The Child Who Rescued Christmas

Idly, he wondered if this one subtle difference proved that his fears of repeating his relatives’ dysfunctional behavior were unfounded. Of course, wanting to meet Brody was hardly enough evidence to make a case, but it was a difference that he could think about and consider. In the meantime, he had more pressing concerns.

The clock on the microwave showed six-thirty. Had only thirty minutes passed since he’d broken the news to Sara? Thirty minutes since he’d shattered his wife’s faith in him?

He glanced at the sealed envelope on the table before focusing on the photo of his son. His son. A living, breathing product of his own DNA, a continuation of the Wittman family tree.

The same awed thoughts had bombarded him after Sara had announced her pregnancy but this time the feelings were a little different. Now he had a name and face whereas before the only tangible evidence of his child had been a number on her lab report. Before he’d had time to dream big dreams, to imagine a little boy or girl with Sara’s beautiful eyes and his crooked smile, or to work through his reservations about being a parent, Sara had miscarried.

Brody, however, was here. In the flesh. Already walking and talking with a personality of his own.

Suddenly, the past two-plus years of ignorant bliss were far too long. He wanted to meet his son tonight, regardless of the hour or how cranky he might be. Waiting until tomorrow seemed like an eternity.

As he heard a loud thump coming from the direction of their bedroom, however, his eagerness faded. Meeting a child he might never be able to claim as his own could easily be a prelude to heartache.

CHAPTER TWO

SARA stared at the suitcase she’d dumped unceremoniously on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. Whether she unpacked or not, their trip was over. Done. Finished. If they took in Brody, they wouldn’t go. And if they didn’t, they still wouldn’t go because these events had killed her romantic-weekend mood.

Oh, who was she kidding? Tonight’s revelation had ruined more than the weekend. It had completely cracked the foundation of their marriage. Complete collapse was only a nudge away.

The question was, did she want to give their marriage that nudge, or not? Half of her was tempted beyond belief. The other half encouraged her to weather the storm.

She had to think. She had to decide what was the best option, which was the better course, but her emotions were far too raw to make a logical decision. Leaving meant the end of every hope and dream she’d nurtured.

Staying meant … meant what? That she’d already forgiven Cole? She hadn’t. That she loved him? At the moment, it was questionable.

Whatever her choice, she had to make it for the right reasons. Right now, she felt as if she were balanced precariously on a wet log, struggling to maintain her footing while knowing it wouldn’t take much for her to fall in either direction. With a decision this monumental looming over her, she needed time.

Not making a decision was making a decision.

Not true, she argued with herself. She wasn’t choosing to stay or go. She was simply choosing to give herself time to come to terms with the fact that Cole had a son.

He had a son.

Without her.

Once again, much as it had when she’d first connected the dots, hurt and anger crashed over her in debilitating waves. She kicked the luggage defiantly, well aware it was a poor substitute for the man who deserved her wrath, but she still hoped that small act would ease her pain.

It didn’t.

She hoisted the case back on the bed and unzipped the top. In spite of her rough treatment, the clothes inside were just as neat as when she’d placed them there. Once again, she was racked with indecision.

“Are you okay, Sara?” Cole asked from the doorway, a worried wrinkle on his forehead.

“I’m just peachy,” she answered waspishly. “How do you think I am?”

He didn’t answer, as if he knew the answer. “May I come in?”

“Suit yourself.” She spied the edge of the black silk teddy she’d purchased specifically for this weekend and poked it underneath her jeans and sweatshirts to keep it out of sight.

“Are you unpacking?” he asked.

“Yes.” She eyed the case and suddenly didn’t feel inclined to empty it, especially when the urge to grab it and run away was far too strong. “No. I’m not sure.”

“Maybe this will help. Packing means you’re leaving. To stay, you have to unpack.”

He sounded calm, as if he were simply helping her decide between wearing a pair of blue or green scrubs. “I realize that,” she answered sharply. Then, realizing she sounded shrewish, she softened her tone. “I’m trying to decide. Unfortunately, I can’t decide what is the right thing to do.” She rubbed at the crease on her forehead.

“I know you’re upset,” he began as he crossed the threshold.

“Wow. Whatever gave you that idea? Why would I possibly be upset to hear that my husband …” Her voice cracked. “My husband had a child with another woman while we were separated? My God, Cole. It was only a week. One lousy week.”

“Actually, it was ten days,” he corrected, “but, yes, those were lousy days on so many levels.”

She brushed aside his comment. “One week, ten days, it’s practically the same thing. All I know is that I didn’t fall into bed with anyone during that time, even if I technically …” she made imaginary quotation marks in the air “… could have.”

“It was a one-night error in judgment. It didn’t mean a thing.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Cole. I’m sure Brody will be happy to hear his dad say that he was a mistake. An error in judgment.”

“I only meant—”

“The point is,” she continued, “I haven’t forgotten why we split up or why we got back together.”

“I haven’t either,” he said evenly.

She rubbed the back of her neck. “But now you’re asking me to ignore what you did and welcome your son with open arms.”

His expression grew grave. “I’m only trying to explain what happened. While I know it’s too soon to ask for forgiveness, I’d like you to understand—”

“I’m having trouble with that,” she said flatly. “The Cole Wittman I knew prided himself on his control and for you to do something so obviously out of control … well, it makes me look at our life together in a different light, which is why I can’t decide … about this.” She motioned toward her suitcase.

“I knew the situation would be … tough to handle,” he admitted. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve dreaded telling you from the moment Maitland showed me Ruth’s will. I expected the news would be hard for you to swallow.”

At least he was cognizant enough of her feelings to guess at her reaction. “You were right.”

“I’m sorry to have landed us in this predicament.”

Predicament was such an insipid term for the situation they were in, she decided.

“Would you rather I’d kept this from you and told Maitland then and there that we weren’t interested in taking Brody?”

It would have been so much easier, she thought with irritation, but she also knew that “easy” didn’t always mean “better.” Successful marriages were built on honesty, not secrets, and if Cole had kept this from her—even if part of her wished he had—they could be setting a dangerous precedent for their future relationship. What would stop him from withholding information from her again, especially if he deemed it was information she’d find uncomfortable?

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, curious.

He shrugged. “The truth eventually comes out. Maybe not today or next month or next year, but sometime down the road it would surface again. Fate has a way of doing the unexpected,” he said wryly, “and I figured that learning about Brody would be easier to handle now rather than in ten or twenty years.

“And,” he continued tentatively, “knowing how badly you wanted a baby, I’d hoped …” His voice faded.