Twin Surprise

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “Are you in a serious relationship?”

  Marta’s shoulders sagged. “We’re friends. And maybe not even that once he hears this news.”

  “He does have legal obligations,” the doctor pointed out.

  “I suppose.” Marta couldn’t think that far ahead.

  She had dressed in a daze. So many details to take care of before her mid-July due date, from scheduling the ultrasound to registering for childbirth classes. Above all, the necessity of deciding what to do about the baby. And how to tell Derek.

  A baby! Impossible to deny the truth any longer. How could she relinquish such a miracle? Yet even if she decided on adoption, she’d have to inform Derek. His consent was required by law.

  “I can’t.” Marta didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Elise stopped thumping books around.

  “Can’t what?”

  “Go out with Derek again,” Marta blurted. “He asked me to have coffee after we finish.”

  “Why not?” The policewoman wiped a smudge from her rose-colored blouse. She’d developed a taste for more feminine clothes now that she was dating Mike.

  “Because…” Marta had decided to keep her condition secret even from her friends. Instead, she said, “Because if the gorgeous women he dates can’t hold on to Sergeant Hit-and-Run, what chance do I have?”

  “He invited you, not them.” Elise eyed her sympathetically. “You’re scared, that’s all. Remember—nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  As if I haven’t gained too much already! “Maybe I’ll reschedule.”

  “Mike says putting off our problems makes us obsess about them.” After examining a damaged textbook, Elise set it on the reject pile. “He’s right. We can’t control what other people do, only how we respond to them.”

  Sage advice, except considering the source. “How about you?”

  Elise’s forehead puckered. “What about me?”

  “You’re still stewing over Chief Borrego,” Marta noted. “Did you ever confront him about the problems he caused you?”

  The patrolwoman folded her arms. “I filed a grievance, testified and forced him to retire. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Apparently not. You turn purple when anyone mentions his name, and you’re in a huff about his volunteering.”

  “So?”

  “So quit fuming and deal with the situation.” Usually Marta offered compassion rather than tough love. The change in hormones must be affecting her mood, she reflected.

  “Vince hasn’t apologized,” Elise replied truculently. “He thinks I ought to forget the whole thing. Well, I shouldn’t have to.”

  “Tell him,” Marta urged.

  “I’m afraid I’ll punch the creep!”

  “No, you won’t. Lay it on the line and he either apologizes or demonstrates that he’s still a louse.” Since that didn’t seem adequate, Marta proposed, “If he doesn’t give a reasonable response, discuss your issues with Yolanda. That might change her belief that he’s reformed.”

  Elise’s mouth pursed. “Tell you what. I’ll confront Vince if you’ll meet Derek for coffee.”

  Unfair! “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “If I can tackle my issues, so can you.” Elise tossed another book on the reject pile. “Well? Yes or no?”

  Marta really wished her friend would resolve this business with Vince. As for Derek, he had to be told the truth sooner or later.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Her friend returned to sorting books. As for Marta, doubts assailed her immediately.

  “There he is,” Elise hissed.

  Marta turned. Through the glass they could see that Vince had stopped across the otherwise empty hall, facing the playroom. His back was to them.

  A scowling Elise rose and went out, nearly colliding with Vince, who’d been talking to Ben. “Hold on!” she snapped.

  “What can I do for you?” His voice carried clearly to Marta. “And don’t keep telling me to volunteer elsewhere. I like working with kids. Sorry if that offends you, but I can’t please everyone.”

  “Please everyone? As if you’ve tried! How about acknowledging the harm you caused?” Elise answered testily. “You have no idea of the ramifications, do you? I’m not just talking about the damage to police morale. I mean to me personally.”

  Vince exhaled loudly. “I certainly am aware. My wife hit me with both barrels when she threw me out. Pressuring you to have an affair was ugly and arrogant. Anything else?”

  Elise plowed ahead. “When I joined the force, a lot of guys harassed me because of my looks. Just when I started to feel like I’d won their respect, the chief, a man I trusted, treated me like some sleazy toy put there for his benefit.”

  Vince lifted his chin as if about to argue. To Marta’s relief, however, he nodded instead. “When you put it that way, I…well, I never considered how my actions affected you professionally,” he conceded. “I figured the impact was on the personal level.”

  “Yeah, well, you ticked me off, but the worst part was that a lot of the guys assumed I must have done something to encourage you.” Her voice shook with emotion. “After I filed my grievance, your buddies acted as if I was the one who’d betrayed my fellow officers. An opinion I’m sure you encouraged.”

  Marta braced for his denial. Instead, Vince replied, “Probably, because I was full of myself and furious at having to take my medicine.” His voice rasped in the quiet space.

  To her credit, Elise didn’t stop there, although Marta could tell the confrontation was painful for her. “I spent the past two years trying to regain the respect you stole from me. If not for a few people like Hale and Rachel and Joel, I’d have resigned. I’ve been so angry I’ve refused to let any guy near me. Well, I’m moving on.”

  “What do you want from me?” the older man asked.

  “You’ve never apologized, not sincerely. You don’t seem to have a clue why I’m angry!”

  Ben, who’d obviously been listening, peered out of the playroom. “Yes, he does. He told me he acted like a jerk and that you had a right to be mad.”

  That surprised Marta. Elise, too, apparently. “Is that true?” she asked.

  Vince shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yes. And for what it’s worth, I truly am sorry.”

  Hardly a cathartic conclusion to all Elise had undergone, in Marta’s opinion, and her friend indicated as much. “You’re not that sorry. Not sorry enough to sacrifice anything.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like volunteering elsewhere so I don’t have to keep running into you.” When he opened his mouth, she hurried on, “Don’t hand me that garbage about how much you love kids. You like being in the middle of things. Feeling important. Hobnobbing with Yolanda and posing as a good guy in front of the world. That’s the truth.”

  Vince opened and shut his mouth. What finally emerged was: “Okay.”

  For a second, no one stirred. Then Ben said, “You can’t quit!”

  Vince gestured him to silence. “She’s right. Saying I’m sorry is a far cry from demonstrating it. I caused Elise a lot of misery and now I’m annoying her on a weekly basis. She isn’t out of line to insist that I suffer a little too.”

  “What about your students?” the young man demanded.

  “The center gets plenty of volunteers.” To Elise: “I’ll tell Yolanda it’s my decision. No reason to place any blame on you. And, Ben, I’d appreciate your keeping quiet about this.”

  “You shouldn’t have to quit!”

  “That’s my decision,” the man responded calmly. “Please don’t repeat any of this.”

  “Whatever.” Grumbling, the kid returned to the playroom and shut the door.

  “You’re truly going to resign?” Elise asked.

  “Yes.” He shrugged. “I’m still discovering how badly I messed up. Hope this helps. I’ll sure miss the place.”

  After Vince went into the auditorium, presumably to talk to Yolanda,
Elise stood staring in his wake. Then she turned and walked back into the storeroom. “Maybe he means it,” she said.

  Marta hadn’t expected the ex-chief to fold, either. “He sounded sincere. How do you feel?”

  “Deflated,” the patrolwoman conceded. “I won. Shouldn’t I be bouncing off the ceiling?”

  “You’ll feel better when he’s gone.” Marta returned to the books. She wanted to finish sorting before Derek returned.

  Elise spoke again. “I’m calling it off. He can stay.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t feel angry anymore,” the officer explained. “And I appreciated his promising not to say why he’s quitting. That was decent.”

  “You could sleep on this,” Marta pointed out.

  “I’d rather intervene before he goes too far. He’d better not expect us to be friends. I’m not that forgiving.” Elise marched off.

  Marta hoped her own tête-à-tête with Derek went equally well. She didn’t hold out a lot of hope for that, though.

  A quarter of an hour later, she heard the outer door open in the reception area and recognized his footsteps. Desperately, she wished they could start over. Begin again the night of their date.

  If she’d suspected she might have a chance with him, she’d have proceeded more slowly. Had she let their relationship grow naturally instead of trying to cram a lifetime into one night, she might not be in this mess.

  Too late. The scent of his aftershave teased at her. With luck, she would stumble on the right words to soften the blow.

  That was the best she could hope for.

  Chapter Twelve

  Glittering strands of Christmas ornaments decorated the exterior of the whimsically named In a Pickle shopping center—which occupied the site of a former pickle-packing plant—and weekend buyers jammed the parking spaces. Derek almost regretted suggesting the mini-mall for their outing.

  When he’d arrived at the center, he’d noticed the way Marta’s shoulders sagged as she sat tidying stacks of books. Hoping to lighten her mood, he’d proposed the Caffeine Connection, a tea-and-coffee shop in the central court of the remodeled factory, and she’d consented. Her low energy, however, reawakened his concern for her well-being.

  On the short drive, she’d perked up as she described how Elise had faced down Vince and received an apology. Elise’s subsequent willingness to forgive surprised Derek. “She’s always acted hard-nosed.”

  “Must be Mike’s influence.” Marta broke off as they arrived at the Pickle. After several turns through the parking lot, Derek nabbed a spot when a vehicle exited in front of them.

  Worth the hassle, he concluded once they reached the interior, which reminded him of a small village. Kiosks and boutiques featuring crafts and novelty items opened onto wandering lanes. Soaps and scented candles perfumed the air.

  When two children ran by, Derek rested one hand on Marta’s back protectively. He employed his greater bulk to ease through the knots of shoppers.

  They passed Pickle Curios, one of Connie’s shops. Marta paused to examine jars and cans of imported delicacies.

  “Rosa picks most of her own merchandise,” she explained. “Connie gives us both a lot of leeway as managers. Anything we select that sells well gets featured on the website, and we receive a small commission.”

  Derek lifted a container that, judging by the picture on the front, contained peppers. Labeled in Spanish, it bore the English words Product of Peru. “Rosa must hunt pretty far afield.”

  “She sure does.” Marta indicated a llama-shaped piñata. “You can’t find that at the big discount stores!”

  A couple of shoppers were chatting in Spanish with Rosa Mercato, a sturdily built woman in her early forties. Apparently in response to their queries, she produced a brightly garbed doll that met with instant approval.

  While ringing up the purchase, she waved to Marta. “Just the person I wanted to see! I’d like your opinion on a personal matter. Yours, too, Sergeant.”

  “Of course.” He wondered why.

  He found out when Rosa joined the two of them. “I need to ask about Mark Rohan,” she explained.

  She’d purchased a date with the traffic sergeant at the auction, Derek recalled. “What about him?”

  She glanced toward the entrance. “I better talk fast before I get another customer.”

  “Shoot,” he said.

  “We’ve been seeing each other almost every night, and he’s eager to get married. It’s like a wild romantic fantasy, plus we’d both like kids, and if I don’t have them soon—like tomorrow—I’ll miss my chance.” Rosa spoke at a lightning pace, the words tumbling over each other. “But I’m afraid we’ll wake up one morning and discover we made a horrible mistake.”

  Plenty of officers’ marriages collapsed under the strain of rotating shifts and cynicism, a by-product of observing the worst side of human nature day after day. “Police in general have a high divorce rate. Enjoy the fun while it lasts.”

  “Typical male!” Rosa’s smile softened her scoff. “Marta?”

  “Date for a couple more months and if you’re still crazy about each other, get premarital counseling,” was her response. “Then I’ll dance at your wedding.”

  Rosa wavered. “He’s six years younger than me.”

  “Nobody thinks twice if the guy’s that much older.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Derek teased. “I’m only four and a half years your senior and you consider me an antique.”

  Marta didn’t crack a smile. What was wrong with her?

  Several shoppers entered. “Thanks, you two. I’ll consider what you said.” Rosa broke off to assist the new arrivals.

  Derek guided his companion out of the store and through the throngs to the Caffeine Connection. Shiny green-and-red packages of coffee beans rimmed the counter, flanking a sign that touted them as stocking stuffers. Derek and Marta placed their orders and carried their drinks to a secluded table.

  The clamor of voices and the tinkling of holiday music faded. “Must be an acoustical dead spot.” Grateful for the break, Derek held a chair for Marta, although in Southern California guys rarely performed such gallantries.

  She sank down, forgetting to thank him. That wasn’t like her, either.

  He barely managed to keep still as she stirred sweetener into her herbal tea and swallowed a sip. Finally, he blurted, “What exactly did the doctor say?”

  Large, frightened eyes met his gaze. “She…” The words seemed to get stuck. “This is awkward.”

  A new possibility occurred to him. “If you gave me a deadly disease, for heaven’s sake, out with it!”

  To Derek’s astonishment, Marta burst into laughter. “What an idea! I mean, that isn’t funny, only…What I have definitely isn’t contagious.”

  “Good.” How bad could her condition be if she managed to chuckle about it? Then it hit him: she’d indicated she did have something.

  Derek swallowed a sip of coffee, which turned out to be burning hot. He jerked instinctively and then, to his dismay, his right hand began to shake.

  He prayed for the trembling to stop before it became obvious. Instead, the damn thing intensified until he knocked first his spoon and then the whole ceramic mug off the table.

  It shattered, spewing hot liquid across the floor and his shoes. With a curse, Derek shoved his chair back from the table. At the jolt, Marta’s cup skipped to the rim, where she barely rescued it from the same fate as his.

  An employee hurried over. Marta apologized while shooting anxious looks in Derek’s direction. He grabbed his wrist and tried to still the thing.

  The palsy quit, finally. Too late to undo the damage, though. He’d created a scene, blown his composure and wrecked their afternoon. That instant of humiliation had transformed the coffee shop and the mini-mall into a trap. Like a wounded animal, Derek required solitude.

  “I have to drive you home,” he said gruffly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you okay?” Marta asked.

&nb
sp; “Yeah. Fine. First-rate.” After trying to pay for the damage—the employee declined the offer—Derek escorted Marta to the car.

  He wondered how much she’d observed. Suppose she described the incident to her friends? He ought to swear her to secrecy, but he couldn’t do that without explaining.

  The prospect provoked further irritation. He didn’t even look at her as he steered toward her home. Mercifully, she didn’t prod him or chatter. Her silence soothed his agitation slightly.

  She’d revealed earlier that she’d walked to Villa Corazon, so he didn’t have to drop her off at her car. Instead, he pulled in front of Marta’s apartment building, bumping the curb in his distraction. As if his front-end alignment mattered, when his entire life had gone awry.

  It might be about to spin off course completely. Because he saw no choice but to reveal the truth.

  *

  Marta was puzzled by what had happened. One minute Derek was calmly inquiring about the doctor and then he’d started shaking. She’d been powerless to stem the resulting rage and couldn’t figure out what, if anything, she’d done to provoke it.

  Connie’s joking accusation from years earlier rang in Marta’s ears: “You assume that whatever goes wrong is your fault. You’ve elevated guilt to an art form.” This time, search for clues as she might, she didn’t see any way in which she’d caused the problem.

  The muscles in Derek’s neck and jaw rippled with tension as he yanked on the parking brake. Afraid to speak, she opened the sedan door.

  Although she’d expected him to leave her on the sidewalk, he joined her. They walked to her apartment without speaking.

  The irony of the situation struck Marta: that after she’d overcome her reluctance to confide about the pregnancy, the meeting had dissolved for reasons beyond her control. And, at present, beyond her comprehension.

  When they entered, her cherished little home felt too confined for the restless man who paced in behind her. Ordinarily, Marta might have attempted to soothe him. Today, she simply sank onto the couch and waited.

  Derek stood facing her, arms folded. She noticed the stark masculine impact of the navy polo shirt stretched across his chest and the jeans sculpted to his long legs. She longed to touch him, but he was clearly in no temper to be soothed.