The Fourth Child

by C. J. Carmichael

  "Daddy, Daddy! I lost my tooth!"

  Claire moved away from the open window as bittersweet pain brought yet more tears to her eyes. The girls loved him so much. Did he realize how lucky he was to have that special trust?

  She went to the deck to gather the beach towels she'd put out on the railing to dry last night. Carefully, she folded them in a stack on a chair, then waited for the sound of the screen door closing, before she went back inside.

  The three girls were trailing their father. Jenna was insisting that he check to see if her tooth was ready to come out, like Daisy's.

  "Still going to be a while, kiddo," he told her.

  It was nice to see Kirk out of business attire, wearing tan-colored shorts and a forest-green golf shirt. His dark blond hair had reddish glints in the bright morning light, and Claire could tell from across the room that he hadn't shaved.

  The way the girls were clinging to him, you'd think they hadn't seen him in a month. Oddly enough, after all her talk of missing her father, An-die was the one who was hanging back. With a start, Claire realized her daughter was watching her.

  Self-consciously, Claire crossed the room. "How was the drive?" All too aware of Andie's scrutiny, she leaned forward to kiss Kirk lightly on the cheek.

  She saw the surprise flash in his eyes, then comprehension as he kissed her back, his hand reaching out to grasp her upper arm tightly.

  "How are you, Claire?"

  His question made her think of her pregnancy, and she was glad she'd worn her loose denim jumper—a perfect choice for camouflaging the changes to her body.

  "Oh, the girls are trying to drive me crazy, as usual," she said, hugging Jenna and Daisy next to her. "But so far I've stayed out of the loony bin."

  "Mo-om," Andie groaned. She sidled up to her father. "We're making strawberry shortcake for dessert tonight, Dad."

  "Yum. My favorite." Kirk set his duffel bag and bulging briefcase on the floor.

  "Can we go out on the boat this weekend?" Daisy asked him.

  "Will you take us for an ice cream?"

  "Yes and yes." Kirk nodded at the two youngest. "What about you, Andie? What's on your list for the weekend?"

  Andie scuffed a sandaled foot against the pine floor.

  "I'd like to do something as a family," she said. "Do you think we could all play Monopoly tonight?"

  Claire pressed her lips together, aware that Kirk was checking her expression, but not daring to return his look. She nodded slightly, then heard him say, "Sure, Andie. If that's what you want."

  "Does it have to be Monopoly, Andie?" Claire said, trying to sound lighthearted. "You know your father always wins when we play that game."

  Family time she could handle, she decided. As long as she and Kirk didn't have to be alone.

  It turned out there was no need to worry. The girls clung to his side all day.

  First, they went for a cruise on the lake, taking along a picnic lunch, which they ate in the boat. Then Kirk drove the girls into town, giving her a chance to have a bit of a break.

  Not that she was able to relax. To have Kirk here, to be acting as though they were one big happy family when the truth was just the opposite, was so bizarre. How long could they keep up this charade for the sake of the children?

  And yet, a part of her was happy to see him. That she should feel this way, when he'd betrayed her as he had, struck her as so unfair. Why couldn't she just hate him and be done with it? That would be much simpler.

  But she didn't hate Kirk. In fact, a tenderness swelled up hi her, at the oddest moments. Such as when Daisy climbed on his lap to tell him about the new game she'd made up with her sisters. Or when he stopped in his tracks to fix a board that had come loose on the deck.

  Not until late that night, past ten o'clock, after a dinner of barbecued hamburgers, with strawberry shortcake for dessert, and a two-hour-long game of Monopoly that finally ended in a stalemate between Andie and Kirk, did they have time to talk at last, just the two of them.

  Not that Claire wanted to talk. But clearly, they couldn't go on as they were.

  When Kirk came back from tucking the girls in, she had a pot of decaf coffee ready.

  "Thanks." Kirk took his mug, and out of habit they went to sit by the fire—on opposite ends of the sofa. The night was uncharacteristically cool, and Kirk had built up a blaze while they were playing Monopoly. Now the logs glowed amber, giving them something to look at, rather than each other.

  "The girls seem okay," Kirk finally said.

  "Yes. Although Andie has had some ups and downs. I wish I knew what was going on in her head."

  "I can't believe how her marks deteriorated this year."

  "I still think mere's a problem with the kids at school."

  "Poor Andie."

  Yes. Poor Andie. Claire felt like crying every time she imagined telling their eldest daughter they were getting a divorce. That was not what Andie needed right now. But maybe it would be better to get everything out in the open. Eventually, Andie would come to accept the situation—did she have any choice?

  "We've got to tell diem, Kirk."

  Kirk rubbed his chin, and she heard the scratch of his whiskers. "What is it, exactly, that we're going to tell them?"

  Was he being obtuse on purpose? "That we're separating." She wouldn't say divorce, not again. He would have to bring up the subject.

  "Is that what we're doing?"

  "Well, that's sure as hell how it feels." This was so frustrating. Why did he keep turning her questions around? She was trying to be realistic, trying to face the facts. Didn't he know how hard this was for her? Even when they were together, she felt as though a glass wall were separating them.

  "You're the one who wanted me to move out," he reminded her. He finished his coffee and set the mug down on the table in front of them. "Have you given any further thought to the idea of counseling?"

  How funny the way he asked that. As if she'd thought of anything else. The logical side of her knew it was a reasonable step to take. For the children's sake, if not hers and Kirk's. But the emotional side…

  "Kirk, what's the chance we can save this marriage when you're in love with someone else?"

  He had the grace to look abashed. "I've been doing a lot of thinking since you and the girls left." He leaned forward, staring into the fire.

  "Oh?"

  "I've missed you. All of you." He glanced at her, then turned away, as if he didn't really expect her to believe him. "If you agree to come to counseling with me, then I'll stop seeing Janice. I haven't seen her since you left, anyway."

  Claire had to fight not to cry it was such a relief to find out he hadn't been spending all his time with Janice. Or had he? Could she really believe what he was telling her?

  "How is that possible, when you work together?"

  "I guess I should have been more clear. I've seen her at the office, but we haven't spoken. I told her I needed to sort things out with you first."

  Oh, she wanted to believe him. But this man had lied to her in the past. He'd phoned to say he needed to work late, when it was really an excuse to spend time with Janice.

  "And I should believe you because—"

  Kirk's broad shoulders rose and fell on a long sigh. She could see the flush of color on his cheekbones, which were highlighted in the glow from the fire.

  "I'll admit there were times when I stretched the truth—stretched it terribly. Usually, at least some work was involved." He sighed once more, then stood to throw another piece of birch on the fire.

  "I guess mere's more than one way to deceive your wife."

  The color on his cheeks darkened. "Okay. I deserved that. The point is, Claire, I'm telling the truth now. I am making an effort to do the right thing. You believe I love my kids, don't you?"

  Claire stood, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yes." She walked to the windows. In the dark the wall-length panes acted like mirrors. She tried to see past her image to the calm lake outside, but it was impos
sible.

  Of course he loved his kids. But he didn't love her.

  "Go ahead and book an appointment," she said. "Do you have a counselor in mind?"

  He came up beside her, and for a moment she thought he would touch her, but he stayed a full arm's length away. "Yes. I phoned our family doctor. She gave me a name." He fished a card from his back pocket. "Riva Sharp. She specializes in family counseling, including couples therapy."

  Couples therapy. To Claire the concept was suspect. She wondered how many of the couples who went to therapy ended up staying together. Or was this just an extra step to prolong the separation process?

  "How about Tuesday afternoon?" Kirk asked. "Could you find someone to watch the girls?"

  "I suppose you've already booked the appointment."

  "Don't be angry, Claire. I hoped you'd say yes." He turned toward her then, touching her shoulder tentatively. "I can't stand living this way. I've got to know if we can fix our marriage."

  Or not. Claire moved away from him, toward the fire. She wasn't sure if she wanted to beat him with her fists or beg him to hold her. Either way, to be near him wasn't safe. She picked up the poker and opened the screen. When she tried to flip over the remnant of the last log, it dissolved into ashes. She returned the poker to its cast-iron stand and shut the mesh screening.

  "Okay," she said finally. "What time?"

  "Two o'clock."

  "I'll be there."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next morning Kirk spent a couple of hours out on the deck after a long early-morning swim, dealing with that bulging briefcase he'd brought from the office. Claire sipped herbal tea until she shook off her dull headache—the legacy of yet another restless night.

  She'd meant to tell Kirk yesterday that she was pregnant. Several times she'd even opened her mouth, but somehow the words had stalled at the back of her throat.

  Why hadn't she told him?

  Because it wasn't supposed to be this way! A new baby was supposed to be good news. Not a complication in an already volatile situation.

  She didn't want to see Kirk's face crumple in resignation or shock or disbelief when he heard about this baby. Not after he'd been so delighted about the first three. She'd never forget how tightly he'd squeezed her when they got the call about Andie. Or how he'd sent flowers when she was just six weeks pregnant with Daisy—giving Claire the inspiration for her second daughter's name. Two years later, when her third pregnancy was confirmed, they'd splurged on a sitter to go out for dinner.

  Their financial situation had been tighter back then. That dinner out had been a real treat. Odd how, now that they could afford it, she couldn't remember the last time she and Kirk had gone out just the two of them.

  Why had it taken Kirk's confession to make her notice these things? The dwindling of loving words and actions, of time spent together. The thoughtful touches that had made them a couple, not just mother and father to the same three kids.

  The changes had taken place so gradually she'd never realized her marriage had entered the danger zone.

  Claire rinsed out her mug and placed it in the dishwasher. The girls were outside collecting items from a scavenger list she'd given them after breakfast. First one to come up with all twelve would get the plastic figure they'd found in the bottom of the cereal box that morning. In the meantime, she wanted to experiment with some recipes for this week's column. She had an idea for a fat-reduced potato salad. And her bean-and-corn salad with cilantro was always a big hit. Once made, she could serve them as an early dinner, before Kirk went back to Toronto.

  Claire didn't know whether she was relieved or disappointed about his upcoming departure. Of course, it wouldn't be long until she saw him again.

  They had that appointment booked for Tuesday. Just thinking about it made her belly tighten with apprehension. Did Kirk really want to salvage their marriage? Or was he just going through the motions so he could tell himself he'd done everything he could to try to make it work?

  Or maybe he was doing it for their children. Because, like her, he hated to break up their comfortable, secure home.

  That wasn't a bad reason, of course, but as she scrubbed potatoes with a vegetable brush, Claire had to admit that she wished he were motivated by more than good intentions toward his family.

  Where did his feelings for her factor in? she mused. If indeed he had any.

  At noon on tuesday, Claire dropped her children off at Mallory's. They were excited at the prospect of spending the day in Port Carling with Angel. Mallory was going to take them down to the park by the bridge, where they could watch the motorboats traveling through the locks between Lakes Muskoka and Rosseau. If they were lucky, they'd spot the RMS Segwun as the steamship passed through the locks or stopped for passengers. "Here's a batch of granola squares for the kids to snack on." Claire set the plastic container on Mallory's kitchen counter. "And this bag has spare clothing, suntan lotion and hats."

  "Perfect." Mallory leaned against the counter, munching on an apple. "You're always so organized. With three children, how do you do it?"

  "With three children, how could I not?" Claire opened her purse and pulled out a couple of sheets of paper. "I also have my column for the Gazette. Could you give it to Drew for me?"

  "You bet." Mallory took the envelope. "Drew says he's had lots of calls about your first column."

  "Oh?" Claire had wondered if mere would be any reaction.

  "All positive. I guess a lot of people have missed that column these past few years."

  "Well, that's a relief. It isn't easy following in the footsteps of Angela Driscoll."

  "I know. She really was something. Drew and I still miss her so much."

  Claire squeezed her friend's shoulder. Angie's cancer had struck her down so swiftly her family and friends had had no time to prepare for the loss.

  "She would have been so happy to see you and Drew together. And Angel…"

  "I like to think so."

  "By the way, did you try the recipe? The strawberry shortcake?"

  "Claire, you know Drew and I are culinary challenged. We rely on you for our home-cooked meals. But I heard Grady had a lot of success with the recipe this weekend. The twins dropped off their sports column last night and mentioned that he'd served the shortcake for dessert."

  Had Terese and her daughter been there to share it? Claire didn't ask the question because she was ashamed of the stab of resentment she felt at the thought of the young mother and her child enjoying a meal with the Hogans.

  She didn't know why she wasn't pleased to see Grady in this new relationship. He certainly deserved to find his own happiness now that Bess had left. And while Claire had reservations about Terese, obviously everyone else liked her.

  "I don't mean to rush you," Mallory said, "but shouldn't you be going? You said your appointment was at two."

  Claire's stomach tensed around the bran muffin and milk she'd forced herself to have for breakfast. Glancing down at her watch, she nodded. "You're right. Wish me luck."

  Mallory walked her to the van, then leaned through the open window as Claire turned die key in the ignition. "I want nothing more than for you and Kirk to sort this out," she said. "And don't worry about the girls. We'll have lots of fun."

  "You know, one thing this disaster has reminded me of is how lucky I am to have good friends like you and Drew." Claire slipped on her sunglasses. "Thanks, Mallory."

  Mallory patted her arm. "You bet. Now, don't rush back. Take whatever time you need. And don't worry," she added in a louder voice as Claire pulled out from the curb.

  Claire smiled and waved. Don't worry. How could she not?

  The counselor Kirk had chosen was from Barrie. The city was a reasonable midpoint between the cottage and Toronto—indicative, perhaps, of the kind of compromise they'd need to save their marriage.

  Save their marriage…

  For a second, hope lightened the pressure against her chest, but all too soon realism set in. Regardless of
whether Kirk had slept with Janice, he'd broken his wedding vow to Claire. He was in love with the other woman, and how could Claire compete? She was ten years older, overweight— and pregnant on top of everything!

  And she didn't even want to compete. After twelve years, she shouldn't have to. If Kirk didn't value what they had together, then she didn't want him.

  She turned the radio up loud and tried not to think as the miles flew by. Kirk had left her Riva Sharp's business card, and the address was easy to find. Claire eased the van into a parking spot in front of the small brick structure, which housed a legal firm and an insurance brokerage, as well as the counseling practice.

  Kirk's sedan was already there, parked across the street, and she stared at it for a few seconds before pulling down the flap over the vanity mirror and reapplying her lipstick. What to wear to a marriage counseling session? That had been her quandary this morning. It had been complicated, of course, by her need to hide her pregnancy.

  But hiding it would no longer be necessary after today. She was going to tell Kirk for sure this time. Maybe after the session was over they could go for a coffee or something.

  If they were still speaking.

  She flicked the switch to lock the van doors, then smoothed down her denim jumper. She was wearing a black, scooped-neck top underneath, and fashionable black platform sandals. Silver hoops hung from her ears, and her toenails gleamed rose-pink from last night's manicure.

  She looked okay for a thirty-seven-year-old woman who was three months pregnant. And whose husband was in love with another woman.

  Riva sharp's office was both cozy and professional in appearance. The walls were lined with bookshelves and a desk was tucked discreetly behind an intimate arrangement of a sofa and several chairs.

  Kirk was sitting in one of those chairs when Riva opened the door. Claire felt her heart thud at the sight of him. He looked so handsome, so calm and assured. How was that possible?

  He was dressed in a navy four-button suit, with a pale blue shirt and one of his jazzier ties. Somehow she knew he hadn't procrastinated in front of the mirror, as she had, trying to decide what to wear.