And so he'd lost his only child.
And if Charlotte found out what he'd done, found out what had really happened to Jeff, he'd lose her, too.
But it didn't have to be that way, he thought. If he could only convince her that Jeff's problems weren't physical at all, convince her that their son had simply suffered a mental breakdown and needed a period of rest, perhaps she would never have to know the truth.
Perhaps Ames would find a cure and Jeff would be fine.
Or perhaps…
He deliberately shut his mind to the other possibility, telling himself that it wouldn't happen. It would be just as Jerry Harris had told him that afternoon.
"I don't want you to worry about a thing," Harris said after calling Chuck into his office. "I've talked to Marty Ames, and he thinks there's a good chance of turning this around. And you can count onTarrenTech. Whatever Jeff needs, he's going to get." They'd talked for a while, and Harris assured him that no matter what happened, both Jeff and theLaConner family would be taken care of. "And after this is over," Harris had said, "you can take Charlotte anywhere you want to go. I can't imagine you'll want to stay in Silverdale, not after this. But it's a big world, and we're a big company. And we take care of our own."
Even through his grief and guilt, Chuck had understood the message perfectly. What had happened to Jeff was going to be swept under the carpet, and neither the situation-nor his part in it-were ever going to be made public.
For a moment he'd hated Jerry Harris, hated him as much as he'd ever hated anyone in his life. But then, once more, that pragmatic core deep within him-the cold, analytical aspect of his personality that had not only made him valuable toTarrenTech over the years, but had led him to weigh the odds for Jeff three years ago and then take what he had thought was an almost risk-free gamble with his own son's life-came to the fore.
There was no point in hating Jerry. After all, hadn't Jerry himself taken the same gamble with Robb's life? And Tom Stevens, with Randy? And how many others?
They were the same, all of them. All of them had the same hopes and aspirations for their sons; the same ambitions for themselves. All of them had gambled.
Most of them had won.
Tom Stevens had lost.
Now he had lost.
But he didn't have to lose everything. He still had his career, and he still had his wife. And he intended to lose neither of those, no matter what it took.
He went to Charlotte and slipped his arms around her. "He'll get better," he promised. "And as soon as he does, then I know he'll want to see you. But for now we just have to let him be." He hugged her close and felt her draw in a deep breath.
"I'll try," she promised. She gazed up at him, her eyes flooding with tears. "But I miss him, Chuck," she went on, her voice bleak. "I miss him so much, and he's only been gone one day."
Chuck said nothing, suddenly unable to speak to her again or even look at her.
Mark closed the book he'd been reading and sprawled out on the bed, his eyes closed. He hadn't been able to concentrate on his homework, and knew he'd have to read the same section over again tomorrow night.
But he didn't care, for while his eyes had been scanning the pages, seeing the words but not really taking them in, his mind had been going back again and again over the events of last night and today.
He remembered the fight-remembered every humiliating moment of it. He'd never had a chance, not from the very beginning, when Jeff had first tackled him. And when it was finally over and he was in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, he'd felt like he was going to die. Nor had he felt much better when he woke up this morning.
But now, after the hours at the sports clinic, he felt fine. Sure, he had a few marks on his face, but the pain was gone, and the wounds seemed to be healing rapidly.
He'd come to a decision sometime during the morning: never again would he allow himself to be beaten up the way JeffLaConner had beaten him up. Even now the memory of it made him angry, and he clenched his right hand into a fist and punched his left palm with a sharp smack.
Startled by the sound,Chivas growled softly. Mark sat up and swung his feet off the bed.
"Things are going to change, boy," he muttered to the big dog, and reached down to scratch the animal's head.Chivas's ears dropped back against his skull. He whined softly, then slithered away from Mark's touch. Mark frowned, annoyed with the dog. But then, noticing the snow for the first time, he forgot his annoyance and went to the window to gaze out at the backyard.
The snow was nearly an inch deep on the roof of the rabbit hutch. Even from here Mark could see the little creatures huddling together in one corner of the cage. "Damn!" he muttered. "They're going to freeze to death. Come on,Chivas."
He left his bedroom and hurried down the stairs,Chivas trailing half-heartedly after him. It was only when he was at the hall closet, fishing his jacket out of the row of coats that hung there, that he noticed the hollow silence in the house. He called out, then shrugged indifferently when there was no answer. Putting on his jacket, he moved through the dining room and kitchen and opened the back door.Chivas barked happily, his mood suddenly changing as the blast of cold air from outside struck his nostrils. He bounded outside, coming to a sudden stop as his feet plunged into the icy chill of snow for the first time in his life.
The dog sniffed at the strange white stuff cautiously, then his tongue came out and licked tentatively at the wet, soft blanket that covered the yard. He took a step forward, hesitated, and with a leap, bounded out into the center of the yard, made three wide loops and rolled in the snow, working his shoulders deep into it. Regaining his feet,Chivas rushed toward Mark and dropped low to the ground, his tail wagging furiously. Mark grinned at him.
"You like this, huh?" he asked. "Well, let me take care of the rabbits, and then we'll find your ball."
Chivas, instantly understanding the reference to his favorite toy, hurtled out toward the back fence, snuffling wildly as he hunted for one of the well-chewed tennis balls he'd hidden in the yard.
Mark zipped his jacket up to his chin and walked quickly out to the rabbit hutch. The rabbits, still huddled together and shivering in the cold, seemed to be looking up at him expectantly.
"You guys getting a little cold?" he asked. "Well, we can fix that, can't we. 'Course," he added, glaring at the little creatures with mock severity, "you might have been warmer if you'd thought of going into your house."
He opened the door of the large cage, reached inside and turned the switch that controlled the single bulb suspended from the roof of the little shelter in the far corner.
The light came on but the rabbits didn't move.
"Come on," Mark urged them. "Don't be so dumb you stay out here and freeze to death!"
He reached toward them to herd them into the shelter. For a moment nothing happened. Then, before Mark could jerk his hand away, the big white male with black spots darted his head toward Mark's hand and nipped his finger. Reflexively, Mark jerked his hand back and stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth. He sucked for a moment, then pulled the finger out and stared at it.
The cut was small but deep, and as he watched, it began to bleed profusely.
"Goddamn it!" he swore out loud, his eyes fixing on the rabbit as a surge of unreasonable fury overwhelmed him. "I'll teach you!"
Reaching into the hutch, he seized the offending rabbit by the ears and dragged it away from its shivering companions. It squirmed in his hands, its hind legs kicking out as it tried to escape. But Mark was oblivious to the little animal's struggles.
He stared at it for a moment, his eyes cold and dead, then he grasped it by the neck.