by Jan Thompson
“When my friend died, his wife said I could have it if I could restore it the way her husband would have.” Pete laughed. “The catch was she didn’t send along some money to get it done.”
“You got the car though.”
“I got the car,” Pete said. “And my friend’s memories. We used to go deep-sea fishing together until his heart gave out and he didn’t want to be too far away from land.”
Martin let him talk as they walked to the parking lot. He didn’t know what to say about that. Dad was getting up there in age too.
“Better enjoy life while we still can.” It was all Martin could say.
He heard squeals and peals of laughter from a bunch of kids behind him. The nursery must have let out. He wondered where they put the kids, but didn’t feel like he had any business asking.
“Mommy! Mommy!” The little girl’s voice sounded like bells.
“Dahlia! Dahlia!” a woman responded.
Martin froze. That voice.
Slowly he turned around.
Corinne’s back was toward him. Her arms were stretched out.
A little girl dressed in pretty pink, her wispy hair all askew, ran into those arms. She was about half the height of Corinne.
Tall for a girl who seemed to be about three years old.
I’m tall…
“My baby,” Corinne said. “Did you have a good time in Sunday school?”
“Yes, Mommy. We sang a lot of songs about Jesus!”
Hug, hug. Kiss, kiss.
Then Corinne held the little girl’s hand. They turned around and—
She froze.
Her eyes turned sad.
Like she was about to burst into tears.
She mumbled something that Martin couldn’t hear.
“Mr. Pete!” Dahlia broke away from Corinne and ran toward Old Man Pete, who was still standing next to Martin, right in the middle of the parking lot.
That one line played back in Martin’s mind as he turned his attention to the little girl—Dahlia was her name—now chatting away with Pete.
She looked like a miniature Corinne.
How old are you, little one?
Martin couldn’t get the question out. The words choked in his throat. “This is My Father’s World” played back in his mind.
Corinne walked toward them, slowly, as if trying not to stir him.
As she passed by him, she didn’t say a word to him.
Martin stared at the back of her head.
“We have to go, baby,” she said to her daughter. “Lunch is waiting for us.”
Martin almost asked if he could join them.
“Who’s cooking today?” Pete asked.
“Miss Angelina and friends.” Corinne kept her voice down, as though she didn’t want Martin to know about their plans.
Well, I’m a stranger here.
“Hey, Martin.” Pete slapped his shoulder. “Why don’t you join us? You can be my plus one.”
Corinne blinked. She didn’t say a word.
“I wanna be your plus one!” Dahlia lifted her arms in the air.
Pete chuckled. “Okay, you can be my plus one, and Martin can be my plus two.”
“Is Mommy plus three then?” Dahlia let Pete hoist her in the air.
Martin tried not to freak out.
Am I a father?
Chapter Thirteen
The gathering at Angelina’s boathouse near the marina was small, but the space suddenly felt stuffy, and Corinne wanted to leave. However, she couldn’t because she had no car.
She, Dahlia, and Wanda would have to wait until they finished lunch and cleaned up the kitchen before Angelina could take them home.
There was no way she was going to get a ride from Old Man Pete, who had been asking questions about their origins—especially about Dahlia’s unnamed father.
And not on this planet would she get a ride home from Martin—who shouldn’t be here at all.
His presence caused her great discomfort.
If she thought Pete would ask questions, Martin would be even worse.
Corinne left Dahlia playing with Angelina’s grandchildren in a small corner of the living room while she tried to make herself useful in the repainted galley kitchen.
The single sixty-something Angelina lived here alone, and had offered to rent one of her two bedrooms to Corinne about a year ago. Corinne had turned her down because she wanted Dahlia to have a real yard to play in, and she was afraid Dahlia would fall overboard into the dirty water of the canal.
“If you want to help, setting the table is all we have left to do,” Angelina said.
Corinne nodded.
“Meat’s been cooking in the crockpot since this morning, and the spaghetti’s all boiled and done.”
Corinne nodded again.
“Cat got your tongue?” Angelina laughed.
“I’m just tired, is all.” Corinne didn’t say more. She hadn’t been throwing up in the morning in the last few days. Maybe she was entering the second trimester early—if there was such a thing.
“You need a nap too? I know I want one.” Angelina pointed to a cabinet under the counter. “Will you hand me a colander from under there?”
“Sure.” Corinne had been here before, so she knew where most of everything was in the kitchen.
After a few minutes of collecting mismatched forks and spoons, Corinne made her way to the living room, where a few people had set up the table.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Martin walking through the sliding glass door toward the patio and the dock.
Let him go.
She heard her heart say that, but her mind said she had better clear the air with him. Dahlia was not his and would never be his.
Corinne put the silverware down on the table and followed Martin out.
“Martin,” she said quietly, hoping that he wouldn’t hear her—then she didn’t have to talk to him.
Unfortunately, Martin heard her. He stopped at the edge of the boat.
The sunlight bounced off his brown hair. His aviator sunglasses hid his eyes from her. He hesitated for a moment, and then took off his sunglasses.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
How many times has he said that?
“I’m sorry too.” Corinne stepped closer, but not too close.
“I know you don’t want me in her life…”
“Whose life?”
“Your daughter.”
“She’s not yours.” Corinne didn’t want to start a fight, but she knew whose daughter Dahlia was. There was no doubt.
“You sure? A DNA test could…”
I wish you were her father. “Martin, I conceived her six months after I left Savannah.”
Corinne could see the mixed emotions on his face. On the one hand, he looked relieved, but on the other hand, he looked perplexed.
“Where’s the father then?” Martin’s voice was harsh.
Corinne shook her head. “He must never know we’re here.”
“Why not?”
Corinne didn’t know what to say. She prayed for wisdom. “Please.”
“Something wrong?” Martin pressed.
“I go by Dinah Miller now…” Corinne wondered how much more to add to that.
Martin nodded slightly. “Whatever.”
“A—are you staying for lunch?” Corinne asked.
Martin didn’t answer.
“Angelina makes great spaghetti,” Corinne added.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
If there was one thing Corinne liked about Martin, it was his honesty. There was no way Flavian could measure up to Martin, ever.
“Please stay,” Corinne said.
“You want me to?”
Corinne nodded.
But only for lunch.
Doing nothing but waiting alone in his hotel room wasn’t Martin’s idea of a beach vacation on Key Largo. There was nothing he wanted to do. Not boating, fishing, sunbathing, shopping, or anything else to
urists did in the Florida Keys.
All he wanted was to have a long talk with Corinne about the last four years of their lives apart. Specifically, he wanted to know why Corinne was running from Dahlia’s father—whoever he was.
And whether they had married.
In a way, Martin didn’t want to know.
Not right now.
He also didn’t want to know if he himself was truly Dahlia’s biological father.
It’s unthinkable, I know.
The lunch at Angelina’s houseboat two hours ago had gone without a hitch. Martin had dutifully remembered to address Corinne as Dinah, or not at all.
Dahlia was a charming three-year-old who seemed to be a happy child, without a care in the world. She had faint red patches all over her arms and legs, which had something to do with ant bites, as Martin was told by several church members.
Martin didn’t remember how he was like at that age. Had he gotten into trouble? Fallen onto an ant hill?
He didn’t recall.
Dressed in a wrinkled tee-shirt he had grabbed from the dryer on Thursday and didn’t take out of his suitcase until just now, Martin stretched out on the rattan lounger by the sliding glass door that overlooked the sandy grove of coconut trees.
The trees loomed above his small deck, and he thought he could reach up and touch the green coconuts.
But it was hot outside, and he’d rather sit here and do nothing.
He had brought his Bible from Savannah. He had read it this morning during his personal quiet time with God. He had paid attention in that little church.
Without a doubt, God had brought him here for such a time as this.
Perhaps all he would be able to do was to make peace with Corinne and then move on with his life.
But he had to know.
Martin closed his eyes in the cool room, enjoying the air-conditioner at full blast.
He knew he had to call Dad. He told his sister he would.
He also probably should call Pastor Flores.
And Ming.
And Tina again.
Martin knew he needed all the help he could get.
Then again, Corinne might need more help than he did.
He had no idea where she lived, but she had no car, worked a minimum wage job, was a single mother with a daughter to feed, living under an assumed name, and did not want her ex-partner to know where she was.
Martin could pretty much guess that no one in Key Largo knew her real name.
How long could she go on like that?
Chapter Fourteen
Fifteen minutes before noon every day except Sunday, Corinne had to sit outside on the bench facing the traffic. Somewhere across the street, Flavian’s men would watch her.
It was the strangest agreement, but it was the only thing that Flavian had offered her to keep her unborn child and her three-year-old safe.
Corinne put on her sunglasses and opened her lunch bag. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich again today. It was pretty much all she could afford. She knew she should be eating more for the baby, but a meal plan wasn’t included in their deal.
Sometimes Corinne wondered if she should have just called Flavian and gotten it over with. Let Flavian and Nikos duke it out. Let them settle their differences—while she ran.
Where to?
She touched the bracelet on her left hand. It was still there, plastic and wood beads strung together. It looked cheap—which was the whole idea—but her FBI handler said she had to keep it on her at all times. If she was separated from her bracelet, an alarm would go off somewhere, and her handler would come running to her rescue.
She closed her eyes.
I want to be safe all the time, without any need to be rescued at all.
Corinne said grace over her lunch and added, “And Lord, runners may say they’re tired of running, but my journey is not over. Help me find someone who can take care of Dahlia and this little baby.”
Someone who doesn’t mind that my children came from different fathers, one consensual, one forced.
Both men should be in jail for their own reasons, if Corinne had anything to do with it.
The sun moved.
Or a shadow appeared.
A voice spoke.
“Corinne.” That familiar voice that had once been soothing to her in bed four years ago now sounded like metal grating metal.
Martin MacFarland.
Without looking at him, Corinne gritted her teeth as she replied. “You cannot be here.”
“But I am.” The voice came closer.
Corinne kept her eyes on the street.
“You put both of us in danger if you come here.”
“Danger? How?”
Corinne took another bite of her sandwich. Chewed it slowly.
The shadow didn’t go away.
Corinne swallowed. “Don’t come any closer. They already see you.”
“They who?” When Corinne didn’t say, he continued. “I was at church yesterday. Did they see me then? And what about at Angelina’s houseboat?”
“We have many visitors at church.”
“Exactly. So I happen to be in town and here we are, meeting at the bench. How do you do?”
Corinne put her sandwich back into her lunch bag. “Ask me for directions.”
“To your heart?”
Corinne nearly laughed. “To a place in town, silly.”
Before Martin could reply, Corinne put down her lunch bag. Looked up at him.
He was wearing a faded tee-shirt with some sort of design on it, tucked into a pair of shorts. He didn’t wear any sunglasses.
His eyes were pained.
“I thought we had a good time on Sunday,” he said softly.
Corinne stood up, and walked toward him. She pointed far away down the street, waving her arms as though she was giving directions. “Walk two blocks over there, and then turn the corner.”
“You’re not wearing a wedding ring,” Martin whispered. “I noticed that yesterday.”
“I’m pregnant.” Corinne didn’t know why she said it. It wasn’t in response to Martin’s statement about marriage.
No, she hadn’t married in the last four years. In fact, she had done many things she would rather not talk about in the times prior to her salvation in Jesus Christ.
Even though God had saved her from all her sins—past, present, and future—she was still saddled with the consequences of her past sins.
All color drained from Martin’s face. “W-what?”
“Two months along. It was against my will, but I’m keeping the baby.” Corinne touched her tummy. “It’s not the baby’s fault.”
Martin had to think for a moment. “You’re married?”
“No. I’m not married.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.” Corinne drew a deep breath. “I’m not proud of my life before I became a Christian.”
“Who is?” Martin replied.
Corinne made more gestures with her arms. In the sunlight, the plastic beads shone. She quickly retracted her arm.
When she looked at Martin, his eyes were on her wrist.
“Did your daughter make you that bracelet?” He asked quietly.
Corinne didn’t reply.
She made a face as though Martin didn’t understand her—and prayed that Flavian’s men saw her—and repeated her directions. “You could turn left first and then make a right and walk down two blocks that way.”
“You have two kids.” Martin gasped.
“If you don’t leave now, I will have none,” Corinne whispered.
“What do you mean?”
A vehicle drove by slowly. Slam and Slime again.
Clearly they had been suspicious enough to leave their post and slow-drive past Corinne and Martin. Surely they knew who Martin was from that sidewalk encounter four nights before.
“Maybe you should stop at the visitor’s center and get a map,” Corinne said loudly.
As the SUV drove away, Corinne reali
zed that Martin had taken a photo of it. “What are you doing?”
Martin didn’t say.
“You better go,” Corinne. “For both of our sakes.”
“When do you get off work?”
Is he accepting me? Corinne couldn’t possibly fathom anyone on earth wanting her after all that she had done and been through.
Only God had taken her in, cleansed off her sins and stains, and forgiven her soul forever.
“I can’t.” Corinne walked back to the bench, grabbed her lunch bag, and went back into the chocolate shop.
Chapter Fifteen
Inside the shop, Corinne went back to work. Every now and then, she glanced at the front door to make sure that Martin didn’t walk in.
Or maybe to see if he would.
As the minutes and hours rolled by, Corinne lost hope that she would see Martin.
Oh well. Maybe I scared him off last Thursday when I fainted at the sight of him.
She chuckled.
“What’s the inside joke?” Erika leaned toward her as she walked by with a tub of homemade ice cream.
Corinne didn’t get a chance to answer her as more customers filed in.
Among them was…Nikos.
What is he doing here?
Corinne scanned the store to see if Sandra was around. The last thing Corinne wanted to do was cause trouble for Sandra. Corinne needed this job. A few more months, and she’d have enough to buy a car.
And then she would take Dahlia and run.
Nikos was accompanied by a few men in Hawaiian shirts, as if to blend in.
“Let’s get a few pounds of fudge for our deep-sea fishing trip,” Nikos said too loudly.
Corinne wondered if she should assume that Nikos was really going deep-sea fishing or whether he meant some other type of fishing.
“May I help you?” Erika put down the ice cream tub and looked at the customers.
Nikos pointed to Corinne. “Let her take care of me.”
Erika opened her mouth to protest. “I can…”
Corinne stepped over, smiled to Erika, and sent her off to help other customers. When she turned back toward Nikos, she spotted the new hire—who had filled in for her on Sunday—helping other customers. Corinne tried to remember her name. Pamela or something.