The Secret Son

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  In truth, she hardly noticed the man, intent as she was on her contemplation of life—of her ex-husband in meetings with a roomful of people that happened to include Pamela Woods—and of the pure joy she found in the small boy at her side.

  “Yes, he is, Mom. Look!” Kevin said. “We better hurry. That’s the only place left with shade, and you know you like shade.” The words sounded like those of a nagging teenager.

  Erica followed her five-year-old’s orders. She looked. And her steps faltered. It had been more than five years, and she was still seeing Jack in strange men on the street. Or in this case, the grass of Capitol Hill.

  Holding the brown bag full of chips and condiments that had come with the sandwiches, Kevin strode ahead, glancing back at her with a frown when she didn’t immediately fall into step with him.

  To please her son, Erica sped up. But she slowed again as they drew closer to their destination. The man who was walking toward them bore an uncanny resemblance to Jack Shaw.

  A resemblance that seemed to grow rather than dissipate the nearer he came. Erica started to search for the differences.

  “Come on, Mo-o-o-om.” Kevin might have stomped his little wing-tipped shoe if he’d thought he could get away with it.

  The man’s dark-blond hair was touched with gray. He was a little thinner than Jack. But the walk was exactly the same. A little slower than most people’s, as though he had all the time in the world to reach his destination—and yet confident, as though he knew exactly where he was going and how to get there.

  He missed a step. Seemed to be staring at her.

  “He’s taking the spot, Mom! Your shade.” The little boy stopped, the threat of tears in his voice.

  “It’s okay, Kev,” she said softly, her gaze never moving from the man standing under their tree, watching her.

  “Erica?” His voice was just as it had been in her dream a couple of nights before.

  “Jack.” His name sounded more like a croak; she cleared her throat and tried again. “Jack.”

  The people milling around them on Capitol Hill—important people trying to change the world, homeless people, tourists with mouths agape taking pictures—all faded away.

  Do something, you idiot, she thought as she stood there staring. But she didn’t do anything. Just stood. And stared. A human land mine waiting to be detonated.

  She was so cold.

  And she was hot.

  Jack was here. Right here where she could touch him. She was afraid that if she moved, she’d break into hysterical laughter—or tears. Almost six years. That was a long time to be away from someone you’d connected with as intensely as Erica had with Jack.

  “This was our spot.” Kevin stood by his mother, looking up at the stranger with complete unselfconsciousness.

  Oh, no.

  Kevin. And Jack. Father and son.

  She’d completely forgotten about her son. About the significance of his presence. Used to smoothing over awkward situations, Erica didn’t often find herself at a complete loss. She had no idea what to do.

  “It’s, uh, okay, sport, we’ll go somewhere…else.” She stumbled through what was supposed to be an up-beat, natural-sounding response.

  “No need, I’m not staying,” Jack said. “I have a report to pick up across the street.” But he didn’t leave.

  Part of her was aware of Kevin looking from one to the other, his small brow creased.

  She couldn’t believe Jack was actually here, standing in front of her, as though this happened regularly. She’d never seen him in slacks and a tie. He’d never seen his son.

  Kevin stepped closer to Erica, sliding his free hand into hers. “Do you know this man, Mom?” he asked, his tone as protective as an almost five-year-old’s could get. “Does he work with Daddy? I’ve never seen him before.”

  When her numb brain considered the paradox of those last words—Kevin had never seen Jack, his father—a flash of intense sadness shot through her.

  “I do know him, Kev, yes,” she said in the best mommy voice she could muster. “But he doesn’t work with Daddy. He’s an old friend of Mommy’s.”

  “Oh.” The boy considered Jack.

  Jack hadn’t said a word. Hands in his pockets, one knee casually bent, he watched Erica, and then, with partially lowered lids, took in Kevin for a long moment.

  Dropping Erica’s hand, Kevin thrust out his palm. “Hi, I’m Kevin,” he said.

  Without missing a beat, Jack took the hand her son—his son—offered, shaking it, without understanding the relevance of what he was doing.

  But Erica knew. And started to cry inside.

  “Hi, Kevin, I’m Jack.”

  “What do you do?” Kevin asked, small arms folded across his chest, his brown bag full of chips dangling awkwardly.

  “I used to work for the FBI.”

  Kevin nodded. “I know some people who work there,” he said.

  Smiling at the boy, Jack’s eyes rose to meet Erica’s once again. And the look in those eyes took her breath away. For that brief second, they weren’t in Washington, D.C., standing on Capitol Hill with their son between them. They were back in New York City, in a hotel room….

  “He’s your son.” Jack said the words she couldn’t.

  “Yes.” She needed a sip from one of the bottles of water in the bag she was carrying. Her throat was dry.

  “I read that you and Jefferson had him, what—four years ago?”

  Greedily she took the out he’d unknowingly presented. “He’s four, yes.”

  If she told him that Kevin was going to be five the next month, would it give him pause?

  But she couldn’t. Now more than ever, Kevin was Jefferson’s son. She’d chosen Jack over loyalty to Jefferson once before. She couldn’t do that again.

  She also knew, in that split second of unreality, that Kevin needed her to keep her secret more than anyone else did. Her son was still trying to adjust to the changes in his life brought about by the divorce. She couldn’t upset his precarious hold on emotional stability with more life-changing news.

  In the past six months Kevin had aged thirty years. He’d gone from toddler to adult when Jefferson moved out. She’d taken him to a psychiatrist. She and Jefferson had both worked with him incessantly, and still, this tiny man remained where the little boy had once lived.

  “I also read that you and Jefferson divorced.”

  He was keeping better track of Washington politicians these days. “Yeah. It was final six months ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” The compassion in those eyes, the quiet intimacy of that look, tormented her. She just had to hold on a few more seconds and this would be over. He had someplace to go.

  “Daddy and Mom are still best friends,” Kevin said, interrupting their silent exchange. “He comes home from work and has dinner with us most of the nights.” His small features were heartbreaking in their earnestness.

  “You’re still working for him, too,” Jack said.

  She didn’t want him to walk away.

  “Yeah.”

  He nodded, connecting with her through looks more than words.

  “Was the divorce really your idea like the papers said?” he asked abruptly.

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  That surprised her. Considering that he was the only other person alive who knew how thoroughly she’d betrayed her husband, she would’ve expected him to assume that she was indeed responsible for the termination of her marriage.

  Kevin, whose hair was the same dark blond shade as that of the man standing there delaying their lunch, took the bag from his mother’s hand. “I’m hungry. Can we eat now?”

  “Of course, honey,” Erica said, smiling at him, loving him, more thankful than she could ever express that he was hers, blessing her life.

  Kevin was what mattered.

  “Would you like a sandwich, too?” he asked Jack. “We bought one for Daddy, but he won’t be here today.”

  J
ack had begun to shake his head, but he stopped when he heard about the rejection the boy had already received, arching his brows as he looked at Erica. “Thanks, I’d like that,” Jack said. And then to Erica, “Does he do that a lot?”

  “Who?”

  Jack was staying. Her son had bought her a few more minutes. Erica was elated. And worried. She needed him to go.

  “Jefferson. Does he miss dates with the boy?”

  “Almost never. My meeting was canceled this morning so I decided to bring Kevin at the last minute. Jefferson tried to finish up in time, but with so little notice…”

  “Okay, we’re eating now, right, Mom?” Kevin asked, dropping to his knees on the grass. He dug into the bag with all the finesse of a hungry little boy. His childish enthusiasm was a relief.

  “Right,” she said, wondering how on earth she was going to sit here with her son and her son’s father and take a single bite of anything. She was ready to explode with what she knew about these two people she cared about so much.

  What she knew and what they didn’t know. Three words, and all their lives would change forever.

  He’s your son.

  Three words she could never say.

  “Well, you sit here, Mom,” Kevin said, pointing to one side of him. “And you sit here.” He plopped Jack’s paper-wrapped sandwich down in the grass. “And here’s waters.” He tried to stand the bottles in the grass. When they fell over, he tried again, only giving up after a third try. “And chips, too.”

  He missed the napkins that were also in the bag.

  Erica sat down with an awkwardness that was a sacrilege to the memories she carried of her and Jack—memories of their naturalness together, their ease. And somehow made it through the next ten minutes as her son, with crumbs and a smear of mayonnaise on his face, virtually besieged her ex-lover with questions about his time with the FBI.

  “Did you know my daddy’s a senator?” Kevin asked suddenly. Only the crusts of his sandwich were left, carefully placed on the paper wrap in front of him.

  Jack had finished his sandwich, as well. Crusts and all. “Yes, I did,” he told Kevin.

  “He works right over there.” The boy pointed at the Hart Senate Office Building.

  “I hear he’s pretty important,” Jack said. He hadn’t looked at Erica since they’d sat down.

  For which she was thankful. Left alone, she’d managed to eat enough of her sandwich to keep Kevin from noticing that something was wrong.

  Kevin handed Jack two bags of chips. “He is important,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “He’s a hero, you know, ’cause of stem cells and other stuff. Here’s yours. Can you open mine, too?”

  Jack opened the bags. “I’d like to meet him sometime,” he told the boy, passing back his chips.

  Jack was just being kind to Kevin in saying that he’d like to meet his daddy, but Erica couldn’t think of anything worse than Jack and Jefferson in the same room. The man she’d betrayed. And the man she’d betrayed him with.

  Self-loathing robbed her of any remaining appetite.

  DAMN, IT WAS GOOD to see her. Too good probably. Dumping their trash in the nearest receptacle, Jack walked with Erica and her son across the lawn to the National Mall, although it was in the opposite direction from where he needed to go.

  She’d promised the boy a few minutes in one of the museums before going back to the office. And he wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet.

  He’d been to the Capitol a few times over the years. Each time he’d had to fight with himself not to call her. After the news of her divorce, the fight had grown more fierce. But the reasons for not doing it stayed the same. Jack wasn’t going to let anyone get close enough to change his life. Not again.

  Each internal fight had eventually ended with the same compromise. He’d talk to her if he ran into her. Like a besotted fool, he’d watched every woman he’d passed on those visits, but he’d never run into her.

  Until now.

  As they reached the huge expanse of grass that ran along the center of the National Mall, Kevin darted ahead of them, lost in some game of his own making. Jack had no idea what it was, only that it involved hopping on one leg. And looked like fun. Even in the restrictive clothes he was wearing.

  “He’s sure the little senator,” he said, watching the boy. Though he went cold at the thought of having a child of his own, he was glad Erica had Kevin. He liked to think of her with that kind of love in her life.

  She shrugged, as quiet as she’d been during lunch. “He’s Jefferson’s son through and through,” she said. “I see Jeff’s mannerisms in almost everything Kevin does.”

  “He looks like you.”

  She stumbled, her high heel catching in the grass, but caught herself before Jack could steady her. “People say that,” she said. “But I don’t see it. He looks like…his father to me.”

  Since he’d never seen Jefferson Cooley except on television, and then, only once or twice, Jack couldn’t really judge the accuracy of that.

  What he could judge, though, was Erica. It had been almost six years, of course, but she’d changed a lot. It wasn’t just the sadness in her eyes or the lack of bounce in her step. It was the distance she seemed to be putting between her and the world. Between the two of them.

  “It’s great to see you,” he said, thinking he should’ve come up with a more original remark. Or at least a more significant one.

  “You, too.”

  She didn’t look at him.

  Jack had to get over to the Capitol Building. He had a meeting in twenty minutes and needed the report he was supposed to have picked up almost an hour ago.

  Yet the same thing that had drawn him to her all those years ago in New York drew him again. She’d never really left his thoughts…or his dreams.

  “Are you free for dinner?” Probably not a good idea. But he couldn’t just walk away. Not without finding out what was making her so unhappy. Not without seeing if there was something he could do to help before he went back to his own life.

  Her only answer was silence.

  With a hand on her wrist, he stopped her, waiting until she finally looked at him before continuing, “I’d really like a chance to catch up on the past few years,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “One night, for old times’ sake,” he said.

  “Okay.” Her lids raised slowly. He read the doubt in her eyes. And worse, the wariness.

  “Really?” Based on the impressions he was getting, he felt surprised as hell that she’d agreed.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I’ll have Jeff take Kevin home with him. We can meet here in town and go to the Prime Rib, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Great,” he said quickly. The forties-style supper club was a good choice. Public enough to keep them safe, comfortable enough to allow for a long visit. He was staying at an apartment close by—owned by a buddy of his from the bureau whose main residence was in Virginia—and could easily walk to the restaurant. “Seven okay with you?”

  “Fine. I’ll meet you there. I’ll look forward to it.”

  Hands in his pockets, Jack called goodbye to Kevin, who was still hopping and now waving an arm oddly, as well, and headed back in the direction they’d come, wishing it was seven o’clock already.

  Erica had said she was looking forward to the evening, too, but she wasn’t letting Jack anywhere near any of her real thoughts and feelings. He wasn’t going to rest until he found out why.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE SHOULD HAVE chosen a different place to meet him. Sitting in the black leather chair at the impeccably set table, waiting for Jack, Erica looked around for anyone she knew. The Prime Rib was a hot spot among Washington’s elite, a real insiders’ favorite. She’d been aiming for the safety and comfort afforded by familiarity. She hadn’t considered the discomfort created by the presence of curious acquaintances.

  Just being in this place, meeting Jack where she and Jefferso
n had done so much business over the years, made her feel guilty as hell.

  Only the fact that Kevin and Jefferson were at the condo, playing catch and having some much-needed guy-time, appeased her conscience enough to allow her to stay. All she wanted to do was find out that Jack’s life was going well. That he was okay.

  She saw him the minute he walked in the door. Heart quickening, she watched him speak to the maître d’ and then cross the room. Unlike many of the politicians, lawyers and lobbyists who’d come straight from work, herself included, he’d changed clothes. He was wearing navy slacks and a light-blue oxford shirt with a navy-and-white-striped tie. His jacket, required dress at the Prime Rib, was a navy tweed.

  Full of emotion, she didn’t say a word as he took the seat across from her.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he told her, his smile slow in coming. “I thought you might change your mind, and then I realized I’d given you no way to reach me.”

  “I had to come.”

  The look in his eyes shifted, wariness giving way to intimacy. Before he could say anything, their waiter appeared, welcoming them, taking Jack’s order for a shot of whiskey on the rocks and hers for a glass of wine.

  Exactly what they’d been drinking the last time they were together. That night in her hotel room…

  “Just like old times, huh?” he asked.

  Erica smiled, blushed, but she couldn’t decide how to respond, so she said nothing. She hated being so unsure of herself.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  The warmth in his voice, the expression on his face, suggested that not only could he see inside her, but really liked what he saw there. Everything about him was as compelling as it had been almost six years before.

  “I’ve missed you, too. A lot.” There. It felt better to have acknowledged some real feeling. So maybe that was what this evening would be. A time for expressing emotions. Releasing them.

  Saying goodbye?

  Their drinks came. They ordered dinner. Entrées, not the appetizers they’d settled for at Maggie’s Place that week in New York. But then, the Prime Rib, with its formal decor and live soft jazz piano music, was about as different from Maggie’s as you could get.