Page 55 of Blind Attraction

She came prepared though. Once she left Mitchell this morning, Kate had driven them back to her house with research being one of the top items on their agenda.

First, Alana made an optometrist appointment, which the receptionist kindly scheduled her in within the hour. Then she’d called the Bowens who encouraged her to come over after the appointment to save Kate driving back and forth.

That left little time to snoop into the Bowen’s lives. Kate had searched the Internet, finally coming up with an image of Mr. Bowen on the Channing, Slater & Bowen law firm website. Alana hadn’t expected a wealthy, highly educated man. When they first met she hadn’t even been able to determine if he dressed in cheap clothing. Thanks to the World Wide Web she found out he was a retired criminal defense attorney who lived in a wealthy neighborhood with his wife and two Maltese terriers.

“Is there anything you would like to discuss, Alana?”

Mrs. Bowen treated her with fragility, keeping her distance, not asking too many questions or holding eye contact for too long. Her soft smile and gentle gaze added to the wholesome appeal of her friendly nature.

Alana gave a derisive laugh. “I want to know everything… How did you know my mother? Had she met your son before the…incident? And how did he die?”

Mrs. Bowen’s mouth gaped and she turned her wide-eyed expression to her husband whose face was set in a deep frown.

Had she said something wrong? Husband and wife stared at one another for endless seconds, communicating on a level Alana couldn’t decipher. She could only assume the death of their son—her father, still affected them. Maybe the reminder of their son’s actions wasn’t a topic for discussion.

“There are many things we need to discuss.” Mr. Bowen turned his attention back to her with a grave smile. He scooted forward on his recliner, leaning toward her, and clasped his hands in his lap. “Most of which will be hard for us all…but, child, your father isn’t dead. Chris is alive and still living in Richmond.”

Her lungs restricted, cutting off her oxygen. She dug her nails into the soft leather sofa and swallowed, again and again, trying to alleviate the pain. “No.” The word rasped from her throat. She shook her head. “No.” Her mother wouldn’t have lied about something this important. There had to be a mistake.

The bright blue of Mr. Bowen’s eyes turned gray. “I’m sorry you’ve been misled, Alana. Your mother went through a lot of mental trauma because of our son’s actions, which resulted in her leaving town. But heisstill alive.”

Her eyes burned, and she blinked away moisture. Her whole life was a lie. She’d been led to believe she had no family, no grandparents, no father. Yet what the Bowens said contradicted everything she’d been told as a child.

“Did he rape her?” Her voice cracked. Emotion engulfed her. Panic, despair, and the hopelessness that came with realizing her mother was not only protective, but suffering from mental problems beyond Alana’s grasp.

Mrs. Bowen sniffed and dabbed her nose with a white lace handkerchief.

“That much is true.” Mr. Bowen stared at a spot on the cream carpet. “Chris and Susan used to date in high school. She spent a lot of her youth here, studying and playing in the pool. They were inseparable.” He gave her a quick glance; his eyes filled with tears, then turned his gaze back to the floor. “We weren’t aware that he’d been experimenting with drugs until the night the police turned up on our doorstep. They’d been at a friend’s party. Chris had been drinking and also stole some Valium from my medicine cabinet. The combination of alcohol and drugs altered his perception and emotions.”

Alana’s head nodded of its own accord. She was empty, completely devoid of sensation, except for the big gaping hole where her heart used to be. Her mind, her soul, her emotions, all numb.

“Your mother noticed his change in mood and wanted to go home. On the drive back to her parent’s house—”

She held up her hands, unable to hear anymore. Her arms shook, her vision blurred, then the doorbell rang and startled her to the point of retching.

They remained silent; all of them unmoving for long, loud heartbeats until Mrs. Bowen rose from her seat and strode from the room. When she returned, Mitchell was by her side, his frantic gaze searching Alana’s face as he approached.

She stood on shaky legs and sunk into the warmth of his arms, needing his strength and protection.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered into her hair, clutching her body to his chest. “You’re trembling.”

She shook her head, unable to speak. She rested her palms against the muscle of his chest and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry to have upset you, Alana.”

She pulled back from Mitchell’s embrace, glanced at Mr. Bowen and nodded in response. “I-I know.”

Mitchell lifted her chin with a delicate finger, gaining her focus. His gaze scrutinized her features, his eyes pleading for answers while he held her upper arm with a gentle grip. “Tell me, Allie. What’s happened?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and winced at the pain that followed. “M-my dad.” She shook her head, breathed deep. ‘Dad’ was the wrong word. ‘Dad’ implied a familiar bond, a connection, something she had never, and would never feel for the man. “My father. The man who raped my mother, is alive.”

His eyes widened, and he recoiled as if he’d been struck. “You were...”

She hadn’t mentioned the attack on her mother before. Shame kept her from admitting how she’d been conceived. Every day of her life had been a constant reminder of the traumatic event. Every time she stared into her mother’s eyes she glimpsed the pain of remembrance.

“I’m the result of a man raping my mother.” She peered into his eyes and waited for the disgust to cross his features, for him to realize half her DNA came from someone capable of such a horrendous act.

He frowned, his grip on her arm tightening, and he blinked, once, twice, three times, batting away the moisture from his eyes. He pulled her into his arms, hugged her close, and pressed a firm kiss on the top of her head.

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