Mr. Elliott Finds a Family

by Susan Floyd

  “Is now a good time to talk?” he asked directly.

  Beth Ann nodded. They would have to have this talk sooner or later. At least she was sitting at home on her couch, in a safe place. She didn’t know about him. “As good a time as any.”

  “Do you have proof that Caroline is Bernie’s mother?” he asked, his neutral face back. He sounded like a businessman doing research rather than a man discussing his wife.

  Beth Ann nodded. “I have lots of proof. Birth certificate. Photos of Carrie pregnant. If it makes you feel any better, she had a lousy pregnancy. She fought it all the way and wasn’t a glowing mother-to-be.”

  Christian didn’t blink and Beth Ann wondered if that was any surprise to him.

  “I don’t understand why she would keep it a secret,” he muttered almost more to himself than her.

  Beth Ann’s heart went out to him as she watched him struggle to process the information.

  “Maybe she didn’t want to be a mother,” Beth Ann said simply. Or you’re not the father. She resisted the urge to touch him, to try and comfort him.

  Christian must have been thinking the exact same thing, because he was silent. His next question came out of nowhere.

  “How close are you and Glenn?”

  Beth Ann was too surprised to be offended.

  “Very close,” she said frankly.

  “Bernadette seems attached.”

  “She is.”

  “Are you thinking about making Glenn her father?”

  Beth Ann choked back a cough, then shook her head solemnly. “Don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” Christian’s eyes were hard to read.

  “Because,” Beth Ann said placidly, “he’s already married. And Fred would be very disappointed if I took his husband away.”

  She watched Christian’s face until it became clear that he’d absorbed the full meaning of what she’d said.

  “Ah.” Christian nodded with new understanding. “I’m embarrassed.”

  “Why? How could you have known?”

  “So Glenn sleeps in your room—”

  “And I sleep in the daybed in Bernie’s room. Just like now. You’ll sleep in the front. I’ll sleep in the back.” Beth Ann spoke practically, but now she wondered if that was enough space between them. He seemed to be sitting awfully close.

  “Did Caroline ever see Bernie?”

  Their small conversational reprieve was over. Beth Ann swallowed hard. “Not after she left.”

  “I know you mentioned it before but how old was Bernie when she left?”

  “Ten days.”

  “Ten days.” Christian nodded. She could see he was thinking, making calculations. “So if Bernie was born in June—”

  “June 27.”

  “Caroline would have left at the beginning of July.”

  Beth Ann nodded. “I think she went straight to San Francisco and caught a three-month Alaskan cruise, so she would have been home the beginning of October. I kept thinking she was going to come back and pick Bernie up, that she just needed to get away for a time—postpartum depression and all.”

  “But she never did.” Christian’s voice was flat and hard.

  Beth Ann wanted to cry for him.

  Christian clenched his stomach and regulated his breathing. He was trying every trick he’d learned, but nothing seemed to keep the feelings down. He had tried to intellectualize the situation. Here they were having a perfectly rational conversation about his wife and the baby his wife had abandoned. But he just felt like his guts had been blown out.

  He avoided looking at Beth Ann, her dark, dark eyes, so expressive. He felt his throat close and he sat straighter to take a long swig of the iced tea. He knew she was still staring at him, just as she had in the parking lot of Los Amigos, and he felt that if he looked at her, she would see how terribly he was dealing with the entire situation.

  Christian took a deep breath. He could do this. He had negotiated deals worth millions of dollars. He had saved his grandfather’s company from hostile takeovers and stared down lawyers and reporters during verbal assassinations of his family name and reputation. He had even managed to maintain a level of corporate decency through a period when all his peers were cutting loyal employees loose to save their bottom lines. So why couldn’t he manage to look in those espresso-brown eyes?

  Because, despite all his training, despite all the control that he had managed the past thirty-six years of his life, he couldn’t stop the pain that was beginning to pulse right under his sternum. And with every expression of concern she gave him, the hurt pulsated even harder.

  “How do you do it?” he asked.

  “Do what?” Suddenly, her eyes were wary.

  “Raise someone who isn’t yours.”

  She laughed. “I’m just returning the favor. Iris raised me and I wasn’t hers. Carrie was her granddaughter by blood. I was barely a granddaughter by marriage—Carrie’s father never even adopted me. But that didn’t make any difference to Iris. I was her granddaughter.” She continued, her voice fierce. “Besides, you can’t tell me that Bernie isn’t mine. She is my daughter.”

  “Have you adopted her?” Christian asked, wondering if he would have any say in the matter, given that he was Caroline’s husband.

  “I’m in the process right now. But it’s long.” She cleared her throat. “Probably, I would have needed to get in touch with you for something in the end.”

  “I’d do anything to guarantee that Bernie got to stay right here.” Christian’s statement was flat.

  Beth Ann looked at him in surprise. “You’d want to help?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  She shrugged. “I just thought— Well, it occurred to me—”

  “That I’d want custody?”

  “Well, maybe.”

  “Is there any chance that I’m her father?” Christian asked, his voice light.

  From the pain in his eyes and the tight set of his handsome lips, Beth Ann knew he wasn’t joking at all. She wanted to be able to tell him that Carrie had told her he was the father and that she loved him desperately, but Carrie had only referred to his money, rarely the man. This time Beth Ann didn’t resist the urge to touch him. She caught his hand and squeezed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head. “She never said.”

  “But surely if I—”

  “Carrie was complicated. I’ve long given up trying to figure out how she could have walked away from Bernie. I know I couldn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t walk away,” Christian said.

  Beth Ann regarded him for a long time, tenderness welling up in her as she realized she believed him. She took a deep breath, not daring to contemplate a permanent relationship between Christian and Bernie. And maybe herself. When she realized that she was still holding his hand, liking the feel of his fingers entwined with hers, she hastily pulled her hand away. He seemed reluctant to let her go.

  “How did Carrie die?” Beth Ann asked, changing the subject, taking a large gulp of tea. She could still feel his touch.

  This time he didn’t do anything to hide the pain.

  Beth Ann added carefully, “The person who called said she was in an accident. I thought you would call.”

  Christian looked at her in surprise, then replied, “I didn’t know how to get in contact with you. If you remember we didn’t even really meet. I didn’t know you existed until the day you showed up at the office.”

  Beth Ann shook her head in disbelief. “No. I know Carrie was distant, but I don’t think she’d— No, she wouldn’t—”

  “Caroline told us she had no family,” Christian said flatly.

  Beth Ann was not prepared for the pain his words caused. She swallowed hard. “Well, technically, I suppose that’s true.”

  “When you showed up that time in San Diego, I felt terrible about your reception,” Christian said. “But I was in the middle of one of the biggest contractual agreem
ents I’d ever negotiated and I couldn’t stop what I was doing.”

  “I waited three days for Carrie to call me.” Beth Ann couldn’t keep the reproach out of her voice.

  “The next day, after the deal was signed, I asked Caroline about inviting you over to the house, but she said you were only in town for the day.”

  “You mean she lied?”

  Christian didn’t say anything. This time he grasped her hand. They stared at each other in silence, Carrie’s lies looming between them.

  He said quietly, “After she died, I remembered you but I didn’t remember your name. I didn’t know how to contact you. My lawyers hired an investigator to find you. By then, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you your sister was dead. I thought it would be better coming from my lawyer.” He hesitated. “But maybe I was wrong.”

  Beth Ann moved closer to him on the couch, so her shoulder touched his and shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I’m glad we were told in enough time to attend the funeral. I know it was an overwhelming time for you.” After a long pause, she asked again, “So how did she die?”

  He began in a halting voice, “She was in an accident. She was coming home from a party and she crashed her car into a tree. The police said there weren’t even tire marks, which means she didn’t even brake, she just ran into the tree at full speed.”

  “Is that all?”

  Christian was silent for a long time, then nodded, his eyes rimmed. “I wish it were more complicated than that.”

  “No drugs or alcohol?”

  “No. They did an autopsy.”

  “No reason?”

  “No.”

  Beth Ann wondered what he was hiding. His whole body tensed and he shifted away from her.

  “I know Carrie was my sister, but I don’t think she ever knew how to be a sister.”

  Christian gave a strangled laugh. “Funny. I was just thinking she didn’t know how to be a wife. But then again, maybe I didn’t know how to be a husband. Or the kind of husband she needed.”

  When his eyes met hers, Beth Ann saw his soul. She saw the torture that Carrie had caused him and knew it was unfair. Beth Ann wasn’t sure what kind of man Christian was, but whatever he’d done, he didn’t deserve to suffer like this. She stared at the hand that still clasped hers tightly and lifted it to her mouth.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHRISTIAN FELT Beth Ann’s soft lips on the back of his hand and a warmth suddenly spread through him, engulfing the hurt, washing it away.

  “Why did you do that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Beth Ann shook her head, her dark eyes seeing into him and he never felt safer.

  She was so close. He could feel the heat of her shoulder against his and he released his hand so that he could cup her face. Then, he kissed her, gently, his lips feeling hers experimentally. They were softer than he imagined, plumper, their landscape so different from Caroline’s. Their tentative response evoked a whole wave of conflicting emotions, and he pulled away as an onslaught of feelings swept through him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what?” Beth Ann looked confused by his apology.

  “For kissing you. I didn’t mean—”

  “I liked it.” Her eyes spoke of something deeper, more primal than he expected of her. “I’m not sorry.”

  “I didn’t mean— It won’t happen again,” he promised, his voice stiff.

  Her face flushed, Beth Ann jumped up quickly.

  “Beth Ann—” Christian caught her wrist.

  “I’m going to start getting dinner ready,” she said as she gently extricated herself from his hold. She walked toward the swinging door, her voice overly perky. “If I don’t have something planned by the time Iris wakes up, she wants to experiment in the kitchen. It’s too hot for experiments.”

  “Beth Ann.” He followed her into the kitchen.

  She whirled around, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. “Don’t,” she instructed him. “It never happened, okay?”

  “Mommy, I wake. I wake,” a small, groggy voice called.

  Beth Ann answered over her shoulder, “Hey, there sweetie.” She looked up at him, all traces of vulnerability gone, and asked with a quick smile, “You want to go get her?”

  Christian hesitated. “Do you think she’ll let me?”

  “She better let you.” Beth Ann grinned, her dimples flashing at him, making him want to kiss her all over again. “You’re going to be keeping her for the next month. Two-year-olds require routines. So ask her if she had a good sleep and about her dreams. When you pick her up, hug her really close, because even though she thinks she’s awake, she’s still coming out of it.” She fixed her smile on him. “Think about how it was when you were just waking up—how your mother would give you a big smile and welcome you to the real world.”

  Christian nodded, not knowing there could be a transition between the dreamworld and the real world. He never remembered his mother once giving him a big smile and cradling him close when he woke up. Never once.

  “So are you game?” Beth Ann tossed him a fun look. She lifted an eyebrow and added, “I double-dare you.”

  Double-dare you. The incantations of a child’s game he rarely got the chance to play.

  “I could never resist a dare.” Christian chuckled, then added as he ventured down the hall, “If she’s unhappy, it’s your fault.” Beth Ann’s laughter erased the tension caused by his kiss and he was grateful.

  “Mommy, I wake. I wake,” Bernie called again as Christian pushed open the door.

  He glued on his most charming smile, pushing away the feelings of panic when Bernie’s little mouth turned down. He said in a gentle voice, “Hi, Bernie. Did you have a good sleep?”

  “Mommy?” Bernie looked skeptical, but was too blurry from sleep to really object.

  “I’m going to take you to Mommy right now. She’s in the kitchen. Did you have a good sleep?” Christian picked her up, surprised when she offered him no resistance. Beth Ann was right; Bernie was still half-asleep. She rubbed her face into his shirt.

  “Good sleep,” Bernie said and yawned. She clutched his sleeve and then snuggled into his chest.

  “Did you have good dreams?” he asked softly, trying to imagine how she was feeling tucked close in his arms. A little girl raised with such security. Had his father ever tucked Christian in his arms, greeted him after a nap? He sought his first memories, trying to find his father and came up without one that was even close to tender. Instead, he remembered his father rebuttoning his little blazer when he was first going to boarding school because he’d done it wrong. He’d been so young. His mother had lied, telling the school he had turned five, when in reality, he had just turned four.

  Be a man now. You’re a man now. Don’t cry. Be a man.

  Christian swallowed hard, not understanding why that memory leapt to his mind. He had forgotten all about it.

  “Good dreams,” Bernie murmured.

  He kissed the top of her head. Her curls were so soft and smelled so clean. “Good dreams. What did you dream about, sweetheart?”

  Bernie looked up at him and tilted her head in thought and then said loudly, “Bang!”

  “Bang? You dreamed about bangs?”

  She nodded and then started talking gibberish, each sentence ending with bang and boom and bang, bang, bang.

  Christian nodded, asking her questions as they made their way to the kitchen.

  “Mommy!” Bernie held out her arms to Beth Ann, who took her and gave her a big kiss.

  “You woke up.”

  “Woked up.”

  “You want some juice?”

  “I’ll get it,” Christian volunteered quickly. His arms felt empty without Bernie’s weight and he wanted to do something. “What kind of juice do you want, Bernie?”

  Bernie suddenly turned shy, burying her face into Beth Ann’s shoulder, then peering at him with one eye.

  “What kind of juice do you want, Bern-Bern?
Apple or grape?”

  “Grape.”

  “You sure that you want grape? It’s purple.”

  “No purppo, appo.”

  “Apple juice is the brown juice.”

  “Appo.”

  Beth Ann gave Christian a smile. “I think she wants apple juice. But just pour a little and see if she likes it. There’s a sipper cup in that cabinet.”

  “Sipper cup?”

  “The plastic cup with the lid and lip.”

  “Oh.” Christian was looking hard. “I’ve got it.”

  “Only a little. Sometimes, she thinks she wants grape but she gets the words confused. Believe me, you don’t want to be wearing a shirt covered in grape juice because she really wanted apple. That’s why I always tell her which is which, just to make sure she knows what she’s getting.”

  Christian nodded, making a mental note, wondering for the briefest of moments if he had gotten himself in over his head. It seemed there was enough to do with just Bernie. He hadn’t even begun to learn about Iris’s needs.

  “It’s not that hard,” Beth Ann said, almost reading his mind. “You can feel free to back out. We won’t be any worse off.”

  “But then you can’t paint.”

  Beth Ann shrugged. “What it means is that I can’t paint now. I’ve got a whole life ahead of me to paint. I’d prefer to give Bernie and Iris a stable, happy home than be the most successful watercolorist out there.”

  “Did you do the mural in Bernie’s room?” Christian changed the subject and handed Bernie her sipper cup a quarter full of apple juice. She drank it all down and gave him an angelic smile.

  “More peas?” she asked as she handed the sipper cup out to him.

  “I think she wanted apple juice.” Beth Ann laughed.

  “Appo juice,” Bernie echoed.

  As he went for the juice, Beth Ann answered his question, “No. Glenn did that in water-based paints. When we finally realized Carrie wasn’t going to come back, we wanted to do something to celebrate Bernie’s place in our lives.”

  THE DAY WAS one of the most pleasant Christian had ever experienced. When Iris awoke from her nap, she was in cheerful spirits and she and Christian went out to collect the laundry, while Bernie played in the garden. He let Iris take down Beth Ann’s underwear. When they walked in, Iris insisting on carrying her half of the basket, Beth Ann gave him an approving smile. Out of her sight, he sorted the laundry, taking special care to smooth out Beth Ann’s simple cotton panties, amazed that something so basic and fundamental could be so darned sexy. He had seen some of the skimpiest, raciest of French lingerie, as well as the most expensive, and nothing seemed to be as touchable as these cotton panties with the tiny flowers scattered across them. While he was trying to imagine what they looked like on her—spectacular—Beth Ann walked in. He hastily covered the pile with a towel.