Redemption Read Online Free Page A

you’re right,” Claire agreed with mock seriousness as she took a seat across from him. “We look nothing alike. There was probably a mix-up of some sort at the hospital.” She tilted her head, pasting a thoughtful look on her face, and mused, “Maybe my real son is out there somewhere, wondering why on earth he looks nothing like his mother.”
    Tripper heaved an impatient sigh. “You know what I mean.” He gave her an accusing look, then said with blunt accuracy, “I look like my father, don’t I?”
    Claire’s heart took a quick dive. He rarely brought up the subject, and she had begun to hope his questions would eventually cease altogether. She looked away, pretending to study the credit card bill that had arrived in the mail. “I suppose you do resemble him,” she prevaricated, hoping to steer the discussion away from awkward territory. Carefully she refolded the bill, then inserted it into its envelope. “I need to start dinner. And it’s past time for your homework, isn’t it?” she said, rising from the table.
    But this time, Tripper wasn’t letting her off so easily. “How come you never want to talk about him?”
    She was about to put him off again, but the sight of him looking up at her, his green eyes filled with confusion, sent her around the table toward her son instead of the refrigerator.
    “Oh, Tripper!” Guilt tugged at her heart. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about him; it’s just that…there’s nothing to tell. I’ve told you before, I hardly knew him.” She tunneled her fingers through his hair, a maternal gesture that reassured her as much as it did him. She wished for the hundredth time the answers were simple enough to be understood by a nine-year-old, wished even harder she could assuage her guilt with a simple explanation.
    “It doesn’t matter who your father was or whether you’re a dead ringer for him. You’re an individual, Tripper, not a reflection of your parents.” She believed that strongly and more than anything wanted her son to share that belief—even more than she wanted him to stop asking questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.
    Tripper stared stonily at her midsection, refusing to meet her eyes. He had heard this before, and Claire knew he had questions—and not just about his parentage, but hers as well, a subject she definitely wasn’t going to discuss with him.
    She nudged his chin up gently and gazed at him, his eyes finally turning toward hers. She resisted the urge to go all “sappy” on him—nine-year-old boys hated to be embarrassed more than they hated missing basketball shots at the rim.
    “And as for who you look like,” she said, smiling, “it wouldn’t matter if you had green hair and purple eyes, you’re still my son. I distinctly remember giving birth to you, so don’t get any ideas about going off to join the gypsies.
    “Now, why don’t you cut out one of those pictures so I can take it to my office? We can mail the rest to your friends in San Francisco. Then you need to get started with your homework.” With a last warning glance over her shoulder, she opened the refrigerator door and began looking for dinner ingredients.

Chapter Two
    “O H , H ELL .” M ATT G RAYSON S TOPPED short at the sight of the two naked women lounging next to his swimming pool.
    “A.J.!” he hollered, ignoring the beckoning looks cast in his direction. “Are these yours?” he demanded as a shorter, dark-haired man appeared, balancing three cocktails in his hands. He looked like the bed he had no doubt just crawled out of: unmade and rumpled.
    “Oh, hey, Matt. I thought you were at your office.”
    “I am at my office. I’m working at home today.” Matt nodded toward the two women. “These left over from last night, or did you recruit a new batch? And why are we serving them drinks at this hour of the morning? It’s not even lunchtime,” he said, taking the glass nearest him and sniffing its contents.
    A.J. squinted against