Love's Little Secrets (Sweet Grove Romance Book 2; First Street Church #10)

by Sharon Hughson

  An uneasy stirring tightened his chest. The familiar portent of doom washed through him. He’d experienced it regularly since returning to the position of sales director.

  Adonis reached the door first and yanked it open. Herman signed the boy in at the security desk in the lobby. An older guard joked with Herman, but the younger one crossed his arms and scanned Adonis with suspicion.

  In the elevator, Adonis sighed. “Mom liked her job at Macadam, but she quit a month after you left.”

  Herman ignored the hint of bitterness in his son’s tone. “What’d she do then?”

  “Office manager for one of Tio’s clients. The manager who was leaving fell in love with her.”

  Herman’s chest tightened. Osaria was easy to love, and her kindness shielded her from a wealth of bigotry. She chose to see the best in people. It was the main reason she’d fallen into bed with him even though he was so much older. If he had met her first, would he have married her instead of Norma?

  He shook away the pointless thoughts. The elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors whirred open at the fourth floor. Even having an office here rather than on the top level was a demotion. It had hurt when his things had been boxed up and relocated from the window-lined office on the fifth floor to a tiny closet-sized room here.

  Herman introduced Adonis to the woman who worked as assistant to all four sales directors. She whisked Adonis away to get him something to drink and show him “the lay of the land.”

  In his office, Herman booted up the computer and checked his appointment calendar. He had only three client calls on the schedule. All of them were with companies whose orders had fallen off in the last quarter. His job was to sell them equipment that would return them to previous levels.

  He groaned. After having disappointing conversations with three clients the previous day, he didn’t expect positive results. He’d already begun preparing the report excusing and explaining the lack of sales. In recent months, he’d become more adept at finding documentation to explain away the decreasing revenues.

  Adonis listened to the first conversation, which went better than Herman anticipated, and then bowed out.

  “I’ll be back when it’s time for lunch.”

  “11:30, then.”

  Adonis nodded and shut the door softly behind him.

  Herman’s second call wasn’t as friendly.

  “We’ve got no budget.”

  “But some of that equipment will need replacing.”

  “And it won’t be replaced. Sorry, Herman.”

  While Herman recovered from the disappointing call, he idly added information to his report. He changed the fonts several times and tried adding green headings to match part of the company logo.

  His office phone rang, and the president’s secretary asked him to “come upstairs.” A few years ago, he’d have been pleased to have a meeting with the boss, but since Old Man Macadam retired and his son took the reins, things hadn’t been so easy or comfortable.

  Herman took the elevator. A guard sat behind what should have been a reception counter. The robust woman scanned his identification card and made him sign a log. He didn’t understand the need for these protocols and scowled at the woman. She waved him through.

  Down a hallway, he entered the outer office of the president. The secretary nodded him into a plush chair beside a table covered with a smattering of business magazines. Tension knotted his shoulders. His stomach roiled in nauseous dread.

  After answering a phone call, the woman in a sleek suit motioned for Herman to follow her. Old Man Macadam had made a point of ushering upper sales staff into his office with a warm greeting. Herman’s gut tightened further.

  The secretary let him open the door but closed it after she left. As he stepped forward, his boots sank into plush carpeting.

  His boss glanced up and leaned away from his computer. The smile on his lips was forced.

  “Sir.” Herman had been berated a few months ago for addressing the man by his first name. He’d always done so with the boy’s father and grandfather, but times were changing.

  “Wells. Have a seat.” The tone was magnanimous.

  Herman’s shoulders slumped a fraction, and he sat in the chair, holding his back away from the padded cushions.

  After a few moments of small talk, the President said, “You’ve been with the company since before my grandfather retired.”

  Herman nodded. “Your father trained me on the sales circuit before he took over your grandfather’s position.”

  “You’ve seen plenty of changes in the oil industry, haven’t you?”

  “Yessir. The bureaucrats aren’t making it easy for us to stay profitable.”

  “Indeed.” He leaned forward, steepled his fingers, and settled his elbows on the sleek desk. “More changes ahead.”

  A cramp knotted behind Herman’s belt buckle. His toes twitched as something in his brain warned him to flee.

  “I’m sure you’ll steer the company through it.”

  The man’s eyebrows rose. “If only the board had as much confidence. Instead, they’re screaming about budgets and profitability.”

  The pain in his stomach doubled. “My clients seem split on whether to be optimistic or not.”

  The President leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “The only way to get the board off my back was with more personnel cuts.”

  Herman swallowed hard. He tried to tell himself that it was a generic statement, but with the way things had been imploding around him, his bravest salesmanship failed.

  “Cutting the sales directors by half.” The man glanced at his desktop. “I’m sorry to let you go, but the board is more interested in innovation than tenure.”

  Herman’s jaw numbed. He should say something, but his mind blanked out.

  “The guards will help you clean out your office, and the HR manager will deliver your final paycheck.”

  “Today?”

  The man nodded. “Consider it an early start to an extra-long weekend.” He forced his lips into a curt smile.

  Herman stood. The floor wavered, and he clutched the back of the chair to remain upright.

  The president held out his hand. “Thanks for sticking with us, and enjoy your retirement.”

  Retirement? Herman couldn’t afford to retire. He had two mortgage payments. Besides, he was only fifty-three years old, too young to sit home doing nothing.

  They shook hands before Herman walked away. The young guard from the front desk waited at the security station near the elevators. “I’ll help you, Mr. Wells.”

  Herman nodded. Agony knifed into his chest. Shards of pain flashed down his left arm. He drew in a ragged breath, willing the spinning world to stop tilting.

  Adonis sat on the corner of the secretary’s desk. His eyes widened when he saw the guard behind Herman, and Herman’s face flushed.

  He packed his personal items—very few things—into a box waiting on his desk. Had everyone known? Or did every firing run so smoothly?

  A few moments later, Herman stood beside the secretary’s desk. She handed him an envelope. “Sorry to see you go, Mr. Wells.” Her gaze flitted to Adonis. “It was sure nice to meet your son.”

  He muttered some sort of reply. Adonis, eyes wide, fell into step beside him.

  This wasn’t the day Herman had planned. He’d wanted to show his son the measure of his success. Instead, the boy had witnessed his ultimate disgrace.

  What was left to go wrong?

  7

  Somehow, Norma made it through the worst week in her tenure with the Sweet Grove School District. If she had to endure one more well-meaning expression of pity or ire, she’d…she didn’t know what she’d do. Scream? Pull her hair out?

  “Lord, I can’t handle this.”

  Praying into the silent cab of the truck relieved the knot in her stomach. She gripped the steering wheel, staring at the house she’d shared with Herman for two decades. Tears blurred the sight of the rose bushes and red shutters.<
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  Everything had been a lie. Her so-called solid marriage had evaporated like a drop of liquid on a summer day. Did Herman ever love her? Why did he bother to stay when he had another family waiting elsewhere?

  Sweat beaded on her nose. Norma grabbed her purse and insulated lunch bag and slid to the ground. Her feet made their way onto the porch, but she doubted they would carry her further.

  She slumped onto the porch swing, which gyrated before settling to quiver back and forth. The hole gaping in her chest since she’d accepted her barrenness leaked blood. It had been her fault all along. A part of her had railed against Herman for refusing to endure infertility testing with her, imagining he was the impotent one. But he’d known it was her womb that was defective.

  Had he laughed at her? When she’d wept into his chest during those tortuous years of failed conception, was he silently berating her, blaming her?

  A stream of tears coursed down her cheeks. Hot drops plopped onto the hands she clutched over her fruitless middle.

  She groaned and pushed to her feet. She still knew very little about the boy who’d crashed her anniversary party. Maybe he was the product of a short-term fling. The expression of recognition on Herman’s face when he saw his son said it all. But that didn’t mean the boy’s mother was in the picture, did it?

  “Does it matter?” She dragged across the porch and entered the house.

  Cool air scented with pineapple dried her face. She tottered into the kitchen and hung her keys on the wooden rack Herman had made for that purpose. Reminders of him were everywhere.

  The purse and lunch box thudded onto the counter. Norma unzipped the bag, pulling out the sandwich she hadn’t touched and the half-eaten bag of carrot sticks. After returning them to the refrigerator, she rinsed out the yogurt container and spoon before tucking the bag in one of the lower cabinets.

  She wandered toward the master suite. In her closet, she shed her loafers and jeans before pulling on a pair of sweats. They hung from her hips until she tightened the drawstring waistband.

  She trudged back to the kitchen. After pouring a glass of lemonade and sliding her feet into gardening clogs, Norma padded out the French doors and into the gazebo. She admired the scroll work around the doorway until a pang reminded her that was Herman’s doing.

  One of the barn cats raced her up the stairs into the shaded retreat. Norma slumped into a padded chair and set her glass on the table beside it. The ginger cat rubbed along her shins, and she idly petted his head.

  The gazebo was her special place. She’d picked the design, saved money for the project, and ordered all the supplies. Herman had led the construction, but she’d been beside him every day, holding boards and fetching tools. By the end of the week of building, she could wield the nail gun and install screws using the drill with professional efficiency.

  When it was finished, she’d pulled an old camping mattress onto the floor and served up a special meal.

  “It’s perfect,” she’d told Herman. “Thank you for building it.”

  Herman had grunted. “You worked hard, too. I’m impressed.”

  She’d stared at him in amazement. His compliments were rare and focused on her meals or homemaking. A blush suffused her face. “Why, Herman.”

  When the food was cleared away, they’d made love on the same mattress, clinging to each other like young lovers.

  An ache strangled her. She blinked away new tears.

  It had been a special moment, and other intimate moments had been initiated under the gabled roof.

  Had it been nothing more than sex for him?

  She swallowed the tart lemonade, trying to wash the bitterness from her throat. The cat leapt onto the railing, curled its tail over its feet, and stared across the fields.

  The sound of a slamming door roused Norma from her stupor. The sun had sunk halfway toward the horizon. She stood, surprised when her knees cracked.

  She finished off her lukewarm drink but didn’t make it down the steps of the gazebo before the back door opened.

  Herman stalled in the doorway, screen door held open. Dark purple ringed his eyes, and his salt-and-pepper hair hung across his forehead. Their gazes locked. The lemonade tried to swell up from Norma’s stomach.

  She pressed a palm against it. It was Friday night, so she should have expected him to come home around 7:30. Was it so late?

  Herman stepped from the house. The screen slammed shut behind him.

  Norma looked past him, searching for the boy.

  “He’s inside.” His gravelly voice made her stiffen. “We need to talk.”

  “Your actions have given me plenty to mull over.”

  He strode toward her, stopping at the base of the steps. His head tilted back, and he stared up at her. “I never wanted to hurt you, Norma.”

  She snorted, but it came out in a whimper. Her fingers pressed over her mouth.

  Please, God, don’t let me cry.

  “His mother is dead.”

  Norma’s heart melted for the boy’s pain. “Your mistress?”

  “I haven’t seen either of them for five years. They lived in Las Cruces.”

  She should have guessed it would be New Mexico. For six years, he’d lived there half the time, and she’d been lucky to see him more than two weekends each month. Another sob choked her.

  Herman stepped up until they were face-to-face, although he stood on the second step. He reached toward her, but Norma flinched away and scooted backward.

  “How could you?” She lowered her trembling hand. “You had a family.”

  “You were my family, Norma.” He growled the words in that way she’d found so sexy the first time she’d heard it. He’d been asking permission to kiss her after their—what was it?—fourth date.

  Her breath stalled. Her body tried to lean toward him, wanted the comfort and security he had offered for more than half her lifetime. She steeled herself and drew back another step.

  “I never considered leaving you.”

  “So you abandoned your son instead?”

  He flinched as if she’d struck him. “I provided for him and his mother.”

  “Did you love her?”

  The question fell like a boom. The sounds of the coming night cut off.

  He nodded, a very slight drop of his chin, but his stare remained fixed on Norma. “She was impossible not to love.”

  The familiar knife twisted in Norma’s shattered heart. How could he act like it was nothing? Her hand twitched and then slapped his cheek. The sting of her palm matched the burn of tears marring her vision.

  She tried to shove past him. His large hand closed around her wrist, hot and strong. She froze.

  “I can’t change what’s done.” His breath brushed her cheek. “But I have always loved you.”

  Norma refused to look at him. Shame and embarrassment warred in her stomach. She jerked her arm away, and he let her go.

  She rushed into the house. Her heart banged on her ribs, a woman buried alive. She could hardly catch her breath. She leaned against the counter, set the glass there, and pushed away when her legs stopped shaking.

  She stumbled into the hallway, scurrying toward her bedroom, and plowed into the boy. He studied the gallery of photos on the large wall at the backside of the staircase. His hands grasped her upper arms to steady her.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” The timbre of his voice was soothing, higher and gentler than Herman’s.

  “I’m…” But her mind blanked.

  In these close quarters, it was obvious he was Herman’s son. His square jaw and bulky nose were replicas of her husband. The boy studied her with golden-brown eyes, an unspoken apology for more than the collision written there.

  “Norma Wells. You have a lovely home.”

  Norma stepped back and gripped the sides of her sweats. Her hands fumbled to push windblown strands of hair out of her face.

  “You’re the son.” It sounded rude, and she cringed, closing her eyes for an instant.
/>   “Yes, ma’am. Adonis Velasco.” He extended a hand toward her.

  She stared at it dumbly.

  “If you want me to leave, I’ll stay elsewhere.”

  Norma glanced at his serious face. She touched her fingers to his palm, noticing callouses on his fingertips when his hand closed around hers.

  “No, you won’t. It’s not your fault that Herman...” But she couldn’t say it.

  He nodded slowly.

  “I’ll show you a room upstairs.”

  The back door slammed. Norma’s shoulders tensed, but no footsteps came into the hallway.

  After she showed Adonis to a bedroom at one end of the upstairs hallway, she threw open the door to the guest room at the other end. It had been the master bedroom before they’d added the large, airy suite to the bottom floor.

  With automatic movements, she flung open the closet doors and rearranged things stored there. She considered the bed and decided the sheets were fresh enough. No one had slept in them, she was certain, since her brother’s family had visited at the holidays. But the old rocking chair would have to go.

  She jostled it around, using the runners as feet to walk it to the nearest room—one filled with material, yarn, and a host of other crafting supplies. The chair burned her palms. Herman was so proud of this walnut rocker, the first project of magnitude he’d completed without his grandfather’s help.

  After washing her hands to remove the feel of the wood, she trudged down the stairs, relieved not to meet the boy—Adonis—in the hall. In the master bedroom, she emptied a few drawers of her unmentionables and swiveled toward the door. Herman blocked the doorway.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Moving to the guest room.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” He stepped closer.

  “I do.”

  “My suitcase is already packed.” He gestured toward the battered case sitting beside his closet door.