Until You Loved Me (Silver Springs #3)(89)

“A DNA test will prove—or disprove—the relationship. We’ll make sure he takes one before he gives Matisson any money. But won’t that require time?”

“It shouldn’t take too long. Hang on.” She put her phone on speakerphone and used a search engine to pull up several links about paternity tests. “If we can get a sample from Hudson and the PI has a sample from Matisson, we can have an answer in two days.”

“I’ll try to call him,” he said, “try to get him to go home and swab his cheek.”

She knew Hudson wouldn’t be eager to do that. Although he seemed to have accepted the worst—was certainly reacting to it—a small part of him had to be holding out hope, and could hold out hope, as long as he wasn’t staring at proof. That had to be why the DNA test the PI had sent was still sitting in his medicine cabinet. “I’m not sure he will come back.”

“He was that upset?”

She pictured the hopelessness in his eyes. “You should’ve seen his face.”

*

Hudson drove slowly down the street. This was the intersection of Hudson and King, the place he’d been left to die. If not for a random pizza delivery—what if the family who’d ordered pizza that night had decided to cook instead?—and his own stubborn nature, which kept him clinging to life and crying for help, he wouldn’t have survived.

After pulling to the side of the road within sight of that same privacy hedge, he turned off his engine and watched as various vendors came through the neighborhood to deliver furniture, put up shutters, mow lawns and clean houses. When he’d been a child, everyone had made a big deal about his being found here—in such a rich area. He’d always dreamed that his parents were wealthy and they would one day come and rescue him from the orphanage. That he’d have normal Christmases and birthdays, just like other kids. That his folks would put him in Little League or Pop Warner and come watch him play, eager to video the whole thing. That he’d have someone who’d come to his graduation from high school and then college.

Now, when he was thirty-two, his father had finally shown up. But Cort Matisson was a far cry from anything Hudson had ever imagined. He wasn’t a man Hudson could be proud of.

All those dreams seemed silly now...

As soon as the road was clear, he got out and walked over to get a better view of the spot where he’d been abandoned and discovered a crudely lettered Los Angeles Devils sign posted there. “Hudson King—the best quarterback who ever lived—was rescued from this very spot as a newborn babe. Praise God. Go Devils.”

He had to laugh, in spite of everything. Someone else, a Devils fan, must’ve bought the house since he’d been here last, because he’d never seen that before.

“Hey, don’t you dare touch my sign!”

The sun was so bright it was tough to see, but when Hudson turned, he thought he spotted a little old lady standing in the house, peering out at him through a screen door.

“I’m not hurting anything,” he called back, but he heard the screen door squeak open.

Sure enough, it was a little old lady with dated glasses and a white sweater over her dress, even though it had to be eighty degrees. The screen slammed behind her and her walker scraped the cement as she came out to defend her sign. “I’ll just put it back up if you do,” she threatened.

“I was only looking at it.”

“So...are you here to replace the rain gutters?” She spoke loudly enough that he guessed she had a hearing problem.

“No, I was passing through the neighborhood.” He started to walk away, but she called out to stop him.

“Are you one of Archie’s friends? Because I baked a loaf of date-nut bread this morning, if you’d like to try a slice.”

He couldn’t stalk off without answering; the poor thing seemed lonely—and quite nice now that her sign wasn’t in danger. “No, thanks. I’m afraid I don’t know Archie.”

“There he is now,” she said as a black Cadillac SUV turned into the drive. “Archie’s my son. You have to meet him.”

Hudson wanted to get away before he was recognized, but this old lady seemed so happy to have a visitor—even one who hadn’t actually come to see her—that he waited. He could say hello to these people; it wouldn’t kill him.

“Archie, what took you so long?” the old lady asked. “You said you’d come for lunch, but that was hours ago.”

“Sorry, Mom. Got held up at work.” He looked harried as he climbed out, as though it was too much trouble to visit his mother but he felt duty bound to do it. Then he glanced over and spotted Hudson—and nearly tripped.

“Oh, my God!” he said. “How’d you get Hudson King to come here? Don’t tell me he finally answered your letters.”

“That’s Hudson King?” The old lady nearly teetered over—had to grab hold of her walker to avoid a spill. “I need new glasses, but I thought there was something familiar about you! I’m Cecille. Cecille Burns.” She gestured with one arthritic hand as she looked back at her son. “See that? There he is. I told you he’d come.”

Hudson glanced from one to the other. “Was I invited here?”

“You didn’t know?” Archie said. “My mother’s been writing you for years. She’s your biggest fan. Watches every game. I mentioned this house was available when she was moving up from San Diego, and she insisted I buy it for her, just because it’s where you were found.” He gestured to the sign with its handmade lettering. “And then she made this and put it up. The neighbors keep trying to take it down. They claim it’s an eyesore. But she watches over it, won’t let anyone touch the damn thing.”