by Irene Hannon
She paused, reaching deep for the words she’d spoken to so few people. “He said he was there on business and gave me a card from a major company, one you’d both recognize. Then he asked if he could meet me for dinner the next night. For a woman who’d spent her life with her head in books, whose experience with romance was confined to old Cary Grant movies, it all felt magical. Story-bookish. Since he said he was a widower and he wasn’t wearing a ring, I agreed.”
“Let me guess. He lied about his marital status.” David’s lips were set in a grim line.
“I honestly don’t know, though I suspect he did. I’ll explain that in a minute.”
With a nod, he leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees.
“To make a long story short, we shared dinner every night for the week I was there. We went on gondola rides. Met to watch the sun rise over St. Mark’s square. Visited the Rialto Bridge. He wooed me with words—and then with wine. That was my downfall.”
Her fingers began to tingle, and she loosened her clasp to let the blood flow back into her white knuckles. “On my last night in Venice, he insisted I try some of the local wine. I wasn’t a drinker, but I finally gave in, planning to have only a small glass. He kept refilling it, though, and I lost track of how much I drank. The moonlight was shimmering on the canals, the gondoliers were singing love songs, couples were strolling by arm in arm. It was magical. The next thing I knew, we were in my hotel room. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“So the next morning he just said good-bye and walked out?” David’s expression was fierce.
She gave a mirthless laugh. “He wasn’t even that polite. When I woke up, he was gone . . . along with all the empty promises he’d made about the future. I called the hotel he’d told me he was staying at, but there was no one registered under his name. That’s when I realized I’d been had. That he was just some traveling businessman who picked up gullible women to amuse him in his free time.” Hard as she tried to prevent it, a bitter note crept into her voice.
Now it was Keith’s turn to lean forward. “Did you contact the guy later?”
“I hadn’t intended to. After I left Italy, I was determined to forget about him. But once I discovered I was pregnant, I panicked and called his company, hoping he might take some responsibility. Turns out the business card he’d shown me had also been a fake. There was no one working there with that name. Hal Wright didn’t exist in real life.”
Anger flashed in David’s eyes. “There are words for people like him—but they’re not suitable for polite company.”
She managed a sad smile. “I must confess, I’ve thought a few of them, even if I’ve never said them. But there are words for women who do what I did too—and they’re not pretty, either.”
“Alcohol can take away inhibitions and loosen morals.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not going to blame the alcohol. I hate those drunk-driving campaigns that say alcohol kills. Alcohol doesn’t kill. People who use alcohol irresponsibly kill. That’s what happened in my case. I could have stood firm, refused to drink. I could have listened to the voice of my conscience after things started to accelerate, but I ignored it. The blame is mine.”
“The man who seduced you shares some of it.” David’s tone was adamant, his jaw hard.
Maureen shrugged, suddenly weary. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“So you faced this all alone.”
“Yes.”
“What about your parents? Other family?”
“I was an only child and had nothing but distant relations. Dad was a chaplain at the U.S. Naval Hospital in Okinawa. I visited my parents once a year, during my summer break, so the timing of the pregnancy was providential in that regard. They never knew about it. I never wanted them to know. I was too ashamed. My one solace was my faith, but in the beginning I felt distanced even from God. Eventually, though, I found the courage to ask him for forgiveness, and I made peace with my mistake—or so I thought. But after cancer struck, I realized I had unfinished business.”
“So you’d never considered trying to find your son before your diagnosis?” Keith fixed her with an intent look.
“Yes, I did. My best friend, Linda Barrett, urged me to. I met her when I was in my early forties and she was in her fifties. She was a childless widow and didn’t have any family, either. We clicked like sisters. After we’d known each other several years, I told her my story, and she encouraged me to try and connect with my son. She thought it could have a positive impact on both our lives. I wrestled with the idea but never followed her advice. Before she died three years ago, she brought it up again. In hindsight, I think she was right. That’s why I’m grateful to both of you for agreeing to help me.”
“Speaking of that. . . .” David shifted toward Keith. “Any progress?”
“I have two leads. My plan is to follow up on both of them early this week.”
“There’s no urgency.” Maureen directed her comment to Keith. “And I appreciate you stopping by today with an update. I also appreciate your understanding. The circumstances of my situation don’t condone what I did, but they do give it context. I suspect many women who give up their children make that decision under similar duress—and perhaps live to regret it.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if he was wondering what had prompted her last remark. But he didn’t comment. Instead, he checked his watch. “If we’re finished, my mother is expecting me to come by early today and help her clean out her garden.”
“I won’t keep you any longer, then.” She stood. “Let me walk you to the door.”
He rose and looked at David. “Are you leaving too?”
“No. Maureen and I have plans for the afternoon.”
“Oh.” He shifted toward her. “Well, uh, I’ll be in touch as soon as I have any information on the . . . two sources we discussed. And thank you for sharing all that background with me. It was very . . . enlightening.”
“Thank you for all you’ve done to help me in my quest.” She preceded him to the foyer and opened the door. “Enjoy your afternoon.”
“You too.” With one more glance back toward the living room, he exited.
When she rejoined David, he was standing. She positioned herself behind one of the wing chairs and rested her hands on the back. “Keith seemed a little confused by . . . us. I take it he doesn’t know you and I have become friends.”
“He does now.” He strolled over, stopping in front of the chair, close but not close enough to invade her personal space. “Why do I have a feeling you had an ulterior motive for including him in your story today?”
“Because you’re a very perceptive man?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I appreciate the compliment—but is that all I get?”
“Sorry. I can’t divulge a confidence.”
“Enough said. I admire people who can keep a secret. And I’ll keep yours.”
She moistened her lips. “To be honest, I wasn’t certain how you’d react. I sense you’re a man of high moral values, and I’m not proud of violating mine.”
“Maureen . . . I doubt there’s a person alive who hasn’t on occasion violated their values or made mistakes they regret—like the ones I made with my wife and daughter. You had a moment of weakness; my mistakes went on for years. I live with guilt and remorse too.”
She sighed. “Why does life have to be tainted by regret?”
“That’s a question only God can answer. But I’ll tell you one thing I don’t regret—meeting you.”
Pressure built behind her eyes. “Thank you. That’s one of the loveliest things anyone has ever said to me. And for the record, I feel the same way.”
“Dr. Chandler, you just made my day.” He held out his hand. “Now what do you say we two imperfect people go to a birthday party and play pin the tail on the donkey with a four-year-old?”
She looked at his extended hand . . . firm . . . steady . . . waiting—and knew it was an invitation for more than a b
irthday party.
He was asking her to take a leap into the unknown.
Just as Hal had.
But this time, her conscience wasn’t blasting out a red alert. This time, her heart was singing, not quaking. This time, her decision was being made with full control of her faculties.
Stepping out from behind the chair, she placed her fingers in his. “Let’s join the party.”
“Isn’t that Keith’s car?”
As Haley leaned forward, straining against the seat belt to peer through the front windshield, Claire inspected the sporty vehicle rolling down their street toward them.
Unless another late-model red Infiniti happened to be visiting her neighborhood, it was Keith.
But why would he be here two days in a row?
“I think so.” She eased back on the gas pedal.
The other car slowed too.
As they drew alongside one another, the tinted window on the driver’s side of the Infiniti rolled down.
She lowered her window too. “What are you doing here?”
“A command performance with Maureen that included my boss.” He leaned sideways to see past her. “Hi, Haley.”
“Hi, Keith.”
“Is everything okay?” Claire rested her elbow on the window.
“Fine. She had some more background information she wanted to pass on. Is your dad gone?”
“Yes. We just dropped him off at the Spirit Airport terminal—how the other half travels, I guess. Talk about plush.”
“I wouldn’t know. McMillan employees fly commercial, not corporate—and I have the leg cramps to prove it. Speaking of sore muscles . . . how are your shoulders and neck?”
“Better.” Sort of. But she didn’t want to invite another offer for a massage.
“So did your dad have a good time?”
“We all did.”
“Yeah.” Haley had unlocked the seat belt and was now hanging over the wheel, almost in her lap. “Cap is lots of fun. You should have stayed around. I think he would have liked that, ’cause he asked a bunch of questions about you.”
Trying not to cringe, Claire changed the subject. “So where are you off to?”
“My mom’s. I told her I’d help her clean out her annual gardens.”
“Perfect day for it.”
“Yeah.”
A car backed out of a driveway down the street, and she gestured toward it. “I think we’re about to hold up traffic.”
Despite a quick check in the rearview mirror, he didn’t move. “Listen . . . I know the bedroom is finished, but if there’s anything else you could use a hand with, I’m available.”
He was looking for another reason to see her.
Meaning her data dump about Brett hadn’t scared him off.
Thank you, God . . . I think.
“You don’t have to be a genie or a handyman to come visit. Maybe next time, we could do something fun.”
“Hey . . . we’re going skating next Saturday.” Haley leaned her elbow on the steering wheel. “You want to come?”
“Ice-skating in May?”
“It’s an indoor rink.”
The car pulled up behind Keith with a toot of the horn.
“You’re welcome to join us. Think about it and let me know. No pressure, though. Ice-skating isn’t everyone’s thing. Have fun at your mom’s.” With a quick wave, Claire rolled up her window and accelerated.
Haley bounced back to her seat.
“Buckle up.”
“We’re almost home.”
“Most accidents happen close to home.”
Grumbling, she complied. “Do you think Keith will go skating with us?”
“Hard to say. Not everyone likes to ice-skate.”
“If he doesn’t, could we invite him to do some other fun thing?”
“Maybe.”
“Like what?”
“We’ll have to think about it.”
Haley went silent for a few moments. “My school picnic is in a couple of weeks. He might like that.”
No way was she showing up at a family event with Keith in tow. That would look too . . . cozy.
“That’s a thought. But I bet we can come up with a bunch of other ideas too.”
“Yeah.”
As they passed in front of Maureen’s house, her neighbor came out the front door with a trim, silver-haired man. Haley gawked as they pulled into their driveway.
“That looks like the man from the newspaper picture. The one I wrote the letter to. Keith’s boss.”
Claire tried to observe the duo a bit more discreetly. “I expect it is.”
“Is he helping find her son too?”
“I guess so.” At the very least.
While she pulled into the garage, Haley settled back in her seat. “With two people looking, I bet we’ll find him. I’m really glad I wrote that letter. This might be the best birthday Dr. Chandler ever had.”
Claire slid out of the car, catching one more glance of the couple before the garage door trundled down and blocked them from view.
It very well might.
Whether they located her son or not.
15
“Nervous?” David paused outside Debbie’s front door to check on his date.
Maureen smoothed a hand down her skirt. “Is it that obvious?”
“Not at all. But I’d be nervous if I thought I might be walking into the kind of tense family situation I described to you.”
“What’s the worst that can happen? Debbie gives me the cool treatment.” She shrugged. “I’ll have fun with the children no matter what.”
“I like how you look on the bright side of things.” And there was plenty more to like too.
“It makes life more pleasant than the alternative.”
“I agree. Ready?”
“Or not.”
Flashing her a grin, he pressed the bell, then motioned to the brightly wrapped package she was holding. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. I had the gift covered.” He hefted the box in his arms.
“With children, two presents are always better than one.”
Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, and a moment later Shawn pulled it open. “Welcome to the nuthouse . . . or should I say, birthday house. Nice to see you again, Dr. Chandler. Please, come in.”
“Only if you call me Maureen.”
“An easy request to accommodate. We’re not the formal type.”
As they stepped inside, Bobby barreled down the hall, skidding to a stop in front of them. Although he stayed a safe distance away as he eyed Maureen, it was obvious he was intrigued by the presents in their arms. Grace sidled in too, but she wedged herself behind Shawn.
“Hey . . . don’t I get a hug from the birthday boy?” David got down on one knee, set his gift on the floor, and held out his arms.
His grandson threw himself into the embrace. “Did that lady bring me a present too?”
At his grandson’s theatrically loud whisper, David felt Maureen drop down beside him.
“Yes, she did. I heard you were four today, but you look so grown up—are you sure you aren’t six or seven?”
Backing off from the hug, Bobby gave Maureen a once-over, his chest puffing slightly. “No. I’m only four.” He squinted at her head. “You have funny hair.”
“Bobby!”
Bobby sent his aghast mother a confused look as she came to an abrupt halt on the threshold of the foyer.
David rose, ready to step in—but Maureen handled the situation with aplomb.
Why was he not surprised?
“It’s okay.” His date directed the reassurance to Debbie, then refocused on Bobby, staying down on his level. “It is kind of funny, isn’t it? But it makes me feel like Rope Girl.”
He scrunched up his face. “Who’s that?”
“You don’t know about Rope Girl?” Maureen widened her eyes.
“No.”
“I bet your sister does.” She shifted to get a better view of t
he little girl. “Have you heard of Rope Girl, Grace?”
“No.” Grace eased out from behind her father and moved closer to her brother, obviously intrigued.
“Rope Girl is one of the Disney heroes. She’s a member of Teamo Supremo and uses a magic jump rope to capture her enemies. Do you like to jump rope, Grace?”
His granddaughter nodded.
“I thought so. I bet you’re good at it too. Anyway, Rope Girl has hair just like mine—short and spiky—except hers is purple.”
“I like red better.” Bobby inspected her.
“I do too.” Maureen patted her hair.
Bobby cocked his head. “Is it sharp?”
“Not at all. Would you like to touch it?”
After shooting his mother an uncertain glance, he gave it a tentative pat. “Hey! It’s soft!”
“That’s right.” Maureen smiled at Grace. “Would you like to touch it too?”
“Yes.” As she edged closer, Maureen bent her head so the little girl could check it out.
“Are you a superhero?” Grace’s question came out in an awed whisper.
“No. I don’t have a magic jump rope. But I do have something else you might like.” She dug into the tote bag slung over her shoulder and withdrew a small, wrapped package. “I know it’s not your birthday, but since it’s my first visit, I brought you a little treat too.”
“Say thank you, honey.” Shawn stepped closer and laid a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.
“Thank you.” Grace sent Maureen a shy smile.
“You’re very welcome.”
“Wow. My mom said you probably wouldn’t bring a present even for me, but you brought one for both of us.” Bobby beamed at her. “I’m glad you came.”
“I’m glad too. Besides, what would a birthday be without a lot of presents?”
“Yeah! So can I open it now?”
“After dinner, Bobby. With all the other presents.” Debbie wiped her palms down her apron and took a step toward Maureen. “That was very nice of you.” The words were polite, but her tone was stiff.