Open Secret

by Janice Kay Johnson

  MARK HAD SEEN the startled, speculative look on Carrie’s face. Slow, down, idiot, he admonished himself.

  “More coffee?” he asked when he got back. “Wine?”

  Shoes kicked off, feet curled under her on one end of his sofa, Carrie smiled at him. “No, I’m good thanks.”

  Satisfaction warmed him. She looked as if she belonged here in his house, just as he’d suspected she would. Every time he saw her, his reaction was stronger. Maybe it was the way every emotion showed on her face that got to him. He couldn’t imagine that she knew how expressive her face and hands were. He would see the fear and confusion in her big brown eyes, then the determination. Tonight, she was like a dainty cat curled on his sofa, dark hair tucked behind her ears, her eyes smiling even when her mouth didn’t, brimming with energy despite her outward air of relaxation.

  Yeah, he liked having her around. And he was pleased that Michael had felt the same. When Mark turned out the light, his son said sleepily, “Carrie’s nice, Dad. Nice as Heidi.”

  No greater compliment existed.

  “Michael all tucked in?” she asked now.

  “Yeah, we don’t have too many arguments about bedtime.” Mark sat at the other end of the couch, arm laid across the back so that his fingertips almost touched her shoulder. “Not since he hit the Terrible Twos when he was already three.”

  “Is that when his mom died?”

  Without moving a muscle, he braced himself. The subject had to arise; she’d want to know about Emily.

  Mark nodded. “Two and a half years ago.”

  Eyes filled with compassion, she asked, “What happened?”

  “She’d had a miscarriage and almost died. Doctors told her not to get pregnant again. She did.”

  Carrie’s mouth formed a silent Oh. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Her choice,” he heard himself say, voice choppy, even harsh.

  She stared at him. “You mean…she got pregnant on purpose?”

  He hadn’t consciously intended to tell her this much, but he might as well get it over with.

  “I’d offered to have a vasectomy. She refused, in case we wanted to consider surrogacy. She’d use birth control, she said.” His throat felt raw, even after all this time. “She lied.”

  “Oh, Mark.”

  “She wanted a baby enough to risk her life.”

  “But…it wasn’t just her choice. And what about Michael? Wasn’t he enough?”

  He’d asked himself that a million times, even knowing the answer. No. No, he hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t been born of her body. Their delightful, lovable, funny toddler left her feeling empty. Her husband left her feeling empty.

  The knowledge was a hell of a thing to live with. He intended to make damn sure Michael never found out.

  “No. Carrie, Michael is adopted.”

  “Oh,” she breathed again. Half a dozen emotions gusted across her face. Finally she said, “So?”

  “Once we brought him home, I didn’t care. I believed Emily didn’t, either, even though she kept talking about having a baby. Wait until Michael’s two or three, I said. We’ll think about adopting another baby if that’s what you want.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “No. After she got pregnant and told me, she tried to make me understand how she felt.” He could still see her, the need she’d disguised so long blazing on her face, altering it in subtle ways so that he felt as if she was a stranger. “She told me she cried every day, after I left for work. She dreamed about babies. Her arms ached, she said, with the need to hold her own child, to suckle him.”

  She’d even thought about killing herself, Emily had confessed. So if I die carrying this baby, she’d said, laying a gentle hand on his arm even as she touched her stomach with the other, you’ll know it’s because I was trying to live. To save us.

  He had stepped away from her hand. “What about Michael?”

  “I love him,” she’d said tremulously. “I do. But…”

  But he hadn’t been enough.

  How could that be? Mark still didn’t understand.

  “That’s…that’s crazy!” Carrie said. “To knowingly throw away so much…!”

  “She had become…obsessed, I suppose is the best word. What she didn’t have was all that mattered.”

  “That must have hurt terribly.”

  He’d never come closer to believing you could drown in a woman’s eyes. Feeling himself teetering on the edge, he wrenched himself back by saying, “What about you? Don’t you want children?”

  Her lashes fluttered in that way she had when she was discomposed. “Yes, I… Of course I do! But I don’t know how important it is to me that I actually carry my children.”

  “Because you’ve never had to think about it.”

  “No.”

  Seeing the hurt on her face, he cursed himself. Way to win the girl, Kincaid. Tell her she can’t possibly understand why his dead wife did what she did.

  Truth was, she probably came closer to understanding than he did. That need that Emily had described—to feel life quickening inside you, the flutters, the somersaults, the hiccups, to see the face for the first time of the child born of your body… Maybe only women felt it.

  “You know,” he said, “you were lucky. Your mother—your adoptive mother—sounds like she was fulfilled by having you. You were enough.”

  Her face looked suddenly almost plain, and he realized he’d blundered again.

  “Yes,” she agreed, voice next thing to inaudible. “I know I was. I know they love me.”

  “But you can’t get past the lie.”

  “And you think I should. Just like that.”

  “No. God. No.” He moved, shifting to sit beside her and take her hand in his. “It’s one hell of a big lie. No, I’d feel betrayed, too.”

  “It’s not just that. It’s… I asked her about Lucien. My brother. I was adopted first, you know.”

  He kept silent, letting her talk it out.

  “Social workers said he was difficult. And so…” She drew a ragged breath. “Mom and Dad took me, but not him. Or maybe they didn’t even seriously consider taking him, because they wanted a baby they could pretend was theirs. I don’t know. Why didn’t they wait until a baby was available who didn’t have a sibling? Lucien and I could have been adopted together. Maybe things would have been different for him.”

  Damn. Now she blamed not just her parents but herself for the fact that her brother had apparently missed out on the happy childhood she’d had.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Oh, I know it isn’t.” She tried to smile, but her mouth twisted. “I just keep thinking…if you could find him…”

  “I will.” Dead or alive, but he didn’t tell her that.

  “Suzanne made him an album, too, like mine. She wanted us both to have a history.”

  “I’ll find him,” Mark repeated.

  “Is that why you specialize in adoption searches? Because of Michael?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’d done a few before he came along. It’s probably the other way around, actually. Adoption was on my mind. After her last miscarriage, I suggested it to Emily. I was the more receptive to the idea.”

  “Oh.” She pursed her lips. “Do you know much about Michael’s background?”

  “A hell of a lot less than I’d like to.” He told her about discovering just a few days before that Michael needed glasses. “Most parents wouldn’t be taken by surprise like that.”

  “Have you ever been tempted…?”

  “To look?” He ran a hand over his jaw. “I guess it’s in the back of my mind. I said something early on to Emily about establishing communication with Michael’s birth mother. Maybe send her pictures. See if she wanted to stay in touch. Emily was afraid that once his mother saw him, she’d want him back. No, more than that. She was furious. ‘She didn’t want him,’ she said. ‘He’s ours now.’ So…” He shrugged. “I dropped the idea. But lately, I’ve been giving it some
thought again.”

  Thought that had been undercut by the apprehension all adoptive parents felt—that the biological bond might somehow prove stronger than the one they shared with their child.

  As if she’d read his mind, Carrie suggested, “You could just find out who she is. You wouldn’t have to initiate contact if you didn’t think she’d be good for Michael.”

  “That’s true. I suppose I’ve been a little scared of what I’d find.”

  Carrie challenged him with a direct gaze. “Why? Michael’s a smart, cute boy. He doesn’t show any signs of fetal alcohol syndrome, and he wasn’t withdrawing from drugs or anything like that when you brought him home, was he?”

  “No…”

  “Well, then?”

  He dipped his head. “You’re right. I will think about it.”

  Her eyes became fierce. “He does know he’s adopted?”

  Under the circumstances, he didn’t take offense. “Yes, of course he does. We haven’t actually talked about it much, because he hasn’t expressed interest yet.”

  “So now he’s lost two mothers. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

  His blood chilled. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. You don’t suppose he thinks there’s something wrong with him…?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m an idiot,” he muttered.

  “No! Oh, no! I didn’t mean to imply…”

  Seeing her distress, he said, “I know you didn’t. But you’re right. I should have pushed a little harder. I will.”

  “Does he remember your wife? Emily?”

  “I think he has a few memories still. More impressions than images. Her smell, the way she’d sing to him at bedtime, things we used to do that we haven’t since.”

  “Has Heidi been with you since then?”

  He nodded. “She’s the one who’s real to him. Damn. He was distressed when he found out she was getting married. I understood why, but I didn’t go far enough. If Heidi left us, he’d have lost every woman who has ever been a mother to him. I don’t know whether it’s true that babies feel the loss when the mother whose voice they learned in the womb isn’t the one who takes them home. But Emily… She was Mommy. We had a hard few months after she died.”

  Carrie was the one to lay her hand on his arm this time. “I’m sorry.”

  He gave her a twisted smile. “You know, this is a first date. We’re supposed to be talking about favorite movies. Maybe politics, if we want to get intense.”

  She folded her hands on her lap. “What’s your favorite movie?”

  Mark laughed. “Do you care?”

  Her eyes widened and instead of countering she let a breathless pause develop. Finally, color crept over her cheeks as she realized the silence had gone on too long.

  Yes, he diagnosed. She cared about something as trivial as what movies he liked. They shared a hunger to learn about each other. But this was a first date, and she was embarrassed now.

  He took her hand. “I want to know everything about you, too.”

  She bit her lip. “I’m that obvious?”

  “I hoped that’s why you’re blushing.”

  “My favorite movie is Fiddler on the Roof.”

  “Really?”

  “I love the music, and the moral dilemmas give it backbone.”

  “Okay. Mine is Apollo 13.”

  “I like that one, too.”

  They smiled at each other. Somehow they’d half turned to face each other and were closer than he’d realized. The moment seemed right. Looking into her eyes, he leaned forward slowly. Instead of shying away, she tilted her face up.

  Their mouths met, clung. He sucked gently on her lower lip, she laid a hand on his cheek. For a moment he eased back, laid his forehead against hers. They nuzzled each other.

  “I’m scratchy,” he murmured. He’d gotten home late and rushed and hadn’t shaved again as he’d intended.

  “I like the way you feel,” Carrie whispered, stroking his jaw.

  That did it. He groaned and captured her mouth again, this time with more intent, more open hunger. Her lips parted and she kissed him back as he hadn’t been kissed since…

  No! He wouldn’t let Emily intrude here.

  Even knowing Michael was upstairs, it took all the discipline he had to keep his hands to himself, to make his kisses more playful than needy.

  Carrie nipped his earlobe. Voice throaty, she said, “Tell me something important about you.”

  “Um…” Hard to think. “I’m dyslexic. Spell-checker is my best friend.”

  He pressed openmouthed kisses down her neck, savoring a vibration as if she were a cat purring. “Your turn.”

  “I just broke up with a man who wanted to marry me.”

  He stiffened and lifted his head. “What?”

  Hair mussed, cheeks flushed from their kisses, she stared at him in consternation. “What awful timing! I don’t know why that slipped out!”

  “Because it’s something you really think I ought to know?”

  “I would have told you, but…”

  “You’ve never mentioned this guy.” He couldn’t help it if he sounded less than happy. She’d had a fiancé all the while she was calling to cry on his shoulder?

  “I broke up with him a week before I met you.” She eyed him with a mix of defiance and wariness. “So it really didn’t have anything to do with you.”

  Mark let his hands drop from her. “Who is he? Why did you break up with him?”

  “His name is Craig. Craig DeYoung. Dr. Craig DeYoung.”

  “Ah.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘ah’? I didn’t refuse to marry him because he’s a doctor!”

  “But you might have gone out with him in the first place because he was.”

  “I didn’t…” She let out a huff. “Okay, his profession didn’t hurt! Are you happy? He reminded me of Dad. Great reason to date a guy. He’s brilliant and…and really decent.” She looked unhappy. “It wasn’t the hours he worked that I minded. It was the way he could be dispassionate about everything. Fair, he called it. I’d get mad and he wouldn’t. I’m trying to be fair, hear your side of it, he’d say. But I wanted him to throw something! I wanted him to care enough to get mad!”

  “Some people don’t show emotions readily.”

  “Great. Now you sound just like him.” She glowered at him with her mouth sulky and one cheek showing whisker-burn. “Reasoning with the irrational little woman.”

  She looked cute. He knew better than to tell her so. “I’m just saying…”

  “I know what you’re saying! I’ve heard it before.” Her indignation subsided enough for her to heave a sigh. “The thing is, I’m not sure he had emotions. Not passionate, I’d-die-for-you kind of emotions.”

  “Ah,” Mark said again.

  She stiffened. “Obviously I sound silly to you.”

  He smiled and took her hand again. “Nope. You can’t marry someone you’re not sure loves you. Really, really loves you, not just she’s-a-suitable-wife loves you.”

  Her hand turned to clasp his. “That’s it, exactly. But you would understand, of course.”

  He stiffened himself, and knew she felt it. “Because Emily didn’t love me enough, you mean.”

  Big dark eyes looked stricken. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said…”

  “No, that’s okay.” He suddenly wished like hell he hadn’t told her. Internalizing the shame was one thing; opening himself to pity, another. But how could he ever have a half-honest relationship without telling the woman? “It’s the truth,” he said, tone as dispassionate as he could make it.

  Her gaze became curious, but she didn’t, thank God, press the issue. Instead she untucked her foot and groped for her shoe with it, obviously readying herself for departure. “Well, I killed the mood by telling you about Craig, didn’t I? But I guess I had to get it over with sooner or later.”

  “Yeah, you did.” He realized he wanted to know more about the guy,
how intimate they’d been, how much Carrie missed him, how hurt she had been by his inability to love her as passionately as she’d needed. But he also figured maybe they’d both said enough for one evening. And he was afraid if he started kissing her again, he wouldn’t want to stop.

  So they talked about nothing that he’d remember later while he put Daisy on her leash. Then he locked the front door behind him and walked Carrie to her car with only a couple of dog-initiated pauses on grassy strips. He kissed her briefly but with enough hunger to let her know he hoped it wouldn’t be the last time, and then hustled the reluctant dog back to his house to check on Michael.

  Standing in the open door, light from the hall falling across his son sprawled in sleep with the covers twisted around him, Mark smiled at the memory of Carrie and Michael both flushing guiltily as they confessed to slipping treats under the table to Daisy. And he heard again Michael’s sleepy approbation.

  Carrie’s nice, Dad. Nice as Heidi.

  Handy to have your kid’s blessing, Mark thought with satisfaction.

  Now he just had to wait to find out whether she’d been as pleased with this evening’s conversation, confessions and kisses as he was.

  MARK CONCENTRATED the next day on extending his search for Gary Lindstrom. The kid couldn’t have vanished from the face of the earth. Even if he’d died, somewhere a record existed. So far, Mark had stuck to the western states; Gary had grown up in California, so it had seemed logical to start with the assumption that he hadn’t migrated more than a state or two away. But unless he’d changed his name—and, damn it, that too would have appeared in court records—he wasn’t in Washington, Oregon, California, Utah or Arizona.

  So where was he?

  Mark had already checked to see if he’d gone into the military. There were Gary Lindstroms, so he couldn’t rule it out, but none sounded like the right age. Without a social security number, credit agencies were out.

  He began systematically working through DMV records in every state. Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Colorado. In New Mexico, hours later, lunch skipped, he hit pay dirt.

  Gary Lindstrom. Right age. He kept searching, found record of a marriage to one Holly Lynn Scott, followed by a divorce three years later. No evidence of children. It didn’t appear the Chauvin siblings had a good track record with intimate relationships. Not surprising, he figured, given their traumatic uprooting from a stable family at a young age.