Their Secret Child

by Mary J. Forbes

  His courage expanded. "But I wanted you more. I've always wanted you more. Trouble was, the macho jock you knew was also a coward. I listened to my dad." He gave a small humorless laugh. "Funny thing was, Mom never agreed. I'd hear her arguing with Dad in their bedroom to let me go."

  "So why didn't you listen to her?" Addie asked quietly.

  "Because I kept thinking what if he's right? What if I can't make a living for you and the baby? Truth is, I was scared out of my mind."

  "And now you're not." A margin of sarcasm plucked at her voice, yet she left her hand in his.

  "And now I'm not," he agreed.

  She slipped her hand away; he felt the loss. She said, "So you'd like to atone, is that it?"

  "In a nutshell. More though, I owe it to you and Becky to, I don't know, to set things right. The way I didn't back then." He slanted her a look. "Will you let me?"

  They had reached their lanes and he pulled left, into hers. He drove straight to the honey shed, not slowing near her ruined truck and house. The mess had him swallowing hard: the bill would be in the thousands.

  In front of the little building, he hauled out the honeycomb frames from the truck's bed while she unlocked the door and directed him inside to the tables, where he laid the stacks.

  She had yet to respond to his question.

  "So, will you?" he asked. "Let me help."

  She was almost out the shed door, and when she turned her eyes were the color of the day's sky. "It doesn't work that way, Skip. You can't buy atonement."

  Anger flickered behind his tongue. She would take it the wrong way.

  "Is that what you think this is?"

  "I don't know what to think anymore. So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours...."

  Chancing it, he came toward her, touched her cheek. "It'll get better from here on," he said, watching her eyes close. He nearly kissed her again, but the last thing he wanted was for her to think all he had to offer was a sex-starved man. Although since their reunion—since seeing her, touching her—he'd come to believe in the phrase wholeheartedly.

  Her eyes fluttered open. "I can't give you the answers you want."

  "Not answers, just a little hope, is all." He tendered a smile.

  "A little hope." She smiled in return. "For Becky I'm willing to try anything."

  For Becky. He shouldn't feel the pinch of hurt. The reason he stood here in this honey house was for their daughter. For Becky he had returned to the island and sought out Addie. Their child took precedence in every aspect of his life. He should be glad Addie claimed the same priority.

  So why did he suddenly feel abandoned?

  Buck up, Skip. Imagine her suffering a hundred times worse when you moved away thirteen years ago.

  Depressed, he followed her outside, into the rain.

  She sent Skip back to his house to check on the children, while she began the process of extracting honey from the collected frames, plugging in the flat knife to heat and preparing the extractor.

  Some time later, as she reached for the last honeycomb frame to slice off its wax caps with the knife, the door to the shed opened and Michaela bounded in with Becky on her heels.

  "Mom," her daughter shouted. "Becky wants to see how we make honey. Mr. D-D-Dalton said she could. Isn't that neat?"

  The girl in question—oh, God, her other baby, the one she had kissed last night for the first time in more than a decade— stood hesitantly at the door, a shy smile crossing her features. Features Addie suddenly saw were a mixture of her parents....

  Addie's blue eyes, Skip's dark hair.

  Her slightly flared ears and Skip's crooked left incisor.

  That the child inherited Addie's wide mouth seemed a pity... until she zeroed in on its tilted-up corners. They were pure Skip.

  "Is it okay, Ms. Malloy?" Becky asked, bringing Addie out of her reverie.

  "Of course it is, love." The endearment slipped off her lips on a sweet swell of emotion.

  Becky's smile bloomed. "Thank you."

  The girl hurried across the floor to stand beside Michaela. They were two sisters, two children with Addie's blood in their veins. The thought had her heart on a joyous journey. Was this how Skip had felt when he saw their child for the first time in that foster home? When they'd had their first conversation?

  Yes. From everything Addie had observed over the past week, Skip loved Becky—and was still in awe of her presence in his life.

  "All right," she said, amazed by the composure in her voice. This was her moment to bond with her firstborn. One moment offered on a day when anguish appeared around every corner.

  She said, "The primary job of the knife is to take off the wax. Otherwise you can't extract the honey." As she spoke she demonstrated before handing the knife to Becky. "Try it, but be careful. It's very hot."

  Eagerly, the girl took the tool, working its edge as precisely as she had seen Addie do. "This is way cool," she said when the job was complete and the honeycomb stood ready for the extractor. "I never knew all this happens to the honey we buy in stores."

  "It's done on a much larger scale with commercial beekeepers."

  "A worker bee lives only two months," Michaela volunteered.

  "Wow." Becky's eyes sparked. "That's short."

  Addie smiled. "And she only produces one-twelfth of a teaspoon of honey in her lifetime."

  "You're kidding."

  "That's why it takes eleven hundred bees to make a pint."

  Becky stared as Addie set the last honeycomb inside the barrel of the extractor before securing the lid with its curved handle. "Michaela, show Becky where the clean jars are," she said, spinning the handle quickly.

  "Okay, but watch, Becky!" The child ran for the shelf of one-pound jars. "The honey's gonna come outta the tap!"

  "Cooool," Becky exclaimed as a thick, golden stream poured into the container. "Dad should see this."

  "He has." Addie realized her mistake the instant Becky's eyes latched on to hers.

  "Really? When?"

  Intent on spinning the handle, Addie told Michaela, "Another jar, love." To Becky she said, "Years ago, when we were teenagers."

  "When he was your boyfriend?"

  Addie's fingers fumbled with the handle. "What makes you think he was my boyfriend?" Had Skip already told Becky about their relationship or was it a guess? Her heart climbed into her throat.

  Becky said, "I asked him after we met you guys at the library."

  "Oh? Why?"

  "Because... Please don't take this wrong, Ms. Malloy, okay? But you and my dad don't...well, you don't seem to like each other."

  Michaela wrinkled her pug nose. "Mommy d-d-d-does so like your d-d-d-dad, Becky."

  "Not the way friends like each other." She cast a quick look in Addie's direction.

  "That's not t-t-true!"

  "Girls." Addie admonished. The last thing she wanted was for their friendship to disintegrate before it began. "Michaela, what Becky means is that Mr. Dalton and I knew each other a long, long time ago and back then—" How to explain? "We went to the same school but our—"families "—friends were different."

  "You mean, they didn't hang out together?" Becky asked.

  "In a way. It's a long story."

  "I like long s-s-stories, Mom," Michaela offered.

  Addie forced a smile. "Maybe another time, sweets."

  Becky set another jar under the tap. "Did my dad do something bad to your friends?"

  "He wasn't like that." Addie wished she could step around the extractor and hug this lovely, endearing child; reassure her that both she and Skip were different people today.

  "Oh, whew!" Becky's shoulders drooped on a gusty sigh. "I thought maybe he was a bad guy and made fun of people and stuff."

  "Not at all." Addie assured.

  Except for the slogan that followed him around like a banner. All girls are my girls. How had she forgotten? She had watched him take the phrase into the NFL, dating women—spectacular women—at every tu
rn.

  I've wanted you all my life.

  Oh, he'd been so solemn standing in her field of clover with the rain drenching his face, uttering words she'd longed to hear all her life.

  Question was, could she believe him...this time?

  Chapter Nine

  The power was back by four o'clock that afternoon, and the road crews had removed the fallen trees blocking the access from her house to Burnt Bend. Addie was free to go into town and stay at Kat's.

  She was inside Skip's kitchen when he set the keys to his truck in her palm and told her to use the vehicle until she could afford a new one.

  "Kat has an old pickup," she stated. It sat in her sister's driveway where her husband parked it before he was killed three summers ago. Kat hadn't turned the motor in all that time, but Addie believed the truck would start with a little TLC.

  She placed Skip's keys on the counter. "Thank you," she said. "For everything, but we'll be okay. Michaela," she called. The girls had disappeared into the recreational room the moment they returned from the honey house. "Time to go, button."

  "Addie—" Tucking his hands under his arms. Skip leaned against the counter. "Why not stay here? Michaela and Becky—"

  She shook her head. "We've already taken up too much of your time, not to mention food and space and hospitality. I won't be anyone's liability." Like she'd been for Dempsey.

  Skip frowned. "I like you being here. If I had my way," he went on. "I'd have you both live here." An edge of his mouth slanted upward.

  "That isn't going to happen, Skip. Ever."

  He sobered. "Am I so repugnant to you?"

  She might have laughed—or cried—if the notion wasn't incredibly absurd. Looking at the maleness of him, at the richness of his hair, the hard high angle of his cheekbones, the shape of his lips and nose, the power in his shoulders...

  Addie clamped the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting, You're the most magnificent man I know! And I need to watch that I don't fall under your spell again.

  Instead, she gave him reality. "Becky comes first," she said, and saw he understood. What was between them took second spot in lieu of explaining Addie's relationship to their daughter.

  When he didn't respond immediately, her breath slowed. Did he not want Becky to know, after all?

  Thrusting the thought away, she pulled her cell phone from her jacket and said, "I need to call my sister."

  "Where are you?" Kat asked when Addie requested her sister come get them.

  "My place." She saw Skip's eyes narrow. Had he heard Kat's question?

  "You're not at Skip Dalton's?" Kat asked. Perceptive sister.

  Addie turned her back. "Yes and no. When can you get here?"

  "Fifteen minutes."

  "See you then." She snapped the phone shut.

  "I could've taken you into town." Skip's voice was low—and was that a thread of disappointment?

  She faced him. Not a muscle moved in his big body.

  He said, "You're not a liability, Addie. You're—"

  His words were cut off when Michaela, dressed in her pink jeans and a sunshine top that was Becky's, ran into the room. "Becky says I can stay with her tonight again. Mommy!"

  "We're staying with Aunty Kat, button."

  "Noooo," Michaela whined. "I wanna s-s-s-stay with Becky." The child wrapped her arms around Addie's waist. "P-p-please, M-M-Mom. Pleeeease."

  "Another time, Michaela." Gently, Addie set her daughter away. "Now, get your things. Aunty Kat is meeting us at the house."

  "B-b-but I don't wanna go."

  "Michaela."

  "No." She stamped her foot. "No!"

  Addie stared at her daughter. Never had Michaela acted out. From the moment Addie's marriage to Dempsey turned sour and he'd begun shouting and cursing and demanding, Michaela had withdrawn from the world around her, tucking away her emotions. That's when the stuttering began. And another part of her marriage disintegrated.

  Can't she talk right? What's the matter with her? Dempsey's words.

  "Michaela Jane," she said quietly now, aware they had an audience of two. "You will not speak in that tone of voice. Now, get your things. We are going home."

  As quickly as it had advanced, the child's zest fizzled. "I'm s-s-s-sorry, M-M-M-Mommy. D-d-don't be m-m-m-mad."

  Suddenly Skip hunkered down in front of Michaela. "Hey, pint," he said, summoning a big smile. "Mom's not mad. No one is. But tonight Mom needs you to visit your aunt because she's been real worried about you and Mom. The storm we had wrecked a lot of things, and she needs to know you're okay."

  Michaela sniffed. "C-c-can't we t-t-t-tell her on the phone?"

  "We could. But sometimes adults need to be in the same room with the people they love. They need to see." He pointed at his eyes. "To talk." He touched his mouth. "To touch." Addie watched Skip brush a finger against Michaela's wrist. "Just to make sure everything is really okay."

  "Like when I fall and cry and Mom asks a whole buncha questions?"

  His smile was wonderful. "Yes," he conceded, and Addie knew it wasn't her daughter's comprehension that had delighted Skip as much as her flawless sentence. "That's it exactly."

  "Okay." She took Addie's hand. "Let's go. Mommy. 'Bye, Becky. 'Bye. Mr. Dalton." She fluttered her fingers at Skip.

  He hadn't moved off the floor. "How about you call me Skip? Mr. Dalton sounds sort of old."

  "But you are old."

  Behind Addie, Becky giggled.

  "Well," Skip said slowly, as if taking the child's point to heart, "we can pretend I'm not old. And it'll be our secret, okay?"

  "Mommy doesn't like secrets."

  He glanced up at Addie. Agreed, his eyes told her, but to Michaela he said, "She's right. But in this case I think we're safe."

  "Can I call him Skip, Mom?"

  "Only if Becky calls me Addie." She smiled at her other child, her lost-and-now-found child.

  Skip rocked on the balls of his feet. "Great idea. You okay with that, Bean?"

  Their daughter shrugged. "Sure. But what about at school?"

  Skip told both children, "In school, it's back to Mr. and Ms. How's that?"

  The girls nodded. Knees popping. Skip stood. "Better get your stuff, pint," he said, running a hand over Michaela's hair. "Your Aunty Kat will be looking for you at Mom's house."

  Worry flashed. "W-w-we shouldn't be late. C-come on, Becky." The children dashed down the hall; their chattering faded.

  For the strides he'd made with her little girl, Addie wanted to kiss Skip. "Do you realize," she said, unable to stop smiling, "how far she traveled a minute ago? You were incredible. As rotten as my luck has been in the last two days, today was a beautiful milestone. I won't forget it."

  "Wasn't me. Michaela made the leap herself."

  Addie stepped forward, set her hand on his cheek. "Maybe, but it was your gentleness that encouraged her."

  For two heartbeats their eyes held. Then he asked, "What did he do to her, your ex?"

  Addie let her hand drop. Mention of Dempsey sent a cold wash over her flesh. "He wasn't...patient with her."

  "And you?" She sensed the ease of his voice belied a rising anger. "How was he with you?"

  "I could deal with him."

  "Did he hit you?"

  "Oh, God, no. No, he wasn't like that. Things annoyed him at times, and Michaela internalized it as being her fault." It's what the school counselor pegged within the first session.

  "What sort of things?" Skip's eyes held hers.

  "What difference does it make? Dumb things. Little things." The way Addie made spinach salad with strawberries. Or the way she made the bed. Or how she stacked his beer in the fridge. A thousand trivial routines that irked him one day, but he'd ignore on another.

  "Yet you stayed with him," Skip stated.

  Something in his tone bothered her. "Don't judge me, Skip. There were a lot of variables involved you know nothing about."

  He freed a long breath. "Sorry, I didn't mean for tha
t to come out the way it did. You're right. I don't know where you've been in your marriage. But—" His features quieted. "I'm here, Addie. If you ever need to talk."

  The children rushed back into the kitchen.

  "Mom!" Michaela's brown eyes were animated. "Can Becky stay at Aunty Kat's, too?"

  Addie's gaze whipped to Skip: his chin bobbed once. Her heart leapt. If she wanted Becky for a night, he would let her go.

  The girl grabbed his hand. "Please, Dad, can I?"

  "Why not?" The grin he tossed Addie held the sun.

  "Yay!" Both kids cried in unison before charging back up the stairs to Becky's bedroom, yelling about what to pack.

  "You okay?" Skip asked when they were alone again.

  "No," she admitted. "I'm scared out of my mind. What if I do something wrong? Say something that makes her mad—"

  The back of his hand caressed her cheek. "Just be yourself."

  "Around her, I won't know how," she whispered, her heart clamoring, clamoring. What if she ruined their budding relationship?

  "Yes, you will. Take it a minute at a time. Don't think any further ahead than that, and you'll be okay."

  "It's different for a mother. For me. I carried her. I signed the papers. I watched them take her away."

  "You were eighteen," he murmured. "Today's another day."

  God in heaven, would she be able to deal with the questions from Kat and Lee—from Charmaine—when they saw Becky, saw the similarities?

  This morning the girl had persisted with questions about the past. What if she cornered Addie's mother and asked the same questions? Could Charmaine be trusted to dodge the answers? Can I trust myself not to spew out the whole messy story?

  She would have to; it needed to be told with Skip present.

  "All right," she said, clasping her elbows. "Let's hope she's still talking to both of us tomorrow."

  He leaned in, kissed her mouth, a quick touch of lips, not like the kiss in the field, but like a husband to his wife before he left for work. A kiss that was ordinary, yet singular because of its nature.

  "It'll be fine, Addie," he said softly. "Have faith." She would take his suggestion as a good omen.