Daddy, Unexpectedly

by Lee McKenzie

  * * *

  IT WAS JUST AFTER DUSK and Claire’s lights were on, including the porch light, when Luke pulled up in front of her place. A good sign. He wondered if her friends were here with her, and then he wondered how things might play out for him if they were. Had they already formed a united front against him? Or would Claire be reluctant to call him a “smug son of a bitch” in front of her friends? Time would tell.

  He took several minutes to sit and study the house. He’d driven by before so he’d seen it, but he’d mostly been on the lookout for her ex so he hadn’t given it a really good look. She’d said buying the condo had been mostly Donald’s idea and it hadn’t suited her. Too stark, way too pretentious. Some of the furniture had looked like it belonged there, while other pieces, the ones that were hers, had been decidedly out of place. Not here, though. He’d bet she and her things fit this house, snug as a glove.

  He got out of the truck, let the door quietly click shut and walked through the gate. He climbed the steps as lightly as he could, not wanting to frighten her if she was alone, and rang the bell before he lost his nerve.

  There were voices, which meant she wasn’t alone, then footsteps, and the door opened. It was her friend Kristi, dressed to kill in a dark red cocktail dress.

  “Um, hi. Is Claire here? I was wondering—”

  “Come in.” She gave him a light-up-the-room kind of smile, not at all what he expected, and swung the door open. “Claire’s right here, in the living room.”

  He stepped into a small foyer and closed the door. So far, so good.

  “Kristi? Who is it?” Claire asked.

  He’d even missed the sound of her voice.

  “Follow me,” she said. “It’s Luke.”

  He entered the living room behind Kristi, vaguely aware that the other friend, Sam, sat curled on the sofa, also wearing some kind of fancy dress, but his real attention was on Claire.

  He could tell she’d been sitting in an armchair next to the fire, but she was on her feet by the time he entered the room. She looked ghostly pale, but he supposed that was to be expected.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard about what happened, wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. My friends are here, so you should go.”

  “Actually,” Sam said, getting up from the sofa, “would you look at the time? I need to get home before my son goes to bed.”

  “Me, too.” Kristi already had one arm in her coat. “Jenna will be wanting help with homework, and it’s nearly the twins’ bedtime, too.”

  Claire glared daggers at them, clearly not wanting to be left alone with him, while their haste to clear out was an obvious ploy to ensure that’s exactly what happened. Interesting. They were her friends, but he recognized allies when he saw them. These two were on his side. Good to know.

  “Are you sure you can’t stay a little longer?” Claire asked.

  Sam winked as she slipped past him on her way to the door. “Sorry. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “We’ll let ourselves out. Lock up behind us?” she asked him.

  He followed them out, half expecting one or the other to give him a hint about what he needed to do next, but they couldn’t get out the door fast enough. He locked it and went back to the living room.

  Claire was back in the armchair, feet tucked up beside her, arms folded. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

  “I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he repeated.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms, touch her, taste her, tell her everything would be all right. Instead he sat on the sofa, uninvited but at least she hadn’t told him to get out.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Claire, look—”

  “No, you look. I’m sure your girlfriend couldn’t wait to call and tell you what happened, but she shouldn’t have bothered.

  His...who? “What are you talking about? I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  The look she gave him suggested she knew otherwise.

  What the hell? Did she think...? “Are you talking about Kate?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.” And now he was really glad he’d never asked her out. That would just be one more thing to explain.

  “Then why was she asking weird questions?”

  “What kind of weird questions?”

  “About me and you, about Donald, about how you used my condo—”

  “She said that?” He found it hard to believe Kate would be that loose-lipped.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what did she say?”

  Claire shrugged and drew her arms around herself even tighter. He hated that the warm, wonderful woman he’d known had shut herself off from him, and hated even more that it was his fault.

  “It’s not so much what she said as how she said it.”

  He leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “Kate and I worked together her first year on the force. She’s a good cop, and yes, she’s easy on the eyes, but I’d just got sober and I knew I shouldn’t...so I didn’t. Kate and I are just colleagues. And friends, I hope.

  “If her questions sounded a little unusual, it’s because I asked her to see what she could dig up on Donald. It was right after that first night, when he came into your place and we were...”

  The memory of that night stirred something in him, and it must’ve had a similar effect on her because she regained a little of her color.

  “And she found something?”

  He nodded. “Just allegations. No convictions. I couldn’t give you specifics, and I wasn’t sure how you’d react to my checking up on him. And then you let me stay, and I figured it didn’t matter because if he did try something, I’d be there to—”

  “Protect me? What about being honest? I hate being lied to, even it’s just lying by omission.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” How many other ways were there to say it?

  “I don’t care anymore.”

  He winced at that.

  “You hinted that Donald might do something, that’s why you wanted to move in, but that was really just one lie to cover up another. You let me think you were interested in me when all you wanted was a place to stake out that other apartment.”

  He was on his feet, across the room and sitting on the ottoman in front of her chair before she had a chance to react.

  “Do you honestly believe that?” He pulled her hands into his. “The time we spent together, that was amazing. But I also had to walk a fine line between keeping you completely out of the picture, for your own protection, and not jeopardizing the investigation.”

  “So you lied, I get it, but you didn’t lie to the people you work with. I heard what that guy said, Luke. That you ‘sweet-talked that chick upstairs’ into letting you move in.” She snatched her hands out of his, crossed her arms and tucked her hands out of sight. “And you laughed. You laughed and said I didn’t have a clue. I heard you.”

  He knew exactly what he’d said. In the past several weeks he’d relived the regret more times than he could count.

  “Claire, I didn’t mean any of it.”

  “You need to move away from me. Go back and sit over there.”

  He moved, reluctantly. It hurt, a lot, to know she couldn’t stand to be close to him, but he also knew he wouldn’t get another chance to change her mind. Hard as it was for him to open up about these things, he had to spill his guts.

  “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. The drinking, the screwing around. Yes, I had a reputation, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t proud of it. Some of that was my father’s influence, some of it was the booze, but most of it was me being an egotistical jerk. Or a ‘smug son of a bitch,’ as some have said.”

  The flicker in her eyes told him she recognized those words as her own.

  “Even with Sherri, and I have to tell you, those were some of my darkest days, I never let on to anybody that I had feelings for he
r.”

  He still didn’t know what those feelings were, but they weren’t the same as the ones he felt for Claire now, or even what he’d felt for her back in college. Those old feelings and these new ones weren’t the same, either. Good God, why did this have to be so complicated? Way more complicated sober than drunk. So much for having a clear head.

  Claire sat across the room, calm and quiet and still strangely pale, apparently unwilling to throw him a line. So he pressed on.

  “I never told Sherri I cared about her. It’s never been easy for me to do that, and I always blamed it on the way I was brought up. My father criticized my mother and yelled at me, and for the most part she ignored both of us. I grew up hearing a lot of ‘I can’t stand you’ and ‘I hate you,’ but none of the other...stuff.” Stuff? He still had trouble saying the L-word, even in a general way.

  “I never once heard anyone in my family say ‘I love you’ to anybody.” There. He’d said it, and it shocked the hell out of him. He had never said it to anyone, and not once, not even when he was a kid, had anyone ever said it to him.

  Claire was leaning forward in her chair now, with the makings of tears in her eyes.

  “Look, don’t get me wrong. I’m not asking for sympathy, it’s just the only way I know how to make you understand where I was coming from. I couldn’t tell you how I felt about you, so I sure as hell wasn’t telling anyone else.”

  “Are you going to tell me now?” she asked, her voice so quiet he barely heard the question.

  “I would, if I knew what it was. I liked you a lot when we studied together. You were smart and funny, you were different from the other girls I knew, in a good way, and to be honest...you kinda scared me.”

  Her lips had just enough smile to give him hope. “I was a mousy, overweight overachiever. Pretty scary, all right.”

  He would never understand where those ideas came from but if she’d let him, he would do everything he could to dispel them. “We need to get you a different mirror. You were never any of those things, not on the outside. I thought you were perfect. Too perfect for me, that’s for sure.”

  He tried to ignore the tear that slid down her cheek. He had to because he wasn’t finished yet.

  “When I saw you a couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t believe you agreed to have dinner with me. And then you invited me up and...wow. You didn’t scare me, that’s for sure.”

  She laughed and wiped away the tears. “I’ve never done anything like that, not on a first date. I’ve always played it safe, and look where that got me. So that night I assumed you wanted something casual and I told myself I was okay with that, so I threw caution to the wind. But when I overheard your conversation, I realized you weren’t the only one lying to me. I was lying to myself.”

  He wanted to go to her and kiss her senseless, but she still looked so vulnerable. Was it too soon? Should he let her make the next move? She answered the question by crossing the room, kneeling in front of him and putting her hands in his.

  “I’m so happy you’re here, that you were willing to finally share these things with me. Can we start over, maybe take things a little slower?”

  “Of course.” He kissed her forehead and pushed the “how slow?” question to the back of his mind. He had another chance and this time he wasn’t going to blow it.

  “Thank you.” She kissed him back, lightly on the mouth, and stood up. “Sit, enjoy the fire, I’ll make some coffee. I have...um... There’s something else we need to talk about.”

  He let her go, wondering what else she wanted to say but knowing they both needed a few minutes to process everything that had transpired. And it gave him a chance to look around, take in this new place that she had all but fallen in love with before she’d even seen it.

  The living room was a good size but still cosy, with a nice fireplace and a bay window where she planned to put a Christmas tree. The wood floors looked to be original but in good shape. He recognized some of the furniture but most appeared to be new. No sign of that hideous black leather sofa. And there were plenty of feminine touches—a vase full of flowers on the mantel, framed photographs of her friends and her family, books neatly stacked on the coffee table.

  He absently picked up the one from the top of the pile, thumbed the pages and realized it was filled with names. He flipped it shut. Baby names, according to the title. The book beneath it had a pregnant woman on the cover, her round, bare belly exposed between a short T-shirt and a pair of exercise pants. He set the first book down, picked up the second, read the inscription on the flyleaf.

  For Claire and her baby. Congratulations! Love, Sam & Kristi.

  Her baby? She didn’t look pregnant, unless she wasn’t far enough along to look pregnant, which could mean several things and he didn’t like any of them.

  His chest imploded, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

  Was it his? The thought scared the hell out of him.

  Someone else’s? That idea sickened him.

  Either way, he’d just sat here spilling guts while she neglected to tell him she was having a baby. That took “lying by omission” to a whole new level.

  He was on his feet in the middle of the room, the book still open in his hands, when she came in with the coffee. One look at her and he had his answer.

  She set the cups on the table, hands shaking, the contents sloshing.

  “You’re having a baby?”

  There was no color in her face now, and he didn’t care. The anger and betrayal were as real as that night in the E.R. with Sherri, but this time they cut deeper, and the wound was salted with fear. By the time he found out about Sherri’s pregnancy, there was no longer a baby. This was different. “Is it mine?”

  Her nod was barely perceptible.

  He closed the book with a snap. “You trick me into getting you knocked up, then you accuse me of lying?”

  “Luke—”

  “How the hell did this happen? I asked, remember? And you told me you were on the Pill.”

  “I was. It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized I’d missed quite a few—”

  “How many?”

  “Almost a week.”

  “God, Claire. A week? And you kept having sex with me?” Some might call that irresponsible but for him? Irresponsible wasn’t even close.

  “No. I saw my doctor that day and she recommended using a diaphragm until the end of my cycle. So it was just that one night...”

  “Oh, well, I feel so much better. Especially knowing you didn’t trust me enough to say something at the time.”

  “I was afraid to. You had already told me about Sherri and how much you resented what she did, and you made a point of telling me you didn’t ever want a family.”

  His gaze intensified. “So if I hadn’t come here tonight, hadn’t stumbled on this myself, when were you going to tell me? At least I assume you plan to go through with it since you’re already picking out names.”

  “I...I’m not sure. I just found out a couple of days ago and I knew you’d freak out, but then you came here tonight and we talked and—”

  He swung away and stared into the fire, unable to look at her. “And you thought a goddamned cup of coffee would make this easier to swallow?”

  She didn’t respond, and when he faced her again, she was chalk-white and shaking.

  What should he do now? There were no good options that he could see, so the only thing he could do was get the hell out of here before he said or did something he would regret. “I can’t do this, not tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He didn’t slam the door on his way out, but the wreath rattled anyway.

  Home sweet home.

  Right now that seemed like the biggest lie of all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Stunned, Claire flipped the dead bolt shut and leaned against the front door. What was she going to do now?

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” She covered her mouth with her hand, turned and ran to the bathroom.


  Several minutes later, still on her knees, she flushed the toilet and hauled herself to her feet. After she rinsed her mouth and dragged a cool, damp cloth across her face, she looked at herself in the mirror.

  “So this is what death warmed over looks like.”

  And so much for morning sickness living up to its name. She’d felt a little off all day, but this was the first time she had actually thrown up and it was...she checked her watch...almost eight-thirty in the evening. She’d read in the book that morning sickness could happen anytime of day and that some women didn’t have it at all, but she had assumed that if she was going to feel this way, it would start in the morning. The past few hours had felt just like a roller coaster, though. Those made her sick, too.

  Now Luke knew the truth, had stormed out feeling angry and betrayed, and who could blame him? All because he’d found that stupid book before she’d had a chance to tell him herself. They had just smoothed things out, and now they were worse than ever. And she was sick, and tired, and looked like hell.

  She went into the kitchen, put some soda crackers on a plate, poured herself a glass of water and carried them into the living room. Trying to ignore the light-headedness, she snuggled into an afghan and hoped the warmth of the fire would stop the shivering. She picked up a cracker and nibbled on the corner, then washed it down with a sip of water.

  Luke said he would call tomorrow. Would he be calmer by then, or even angrier? Either way, they didn’t have much more to say to one another. No matter how many times she apologized and tried to explain, he would never forgive or trust her again. And his not wanting a child didn’t make her any less pregnant. When he was ready to talk, all she could do was hear him out. She at least owed him that, and then she would assure him she didn’t expect anything from him.

  Keeping her breathing shallow and even, she swallowed hard against the taste of bile in the back of her throat, bit off another piece of cracker and had another sip of water.