Their Secret Child

by Mary J. Forbes

  When Addie closed her cell phone. Skip chuckled. "Hate to admit it, but they didn't sound too homesick for us."

  "Not one bit." On one hand, Addie was pleased for her little girl; prior years had not been easy. Tonight, however, Michaela enunciated with clarity. She was conquering her hurdles. Yet Addie couldn't halt her stomach from wringing, or her mind from repeating Kat's word—it's time—like a news scroll line.

  Skip sipped his beer, set the glass down again. "Tonight will go only where you want it to, Addie."

  "I know that."

  "You're nervous."

  She glanced up. "How so?"

  "You keep tapping the side of your glass."

  She stopped. "And you're not nervous?"

  "About spending the night with you, no. That you'll decide against it? Very much."

  And she saw the veracity in his words when he lifted his beer with an indiscernible tremble. "Then we're even," she said, tucking a wing of hair behind her ear. When he laughed, she liked its soft bass sound.

  "You've got the control, Addie," he said. "Use it."

  "Or lose it?"

  Reaching to take her hands, he looked into her eyes for a long beat. "Never. Be the woman you want."

  That was when she recognized that he'd never been like Dempsey. For starters. Skip had darker hair and a softer mouth. The manner in which he carried himself was poles apart from Dempsey. The way he spoke. The kindness in his eyes...

  She had married the illusion of Skip when she had said I do to Dempsey Malloy.

  Most significantly. Skip would never ask her to give up teaching, or treat his daughter with disdain.

  She'd been so very foolish.

  "Let's order," she said. "Then go home to your house."

  His eyes answered the smile in her heart. "Let's do that."

  Night had fallen by the time she pulled her new truck into her front yard. Before she settled in for the night—before Skip—she wanted to check the repairs.

  The beam of the flashlight indicated the tree had been stacked into a neat pile of logs, the gaping root hole filled. Jantz had cleared away the ruins of the wall, patched the aperture made by the tree. The exterior of the house looked as it had before the storm. The handyman knew his work. If not for her crumpled van, Addie could almost believe the storm had detoured her property.

  Inside, the laundry room remained as Kat described, though Jantz had moved the wrecked dryer into the hallway.

  "Couple days and it'll be as good as new," Skip observed behind her in the doorway. When he laid a hand on her shoulder, she stepped forward, nerves sensitized to his proximity, the scent of him eddying in her lungs.

  "Let's move the washer so Zeb can get at that window wall first thing in the morning." She reached across the lid to the console and tugged.

  "Whoa." Skip stepped behind her, gently pushing her aside. "You'll pull the panel right off doing that."

  He wrapped his arms around the machine, muscles bunching and stretching under the short sleeves of the polo shirt, and inched the washer forward until it sat several feet free from the wall.

  Addie reached in to shut off the water spigot at the wall and Skip bent to disconnect the draining hose. Their bodies bumped. Turning her head to say she was sorry, she saw that he leaned above her, his face within kissing distance. Seconds was all it took. Seconds for her to notice how the harsh lighting magnified the beard shadow on his jaw and upper lip, the arc of his lashes, the tiny rise at the summit of his nose.

  His gaze came around and for two heartbeats he held her rapt.

  She could hear her breath; feel his. A hot wash streaked up her thighs and she recognized the same intensity tighten the skin across his cheeks.

  She wanted him. She wanted him now.

  "Addie," he murmured, understanding.

  One word. Her name. The spell snapped.

  She jumped to her feet. "Thanks for the help, Skip."

  He frowned. "You're welcome."

  She hurried from the laundry. "I think it's best you go home."

  He followed her into the kitchen, stood across the room. "Something wrong?"

  He deserved an explanation—after all, she'd agreed, hadn't she? Back in Seattle she'd let him think they would spend the night together. But now that the moment had come...

  "I can't," she said, fear biting her heels. Fear that, in the end, he would walk away again. That he wouldn't care enough, wouldn't love her enough. Wouldn't have changed enough. "Please understand."

  The room yawned wider and wider, until a canyon lay between them.

  He said slowly, "You want me to go." Then walked to the back door, where he paused to pull out his wallet and extract a tiny square of paper. Setting it on the counter, he held her immobile with his eyes. "Thirteen years, but I didn't forget. Not a single day."

  The back door closed softly behind him.

  Long, silent minutes passed before she summoned the courage. Curved in the shape of the wallet riding his hip, the page had been folded a half-dozen times.

  Fingers trembling, she picked up the bulky pink two-inch square. Without reading the contents, she knew it was a note.

  A note containing creases and frayed edges and dried dots where the tears had dripped. Her tears.

  She remembered the day, the hour, the moment her pen had moved across the page, spilling her words, her heart.

  Because...that day she had given up his child.

  Because as much as she hated him, she loved him more.

  So, she had written the note. And he'd kept it.

  Through blurry eyes, she carefully unfolded the page. A tiny picture lay in its center, a photo he'd taken of her on a sunny day down by the lake where they made love for the first time. She'd worn shorts, a tank top and sat on a patch of grass, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes squinting against the light. She'd been laughing.

  In those days, they had laughed a lot.

  Nudging the photograph aside, she began to read, the words transporting her back, back...

  Sept. 21, 1995

  Dear Skip,

  Today at 5:38 a.m. you became the father of a little girl. She was born after a long night of labor. I never stopped thinking that you should have been there through all the crying and cursing. But especially when she was born. She has thick, black hair and I can see the shape of your mouth. I counted all her fingers and toes.

  The nurses laid her in my aims for a few minutes before they took her away. I can't describe the pain of that moment. It will be with me until I die.

  My dad says the adopting couple has wanted a baby for eleven years. I think they'll give her a good home and love her very much.

  Anyway, I thought you should know.

  Take care,

  Addie

  PS—You don't need to reply.

  With a shaky breath, she refolded the letter around the picture, the one he had chosen to carry with him every day, and knew what she had to do.

  Chapter Twelve

  Skip was toweling his hair after his shower when the phone rang. Noting the time on his bedside clock, he strode naked across the room.

  "Addie," he said, reading call display.

  "Can you come over?" There was a small quiver in her voice.

  Had she read the note? Cried? It hadn't been his mission to make her cry; he'd simply wanted her to know he remembered, that she'd been in his heart. Always. "I'll be there in five minutes."

  After setting the receiver back, he tossed the towel on the floor, went to the laundry room and dug a pair of jeans and a green sweatshirt with more wrinkles than a dried apple from the dryer. Minutes later, dressed, his damp hair finger-combed, he strode out the front door, flashlight beaming the way down the lane.

  A cool night breeze brought the pungent approach of autumn and the faint scent of surf. Above the serrated silhouette of trees, the moon hung like an engraved silver plate.

  He shivered at the sight. God, he'd missed Firewood Island. The moon, the billion winking stars, the sm
ell of the woods and ocean... They were all Addie. She loved this tiny piece of the planet in a way that had humbled him as a kid, and still did when he recalled her standing on the ferry deck this morning, filled with happiness as the wind whisked her cheeks and hair.

  Simplicity. That had been his Addie. His Addie. He nearly stumbled. Dammit, she was his, and he was going to prove it to her if it took all night.

  There could be only one reason she wanted him to return to her house and that was to discuss Becky. But not tonight. Tonight he was talking about them. About him and her. About the possibility of marriage. He wanted to marry her, wanted it since he was eighteen years old. almost half his life.

  He leaped onto her front stoop and reached to ring the bell. She must have been watching for him because the door swung open before he touched the lit dial.

  She was dressed in a silky ankle-length robe the color of fine whiskey—like her hair. His first impulse was to touch the loose waves where they lay over her shoulders and trailed to her breasts.

  He shoved his fingers into his pockets. "Hey." His smile failed.

  Without a word, she swung the door wider, an invitation, and he stepped inside before she closed it again. For several tense breaths, they stared at each other.

  "You read the note." His voice cracked.

  She nodded, her gaze riveted on his, and he fell into the blue-ness of her eyes.

  A foot, maybe less, separated them. If he leaned down, his mouth would fit hers, his chest would brush her breasts. And still, he did nothing, just let himself drown in those eyes.

  He saw her swallow, clamp her bottom lip. She said, "I love you, Skip. I've never stopped."

  Between his ribs, his heart flailed. His body shook. Years he had waited, years he'd believed she wanted nothing to do with him.

  Reaching, he pulled her into his arms, tenderly kissed her mouth, her eyes, where tears swelled. "Let me show you how much you've been in my heart. How much I've missed you. Please, Addie."

  She took his hand and led him down the hallway, to her bedroom where, in the glow of the night lamp, he caught a hint of yellow walls and frilly curtains, a four-poster bed with fluffy green pillows and comforter, before she turned, took his face in her hands and kissed him as if he'd just returned from ten years of combat. And maybe he had.

  It was all he could do not to throw her on the bed, ravage her until the stars winked out. He wanted hard and fast, and he wanted it now. With other women he'd done just that, done what they'd requested, done the nasty—as they'd called it.

  But this was Addie, the woman of his child, of his soul. The woman he loved beyond comprehension.

  His fingers shook as he touched her hair, face, lips. Slowly, he unbelted the robe, pushed it from her shoulders to drop on the hardwood floor. She wore nothing underneath and he was in awe.

  "Addie." His throat hurt. She was beautiful, like a piece of fine jewelry or china.

  "I'm not the same, Skip." She remained motionless as she spoke. "Having babies changes a woman, makes her thicker in spots."

  Taking her hands, he held them out. away from her body. "Ah, sweetheart. Those are the best spots. The best."

  He let his gaze wander from the apex of her thighs to the softness of her belly, and up to breasts fuller than they had been at seventeen. And there it was, the little mole he remembered, on the curve of the left one. Leaning in, he set his mouth there and heard her sigh.

  "I want to see you," she told him when his hands cupped her hips and pulled hercloscr. when he delved into her secrets. "Skip."

  "In a minute."

  She laughed softly. "No fair."

  "You're right, it isn't." He swung her up into his arms and laid her on the bed. "I've changed, too, sweetheart. Got a few scars now." Mainly from the surgeries to his wrecked shoulder that wrecked his career. For the better, Skip, because now you have Addie and Becky and Michaela.

  He yanked the shirt over his head, dragged down his jeans, kicked them aside.

  Her eyes went wide. "You aren't wearing..."

  "Underwear. I know. When you called I'd just showered. I grabbed what I could."

  Amusement lit her eyes. "Which you found in the dryer."

  His knee dipped the bed. "How'd you guess? Now, where were we?"

  She set a palm against his chest. "In the night table there's protection. From my marriage," she added. "They haven't expired."

  "Oh, hell." Closing his eyes, he hung his head. "I'm sorry. I was in such a rush to come over, I forgot... Addie, I never forget. Never."

  Her eyes darkened. He could imagine what she was thinking. Since that Christmas when she conceived he hadn't forgotten to wear condoms. "Oh, honey. That came out wrong."

  "No," she said. "We can't keep worrying about what we say for fear it might reflect on the past. Open the drawer, Skip."

  He breathed again. "Soon." Then he covered her body with his and kissed her for a long time, his tongue moving in sync with his hips.

  "I wish," he said, lifting his head, "that we'd never done it the first time in my truck. I should've taken better care of you, found a nicer place."

  "I'm glad we did it beside the lake," she countered. "It was beautiful and special and unique."

  "Do you know I fell in love with you at first sight?" Again he kissed her mouth, danced with her tongue, sucked gently on her chin.

  "When we were in grade school?" She hadn't known that.

  "It was the year they put the fifth, sixth and seventh graders all in one room because enrollment was down. You were in fifth and did seventh-grade math with us. I remember thinking. 'Wow. isn't Addie Wilson something? Not only is she pretty and smart, but she's really, really nice.'"

  "You're making that up."

  "It's the truth. Then one day when I was in tenth grade I saw you in the bleachers watching a game, and I fumbled the ball. I knew then you were it. You'd always been it."

  She stroked the curve of his spine, the taut flesh of his butt. "Want to know a secret? When the bee stung you on the playground the year we were in class together and they had to rush you to the medical clinic, I thought you were the bravest boy I'd ever known. I haven't stopped dreaming about you since."

  "Ah, Addie... So many years lost."

  "But no more."

  "No more," he agreed, and kissed her collarbone. He kissed his way up and down her body, graphing the changes as he went, his blood thickening in his veins, tightening every cell and nerve. He slowed his pace, then sped it up. Entwining their legs, he moved with her across the quilt, caged her hands above her head, kissed her breasts. He sat her in his lap, stroked his fingers into her secret spot until she moaned and he groaned and sweat beaded their skin and he couldn't determine left from right, under from over. All he knew, all he understood, was her.

  And then she took the lead, setting him afire with hands that elicited gentleness and strength and sensitized his skin. She kissed his torso, worked her way down, down...

  His body quivered at her initial touch.

  "Shh," she soothed, nearly levitating him off the bed.

  When she was done, when they both panted and their hearts pounded, she prepared him. and he cupped her face and said. "I love you, Addle." Then he entered her slowly, gently, savoring the act, honoring her before she cried his name and he called hers, and he rode her hard and fast until they fell over the edge together.

  Night enveloping them in its peace and silence, Addie lay spooned within Skip's arms under the warmth and softness of the covers. They had made love twice before finally falling asleep, but at two o'clock she had woken from a dream she couldn't remember.

  He shifted, brushing his chest hair along her spine. She smiled. She loved the hard contours of his body, the excess hair, the big, bony feet that hung over the end of the bed.

  Tonight she had done things for the first time.

  Again she smiled. Skip had loved her well. For so many years her bed had been a lonely place, sex with Dempsey automated and mechanical. Tonight Sk
ip made her laugh and enjoy the moment. He'd been gentle when she wanted, urgent when she asked. Most of all, he'd let her choose.

  Come morning she would catalog the marks of his lovemaking where he'd kissed her a little too fiercely. And she would glory in those prizes.

  She couldn't imagine living without him again.

  "Marry me, Addie," he whispered into her hair.

  Her heart kicked. "You're awake."

  He leaned over her shoulder. "Make a home with me. For Becky and Michaela."

  Oh, God. He was offering what she had dreamed at seventeen. She said, "We need to tell the girls first." About me.

  "We'll do it tomorrow." He set his mouth on her cheek. "There's no point in waiting."

  "She really loved Hedy." Becky.

  "She'll love you, too, honey." He stroked her arm.

  "I don't know... It might be too soon."

  He settled behind her again, pushed aside her hair and kissed her nape. "It'll be okay. We'll take it a day at a time."

  Together. She liked the sound of that, liked the idea of Skip at her back, the way he was this moment.

  Tucking his hand to her breast, she snuggled closer, and felt his body stir, strengthen. Thirteen years meant a lot of missed times. She pressed back, signaling.

  "Again?" he asked, a smile in his voice.

  "I want you, Skip."

  "You have me, honey. Forever. And in case you're wondering, I'm clean—which I should've told you right away. I went through the tests when I decided to find Becky."

  "For me it's been you and Dempsey."

  "He was faithful?"

  "He had faults, but infidelity wasn't one."

  "I'm glad." And then he kissed her again. And again. Until the only sounds in the night were the rustling of sheets and the creaking of the bed.

  Michaela bounded into Kat's kitchen and flung her arms around Addie's waist. "Mommy! We had fun! Aunty Kat let us make cookies and watch movies 'til really late, and me 'n' Becky 'n' Blake went swimming and Blake says I can dive really good now."

  "Wow, that's fantastic, button." Smiling down at her daughter, Addie brushed the hair from her eyes. Beside Skip, Becky stood with her knapsack. His hand rested on her shoulder. Addie offered her a grin. "You girls ready to go home?" she asked.