by Sherry Kyle
Blake and Kristy were hugging? Kristy probably made the first move. "He's an affectionate guy." Claire felt the need to defend him. "I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it." She wished she believed her own words. "Did you go shopping? I don't see any bags."
"I ran an errand." Haley pulled out a baby name book and sat next to Claire on the bed. "I'm thinking of Beau for a boy and Brooke for a girl. What do you think?"
"I like them both." Claire hesitated. "Speaking of names . . ." She didn't want to start another fight with her sister, and yet she wanted to know the truth. "Did you notice the different-colored ink in mom's journal?" Claire opened the book and pointed. "I know Michael wrote the letter, yet there's a reference to Martin in a darker shade of ink."
Haley's cheeks turned pink. She walked toward the window.
"You were the one who sent me mom's journal." The realization dawned on Claire. She joined Haley next to the windowsill. She met her sister's eyes. "Why? Why did you change Michael's name to Martin?"
"Because I wanted you to quit searching." Haley leaned against the wall. "I thought if I wrote Martin's name, you'd leave everything alone."
"How did you know about Martin?" Claire leaned against the wall. "Mom never told me about him."
"Mom mentioned him to me when I was getting my driver's license. She knew that Mark liked to party and she was afraid I'd end up like Martin."
"You didn't think I'd talk to him?"
Haley brought her hand up to her temple. "Mom told me about Martin's car accident. I hoped he wouldn't remember with his brain injury and all."
Claire let out a frustrated sigh. "But why?"
"I miss you. I need you, especially now." Haley touched her pregnant belly. "Won't you come back to Los Angeles with me?"
Why would her sister ask her now, after she had finally made a life for herself? Geraldine needed her. And hopefully Blake did too. "Back to L.A.? You're not seriously thinking of getting back with Mark, are you?"
"No, but my life is in L.A." Haley let out a long, slow breath. "With or without Mark."
"And for now, my life is here in Capitola." Claire touched Haley's arm.
"That's what I was afraid of." Haley gave Claire a hug. "I was wrong. I'm sorry. Do you forgive me?"
"Just one question." Claire folded her arms. "How did you change the names when they were written in ink?"
"I dipped a Q-tip lightly in bleach." Haley grabbed the journal. "I kept the M and erased the rest of the name." She bit her lip and handed the book to Claire.
Did Haley's apology excuse her actions? No. But her sister was frightened. She'd be scared too if she were pregnant, alone, and married to Mark. Haley had made a mistake, but then again, she couldn't remember the last time her sister had admitted she was wrong. Claire felt a surge of compassion. "I forgive you."
"Thank you." Haley smiled. She nodded toward the cat, licking her front paw. "Let's go find out if someone is missing her pet."
"All right." Claire scooped up Cali, grabbed her purse, and followed Haley out the door. "Let's take my car." Suddenly, she had a boost of energy.
Cali's emerald green collar jingled in the backseat. Claire was relieved no one had called Animal Services about a missing cat with Cali's markings. She left her phone number anyway, just in case. But at this point, the cat was hers. And Geraldine's.
The crate, food, and bag of litter filled the backseat of her VW as she and Haley drove home.
"Blake should be by in a little while. Chinese food tonight. "Claire loved the feel of the steering wheel beneath her hands. It had been too long.
"Meow."
"I hope Blake isn't allergic to cats." Claire turned off the highway at Bay Avenue.
Haley glanced over her shoulder. "We'll find out at dinner."
"Afterward, I promised Geraldine that Blake and I would come for a visit."
"For a woman who doesn't have a boyfriend, you sure talk about Blake a lot." Haley adjusted her seat belt. "All I can say is, take it slow. Don't follow in my footsteps."
"I'm not eighteen. And I would never elope. No, I would want a wedding on the beach, with my friends and family there." Claire grinned.
"Sounds like a dream." Haley looked out the window. "Life doesn't always turn out the way you want. Look at me." Her voice quivered. "Pregnant and separated from my husband."
Claire hurt for her sister. She couldn't imagine being married to a creep like Mark. And she definitely couldn't imagine raising a baby alone. She knew how difficult it had been for her mother. A few more turns and they pulled up behind Haley's Chevy in front of the rental.
"What is he doing here?" Claire caught sight of Mark standing on the front porch before Haley did.
"Mark," Haley whispered.
"You don't have to talk to him." Claire pulled the keys out of the ignition and slipped them into her purse. "Wait right here with Cali."
"I can handle my own husband," Haley argued.
"Of course you can, but now is not the time." Claire opened her door. "You're pregnant. And vulnerable." She stood. "Wait here." Lord, help me. Claire took long strides up the walkway.
Mark's eyes bore a hole through Claire "I'm here for my wife."
"I don't think so." Claire marched up the steps.
"I don't know what she's been telling you, but I've been clean and sober ever since I heard I'm going to be a father."
"You're right. That's not what I heard." Claire stood a few feet from Mark, her hands on her hips.
"Haley's wrong." Mark's upper lip curled. "I've been working overtime to save money for the nursery. I haven't touched a drop of liquor."
Claire didn't believe him—didn't want to believe him. She had lived with Mark long enough to know he wasn't strong enough to stay away from the bottle. "It's time to leave Haley alone. She needs to live her own life. Without you." Claire was surprised how calm she felt. Like her prayer was working. "And what about Brett Wilder? Did you go out with him?"
Claire heard footsteps behind her. She turned. Haley carried Cali in her arms.
"I'd like to hear this." Haley handed the cat to Claire.
Mark reached out and ran his fingertips down Haley's arm. "Baby, I didn't touch a drop. Not one sip."
Haley flinched.
"I drove Brett back to his hotel. He's long gone."
Haley looked at Claire, then back to Mark.
"You took off before I had a chance to explain." Mark pulled Haley close. "Come back with me. I don't want to live without you, baby."
Claire nearly gagged. Surely Haley wasn't buying Mark's story again. "Haley, come inside. We've got to talk." Claire put her key in the lock and opened the door. "Mark, wait outside."
Haley's brows furrowed, and her mouth formed a straight line. "Just a few minutes." Haley looked again from Claire to Mark. "I'll be right back."
Once inside, Claire placed the cat on the recliner chair and turned toward her sister. "You don't believe him, do you?"
"It's complicated." Haley sat on the couch, obviously torn. "He's my husband. And the father of this baby."
"You don't need him. Mom did it alone and so can you. And I'll help you any way I can." Claire sat down next to Haley and grabbed her sister's hand.
Haley's eyes filled with tears. "If you could have a relationship with your father, would you?"
"Our father was a low-life. He left us. Why would I want a relationship with him?" Claire shook her head. She didn't see Haley's point.
"No, Claire. You didn't know him. You still don't." Haley stood and walked to Claire's bedroom.
Claire followed. "What are you talking about?"
Haley gathered her things. "Your father is here—in Capitola."
What was Haley saying? They shared the same father, didn't they? Claire felt dizzy. Confused. She watched her sister tuck her clothes and toiletries into her suitcase.
"I want my baby to grow up knowing her father, because one day she'll want to find him. And like you, she won't be able to leave the past alon
e."
"Michael?" Claire's voice was barely above a whisper. Could it be?
"Bye, Claire." Haley hugged Claire tight, then grabbed her suitcase. "Mark is going to take me home."
"Wait a minute. You're leaving me now?" Claire held on to Haley's arm. "How do you know Michael is my father? Did he tell you?"
"Babe, let's go," Mark called from the entryway.
Claire's pulse raced.
"Mom wrote a note to Michael before she died." Haley inched closer to the door. "I was supposed to give it to him at the memorial, but I held on to it—until today."
"The taxi." Claire's eyes narrowed.
"I went to Michael's work and gave it to his secretary. I'm sure he's read the note by now. You're Michael's daughter, Claire."
Tears sprang to her eyes. For a year she had wondered about her mother's relationship with the writer of the old love letter. And it was her father. Haley had known all along. And kept it from her.
"Go. Leave." Claire pointed to the door.
"When you're ready to come back to L.A., call me." Haley walked to the doorway and stopped. "I need you. And so does my baby." She blew her sister a kiss, then left.
Claire heard the front door click shut. She wanted to run after her sister and tell her goodbye, but her feet were frozen to the floor. Claire felt hurt, deceived by her own flesh and blood. Her half sister. The thought unnerved her. She sat down on her bed and leaned her head into her hands.
Cali jumped up and rubbed against Claire's arm.
Claire held the cat close to her chest.
Michael. Her father? Her heart felt as though it had dropped into her stomach.
That meant Geraldine, the woman who lay in a hospital bed, was her grandmother. Claire exhaled deeply, set Cali down next to her, and lay back on the bed, allowing the tears to fall.
34
Michael swerved his BMW into a parking space at Dominican Hospital, numb from Emily's note. Why hadn't Emily told him sooner? And what about his mother? Had she known all these years and yet never said a word? His stomach clenched. He had to know.
Glancing at himself in the rearview mirror, he couldn't help but notice the pouches of skin that sagged under his eyes. The last six weeks had taken their toll. He ran a hand through his hair and slid out of the car.
Michael walked into the hospital and up the stairs. The long corridor to the cardiac unit stretched on, making each step difficult. Sandy and Julia. Michael broke out in a sweat. How would he tell them about Claire? His heart pounded.
Dear sweet Emily. She must have known it would split apart his family and break their hearts. Michael stopped and leaned against the wall. All these years, did he consider anyone else's feelings? Had he thought of anyone but himself? He let out a deep breath. The pastor of Capitola Christian Fellowship once told his congregation to live for an audience of one—God. But Michael lived for a different audience of one—himself. He leaned against the wall, tears slipping down his cheeks. Lord, I'm so sorry for the mess I've made of my life. Help me make things right. Michael reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and wiped his face.
"Michael?" Nancy's voice grabbed his attention. "Are you all right?" She laid a hand on his arm.
"I'm okay. Thanks." He tucked the cloth in his pocket. "I was on my way to see my mother."
"Nothing wrong, I hope."
"No." Michael shook his head.
"That mother of yours loves company." Nancy smiled. "She'll be happy to have a visitor. Well, I'm off. Tom is expecting me home. It's our anniversary."
"Congratulations." His tone belied the sentiment. Would he and Sandy make it to their special day?
"Twenty-nine years." Nancy's eyes sparkled. "They haven't all been easy. In fact, they've been downright hard. But God has been faithful, and He's helped us through the tough times."
Michael nodded. "Thanks for the reminder. I needed to hear that."
"You bet. See you later." Nancy waved and walked away.
Michael continued to his mother's room. He peeked his head in the door. The curtain was closed. "Mom? It's Michael."
"Come in, son."
His mother sounded alert. Good. He slipped past the curtain. She was sitting in a chair wearing the blue housecoat he had given her for Christmas. "Look at you. You're doing great!"
"The nurses don't want me staying in bed. I've got to keep this old body moving."
"Did Claire bring your robe?" Michael's voice quivered at the mention of Claire's name. He sat down on the edge of the hospital bed.
"Yes, this morning. Isn't she the most considerate young woman? And she's going to bring my hairbrush, and lipstick. "His mother's face brightened. "I have a handsome man coming to visit me tonight."
Michael's brows shot up.
"It's Blake, dear." His mother swatted the air with her hand. "An old woman can dream, can't she? And besides, he's perfect for our Claire. Any amount of time those two can spend together is good, don't you think?"
Our Claire. Did she know how true that was? "Now, Mother, don't go matchmaking. If they're meant to be together, they will. Let them find their own way."
"In the meantime, I plan on looking my best—or the best I can under these conditions." She straightened the collar of her housecoat.
The time had come. Michael couldn't wait any longer. His pulse quickened. "Mom, I have something important to ask."
"Of course, dear."
"Do you remember the night I spent with Emily? I realize it was a long time ago."
His mother's eyes dimmed. "I may forget many things, but I'll never forget that night. I was half sick worrying about where you were. You were supposed to be back in a couple of hours. Instead it was morning."
Michael hung his head. "That's the night." He pulled the note he received from his secretary out of his pocket, then handed it to his mother.
"What's this?"
"Emily's last words to me."
"My glasses." His mother pointed to the small table.
Michael retrieved them. He waited the few minutes his mother took to read the note.
Her mouth moved and her hand shook as she read. Tears slipped down her wrinkled cheeks. She dropped the note in her lap.
"Did you know, Mom?" Michael noticed the strain in his voice.
"How could I have known?" His mother shook her head. "I was a grieving widow and barely holding on." She fingered the note. "I didn't pay attention to anyone else." She let out a breath. "All those years, my own granddaughter lived down the hall from me and I never knew."
Was his mother telling him the truth? How could she not have known? The blue eyes, the wavy hair—Claire reminded him of himself. Then why didn't he know? Why didn't he suspect Claire was his daughter at Emily's funeral?
Why would he suspect he fathered a child when it took him and his wife a few years to conceive? And he and Emily were together only one night. Guilt and doubt clouded his mind.
"When are you going to tell Sandy? And Julia?" His mother brought his attention back to the present.
Michael stood and shifted from one foot to the other. "Sandy suspects something is going on. She's barely speaking to me. With Julia's wedding in a couple of months, it might be better to wait."
"What?" His mother's voice rose. "You can't go on like this, Michael. You need to own up to your mistakes and confess your past to your wife. You owe Sandy that much." She gripped the letter and waved it at Michael. "And there is a beautiful young woman who deserves to know her father— and her grandmother."
Michael sat back down and rested his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He looked up. "How do I face Claire?"
"The same way—with grit and determination to make things right." His mother's heart monitor beeped a strange rhythm.
"Mom, are you okay?" Michael jumped up and pressed the call button.
"Don't bother, son. I'm fine. This machine does strange things sometimes."
Michael placed a hand on his mother's arm. "Are you sure it's not your heart?"
A nurse walked in. She fiddled with the heart monitor, then checked his mother. "You need rest. I hope this gentleman didn't rile you up." The nurse gave Michael a stern look. She reached under his mother's arms and helped her stand. "Here, let me help you to bed."
The last thing Michael wanted to do was stress his mother's already damaged heart. Time to leave.
She reached up and patted Michael's arm. "Remember what I said, dear."
Michael watched the nurse cover his mother with a blanket. She looked small and frail. "Bye, Mom. Take care."
"My granddaughter is coming for a visit tonight with her handsome beau," his mother said to the nurse.
His stomach somersaulted and his breath caught in his throat. His mother was already calling Claire her granddaughter. If he didn't tell the women in his life the truth, his mother might beat him to it.
"Well, let's get you all rested up so you can enjoy your visit." The nurse's voice sounded gentle, yet firm.
Michael walked out of the room resolved that he was going to tell the truth, even if it killed him.
Claire stood in front of the mirror and brushed her hair. Blake would arrive in twenty minutes. She was refreshed after her nap, yet felt hollow inside. She loved Haley and missed her already, but it would be a while before Claire would speak to her. She needed to sort out her feelings—about Haley, and her father. The thought of Michael being her dad overwhelmed her. What did Haley say? He found out today? She didn't understand why her mother never told Michael she was pregnant. Claire might have had a whole different upbringing if her mother had.
Claire looked around the family room. She grabbed a magazine off the couch and placed it neatly on the coffee table, then picked up the afghan, folded it, and hung it over the edge of Geraldine's chair. Her grandmother's chair. The thought brought a smile to her face. Lord, help her to be okay.
Hanging out with Blake had been great for her prayer life. Before he showed her that praying to God was as natural as talking to your best friend, Claire had hardly uttered two words to the Lord.
Claire stepped outside. The air was chilly. She walked down the walkway to the mailbox, gathered the contents, and flipped through the envelopes. Bills, but mostly junk. A large manila envelope with her name on it caught her eye. She glanced at the return address and saw Vivian's name at the top. Why would Vivian send her a package? Claire shut the mailbox and hurried inside. She placed the rest of the mail on the table, and tore open the manila envelope. A brochure? She pulled out the thick booklet. A yellow sticky note was attached.