A Mother's Secrets

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “So if you weren’t looking for a clearer understanding of the past, why did you bring it all up now?” Olivia’s glance was serious. Firm.

  “Because you and I are the same,” she said. “Because you get that a woman can choose to give her life to a career and others, and have that life be as valuable, as happy, as one who chooses not to live alone.”

  Olivia’s gaze darkened. “Oh, sweetie,” she said. Appeared to have some difficulty swallowing. “We aren’t alike at all in one very important way...”

  Their waiter came close, looking at them, and turned away.

  “Yes, I believe a woman dedicating herself to her career can be vital, but that’s very different from choosing to be alone. You can be all those things you described and still share your life.”

  Christine opened her mouth to argue. Figured she’d said enough. Until you’d lived without any freedom because you were tied to loved ones, because you were all they had, because they meant so much to you, you probably wouldn’t understand.

  “Nine years ago, when I was still in med school, I was married.” Olivia’s words shocked her. Olivia had been married? “My husband was ten years older than me, and wanted to have children right away. He was also quite wealthy and thought it made more sense for us to start our family, and then for me to go to med school. It was our only real issue—my dedication to a career—and I adored him. We compromised—we’d start our family, but I was also going to stay in school. Our baby was born with severe birth defects. She lived almost four months, but then we lost her.” Olivia’s tone didn’t change. She was speaking facts, not feeling the emotions they created. Christine knew because she recognized herself in her friend.

  “Don’t tell me the jerk blamed you...because you were in school or something...”

  “No.” Olivia’s smile was tinged with sadness. “And he wasn’t a jerk. But Lily’s death was hard on our marriage. I ended up specializing in pediatrics and buried myself in saving other people’s children. The last straw for us was when we found out I couldn’t have any more babies.” Olivia explained that the problem was not with her eggs, but in her body’s inability to successfully nourish a fetus.

  “I admire the hell out of what you’re doing here,” she said, leaning in with arms crossed on the table in front of her as she spoke to Christine. There were other people around, parties coming and going, but Christine had hardly been aware of anyone. “Giving a man a chance to have his child...it’s incredible. Being able to have a child at all is an incredible thing to me...”

  So they weren’t alike. Something awakened in Christine. She couldn’t define it. Didn’t recognize it. But felt enlightened just the same.

  “But I’m telling you this because I’m not alone by choice, Christine. I adored my husband when I married him. And I adore him still. He’s a good man. A great man. We just weren’t good together after Lily died. We handled it differently. I needed to work. To bury myself alive or die of grief. He needed more of me. More from me. You know the statistics...how many marriages fail when a couple loses a child. It doesn’t kill the love, though. And I haven’t met a man who even comes close to instilling that kind of love or passion in me.”

  “Do you ever see him?”

  “Sometimes. Not often. It’s too hard.” She waved her hand and then leaned in again. “When I asked you why you didn’t sleep with Jamie, you immediately spouted off about professional ethics,” she said. “But those are only going to be an issue until after the baby’s born.”

  Tension passed through her system. Grabbing hold.

  “I’m thinking there might be more to it than that. You didn’t need to speak to me, someone who you thought was like you, if your only concern was professionalism,” Olivia continued, and Christine felt like a woman tied to a train track with an engine veering down on her.

  She needed to stop her friend before she said anything else. And needed to hear what was being said, too. Olivia was right. She’d told her about her past for a reason.

  Because it seemed to be looming in her present, and she couldn’t put it to rest. From the time she’d graduated from college and opened the clinic, she’d never looked back. Never had a problem leaving the past behind. She’d been happy.

  Content. At peace.

  “Is it possible that you’ve been hiding behind professionalism all these years, finding enough satisfaction in The Parent Portal and the family you’ve built there to keep from being hurt again?”

  “Of course not.” She was a woman with her eyes wide-open. Had been since the moment she’d given birth and allowed the nurse to take her child away and never bring him back.

  Sitting back, Olivia reached for her purse. “Okay,” she said. “It was just a thought. So, if your only problem is the professional relationship between you and Jamie, the solution is simple. Wait it out until you recover from having the baby and then sleep with him.”

  No. She frowned, putting her credit card on the tray with the bill. No, she was not going to sleep with Jamison Howe.

  “I’m having his wife’s baby. She’s the one he loves. I’m just a stand-in.”

  “Maybe.” She seemed to be waiting for more.

  “The last time I felt this way, my heart broke.”

  Olivia just nodded with her whole upper body, back and forth.

  And the peace in Christine’s heart shattered, engulfing her with fear.

  She’d believed in happily-ever-after once. Had given her whole heart to her mom and dad, her grandparents, Nathan. Ryder. And had it shattered. Again. And again. And again. And once more after that.

  She’d survived. And other than her mother’s death, she’d handled it all alone.

  She couldn’t do it again. Couldn’t open herself up to another possible loss.

  She just couldn’t.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jamie went running first thing Saturday morning. In athletic shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt, he put on his newest tennis shoes and took off down the beach from his little cottage. He’d spoken to Christine twice since their Wednesday night skitter off course. Normally he’d have requested to visit with her.

  He didn’t.

  He missed his baby like crazy.

  Missed Christine almost as badly.

  Felt like he’d been unfaithful to his wife. To her memory. Kissing the woman who was carrying Emily’s child.

  Even wanting to kiss her.

  Wanting to make love to her with a fire that burned hotter than anything he’d ever felt before. The truth poured through him as he ran, consuming him with shame.

  He couldn’t hide from what had happened. Or how he’d felt.

  Didn’t even attempt to try.

  He just didn’t know how he could come to terms with either Christine or his son, feeling as he did.

  Half an hour into the run he came face-to-face with waves slapping up against a cliffside at the beach’s end. He could turn around. Head back. Or go up and over, with the hope that he’d be able to reach sand on the other side. The shoreline had more beach. For more than a hundred miles. He just had no idea what cliffs came in between sandy stretches.

  Feeling as though his whole life was suddenly filled with unknowns, unable to tolerate not knowing what lay ahead, he started to climb. Slid a couple of times, scraping his arm pretty badly, bruising a knee, but he kept going, and twenty minutes in, saw a way that would have been quicker. And saw beach, too. As soon as his shoes hit sand, he started running again. Only briefly availing himself of the waterspout attached to the pack on his back.

  Em?

  Where was she?

  Where was he?

  Why didn’t he feel even the slightest bit of resentment that Christine was carrying the child Emily had been meant to carry? She’d assumed, near the beginning of the pregnancy, that he would resent her.

  And the house... He co
uldn’t wait to get out of the house he and Emily had bought together. The home she’d loved. Yet, here he was, still just looking at homes like he had all the time in the world, feeling no rush to find a new one, happy in his little cottage.

  He’d been told the owners were willing to sell, and he’d actually been thinking about buying it. It would be great for a weekend at the beach. For his and Tom’s visitors. Or for his mother to stay in when she visited.

  But if he wasn’t in a hurry to get into the new house, why rush out of the old? He’d told Christine that it hadn’t ever felt like a home to him. And felt badly afterward.

  But the words were true.

  He wanted their child, but not the home Emily had created for it?

  Sand flew behind him as he ran on mostly deserted land. If he got to a public beach, there’d be a few people milling about. There always were, no matter what time of year.

  Emily had loved the beach best in nonsummer times. She’d liked the brisk air. The fact that people weren’t there to worship the sun, but the water.

  The house—there’d been no passion there. He’d always thought, once he and Emily finally bought their “forever” home, it would automatically warm with their love in every room.

  He’d wanted the type of intensity he’d witnessed between his parents anytime they’d been in the same room in their home.

  Because at home they could let down all barriers and just be completely themselves.

  The apartments he’d shared with Emily had all been owned by others, and they could hear others through the walls. But their own home...

  He ran as though angry with the sand. Barely aware of the water off to the left. Or the slight cliff leading to grass and hopes to his right.

  Em?

  The intensity between his parents...

  It reminded him of the other night in the car with Christine...

  He stopped. Bent over, his hands on his knees, gasping for air.

  Shook himself off. Tried to start running again. And fell to his butt in the sand, knees raised, facing the ocean.

  He’d loved Emily with all his heart. First as a friend. A best friend. And then forever.

  And Christine...

  She had brought passion to his life.

  She was carrying the baby he’d created with his wife, and he’d fallen in love for the first time in his life.

  What in the hell was he going to do with that?

  * * *

  When Jamie didn’t suggest an outing by Sunday afternoon, Christine called him. She’d been completely out of line threatening to enforce her right to not see him for the remainder of the pregnancy.

  He must be treading carefully, afraid he’d do something to set her off, and she couldn’t have that.

  “I have to decide by tomorrow what finish I want on the floors, either just a clear gloss, or tinted coating, and I could sure use some help,” she told him about her renovations, including the fact that she was being mindful of chemicals that could affect the baby, keeping things just as they’d been before the night of the show. They’d meet up in the midst of normal life, and then go on with their separate lives.

  When he didn’t immediately respond in the affirmative, she added, “He’s been kicking up a storm all weekend. He needs to hear your voice.”

  The baby was his. She couldn’t fall in love with it. Which meant that he had to cover that part.

  So, they’d kissed.

  And she’d cried. She was pregnant. She was allowed to be out of her head a bit. Once the baby was born, her hormones leveled out, she’d be happy with her life again.

  And even if Olivia was somewhat right about some things, Christine had already made her choices. Luckily she’d had warning to guard herself against Jamie before she’d done something really stupid like fall in love with him.

  That’s all the kiss had been. A warning to herself.

  She’d dressed in a baggy denim dress with colorful flowered lace trim, and as soon as he stood, in jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt in her living room, his hazel eyes assessing her in a way that felt far too personal, like he knew her too well, she started to panic. And quickly calmed herself with the knowledge that fear was a warning and she was taking heed.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said, to put him at ease. To let him know that nothing had changed between them.

  He smiled. “It’s good to see you, too.” His words were warm. And that gaze... It was like he was leaning in to kiss her without moving. So she turned away.

  Cut off anything that might be misconstrued or cause trouble.

  She walked through the downstairs, which was all hardwood. Showed him sample colors. Didn’t give an opinion. And he chose the clear gloss—her own first pick.

  Then it was time for him to go. Except that he asked what she was doing with the upstairs.

  “Nothing. It’s all carpet and I don’t know if I’ll have enough to do the whole place this year.” Which wasn’t really the case. With what he was paying her, she’d have plenty to do both. But she’d been thinking about new tubs and showers. And she wanted to put some of the money away. Maybe invest it.

  A girl could never be too sure of her future.

  When he asked to take a look, she took him upstairs. Waited in the hall at each door as he peeked inside.

  “This place is a castle,” he said, as he glanced into the master suite she’d moved into after opening The Parent Portal. Her grandparents had moved back into it after her father moved out. And they’d been gone, within months of each other, since her sophomore year of college.

  There were five bedrooms in all. “You can just hear all the kids making noise up here,” he said.

  And she started downstairs. “There’s never been more than just one,” she told him, shutting down the picture he’d painted before it could take on color. “My grands bought it from a couple who’d been in the movie business in LA and had it built to have a place to entertain quietly, outside the city.” She turned around and grinned at him, holding on to the handrail as she traversed the steps with her bigger belly. “In other words, so they could entertain without everyone who was someone knowing who they were with.” They’d reached the first floor and she moved toward the front door. “And then Gram and Gramps only had Mom, and she only had me,” she finished, efficiently obliterating any idea of those upstairs rooms filled with noisy kids.

  “Don’t you get lonely here all alone?”

  “Nope.” It was home. Filled with all the love she’d ever known.

  The baby moved as she reached for the door handle, and pulling back, she said, “He’s kicking,” and turned her stomach toward him. The baby was his purpose for being there.

  Jamie’s hand connected with her stomach immediately, no hesitation, and while she braced herself to remain immune, to take herself out of the picture, she also relaxed into his touch. This was them.

  She was good.

  “I’ve decided on a name for him,” he said.

  She nodded. None of her business.

  “I figure, if he can hear us talking, he might as well start learning it.”

  Made sense. Good sense. She looked up at him.

  “I’m going to call him Will, after my father.” She smiled. “And Ryder, after your son. To honor what you’re doing for us.”

  William Ryder Howe.

  Her smile faltered. She teared up. Put some kind of “you don’t have to” sentence together. Suggested naming the baby for Emily’s father, or to at least think about it.

  And when he hugged her goodbye, holding his baby close to his stomach through her skin, she hugged him back.

  Then made herself let go.

  * * *

  Jamie couldn’t push her to admit it—if he did, he’d push her away. But after that Sunday visit, the couple that followed that week, a quick stop
in her office and a toned-down game of racquetball, he was fairly certain that Christine had feelings for him.

  The truth came not so much in the things she said, but in the sometimes stilted, almost rehearsed, way she said them. The careful way she guided their times together—not at all the naturally compassionate professional he’d once known. In the memory of the hunger in her kiss. New to passion as he was, there was no doubting that she’d been as hot for him as he’d been for her. The truth came to him through her eyes when she’d meet his gaze and say nothing at all.

  The truth was more than just an awareness of her attraction to him. Her caring about him. Unless something changed for her, she wasn’t going to be able to open her heart enough to love anyone intimately. She’d given all she had.

  Unless he found a way to show her that she didn’t have to go through life, or bear life’s challenges, alone.

  And the only way he could figure out to show her that, to prove it to her, because telling certainly wasn’t going to do it, was to do for her the one thing that mattered most. And that she deemed impossible.

  He had to find her son, Ryder. Or at least do all he could to try. To see if there was any way he could at least give her some peace of mind about the child’s welfare.

  It was a tall order for anyone, let alone a guy who had no rights in her private life at all.

  Over the next couple of weeks, he alternated between searching keywords on the internet and telling himself to stop being a fool and get on with his life.

  He called a couple of old friends from high school who’d been younger than him, ones he hadn’t spoken to in years, shared the news of his impending fatherhood, and, when congratulations were done, he’d caught up on their lives and then awkward silences had fallen on the line when he’d asked about a girl who’d gone to high school with them. Nobody remembered Christine.

  He saw her three times a week, both of those weeks, including a routine doctor’s visit, and all six times, he came home more determined that he had to find her son. For every pound she gained she grew more vulnerable. More fragile. And more determined than ever that when the baby was born, their lives would return to normal.