The Secret Wife

When?

When she paid the rent? When she had cupboards stocked with food and wipes and diapers? When she graduated from college, her mortuary-science degree in hand?

That was the only chance she might have of repaying the man.

“Here. You pay me when you can.”

She accepted the folded slip of paper and just about drowned in the kindness in his eyes. Slipping the paper into the diaper bag, she didn’t even look at the amount. Didn’t have to. She could tell to the penny what he’d spent, allowing for regional differences. Doing without had made her a great comparison shopper. And she knew convenience stores charged an arm and a leg for this stuff. Including the cheeseburger, she owed the guy close to forty bucks.

“You know babies pretty well. You have children?”

He seemed startled at the suggestion. Why? He looked to be in his midthirties. Solid. Kind. Good-looking, in a rough sort of way. A man who should probably have a wife and a few children at home.

“Nope. Couple of my friends do, though. Once they get to that age—” he nodded to David cradled in the crook of her arm sucking greedily on the bottle “—a cracker’ll get them to quiet down if they’re hungry or bored.”

“An astute observation, J.D. I didn’t catch your last name? Though with the reunion in town, McGuire would be a safe guess.”

His lips twitched. So, he had a sense of humor.

“Yep. You nailed it. McGuire, J.D. McGuire. And you are?”

“McGuire. Maggie McGuire.”

His eyes widened at that. Then the frown was back. As if she’d uttered the most despicable thing in the world.

“That’s not funny,” he said.

“It’s not intended to be.”

“Passing yourself off as his wife won’t help.”

Maggie straightened her aching spine. She wasn’t ready for this kind of confrontation. Eric, yes. She’d had several thousand miles to prepare for dealing with Eric. But this guy? He made her feel like she was doing something wrong. Something immoral.

“I’m not passing myself off as anything. I’m merely being polite and introducing myself. You draw your own conclusions.”

“My conclusions have nothing to do with this. There are already two Mrs. McGuires. One is my grandmother. The other is Nancy, Eric’s wife.”

Wife?

The word bounced around her head, slid down her throat and twirled in her stomach, before dropping to the bottom, like one of those penny wishing wells at the Wal-Mart store.

“Th-that’s impossible. I’m his wife.”

“Look, lady, I don’t know you. But you seem like a nice enough person. My brother’s done some pretty crummy things in his life, but he wouldn’t stoop to bigamy.”

“At least we agree about something.”

Eric had been a jerk occasionally. Well, more than occasionally. But he’d been a charming, loving jerk most of the time. She simply couldn’t believe he would do something to hurt her so badly. To hurt his son so badly.

But doubts tiptoed through her mind. He’d never really believed David was his child. Their argument over his paternity had been intense. She’d started spotting immediately and feared she might lose the baby. After that, Eric had neither accepted nor rejected paternity. He had simply humored her, made sure she ate right, got enough rest, suggested a few names for the baby.

And when she’d told him he was listed as David’s father on the birth certificate, he’d just smiled a sad little smile and kissed her gently on the lips. Then he’d taken the newborn from her arms and settled into the hospital rocking chair.

No, he wouldn’t be that cruel.

“Maybe she’s mistaken? This Nancy woman?”

“Nope. I was best man at their wedding, right after Eric graduated high school. And if there’d been a divorce, I would have heard about it.”

That’s when the second shock seeped in. Everything she’d believed to be true was in jeopardy. J.D. was lying. He had to be lying.

“Look, is this some sort of sick practical joke?” Maggie held her breath, waiting for a camera crew to come out of hiding, hoping against hope that this was a new reality TV show designed to humiliate the unsuspecting.

“Is it? A joke?” she asked.

He couldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he stared off in the direction of the door. As if he would rather have been anywhere in the world but here, breaking bad news to a stranger. “No, it’s not a joke.”

“If you’re telling the truth,” she whispered, squeezing the baby so tightly he protested, “that means I’m not married. And David is—”

“A beautiful, healthy child.” He leaned forward. “That’s all that matters.”

“Why are you being so kind?”

The man ran a hand over his head. “I’m not being kind. I’m just stating a fact. My brother is a real asshole sometimes and innocent people get hurt.”

Now she realized the man had said he was Eric’s brother, not once, but twice.

She slumped against the back of the booth. “You’re Jamie?”

“Only to my grandmother. And Eric, if I’m not too pissed off at him.”

Maggie eyed him. “You don’t look anything like him.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Same mother, different fathers. Eric’s dad was my stepdad.”

“J.D.—James David?” She tried to reconcile the man before her with her preconceived idea of what Eric’s brother would look like. She’d never even seen a photo of the man, but she’d assumed he would be fair like Eric. Blond hair, blue eyes.

“Yes, that’s me. I prefer J.D. though.” He nodded toward her son. “Is it coincidence, his name?”

“No coincidence. Eric wanted David named after you. He talked about you a lot. Kind of like you were a superhero.”

But it hadn’t always been a nice comparison. Sometimes, usually when he’d had one beer too many, the resentment would creep into his voice. The great Jamie, always doing the right thing, always thinking he was better.

“I doubt that. We don’t get along very well.”

She was silent, watching David’s eyes flutter. His daddy had a lot of faults. She only hoped her son inherited the good qualities. His generosity, his zest for life. The way he reached out and grabbed what he wanted.

“I need to talk to Eric. Sort all this out.”