
“Please stop. When a woman, speaks from the heart and says it as
delicately as she did--that my son is not a man she chooses to share a life
with--this was not something said in haste. Especially, if that woman is
Miranda Brown.”
“Yes, but darling, surely you can’t blame . . .”
Interrupting her, Michael said solemnly, “My darling Sarah, of course
I’m to blame. Not only did I fail my son, but I broke a promise.”
“A promise? I don’t understand.”
“On Emily’s death bed, I promised her I would take care of our son and
make certain he never turned out like my mother. My late wife and mother
never got along--as a matter of fact, Emily despised her. The feeling was
mutual, I’m sure.” Michael looked at Sarah, his eyes showing his deep pain
and anger. “So no matter what you say, Sarah, after hearing Miranda say
my son was more like my mother than my father and me, I had to face the
fact. I’ve failed them both, Emily and Tad.”
“But Michael, you can’t be responsible for taking Emily’s death so
hard and throwing yourself into your work. We all deal with inner grief and
pain differently . . .”
“No.” Michael shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “For
the past several days, I’ve asked myself over and over again if my reason
for leaving Tad for so long was due to grief or an act of cowardliness.”
Sarah said not a word, but silently allowed her husband to express his pain
fully to her. “You see, Sarah, my mother is a difficult and manipulative
woman. I say this not out of malice, nor disrespect, but as a man who is not
blinded by her faults. I honestly don’t know how my father has lasted this
long. The closer we came to New York, the old resentments and bitterness
that I’ve felt most of my life returned, along with the hatred and contempt I
feel for myself in not being a better father to my only son. Do you have any
idea how it feels to come to the realization that you are nothing but a
spineless coward?”
Leaning toward him, with tears streaming down her cheeks, Sarah
gently cupped Michael’s head between her hands. As their eyes locked and
she reassuringly whispered, “Michael Honeycutt, you are no coward! I will
not now or ever allow you to say anything like that again. Over the past
few years, I have come to love and respect you as the most tenderhearted,
caring, loving and fearless man I have ever known. If you overheard
Miranda, then you must have heard Elise’s comments too. What she said is
true. As hard as it was living through that hellish war, the only thing that I
hold near to my heart from that time is you, Michael. The wonderful man
that you are. Now I don’t know anything of your mother or your son, but I
do know you. And if Tad does