Her Secret Son

by Hannah Mary McKinnon

  My thoughts went back to Tyler and Emily, well, Emily mainly, if I was being honest. Despite my attempts not to, I kept picturing the curve of her neck, her toned arms, the heart-shaped birthmark on her shoulder. Most of all I thought about the look we’d shared, which led to me wondering how it might feel to touch her and...taste the softness of her lips. Where the hell had that come from? I’d never cheated on Grace, never had any desire to be with another woman since we’d met. I wasn’t supposed to be imagining these things about anyone, certainly not now, and least of all Emily Rhodes.

  The more I fought to conjure a memory of Grace, the more her image kept being replaced by Emily’s, the two merging into one, to the point where I couldn’t distinguish either of them. As I sat on the deck, trying not to think about anything at all, loneliness climbed out of my heart and settled on top of my chest, its heaviness crushing me. Enough. I pushed myself up and headed to bed, knowing full well my mind would remain a jumble of questions, the answers to which still felt light-years away.

  * * *

  I woke before my alarm the next morning, showered with cool water in the thimble-sized bathroom, shaved and pulled on clothes and work boots. The weather had warmed up again, leaving only a slight but welcome chill in the air. Outside on the deck, accompanied by the other early birds, I drank a mug full of instant coffee I’d found at the back of the cupboard. The best before date was from two years ago, a reminder I needed to get groceries, which would have to wait until after I’d spent the day with Bill.

  “Welcome, welcome.” He grabbed my arm when I arrived, pumped it up and down before letting me go. “Worried I’d hallucinated yesterday and you were a figment of my imagination. Thank the sweet Lord you’re not. First good night’s sleep I’ve had since last week. Alrighty then. You up for some fun?”

  “I’m ready.” I followed him into the barn and over to a row of neatly stacked bags of lava rocks, mulch and rolls of sod.

  “These all have to go in the back of my truck, and man, am I pleased I don’t have to do this alone today,” Bill said, grabbing the sod.

  “Where did your other guy go?” I threw a bag over my shoulder and followed him.

  “Got himself another job as a foreman. Good for him, I say, I’m not one to stand in anybody’s way.” He walked ahead, talking over his shoulder as he went. “Company’s only small. Him and me most of the time, plus a few people here and there as and when we needed them. Knew he’d move on at some point. Shame on him for putting me in the pooper when we’d shaken on two weeks’ notice.” Bill dumped the sod in the back of his truck and looked at me. “Josh, if there’s one thing you should know about me it’s that I try extremely hard never to let people down.”

  “Got it. You’re a man of your word.”

  “That’s right, and I expect the same courtesy in return.”

  “Understood,” I said, trying not to think about how pissed he’d be when I downed tools and disappeared, too, by the end of the week, if things went the way I intended.

  He looked at me for a second, then nodded. “We’d better get the rest of the supplies and head out. We’ll start on Hampton Street first. Got a few upkeep regulars there. Ride with me and I’ll show you the area. You should give me your cell number, too. I forgot to ask you for it.”

  “Yep...” I felt around the pockets of my jeans, crossed over to my truck and had a look inside, hardly believing I could have been so stupid. “Crap. I must have left it at the cabin. You mind if we stop in? If my son or sister need to reach me...”

  “Sure thing. Family first.”

  Within ten minutes we were on the road, heading up the dirt track toward the cabin. About thirty yards away something caught my eye, a dark shape disappearing into the bushes. Bill didn’t seem to notice, but when I got out of the truck I stood still, squinted into the brush, listened for the sound of snapping branches, but heard none.

  “You okay?” Bill called over.

  “Yeah. Thought I saw an animal or something. Probably a trick of the light.”

  “Or a deer. Plenty of them around Faycrest. Al fed them. Drove Ethel crazy because they did their business all over the place. She says nowadays she’d let him feed them all day long if it meant he was still alive and—” his mouth dropped open “—oh, man. You lost your... I’m sorry. Clara always says I’m about as tactful as a fart in a crowd.”

  “It’s okay, Bill, don’t worry,” I said, and walked over to the cabin.

  The front door was locked, the front windows intact. From what I could tell, nobody had tried to get in. It was another case of my overactive imagination seeing potential enemies and threats where there were none. The whole world wasn’t against me, certainly not the population of Faycrest, who thought I was a down on his luck landscaper with nothing to hide. I pushed the door open, found the rest of the cabin in order and retrieved my phone from where I’d left it on the kitchen counter, a text message from Lisa twinkling on the screen.

  Hey. How’s it going? Made progress?

  The message was innocuous enough. “Progress” could refer to any number of things, and while it didn’t scream impostor, I quickly changed the settings so none of the alerts would be visible, cursing myself for not doing so earlier. A criminal mastermind I certainly was not.

  “You set?” Bill asked when I returned to his truck and got in.

  “Yes, thanks again,” I said, although unable to quite shake the feeling of unease.

  He put the truck in Reverse, turned and drove back down the dirt road, country music blaring from the radio, both of us tapping our feet to the tune.

  “I didn’t know you Brits listened to country,” Bill said with a grin.

  “I prefer the more recent stuff,” I said, “but Mom had all the Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers records before we even came to America.”

  “Ah, she’d be a woman after my own heart,” he said. “Love the classics.”

  We drove the rest of the way listening to the music, Bill occasionally pointing out things: the school, the brand-new community center and a range of his clients. He waved to a handful of people as we drove past, a mother jogging with her stroller, an elderly couple walking toward the town hall, which was a small building clad in yellow siding with a huge American flag outside, gently flapping in the breeze. Once again it struck me as a good, old-fashioned town, a place where knowing your neighbors’ names mattered, and the community supported one in good times, and in bad. Somewhere, I realized, I could see Logan and me living an uncomplicated life, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, unencumbered by problems. I doubted if Lisa would agree. After I’d fled when Mom and Dad died, she said moving never sorted out your issues. They sneaked inside your suitcases when you weren’t looking and jumped out when you arrived.

  Before long the conversation turned to when I’d moved to the States. I answered most of Bill’s questions carefully and truthfully, just as Lisa, Ivan and I had agreed. If I did end up finding Logan’s real parents here, and made any kind of official contact, I’d have to work hard to maintain my “what an incredible coincidence” story. Without evidence to the contrary, Ivan had suggested, what could anyone prove?

  We mowed the lawns and tended to the yards of three clients that morning, and all of them offered us copious amounts of food and drinks. It didn’t take long to figure out Bill was practically a local institution. No wonder; he extended everyone the professional courtesy and respect I’d seen from Ronnie and Leila, but he also treated them as extended members of his family. He inquired about their health, their children’s school grades, how their grandkid’s birthday party went, rattling off names and ages as if he had a database for a brain. At one o’clock we ate curried chicken sandwiches Clara had made, and headed to another part of town where the old bungalows had been torn down and replaced by large two-story houses.

  “All of my customers are important,” Bill said as we drove into
a large court with five properties, “but this one I’m especially keen to keep happy.”

  I looked at the houses, each with its own vast front yard, all of them jostling for some kind of dwelling-of-the-year nomination. They could easily have featured as a backdrop for a celebrity shoot in a glossy magazine, the kind Lisa read despite her claims they were trashy and dumb. While my sister didn’t design rural dwellings, I’m sure she’d have appreciated the craftsmanship of the pillars and bay windows, the wraparound porches and Juliet balconies. One of the houses had a pond in the front yard, complete with a red-and-white miniature lighthouse perched on top of a rock.

  “See that?” Bill said, nodding toward it. “The owners are from Nova Scotia in Canada. Asked me for something to remind them of home. You should’ve seen their faces when I suggested a Peggy’s Cove lighthouse. I swear they were about to elect me mayor.”

  “Is that our next client?”

  “Nope, come on.”

  He parked the truck and we walked up the path of a stone, colonial-style home. Although it was as large as the others, it came across less intimidating, even with its twelve-foot front door, gabled dormers and a raised deck that wrapped around the back. The place felt familiar, like the face of someone you’ve met but can no longer remember when or where. It wasn’t until Bill rang the doorbell—a low-sounding chime echoing way beyond the front door—that I inhaled sharply as the memory emerged from the depths of my brain.

  I’d seen the front of this house before. Except I hadn’t focused on the bricks and mortar, but on the owners begging for their child’s safe return. Well before the door opened, I knew exactly who lived there.

  Tyler and Emily Rhodes.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  I blinked at Emily, who stood in front of us dressed in workout gear, a pair of fluorescent pink earbuds hanging around her neck. As soon as she saw Bill her face broke into a smile, which made her even more beautiful than she’d been at Casa Mama, and she stood so close I could have counted the freckles on her nose.

  “Good to see you, Bill.” She looked at me, her smile broader still. “Hi, I’m Emily.”

  “This is Josh,” Bill said, and I gave her some kind of ridiculous wave I immediately wished I could erase from her memory.

  “You’re Bill’s new guy?” she said, her voice soft as she extended a hand to shake mine. “Nice to officially meet you. How are you enjoying Faycrest so far?”

  “I like it,” I said, forcing myself to let go of her fingers. “It’s great.”

  “Alright then.” Emily turned to Bill. “You don’t need me around, do you?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “Know where everything is.”

  “Okay. See you in about an hour.” She popped her earbuds in and took off down the path, her ponytail swish-swishing behind her as she ran.

  “Big yard,” Bill said, and I hoped he hadn’t caught me staring at Emily as she disappeared around the corner. “You handle the mowing, I’ll prune. We’ll be done in no time.”

  Before we’d taken half a dozen steps, his cell phone rang. He fished it from his pocket, his expression darkening as he listened. “You’ve got to be kidding me? What? Now...? Okay, yes, yes. See you in a few minutes.” He slipped his cell back in his pocket. “Supplier delivered the wrong trellises. Client’s going crazy. You alright to handle this one on your own? Weekly tidy-up, same as the others. Mow the lawn, front and back. Use their machine, not ours. Trim and clip whatever needs it.”

  “Sure, no problem. You go ahead.”

  He gave me the thumbs-up. “Sweet. Make sure you sweep the paths when you’re done. Tyler hates getting stuff on his shoes. He’s really fussy about that. Messed them up once when my other guy left a pile of topsoil in the rain. Thought he was going to fire me.”

  “Got it,” I said, ignoring the tingling sensation that crept into my gut when I realized I’d be alone at Tyler and Emily’s house. Could I somehow find a pretext to get inside? Was this already my opportunity to get my hands on the first sample of DNA? I pictured myself sneaking around the rooms, examining Emily’s things, and my pulse quickened.

  “Baptism of fire for your first day.” Bill gave me a slap on the back and retreated toward his truck, talking as he went. “Call me if you need me. Otherwise I’ll pick you up in two hours. No need to ask for payment. They have a standing order, so no sweat.” He raised a hand and jogged the last few yards, got in and lightly honked the horn as he drove off.

  I made my way around the back of the house to Emily and Tyler’s sprawling yard I estimated at least eighty feet deep. The tall trees at the back, which led to the woodlands and ravine behind, swayed gently in the breeze, the subtle scent of jasmine in the air. When I stood with my back to the house, images of Grace peppered my mind. I saw her sneaking through the pouring rain, up through the garden and into the house, where Emily was upstairs with Hunter. Had Grace grabbed Alex and disappeared into the forest while an accomplice—but who?—waited in a car nearby? How had Grace known the baby would be there in the first place, or had she meant to steal Hunter all along?

  Despite the warmth outside I shivered, and another scenario played out in my mind. Logan—Hunter—spending the first few weeks of his life at this very house, a place where he’d been loved and cherished before he was snatched from Emily on a deserted road in the rain. Revenge remained the theory about his disappearance, but revenge for what? Had the Grace I’d known—thought I’d known—really been involved in something so sinister?

  When the answers I desperately wanted didn’t leap out from behind a tree or a bush, I made myself shove the questions a little farther back in my mind, and pressed on with work. As per Bill’s instructions, Emily and Tyler’s riding lawn mower was in the shed, the keys hanging from a metal daffodil on the wall. I hopped on, started it up and reversed it onto the grass.

  The sun beat down as I worked, the wrath of a fiery god. It scorched my neck, made my shirt glue itself to my back and chest. Within half an hour I’d guzzled the rest of the water I’d brought, cursed myself for not bringing more, moved on to the forsythia, rhododendron and lilacs, before shaping a set of junipers. When I mopped the sweat from my brow, I heard someone’s footsteps behind me, and spun around to see Emily, her arms and face glistening.

  She surveyed the yard, a hand on her hip. “You’re fast. And neat. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Before she could turn away I added, “How was your run?”

  She grimaced a little. “Planned to do eight miles, but it’s way too hot. Are you thirsty, too? I’m having some iced tea.”

  The way Emily moved her hands when she talked, the upward curve of her lips, the smallest of dimples that appeared on her cheeks when she smiled; it was difficult not to notice all of those, and I hated myself for it. Here I was, already staring at another woman, betraying Grace and unable to justify it, even with everything she’d done. When Emily raised her eyebrows because I hadn’t answered I said, “Iced tea would be great.”

  “I’ll bring it outside,” Emily said. “Back in a minute.”

  As she walked over to the deck, I tried very hard to keep my focus no lower than the middle of her back, and when she disappeared into the house I took a deep breath. I dried the sweat from my face with my T-shirt and flattened down my hair, hoping I didn’t look like too much of a dirtbag, and tried to think of something intelligent—and marginally witty—to say. Then I told myself to cut the crap, remember the reason for me being there, the—albeit remote—possibility of who Emily might be, and also on the fact she was married. Married. I repeated it to myself a third time, thinking I’d do well to focus on that, too.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  “It was so hot out all I wanted to do was collapse in the shade,” Emily said when she returned with a pitcher and two tall glasses on a tray. She set them on the garden table, poured the iced tea and held one out to me. “Here you go.” />
  “Thanks. Do you run often?”

  “About four times a week, but it depends on work and I don’t bother much in the winter. I’d rather be a hermit with a stack of good books and a box of chocolates. Do you run?”

  “Yes, not as often, though.” I drained half my glass. “This is delicious.”

  “My mother’s recipe,” she said, and poured me some more. “Which reminds me, were you at Casa Mama last night?”

  I drank again to buy myself time, secretly enjoying the knowledge she’d remembered me from the restaurant. The feeling lasted only a split second. Apparently, I couldn’t hiccup in Faycrest without it being noticed.

  “Yes,” I said. “I thought I recognized you, too. I’ve never lived in a small village—”

  “Town,” Emily said, a smile playing on her lips. “Don’t let anyone hear you call this place a village or they’ll ban you for life.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” I said with a laugh.

  “When did you move to the US? It hasn’t been long, has it? Your accent is still so—”

  “British?” I said with a grin. “It’s been twenty years and I can’t seem to shake it, or put on an American one. People think I’m from Texas whenever I try.”

  She gently pushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “Keep the one you have. Ethel was right when she said it was very charming. She’s over the moon you’re helping with the cabin, by the way, boasting about you all across town and beyond.”

  The heat rose to my face as I digested the fact she and Ethel had talked about me, then worried they’d suspected something and looked into my background to check out my story. “It’s nothing, really.”