The study was a spacious room dominated by a large portrait of Tom Barkley over the fireplace mantel.
Jarrod had introduced Heath to the family – Mrs Barkley, Nick and Audra – and now they were sipping their drinks and conversing.
Mrs Barkley was… regal. He couldn't find a better definition. She seemed to be walking on air, graciously sliding instead of walking. But, her eyes were kind. And, curious. And, smart. She was something, indeed. His sister, Audra, was beautiful like a princess from a fairy tale. Her sweet smile, those pretty dimples, that perfect little nose, were immediately able to raise inside his heart feelings he had never felt for anybody before: affinity, endearment, kinship and a fierce sense of protection. Could it really happen so quickly?
His brother Nick was another story. He was a tall, very confident man who could be in his late twenties, and who – he had learned - was the one in charge of the ranch. Jarrod had told him in no uncertain terms that they were going to hire Heath. Consequently, Heath had had to face a barrage of questions from the man about his working abilities, the last place he had worked, where he came from. Heath had tried to be honest without revealing too much about himself, but Nick seemed to grow increasingly skeptical with every answer Heath had managed to give, making him feel increasingly uneasy, the situation made worst by the furtive glances She – Victoria Barkley, his father's widow – was stealing at him.
After Nick's questioning, he took a look around. Each of them seemed to be in perfect harmony with each other and in the luxury surrounding them. He was the one out of place.
And, that portrait. It was looming over him. He couldn't help but turn his eyes toward it and, the more he watched it, the more it seemed to be growing bigger and bigger. It would soon fall from the wall, right on his head. Wouldn't it be ironic? Killed by the portrait of the very man who had never wanted him. Thomas Barkley, his father. The one who had done a quick work of forgetting his mother for good, who had never wanted to know about him, had never cared enough to turn his head to look back at what (who) he had left behind.
In his head, all the bad words people had thrown at them for all those years were echoing, tormenting him. One, above all the others. That word, that had made his life miserable. Suddenly he felt lost. What was he doing there, among these people? He couldn't breathe here. All he wanted to do, now, was to go outside and run, far from these people, away from this house. He wasn't ready to face them, not yet, maybe never. They had done nothing to him, why should he ruin their lives? No, he had seen what he wanted to see, now he had to go before it was too late.
In that moment, Victoria's eyes met his. They stayed that way for a while, it was like she had captured his gaze and wouldn't let it go. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, while he saw her glimpse of recognition and watched her startle. Not without difficulties, he diverted his eyes back to the glass he was holding with so much force his knuckles were white. He gulped down what was still there and put it down on the tray table. Resolutely, he took Jarrod aside. "Jarrod, I'm not staying for dinner tonight" (I am a bastard, I can't sit at the same table with decent people).
"Heath? I don't understand…"
"No reason for me to stay here." (I saw the way your mother is looking at me, Jarrod. I am your father's bastard son!).
"But there's a very valid reason, Heath: you saved my life!"
"Nothing that I wouldn't have done for anybody, Jarrod." (I'm a bastard, Jarrod, just your father's bastard son… I can't do anything good, don't you know that?).
"Heath, please… at least tell me why!"
Wouldn't this brother leave him alone? He couldn't stay one more minute in that house, in that room. He had to put an end to it, and soon. Did Jarrod really want to know why he couldn't stay? Well, he would tell him.
He spoke loudly, coldly, dropping each word like a stone in a pond: "Because I am your father's bastard son!"
Everyone froze and, in the heavy silence that followed, stared at him.
Heath shook his head, in disbelief of what he had just said, then stormed out of the room and out of the house.
Nick was the first to react, beginning to follow him, but Victoria put a hand on his chest. "Nick, don't.", she said, and that was enough for her son to abstain from moving further.
Victoria couldn't sleep. Heath. Heath was all she could think about. The thought of the young man who had declared to be her late husband's son was haunting her. She knew what he had said could be true. He had said to Nick he was from Strawberry and that he was twenty-four. Right place, right time.
But it wasn't just that. She had seen something in him at first sight.
Sitting on her bed, she reached for the portrait on her night table. Her Tom and herself on the day they had married. She caressed the picture. "Oh, Tom", she said, as she felt the tears immediately fill her eyes. She had never stopped missing him. On the contrary, she missed him more day after day.
And now, this boy had come. This young man… that she knew was special. She could see it under the surface. Beyond the shyness there was pride. Beyond the apparent simplicity there was a vivid intelligence. Beyond the cynicism there was charm. Beyond the bitterness there was a yearning, a need to belong. It was so clear to be seen. She could see it very well. And his eyes. So much like his father's.
She smiled, sadly. "Like his father's", she repeated in a whisper. The thought had formed in her mind as a matter of fact. She had no doubts: Heath was Tom Barkley's son.
"Mother, may I come in?", she heard her daughter's voice from beyond her door.
"Yes, darling", she replied, putting the portrait back on the night table.
Audra came in and sat on the bed, beside her mother. Like in a déjà-vu, Victoria watched her daughter as she took her parents' portrait and caressed it, in the same exact way she had done just five minutes before. Audra watched the portrait for a long time, thoughtfully. Then, she put it back and looked at her mother.
"Mother, do you think it could be true what Heath said? Is he my brother?".
"Yes, I do, darling. I do think he is indeed your brother".