The Secret Heir

by Gina Wilkins

  “He hasn’t said much about it, but I can’t imagine why he would mind. This is my decision.”

  “I would think it’s more of a joint decision. As your husband, Jackson should have some say in the matter.”

  Sometimes the things Donna said nearly made Laurel’s jaw drop. This was one of those times.

  She shook her head, then spoke candidly, “I really don’t get you, Donna. You grew up under modern circumstances, but the world you seem to want to live in hasn’t existed in close to fifty years.”

  Donna toyed with her pearls again. “I know, probably better than you do, exactly what the modern world is like, Laurel. I’ve seen entirely too much of it. Yet I tried to raise my son in a happy, loving household where he would be sheltered from some of the unpleasantness.

  “I married a very traditional man who has supported me, looked after me, loved me more than I perhaps deserved. He loves Jackson with all his heart, and he agreed with me that it was best for Jackson to have a full-time parent in the home. I’ve been a room mother, PTA president, den mother, field trip chaperone. I’ve baked cookies and hosted sleepovers and sewn costumes and scrubbed grass stains from sports uniforms. I’m not sure I’d have found time to do all those things if I’d tried to work a full-time job.”

  Laurel pushed a wisp of hair out of her face as she contemplated Donna’s words. She was trying to understand her mother-in-law’s viewpoint, just as she wanted Donna to be able to see her side, whether she agreed with it or not.

  “I know the difficulties inherent with being a working mother. Every woman’s magazine is full of articles about dealing with the guilt and stress and time-management issues. But I know many professional women who have raised happy, successful children. Tyler will always be my first priority, but I feel like my job is important, too. I help other couples find children to love and raise, and not once have I recommended a couple be turned down for an adoption merely because the woman intended to keep working.”

  Donna shrugged. “You should do what’s right for you, of course.”

  Which could be interpreted to mean that she still didn’t approve, but she knew it would serve no purpose to argue. And then she added, “I’ll be happy to watch Tyler whenever you need me to. He’s always welcome at my house.”

  “Thank you.” Laurel knew she sounded stiff and chilly, but she couldn’t seem to help that. “He’ll start preschool in August, so that will give him plenty to do while I work.”

  Donna had heard about the preschool plan before, but that was another touchy subject. “He’s so little,” she fretted quietly, her gaze still focused on the sleeping child. “It seems so early to— But that decision is yours and Jackson’s.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  The door opened. In relief, Laurel looked around to see who had interrupted the conversation that had not quite been a quarrel. She had rather hoped it would be Jackson, but Carl walked in, still wearing his rumpled mechanic’s uniform. “How’s the boy?”

  The deep voice roused Tyler from his nap. He squirmed in the bed, then opened his eyes with a momentary frown of confusion that changed to a sleepy smile when he saw his grandparents. “Hi, Gammy. Hi, Gampy.”

  “Hey, buddy.” Carl reached out a callused hand to pat the boy’s leg. “How you feeling?”

  “Okay.” Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he spoke more alertly. “I got a hamster. It sings. Wanna hear?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he squeezed the toy to activate the shrill voice. Carl’s expression was comically pained when he looked at Laurel. “Who bought this thing?”

  “Beverly. She knew he would be amused by it.”

  “Or deafened,” Carl muttered. He glanced at Donna. “You okay, honey?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Did you talk to, um, the person you were planning to talk to today?”

  Even Laurel could tell that Donna wasn’t pleased by the awkwardly worded question. It seemed particularly to annoy her that he had asked in front of Laurel, since she cast a quick glance her way before replying shortly, “No. I couldn’t get through. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

  Subtlety was definitely not one of Carl’s strong points. He cleared his throat, looked quickly at Laurel, then clumsily changed the subject. “Jay’s not here yet?”

  “He’s still at work,” Laurel said, taking pity on her father-in-law. It was rare that Donna showed annoyance toward her husband, and he obviously regretted that he had displeased her now. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

  “Wonder if that shipment he was waiting on ever came in.”

  “Yes, I believe it did. I heard him mention it on the phone this morning.”

  “Good. I know the delay was causing some real problems at the job site.”

  “So I understand.” Suddenly restless and a bit claustrophobic in the room with her in-laws, especially her mother-in-law, Laurel glanced at her watch. “I think I’ll leave you two to visit with Tyler for a few minutes while I go have a cup of coffee. I’m having caffeine withdrawal, I’m afraid.”

  “You go right ahead,” Carl urged her, sounding sympathetic. “I know you need to get out of this room sometimes. I’d pretty much go crazy sitting around all day myself.”

  She knew that. Restless energy was as much a part of Carl as his dry wit and blunt manner of speaking. “Can I get either of you anything while I’m out?”

  “Nothing for me, thanks. You need anything, honey?”

  Donna shook her head, looking at Carl rather than Laurel. “No. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Tyler,” Laurel said cheerily. And because he had started to frown, she added, “Why don’t you play your hamster song for Gampy again?”

  “Thanks a lot,” Carl grumbled.

  Laurel’s answering smile lasted only until she was out in the hallway.

  Children’s Connection was accessible from the hospital by an elevator and a glass-walled walkway. Laurel was actually on her way to the cafeteria when she impulsively switched directions and headed for the foundation instead. She would just pop in for a few minutes to see how things were going, she promised herself.

  As late as it was, not many employees would be there, but maybe Morgan had stayed late that day. If he was there, he could bring her up to date on the status of the cases she had been working.

  She stepped into the blue-and-white tiled reception area, confirming that the receptionist had already left for the day. The room was decorated for comfort, with plenty of seating, tables arranged with a variety of magazines, and lush plants in large containers. The colors were muted pastels chosen to set visitors immediately at ease.

  She shared an office with Maggie Sullivan, another caseworker, who wouldn’t be in this late. She decided to check her desk for messages or correspondence that might have accumulated in her absence. She had just moved in that direction when she crossed paths with her least favorite co-worker.

  An accountant for the foundation, Everett Baker was in his early to mid-thirties. His dark hair was disarrayed and he had a nervous habit of clearing his throat and shifting his dark eyes away from whoever was speaking to him. Though she had heard he was very good at his work, he tended to be a loner who mingled little with his associates and seemed to make a deliberate effort to blend in with the office furniture. Laurel had tried on occasion to make conversation with him, but she had rarely been successful at drawing more than a few words out of him.

  All of her social worker’s instincts, combined with her own background, told her that Everett was a man with a lot of heavy baggage. A troubled, maybe even abusive, past. It was something about the way he held himself, as if he were almost anticipating the next blow. But that tiny glimmer of insight—which, for all she knew, could be completely off base—didn’t make her any more comfortable around him.

  “Leaving for the day?” she asked, settling on meaningless small talk.”

  He nodded. “I thought you were on leave.”

  “I jus
t dropped in for a minute to check my messages.”

  “How’s your boy?”

  Rather surprised he’d asked, she replied, “He’s doing well. Thank you for asking.”

  “Yeah. Well, see you around.”

  It was only after he had let himself out that Laurel found herself wondering why he’d been coming out of a hallway that was nowhere near his own office. But because she had so many problems of her own to worry about for now, she quickly pushed odd Everett Baker out of her mind.

  Jackson didn’t know what had gone on between his wife and his mother while he’d been at work, but the tension between them was unmistakable that evening. More so than usual, anyway.

  “Tell me the truth, Dad,” he said in frustration as he and his father took a walk around the garden late that evening. “What’s going on with Mom? She’s been acting…well, weird.”

  They had left Donna in the waiting room, visiting with some ladies from her Sunday School program who had stopped by the hospital to deliver a fruit basket and ask if there was anything else they could do for the family. Seeing her friends had brought the first natural smile to Donna’s face that Jackson had seen in several days.

  “Oh, you know, Jay. She’s worried about the boy.”

  Carl was lousy at prevarication. Jackson slanted a frown his way. “C’mon, Dad, I know something’s going on. Is Mom sick?”

  “No. She’s not sick.”

  Jackson nodded, reassured that his dad was telling the truth that time. “So what is it?”

  “If there’s anything bothering your mother, it’s really up to her to discuss it with you. Not my place to talk behind her back.”

  “I just want to know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “You’ve got your hands full right now. Your mother will talk to you when—or if—she’s ready.”

  “Just one more question, okay? Is it something I’ve done? Have I hurt her in some way?”

  Carl reached out to pat Jackson’s shoulder roughly. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Jay. Your mother couldn’t be prouder of you, and neither could I, for that matter. A man couldn’t ask for a better son.”

  Jackson stopped in his tracks, giving Carl a hard stare. “Are you the one who’s sick?”

  Carl sighed. “I’m not sick. Can’t a man pay a compliment to his son without getting attitude?”

  “Well, yeah. But you’ve gotta admit that was a pretty flowery speech coming from you.”

  “You just remember what I said. And remember I meant every word of it.”

  “Okay, now you’re scaring me. You aren’t going to kiss me or anything, are you?”

  Carl snorted and punched the shoulder he had patted before. “You always were a smart ass.”

  Jackson grinned, relieved that Carl sounded more like himself now. He very much needed some things in his life to be normal again.

  By Thursday, Laurel wasn’t sure whether Jackson was trying too hard to pretend everything was normal in his life, or working like a demon because he was worried about the medical bills that were piling up during Tyler’s hospitalization. He had definitely fallen into his old routines, the only difference being that he now came to the hospital after a ten-hour workday rather than going straight home.

  To give him credit, he did call a couple of times each day to check on Tyler and ask if Laurel needed anything. And he didn’t work as late as he’d been known to in the past, since he was making an effort to be at the hospital before Tyler was down for the night.

  Laurel thought of all the days when he had left before Tyler woke in the morning and returned after the boy was asleep. Some of the things Jackson had said during the past few days made her suspect he was thinking the same things too. He made a point to read a book or play a game with Tyler every evening after he arrived at the hospital.

  She wondered if that new attitude would survive after Tyler was released. How long would it be until Laurel and Tyler were alone in their house again, waiting for Jackson to take time away from his work to spend with them? When he did come home, he would usually bring stacks of specifications and projections and reports and barricade himself into his home office to pore over them until long after Tyler and Laurel were asleep.

  She and Jackson hadn’t been alone together since they’d gone home to rest Sunday afternoon. Occasionally she thought she detected the memory of that interlude in his eyes when he looked at her. Maybe he was paying a bit more attention to her opinions? But being on his best behavior while Tyler was in the hospital wasn’t necessarily a precursor of major changes in their relationship, she reminded herself. It would be so easy for him—for both of them, she added ruefully—to fall into their old habits of going their own ways, living two separate lives beneath the same roof.

  Their relationship hadn’t been enough to satisfy her before. She knew full well it hadn’t satisfied him, either. More than once during the past year she had wondered if she would be doing him a favor to free him to pursue a woman who was more what he needed. One who didn’t bear so many insecurities from childhood. One who would be content to be Mrs. Jackson Reiss and nothing more.

  She had told herself when those thoughts had occurred to her in the past that she stayed primarily for Tyler’s sake. But deep inside, she knew there was more to it than that. She stayed with Jackson because she had fallen desperately in love with him on that night four years ago, and though many of her perceptions of him had changed since, her love for him had not.

  Perhaps she had clung to a fleeting hope that one day he would realize she was exactly what he wanted from a wife even if she didn’t—couldn’t—be the type of wife he had always envisioned.

  No matter his expectation, Laurel couldn’t change who she was. Though she didn’t resent one minute of the time she spent with Tyler now, there would come a day soon when she would need to go back to work. Already she missed her job—her clients, her co-workers, the emotional rewards she received from helping childless couples.

  There was another difference between herself and Jackson, she mused as she sat in Tyler’s room with an unopened book in her lap, waiting for the doctor to make his daily rounds. Laurel worked because she loved her job. Jackson worked for the paycheck.

  Although he was interested in the construction industry, he often found it frustrating to be so restricted by the demands and expectations of his overly critical and sometimes unreasonable employer. He had once admitted to Laurel that his dream would be to have his own construction business, a goal that seemed completely out of reach for now.

  Though he was careful to save a portion of his earnings, this son of a mechanic and a former waitress lacked the connections and the capital to start up a business. And since social work was hardly a career one entered to get wealthy, he didn’t consider Laurel’s income sufficient to support the three of them while he took a huge financial risk.

  One of Laurel’s favorite LPNs, a short, comfortably rounded woman of American Indian descent, entered the room with her usual bright smile, carrying a tray that held a carton of juice and a container of orange sherbet. “I thought you might enjoy a little snack this afternoon, Tyler.”

  Because Tyler’s appetite still hadn’t returned, Laurel was pleased when he looked up from his toys with a show of interest. “Ice cream?”

  “Close enough,” Camilla replied, setting the juice and sherbet on the bed tray. “You can have it as soon as I take your temperature, okay?”

  Tyler submitted patiently to having a digital thermometer placed in his ear. Camilla made a note of that reading, which she informed Laurel was normal, then listened to his heart through a stethoscope.

  “Everything looks good,” she said, looping the stethoscope around the neck of her cartoon-character-decorated scrubs. She rolled the bed tray into position for Tyler and helped him open his sherbet and juice. The despised IV needle was gone now, so Tyler was unimpeded as he dug into the treat eagerly.

  Camilla turned to Laurel. “How are you, Mrs. Reiss?”r />
  “Fine, thank you.”

  “Do you have any questions I can answer? I have a few spare minutes.”

  “Not just now. I’m still waiting for Dr. Rutledge to come by. He’s usually here by now.”

  “I believe he’s running behind today. I heard he had an emergency surgery this morning. Has your regular pediatrician been by yet?”

  “This morning. We talked about Tyler’s follow-up care. It sounds as though he should be back to normal very quickly.”

  “You’ll be surprised how fast he rebounds. Kids are just amazing in their resiliency.”

  Laurel laughed a bit ruefully. “He’ll probably recover before I do. He seems to be taking everything in stride, while I obsess about every little thing.”

  Camilla made a sympathetic face. “I know. We often tell parents that their children will hardly remember anything of their hospital ordeal, but the parents will recall every tiny detail for the rest of their lives.”

  “Oh, that’s comforting.”

  “But true,” Camilla said pragmatically. And then she changed the subject. “I haven’t seen the rest of your family this afternoon. I hope they’re getting some rest.”

  “My husband had to work today. My mother-in-law had some other things to do.” Donna hadn’t told Laurel what she would be doing, and Laurel hadn’t asked, but she suspected whatever it was had something to do with Donna’s recent odd behavior.

  “Your in-laws seem nice. Your mother-in-law always makes a point to tell us how satisfied she is with Tyler’s care.” Camilla wrinkled her short nose. “My own mother-in-law would be criticizing and nitpicking every little thing. That woman is impossible to please, especially when it comes to me.”

  “You don’t get along?” Laurel asked tentatively.

  “Oh, well, you know, most married couples face in-law problems at one time or another. It’s inevitable, since no two families are exactly alike. It’s hard to merge two different backgrounds—different ways of handling money, different religious beliefs and holiday customs, that sort of thing. But out biggest problem is that my mother-in-law never thought I was good enough for her beloved son. She’s still telling people our marriage won’t last, even thought we just celebrated our twenty-fifth anniversary. And she never approved of the way I raised my two kids. But they’ve turned out to be happy and productive young adults, so I guess I didn’t do too bad a job—not that the old bat would ever admit it.”