She's My Mom Read online

  “Ms. Walters, I’m Detective Corbitt from the Las Vegas Police Department.”

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  He flashed his identification in front of her. She could see he resembled his picture—he was an exceptionally attractive man. “I’ve been working on a missing person’s case,” he began.

  No… A wave of fear washed over her. “Why are you asking me for help?”

  He studied her for an uncomfortably long moment. “Brett?” he called over his shoulder.

  Within seconds, a blond boy, probably junior-high age, and as tall as her five-foot-seven height, materialized at the detective’s side.

  “Brett,” the detective said, “meet Martha Walters. Is she the woman you’ve been trying to find?”

  “Yes, she’s the one.” This boy had been searching for her? Not until now had anyone from her past come forward.

  “Have you been looking for a long time?”

  “Since August twentieth of last year.”

  Martha had been dropped off at the women’s shelter on August twenty-seventh—just one week later. Like a newborn babe, she’d arrived with no memories.

  “How well do we know each other?” she asked the boy.

  He eyed her solemnly. “You’re my mom.”

  Dear Reader,

  I loved books from a very young age and turned into a voracious reader. One story that made a deep impression on me was Random Harvest. I think I first read it when I was a teenager. The title meant little to me, but my mother (who read everything) told me I wouldn’t be able to put it down because it was a story about a soldier with amnesia and the woman who loved him.

  Needless to say, Mother was right! I couldn’t put it down and have reread it many times over the years.

  I have no doubts that the amnesia story I’ve written here, titled She’s My Mom, was inspired by the novel I read so long ago. To be honest, I shed a lot of tears as I wrote about the love the hero and his son have for their wife and mother, who suffers from amnesia. It’s my hope that this will be a satisfying and emotional read for you.

  Rebecca Winters

  P.S. If you have access to the Internet, please check out my Web site at http://www.rebeccawinters-author.com

  Books by Rebecca Winters

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  783—UNTIL THERE WAS YOU

  808—DEBORAH’S SON

  840—IF HE COULD SEE ME NOW

  875—THE FAMILY WAY

  916—THE UNKNOWN SISTER

  981—ACCIDENTALLY YOURS

  1005—MY PRIVATE DETECTIVE

  1034—BENEATH A TEXAS SKY

  She’s My Mom

  Rebecca Winters

  She’s My Mom

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  “WHAT DO YOU THINK of this place now that it’s finished, Brett?” Mr. Stevens owned the construction company that had built the Etoile, the newest hotel-casino in Las Vegas, Nevada. The hotel was shaped like the l’Arc de Triomphe located in Paris at the place de l’Etoile, the place of the star. From the restaurant window, Brett Corbitt could see half the city.

  Twenty-five stories above the ground, it felt as if he was on top of a giant Ferris wheel suspended over the carnival below. But Brett had always lived in Las Vegas so it wasn’t that big a deal. Since the death of his mother six months ago, nothing mattered, anyway.

  “I like it a lot, Mr. Stevens. Thanks for the dinner,” he added at the last second, almost forgetting his manners.

  “You’re welcome.” He turned to his son Mike. “What have you two decided to do now?”

  “Will you take us to Brett’s? We’re going to watch videos and then pitch a tent in his backyard.”

  Mr. Stevens glanced at Brett. “Your dad’s not on duty tonight?”

  “No.”

  “I thought he told me he was, and that’s why he couldn’t come to dinner with us. I guess I was mistaken.”

  “Dad doesn’t like going places anymore, not without Mom,” he murmured.

  “I’ve noticed. He hasn’t come to any parties at our house. Ellen and I have missed him. What a shame. It must be tough on you.”

  Brett didn’t say anything. For a long time now, he wished his dad would just stay at the police station after he got off work. When he was home, all he did was read the paper with the television on, but Brett suspected his father’s spirit was somewhere else. Most of the time when he looked at Brett, it was like he was staring right through him. Like he didn’t exist…

  “Maybe you guys should sleep over at our place,” Mike’s father said.

  “It’s okay, Mr. Stevens. Dad wants Mike to come. It’s just that when he gets home from work, he doesn’t feel like leaving the house again.”

  The older man nodded. “Eventually, that’ll change.” He pushed himself away from the table and got up. “I have to talk to the hotel manager on my way out. I’ll only be a few minutes. Why don’t I meet you guys down at the van?”

  “Okay.” They left the restaurant.

  “Man, I can hardly wait until we’re old enough to come in here and play the slot machines,” Mike muttered to Brett as they entered the hallway.

  Once Brett couldn’t wait to do that either. But without his mom around, he couldn’t care less about being in a casino. Her death had changed everything. It had especially changed his dad.

  He never talked anymore. The pain in his eyes made Brett afraid to ask him personal things, let alone talk to him about her.

  Mike reached the elevators before Brett did. There were six elevators, one for each leg of the arch. Four on the outside, two inside. At eight o’clock in the evening, all of them were packed.

  His friend grew impatient. “Come on. Let’s take the stairs.”

  That was fine with Brett. He hated the tourists who flocked to Las Vegas. Most of them were families with a father and a mother. Everyone looked happy. Brett had forgotten what that word meant. Tears stung his eyes as he raced down the steps behind his best friend.

  Halfway down to the lobby, he saw a maid enter the eleventh-floor door and start up the stairs carrying a stack of towels. He flattened himself against the railing to make room.

  She lifted her head to thank him before moving past.

  “Mom?” he said without conscious thought.

  But there’d been no recognition in her eyes. She kept on going as if she hadn’t heard him. He stared after her until she disappeared behind the door opening on to the twelfth. She never looked back.

  He’d just seen his mother!

  It was her face and body. Her voice.

  His mom wasn’t dead.

  “Hey, Brett? What’s taking you so long?” Mike called from several flights below.

  “I’m coming,” he shouted back, torn between catching up with his friend and running after the woman who had to be his mother.

  Brett was so traumatized by the experience he felt sick to his stomach. It was a good thing Mike’s dad wasn’t long in joining them in the hotel parking lot. Brett managed to pretend everything was fine until they’d driven him to his house in Green Valley.

  After he’d told Mike to go to the den and choose a video, he bolted upstairs for his own bathroom. Up came the steak dinner Mr. Stevens had bought him.

  When his stomach was emptied, he rinsed his mouth and brushed his teeth. T
urning off the light, he left the bathroom only to discover his father standing in the middle of the bedroom, hands on his hips.

  His eyes searched Brett’s face. “How long have you been ill?”

  Brett’s pulse rate shot up. “I—I was fine until I had dessert. Mike’s dad ordered this nasty banana thing. It had alcohol in it and made me sick.”

  “You’re unnaturally pale. I want you to go to bed.”

  “I’m feeling better now. Mike and I were planning to watch videos.”

  “Not tonight. I’ll run him home. When I return, I expect to find you under the covers. I’ll be right back.”

  Surprised that his father had been aware anything was wrong, he wandered over to his dresser and pulled out a neatly folded pair of pajamas. His dad had hired a housekeeper who came in Monday through Friday to clean and cook.

  Mrs. Harmon was nice enough, but Brett still hadn’t gotten used to her presence. Until last year when his mother had taken a job, she’d been a stay-at-home mom. He resented anyone else invading his house.

  When the woman first came to work right after his grandma went back to California, Brett complained to his father about it. In fact he was still angry at him over so many things, he couldn’t wait until he turned eighteen. That was the day he planned to leave home.

  Using his pajama sleeve to brush away the tears, he turned off his bedroom light and climbed under the quilt.

  His mom’s family lived in Oceanside, California. Brett could stay with them till he found a job. His uncle Todd owned a computer company and was a laid-back kind of guy who was a lot of fun, just like Brett’s mom.

  She and his uncle were only fifteen months apart and looked like each other. They both had blond hair and sunny blue eyes.

  The maid had those same eyes.

  “Mom…” He sobbed in the darkness. “It was you. I know it was.”

  GRADY CORBITT PULLED UP in the circular drive of the Stevenses’ estate and stopped at the walkway, which led to the front door. Jim kept the place lit like a Christmas tree.

  It was one of the residential showplaces of Las Vegas, befitting a contractor whose success had recently landed him the job of building a new community south of Las Vegas.

  Jim and Ellen were a great couple, with two children. They’d lived a few doors down from the Corbitts until about thirteen months ago. Mike and Brett were still best friends, but the move had been hard on both of them. It meant riding their bikes to each other’s houses, attending different schools, not getting together as often as they would’ve liked.

  The Stevenses entertained a lot these days, opening their home to everyone. Their son Mike was equally hospitable and generous. Of all Brett’s friends, he was the nicest to have around.

  “Sorry about this, Mike. Maybe you boys can do something tomorrow night when Brett’s over his stomachache.”

  “I didn’t even know he was sick. He ate all his chocolate ice cream.”

  Mike’s comment underlined Grady’s suspicion that something besides food was the reason his son had come home so ill—particularly since the accounts of what they’d eaten didn’t jibe. “Sometimes those things happen fast. He’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” A disappointed Mike got out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Corbitt.”

  “You’re welcome. Do me a favor and thank your dad for me. Next time it’ll be my treat.”

  “Okay.” The boy waved goodbye, then hurried up the path to the front door. The moment he’d disappeared inside, Grady took off for home, anxious to check on his son.

  Once he arrived, he let himself into the house from the garage and took the stairs three at a time. Even before he reached his son’s room, he heard noises coming from inside. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Brett was hallucinating.

  He put his ear to the door. With every sob a torrent of words escaped. He couldn’t quite make them out—except one.

  Mom.

  Grady felt his gut twist a little more. Something was wrong with both of them. They weren’t getting over their grief. Time was supposed to be the great healer, but that was a lie.

  Susan had been gone six months, yet they seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into an abyss of sorrow and depression, a dark place where no light could reach them. Grady needed to do something quickly before he lost his son, too.

  Opening the door, he walked over to the bed and sat down. The mattress shook from his son’s heaving body.

  “Brett?”

  The boy lifted his head. “Yes?”

  “Will you look at me so we can talk?”

  “What about?”

  He squeezed his son’s shoulder. “Your mother.”

  Brett’s breath caught. “I thought you didn’t like talking about her.”

  Grady realized his silence had done a lot of damage. “I was wrong to keep everything bottled up inside,” he said frankly. “When I heard you in the bathroom, I knew it was the pain of losing her that had made you so sick. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been sick during the night, just like you.”

  “You have?” Brett turned over and sat up against the headboard.

  “I’m afraid so. When your mom and I met, we knew we wanted to be together forever. We got married, worked hard and finally had you four years later. She was such an integral part of both our lives, it never occurred to me that she wouldn’t always be with us.”

  “Me, neither,” Brett whispered in a tearful voice.

  “Forgive me for being such an inadequate father to you through this period. I’m going to try to do better. Since it’s the beginning of your spring vacation, what do you say we pack up in the morning and take a trip? I’ve been thinking Disney World in Florida. We could even take one of those cruises around the Caribbean and do some snorkeling.”

  “You mean you can get away?”

  Brett’s incredulity deepened Grady’s guilt over his own blindness toward his son’s grief.

  “Yes. It’s long past time.”

  He felt, heard Brett’s hesitation. “Could we go the day after tomorrow?”

  “What’s so important about tomorrow?”

  “Promise you won’t get mad?”

  Shaking his head sadly, he asked, “Is that what I do?” His sense of guilt kept mounting; not only had he been no support to his son, he’d caused him additional pain.

  Brett averted his eyes. “Not exactly.”

  Grady reached out and hugged him. “I’m sorry I’ve been so unapproachable, Brett. You must know how much I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Dad.”

  After more tears had been shed, Grady sat back again. “Then let’s decide where we want to vacation. I’ll make plane reservations tonight.”

  “I’d rather visit Grandma and Uncle Todd.”

  Grady should’ve seen that one coming. Todd was a strong physical reminder of Susan. But Grady wasn’t ready for that experience. Maybe by Christmas.

  “It might not be a convenient time for him and his family to have visitors, even if we are relatives. I was thinking we should go to a place where we could make some new memories.”

  “Can we at least call him and see?” Brett persisted. “Maybe they could come to Florida with us. Grandma, too. If we don’t leave till Sunday or Monday, it might give them enough time to make plans.”

  What was going on with his son?

  “It’ll probably take them longer than a few days to get ready for a trip like that. Don’t forget Lizzy’s still having problems since her best friend was kidnapped.”

  “I don’t see why. Her friend got rescued from the kidnapper and he’s in jail and now she’s home safe again.”

  “But it frightened Lizzy to think her friend was kidnapped at the park. She’s still afraid to go outside or be left alone. Until her nightmares stop and she feels a lot better, their family’s not going anywhere. What mystifies me is why you don’t want to leave Las Vegas as soon as possible to take advantage of your vacation.”

  Brett�
�s head was bowed. “There’s something I have to do first.”

  “It can’t wait until we get back from our trip?”

  “No.”

  Grady was trying to understand Brett without further upsetting him. “Does this have to do with swim-team tryouts? I thought they were going on all month, so you’ll still have time to do it after we get back.”

  When there was no reply, Grady grew alarmed. He tousled his son’s blond hair. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Don’t you know I’d help you with anything?”

  “Yes” came the quiet admission. “But I don’t know how you’re going to react when I tell you this.”

  Grady’s body tautened. “I promise I’ll handle whatever it is.”

  After a tense interval, Brett raised his head. There was enough light coming from the hallway for Grady to see his son’s haunted expression, and it frightened him.

  “You said Mom and Mr. LeBaron were blown up in the bomb blast, so that’s why there couldn’t be a burial.”

  The blood chilled in Grady’s veins. “That’s right.”

  “Dad…you’re probably not going to believe me, but she didn’t die in the explosion.”

  He stared at his son. Maybe it was time to get some professional help for Brett. Instead of making airline reservations, Grady ought to be seeking out the best psychiatrist he could find.

  His hand went to Brett’s shoulder again. “We’ve been over this ground too often already.”

  “You said you never found their bodies,” he said in a quiet voice. “I remember you telling me that when you’re investigating a bombing, the body’s the definitive proof.”

  Grady promised his son that he’d handle whatever revelation Brett shared with him. Trying to be patient, he said, “There was enough evidence, including parts of their cars gathered at the explosion site, to put our questions to rest.”

  “Maybe someone planted the evidence to make it look like they died in the explosion. I’ve seen that in movies.”