The Seven Year Secret

“We’ll go for coffee at that burger place just off Twenty-seventh, okay? I could use a cup of strong Cajun coffee about now.”

“Did you overindulge tonight? I know you didn’t really want a bachelor party.”

“No,” he said stiffly. “But I’ll admit we made a fair dent in the keg Paul brought. If you’d rather not go for coffee, Claire, I can do without.”

“Coffee’s fine. And twenty minutes will give me time to tell the hangers-on goodbye, and hide away all the lacy lingerie I received at the shower,” she said, giving a feeble rendition of a sultry growl.

“That’s right. I forgot you had a—what did you call it?—personal shower.”

The woman at the other end of the line sighed. “Honestly, Connor, aren’t you intrigued enough to sound at least a little excited about the lingerie I got?”

“Sorry, I guess my mind’s not the sharpest it’s ever been. Knowing Janine, Lauren and Abby, I suspect what they bought won’t leave much to a man’s imagination.” This time, his drawl could be considered closer to normal.

“No. My friends aren’t what you’d describe as conventional.”

“That’s a fact.”

“You sound as if you disapprove of them.”

“Because I agreed with you? Look, Claire, I’ve explained that I’m not myself tonight. And for whatever reason, you seem oversensitive. Perhaps it’d be best if we saved the rest of this conversation for when we’re sitting face-to-face.”

“One question first,” she said abruptly. “Connor, why haven’t we slept together yet?”

“What?” he said too loudly as a strange wave of guilt washed over him. If Claire had asked that question even last week, he wouldn’t have known why he’d continued to resist their spending an entire night together. Unfortunately, it was no longer a mystery. Miami, and indeed all of Florida, was tied to his prior history with Mallory Forrest. Plain and simple, his memories of her in and around this city held him back from making love with Claire.

Unable to see Connor’s guilty look of alarm, his fiancée charged ahead. “I don’t consider myself promiscuous by any means. But during the shower, when it was only us girls talking, the subject of sexual compatibility surfaced. I didn’t tell anyone we haven’t…ah…done the deed. They’d never believe it. So…I’m willing to toss out my superstitions if you’ll forgo convention. Let’s be wicked and book into one of the beach hotels tonight. Janine said couples who do are more relaxed at the wedding ceremony. They aren’t so anxious to dash off to start their honeymoon. What do you say, Connor?”

He couldn’t say anything. His conscience played havoc with his mind. In the end, he didn’t have to make lame excuses. Claire, typically accommodating, let him off the hook. “Okay. I won’t ask you to sacrifice your principles because I let Janine and the others override my good sense. I’ll be waiting on the porch in twenty minutes. I can tell something’s really bugging you. Just one last thing. Remember—together, we can overcome anything. That’s what people in love do.” She blew kisses into the phone, as had been her habit since he’d given her an engagement ring three months ago.

Connor heard the soft click when Claire replaced the receiver. Still, he continued to hold the buzzing instrument to his ear.

Had he ever believed that a nebulous emotion like love could conquer any and all adversity? No. He placed his faith in the logic of science. Yet he did love Claire, didn’t he?

Throughout his five-and-a-half-year hiatus on an atoll in the Pacific, he’d been too engrossed in his work to want a substitute for Mallory. The restlessness, the feeling that something was missing in his life, didn’t emerge until after he returned to Florida. Co-workers said that since he’d been out of the social circuit for so long, he needed a woman. He’d decided they were right.

Not counting the years he’d been with Mallory—for two of those they’d even lived together—he’d been pretty much a loner. Maybe that was why on the day he flipped the calendar and turned up his thirty-third birthday, he’d judged it was high time he settled down and started a family.

In areas where there were major weather centers, meteorologists formed tight-knit communities. Claire, an operational weather-support person and part-time forecaster, fit in his world. Short and blond, she looked nothing like Mallory Forrest, who was tall, willowy and brunette. Somehow, he and Claire hit it off. For eight months, they’d dated exclusively. And why not? From day one, she’d bent over backward to please him.

In that aspect, Connor realized, Claire was like Mallory. Was that why he’d proposed marriage so fast? Hanging up the phone, he planted his elbows on the desk, buried his face in his hands and rubbed away a fine tension that tightened the skin around his mouth. Damn, if he didn’t love Claire for herself, he was a class-A asshole.

Figuring he’d better leave if he was meeting Claire in twenty minutes, he tucked the pictures of his daughter and the report about her condition into an envelope to take along, then dug out his car keys. He would lay this newest development in his life on the table and let Claire decide if she still wanted to hook up with a guy who had a shady past.

As usual, Claire was ready. And, also as usual, she looked immaculate. That always amazed Connor about her. Her pale hair never had a strand out of place. Her blouses matched whatever else she wore, whether skirt or pants. Her makeup and nail polish were perfectly applied.

Connor complimented her appearance as he helped her into the front seat. She linked her hands tightly atop her purse, frowning worriedly.

He hauled in a deep breath, walked around the car and climbed back into the driver’s seat. Guessing it was going to be a silent ride, Connor selected one of Claire’s favorite tapes, popping it into the player before entering into traffic. The soft piano strains of “On My Own,” a tune from Les Miserables, floated from the back speakers.

“Balmy night,” Connor remarked, thinking the weather a safe topic.

Claire nodded but kept her eyes ahead as she twisted her engagement ring around and around her finger.

“Sorry I was a few minutes late. I didn’t allow for weekend traffic.”

“Connor, if you aren’t going to tell me why we need this impromptu talk, just hush. Please.” Claire unclasped her hands and massaged her neck. “If I’d known we were going to do this, I wouldn’t have had so much of the champagne Lauren brought.”

“If you hadn’t phoned me, Claire, I wouldn’t have bothered you until morning.”

“No. No.” She let her hands fall. “I have a hunch it’s something we need to settle tonight.”

Connor battled a sick feeling in his stomach. He probably should’ve asked Mallory more questions, particularly as he didn’t have any idea why she’d never informed him she was pregnant in the first place. But maybe the details didn’t matter. Claire was right; they needed to hash out the primary issue tonight.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the neon sign of the café looming up on his right. Connor parked in a lot behind the building, glad to see it was sparsely populated. By ten-thirty or so, after the movie houses let out, his favorite local hangout would get crowded. He’d counted on business being slow at this hour.

“If the back-corner booth is available, let’s take it,” he said, locking the car after helping Claire out. “Or any booth that offers privacy.”

Again she said nothing. Not that Connor blamed her. Paul shouldn’t have shot his mouth off. And yet it certainly saved him having to dive headlong into deep water.

The back booth was vacant. Connor waited until the waitress had delivered water and two cups of black coffee before he eased the envelope from his jacket. He set it unopened on the table between them, studying Claire with a troubled expression.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” she finally whispered.

He shook his head, his own pain rising. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he said, turning his coffee cup around in its saucer several times.

Claire ran a forefinger along the rim of hers. Neither of them seemed inclined to test the dark, steamy brew, although both of them loved chicory coffee. “At the beginning is probably best,” she said reluctantly.

Connor shifted one hip, slumping sideways a little. “There’s this woman I used to be best friends with. Mallory Forrest. She, uh, we met here in Miami at a science camp when I was a junior and she was a sophomore in high school. We both lived in Tallahassee. She attended an exclusive private school. I went to public.” His voice faded, as Connor recollected that long-ago first encounter. Mallory, the beautiful dynamo who outclassed everyone at that camp, and forever after.

Noting Claire’s stony expression, Connor cleared his throat. “Given the disparity in our backgrounds, that camp should have been the beginning and end of our friendship. Her dad was a prominent attorney. A year or so later, Bradford Forrest was elected to the state senate. He’s still there. Mallory’s mom headed the state’s volunteer hurricane-relief program. It was through Mallory that I got involved in relief work. I told you my mother died, and we lost most of what we owned in a hurricane the year I was a senior. Disaster insurance on mobile homes was too expensive, and after the hurricane, my application for government relief got bogged down in the system. Mallory found out. She tracked me down in the aftermath. I don’t really know how she did everything she did. Like helping me arrange a funeral. Wangling me a place to stay, and later, a full-tuition scholarship to FSU. At the time, Mallory believed in me more than I did. She was convinced I could invent a system for early detection of hurricanes even though I wasn’t nearly as sure about my abilities. I…uh…always felt in awe of her, but one step behind, too, if you know what I mean.”

Connor saw the light dawn in Claire’s eyes.

“You’re going to tell me this woman suddenly appeared again, aren’t you? That she…she…wants you back.”

Wanting to save Claire as much pain as possible, he decided to bypass everything that had happened between him and Mallory at college and during his grad-school years. Though his hands were far from steady, he pulled open the envelope flap and dumped out the pictures and the report Mallory had brought him. “She doesn’t want me back, Claire. She came to tell me I’d fathered a child. Her child.”

Claire turned chalk-white. “Obviously she’s lying. Why, you spent almost six years alone, for all intents and purpose, on a remote island.”

He nodded miserably. “My rationale, exactly. But this little girl—named Lydia after my mother, by the way—is six now. There’s no mistaking she’s mine, Claire. These baby pictures could be me at the same age.”

Claire pressed her lips together tight, then poked gingerly through the photos until she came to the report. “What’s this? Proof of some kind? A demand for child support? What precisely does this woman want from you, Connor?”

“A kidney,” he said, straightening again. He lifted the cup of now-cold coffee to his lips and took a healthy swig, grimacing as he did so.

“This is hardly the time to crack jokes,” Claire snapped.

“I’m not joking. Read the paper. It’s from a Tallahassee doctor. A detailed explanation of my daughter’s condition, and the subsequent need for me to be tested as a possible organ donor.”