The Seven Year Secret

by Roz Denny Fox

  The little face puckered. “I didn’t like those things. Why can’t we find ’nother kidney today?”

  Yes, why? Mallory wanted to rage and shout. “That’s what Dr. Dahl, Mommy and Grandpapa are going to do. Search until we find the perfect kidney.”

  “Okay. But hurry, please. I hafta get back to school, ’cause my teacher said we get a vacation party on the last day.”

  “I’ll hurry my fastest. And I’ll ask Dr. Dahl if I can take you to the party.”

  Bradford fumbled for his handkerchief, found it and blew his nose. He turned slowly, discreetly blotting his eyes. “Listen, sugar pie. If Fredric says no, I’ll bring the party to our house when you’re better. I’ll hire the clowns we had for your last birthday. And we’ll have cake and all the ice cream you kids can eat. And—”

  “Dad.” Mallory interrupted, cautioning him with a glance.

  “What? Are clowns too extravagant? I commissioned a three-ring circus for your tenth birthday, missy.”

  “A circus? Oh, goody.” Liddy clapped her hands.

  Mallory rolled her eyes. “Dad! You promised not to overindulge Liddy Bea if we moved in with you.”

  The practiced southern statesman didn’t look the least bit contrite.

  “Liddy, play with your bunny a minute,” Mallory said. “Mommy and Grandpapa are going to walk down the hall for a soda.”

  “Can I have grape juice?”

  “Oh, baby, I don’t think Dr. Dahl wants you to eat or drink anything until after the surgery.” Mallory leaned over and kissed Liddy’s nose before sliding off the bed, raising the side rail and locking it in place.

  Liddy buried her face in the rabbit’s soft fur, but she didn’t cry or beg for juice as another child might. She accepted her mother’s decision.

  The senator waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. “If you’re going to nag me about offering to throw a party for Liddy’s class, you may as well save your breath. What good is all the damn money I have if I can’t spend it on the people I love? I’d hire all the characters in Disney World and fly them here if I thought it’d give her pleasure.” His drawl was never more pronounced than when he was passionate about something. The same impassioned manner had won him prestige as a lawyer and later convinced junior legislators to vote his way. However, his daughter had never quaked before him.

  “I know you mean well, Dad, and that you love Liddy Bea to bits. But I want her to value things money can’t buy. I want her friends to value her for who she is and not worry that they might have to compete with the Forrest fortune.”

  His eyes narrowed as he held open the door to the room with the soda machines. He forged ahead and shoved in money, then smacked a selection button. “You’re not talking about Liddy Bea now, are you? We’re back to what happened with you and O’Rourke.”

  “It’s all tied together. And yes, I need to talk to you about Connor,” she said, accepting the cola and closing her eyes as she rolled the cold can across her suddenly hot forehead. “He’s back in the States. In Miami.”

  Brad turned around to get his own soda, effectively hiding the guilty flush that climbed his neck. “I know. So I take it he’s finally contacted you?”

  “No.” Mallory wasn’t nearly as effective at concealing her pain. “I read an article on him in one of your business magazines while I was recovering from my part of the surgery. Connor’s become a leading expert in baroclinic instability relative to cyclostrophic and thermal winds.” She rattled the words off with ease. “A gadget he’s invented might facilitate early detection of hurricanes. They’re testing it at Miami’s weather center.” Mallory’s voice held a tinge of pride, even as she studiously avoided the scrutiny in her father’s eyes.

  Brad took a deep pull from his soda. “I assume there’s a point to this recap of O’Rourke’s success? By the way, I read the article. I also happened to walk into your room the day of his TV interview. You were so engrossed you didn’t realize I was there. I went back to my study to see the remainder of the program. Must say I was impressed by everything he’s accomplished.”

  That tidbit stopped Mallory cold. She’d been impressed, too. She’d also foolishly waited, expecting Connor to phone her. He could easily have done so, had he wanted. After all, she wasn’t the one who’d left home to flit all over the globe. Yet, even now, she couldn’t bring herself to discuss the barrage of emotions seeing Connor had evoked. Her first thought was that Connor had matured well. As the interview progressed and she heard his voice, observed the intensity in his gray eyes, all her old feelings for him had flooded back. After the show, she’d been oh-so-tempted to phone him—to unburden her conscience. Her next reaction had been who was she kidding? With Connor, it was out of sight, out of mind. She owed him nothing.

  Her fingers tightened on the soda can. “I’m flying to Miami to see Connor. I wanted you to know so you could arrange to spend extra time at the hospital with Liddy. I’ll wait until she’s out of the woods, of course. Then I’ll fly down one day and back the next.” She didn’t want to accost Connor at work. Evening, at his home, would be better. Mallory skewered her father with the “Forrest look.” “Will you use your clout to get me his home address?”

  Bradford heaved a sigh. “I’ve been expecting something like this.”

  “You have?” She gaped. “It only occurred to me today. So, you aren’t going to try and talk me out of it?”

  “I can see your mind’s already made up. But…is it wise? Isn’t O’Rourke a stone better left unturned?”

  “I’m assuming he has two functioning kidneys. Maybe I sound mercenary, but his child needs one. And the rest of her family has been ruled out.”

  “I don’t think you’re mercenary, Mallory. In fact, I’ve toyed with the thought of contacting Connor myself. But it wasn’t my place. I’m frankly worried about how he’ll react. He could get nasty, or even deny that Liddy’s his.”

  Mallory crushed her can, hardly aware of what she was doing. “I guess I’ve always had more faith in Connor than you or Mother did. She hated him, you know? Or rather, she looked down on him. Mom couldn’t handle the fact that Lydia O’Rourke worked as a maid to support herself and Connor after his dad ran off. Mom could be such a snob.”

  “That’s enough, Mallory. Make peace with Connor for Liddy’s sake. Leave your mother out of it. Whatever Beatrice did, she did out of love for you. I won’t let you speak ill of her.” Spinning on the heels of his polished wingtips, Brad stomped out of the room. He pitched his soda can in a wastebasket outside the door. Then he waited for Mallory.

  “I’ll go make a few calls,” he said tiredly. “See if I can turn up a current address on O’Rourke. Tell Liddy I’ll be back before they give her the anesthetic. Her surgery’s at four, right?” He shot a cuff to check his watch. “It’s two-fifteen. That allows me time to twist a few arms.”

  Mallory hugged him. “Thanks. I may not always sound like it, but I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and Liddy Bea. You’re our rock. And just because I felt Mom treated Connor unfairly doesn’t mean I love her less. It’s certainly not her fault he went off to the South Pacific chasing storms. I made a conscious decision not to tell him I was pregnant, so I wouldn’t stand in the way of his big dream. It’s taken a while, but I can finally accept that I never meant to him what he meant to me. What I won’t do is take the easy way out now. Not if there’s even a remote possibility he can help Liddy Bea.”

  Brad’s brow furrowed. “I could hire someone to tell him. Then you wouldn’t even have to speak to him.”

  “I should’ve tracked him down when Liddy Bea was born. It would have been the right thing to do. If Mother hadn’t been so ill…if she hadn’t suddenly died…” Mallory gnawed at the inside of her mouth. “Time seemed to drift away from me, and…well, I rationalized that if he didn’t care about me, he didn’t deserve to…” Her voice faltered, her throat too tight to go on. The truth was, Connor had hurt her terribly by forgetting she existed.


  Her dad’s shoulders slumped. “All hell will break loose, but it can’t be helped. I told Beatrice that someday…” The senator pulled himself up short, turned and stalked heavily off, shaking his head as he went.

  Mallory stared after him. He seemed to shuffle down the hall. Her father, who did everything decisively. He’d suffered so much with her mother’s death. And Mallory hadn’t been as cooperative as she might have been. Her dad had begged her to live at home and assume the many social duties Beatrice had once performed so perfectly. But Mallory craved a life of her own, and she’d been determined to raise Liddy without the Forrest money—money she blamed, at least partially, for Connor’s lengthy silence. Yet after Liddy Bea got ill, she’d gravitated again toward her family.

  When Liddy was an infant, Dr. Robinson had offered Mallory the job in the hospital’s public relations department; it had been an answer to a prayer. Life was idyllic until Liddy Bea took sick. Thinking of Alec prodded Mallory to action. She had to make arrangements for another leave. Or perhaps it’d be better for the hospital if she just quit this time.

  Robinson didn’t agree when she went to see him. “We muddled along without anyone to do fund-raising until you fell into our lap, Mallory. There’s nothing crucial in the works until our winter dance. And you’ve already booked the site. Fredric will find Lydia a kidney soon. For now, take whatever time you need.” Alec checked to see that no one was watching, then kissed Mallory’s cheek.

  “Thanks.” She drew back so the kiss barely grazed her face. “Once Liddy Bea’s out of the hospital, I’ll finish building the database for the ball invitations. I can do that at home, while we wait for a donor.”

  Sliding an arm around her shoulders, Alec escorted Mallory from his private office. Concentrating on the ball helped take her mind off the impending surgery and a larger concern—visiting Connor. Mallory wasn’t sure why she hadn’t mentioned her plans to Alec. Maybe because she suspected he, too, would disapprove.

  LIDDY’S SURGERY WENT WELL. By nine that evening, Mallory marveled at how quickly the child bounced back. Her own recovery as a donor had been slow. Liddy also had an optimistic outlook, a willingness to assume the best, something for which Mallory was extremely grateful.

  The doctor elected to keep Liddy hospitalized a few days to monitor her for infection and to set up her dialysis schedule, but he told Mallory there was no valid reason to stay with Liddy around the clock. Which was why, Friday noon, she found herself on a Miami-bound commuter plane.

  It was still officially spring, yet the air in Tallahassee was already summer-muggy. She actually looked forward to the coastal breezes. Mallory wasn’t sure, though, whether she looked forward to meeting Connor again, or dreaded it. At one time, she’d loved him more deeply and completely than she’d ever loved another human being. He, on the other hand, had been the one to drag his feet in their relationship. Despite that, she’d never dreamed he’d go off and forget all about her.

  In fact, she thought she’d scaled all his barriers the year he entered grad school at Florida State University. She’d collected her public relations degree and moved into his apartment to devote herself to making him happy. That was the first time he’d used the word love in connection with her name. He’d even said he didn’t think he could live without her. But he’d certainly managed to do just that.

  The eve of his master’s graduation, Mallory had news of her own—which she held back, planning to surprise him after they’d enjoyed his favorite meal of fat Gulf shrimp and tarragon rice, topped by skewers of mushrooms and tomatoes. If she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the Cajun spices—could feel the sultry air in the tiny apartment.

  Connor, it so happened, arrived home with an MS and his own exciting news. A plum job offer—on a remote atoll in the South Pacific, complete with an opportunity to get his Ph.D. via correspondence. Courtesy of a Tallahassee manufacturer, and in conjunction with the national weather service, he was awarded a chance to realize his dream of developing an early-detection system for hurricanes.

  Excited for him, Mallory suggested she accompany him as far as Hawaii. “I’ll find a job, then when you have breaks, I’ll be waiting there for you,” she’d said.

  Although she’d tried hard to wipe out his answer, it came back as clearly now as the night he’d broken her heart. “You stay here. Marry one of those up-and-coming lawyers your folks keep parading past you. It’ll take me years to finish my work. You’re a distraction, Mallory. A huge distraction. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and I can’t afford to blow it.”

  She’d given in to tears. Connor had relented marginally, saying they’d keep in touch by mail. And she had written once or twice. Until her mother’s illness worsened, and pregnancy sapped her own flagging energy. In all those nine months before Liddy Bea was born, Mallory never received so much as a word from Connor.

  Beatrice Forrest died the day Mallory left the hospital with her new baby. After that, her life changed drastically, and she’d lost the courage to write him again. But she’d kept tabs on him occasionally by checking the national hurricane site on the Internet.

  Sipping lime water provided by the stewardess, Mallory checked the creased blue paper on which her dad had scribbled Connor’s address. When the hour came to actually face him, she hoped the words would flow and her tears would not.

  The plane landed on time. Her dad had ordered a car service to take her to the Biltmore, an elegant old hotel that rose like a terra-cotta wedding cake from the middle of residential Coral Gables. The driver said he’d return at six-thirty to drive her to Connor’s. Mallory knew without asking that the man had orders to wait outside the apartment while she went in and said her piece. She didn’t doubt that he might also drag her out if she didn’t leave in a reasonable period of time.

  Nervously Mallory showered off the dust of travel. She dressed in a no-nonsense pin-striped suit. One glimpse in the floor-length mirror, and she stripped out of it again. She wanted to appear mature and professional. But pride demanded she look feminine, too. Connor, never stingy with compliments, had always liked her in blue. In a weak moment, she’d packed such a dress. A sleeveless sapphire silk with a flared skirt, banded by a straw belt. She had shoes and an oversize bag to match. The last thing she did was spritz her throat and wrists with her trademark perfume. If nothing else, the familiar scent bolstered her courage.

  At the preappointed hour, her driver wove unerringly through thickening traffic, arriving outside Connor’s apartment building in record time. “There’s nowhere to park, miss. Shall I circle the block until something opens up?”

  “Yes, please.” Mallory found speaking difficult because her throat had gone dry. “I don’t expect this to take long.” She figured on giving Connor her canned spiel. Then she’d hand over Dr. Dahl’s business card, plus his typed report, and leave Connor to work things out for himself. If he hadn’t changed, it was how he operated best. Facts before action.

  Mallory thanked providence that his apartment was at ground level. Her weak knees would never propel her up a set of stairs. Blocking out the boisterous laughter and loud music pulsing through his open window, she rapped loudly enough to be heard over the din.

  A casually dressed man with sun-bleached blond hair juggled two frosty glasses of beer in one hand as he opened the door. His wolf whistle and shouted “Greg, she’s here!” had Mallory stepping back. A second man appeared. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her inside. Mallory squeaked out a protest as, against her will, she entered what was clearly a keg party made up of fifteen to twenty males.

  “We thought you’d be wearing a skimpy sequined cop uniform,” the man clutching Mallory confided with a wink. “I guess the costume and handcuffs are in this bag.” Releasing her arm, he began pawing through her straw purse.

  Mallory yanked it back. A tug-of-war ensued, which upended her bag. Photos of Liddy Bea at various ages, which Mallory had included to show Connor if all else failed, fell out and slid across a slick tile floor.


  “Stop!” Dropping to her knees, she scrambled to gather up the pictures before the oaf with the beer spilled it on them. Her heart hammered madly. “I’m afraid you’ve confused me with someone else. I’m looking for Connor O’Rourke.”

  “This is his place.” The man holding the beer did splash foam on Mallory’s bare arm. “Oops. Sorry. I’m Paul Caldwell. That’s Greg Dugan. We contracted with your agency for you to come here and do your cop routine.”

  Still on her knees, Mallory stared up at him, uncomprehending.

  “Jeez, you know—where you handcuff Connor to a chair and then do a little…uh…bump-and-grind number. Hey, it’s for his bachelor party! Connor’s getting hitched.” The beer drinker enunciated slowly this time, as if Mallory were addle-brained.

  Indeed she was. She’d envisioned Connor O’Rourke in a whole lot of ways over the past seven years. On the verge of marriage was not one of them.

  She went hot, then cold, then hot again. Her fingers groped for the baby picture of Liddy Bea.

  She hardly noticed that another broad hand had reached over her shoulder to scrape the photo off the floor. Nevertheless, Mallory froze as a voice she remembered too well rained down on her head. “Paul? Greg? What’s going on? Who is this woman? I thought we agreed there’d be no females at this party.”

  Mallory couldn’t say how she found the courage to stand and face the man she’d come to see. But she did. And she managed to pluck Liddy’s picture from his suddenly slack fingers. Clearly the advantage of surprise was on her side.

  “Mal…lo…ry?” Her name fell from Connor’s lips in three distinct syllables.

  In spite of all the time that had passed and all the rehearsing she’d done, Mallory couldn’t speak. She couldn’t do anything but swallow repeatedly and stand before him like a statue, watching the play of dark shadows cross features she’d never forgotten.