“It’s about time,” he said loudly when the motherly waitress laid the check on the table and wished them a good day. Carrie noticed that he didn’t offer to buy lunch; he let his mother pick it up.
She gave Carrie a hug, murmured, “I hope…” without finishing the wish, then hugged Suzanne, too, before letting Ray escort her toward the front and the cash register.
Feeling troubled, Carrie watched her go. She sensed that Aunt Jeanne hoped the missing years and the decision not to raise all her sister’s children could be erased and they could all become family. But even though Carrie felt sorry for the woman, she couldn’t have said that she wanted the same.
“I think meeting me meant more to her than to her son,” she said aloud.
Suzanne’s eyes, warm with understanding, met hers across the table. “I know it did. Thank you, Carrie.” She paused and then added more quietly, “Ray’s a jerk. I feel sorry for his wife.”
Carrie remembered the pictures of his son and daughter and said, “And his kids.”
“Roddie was always nicer. I’ll take you to meet him someday.”
“Sure,” Carrie agreed, not knowing if she meant that, either. She realized she felt a little overwhelmed and wished, for an acute moment, that she could call Mark.
An ache replaced the sharp need. Was it so bad to want him, sometimes, because he was so solid and certain and knew how to make her feel rooted?
As they walked out of the restaurant, Suzanne told her that she’d been investigating adoption agencies. “I went to an orientation for potential adopters at one, but I had the feeling they wouldn’t look favorably on me as a single woman. Maybe, for a hard-to-adopt child, but I don’t know if I can take on a child with medical problems or one that needs counseling and an unusual amount of supervision, not if I’m opening a new business at the same time. Maybe I shouldn’t be trying to do both right now. I could stay in my job…”
“And be miserable.”
“It’s not that bad!”
Carrie looked at her over the roof of her car. “How long did you say you’d been watching for the perfect storefront to be available?”
Suzanne made a face at her and then got in. When Carrie did the same, Suzanne plopped her purse on the floor. “A couple of years. I could wait a couple more years.”
“You could also wait to adopt.”
“But the time feels right!” she protested.
“Doesn’t it feel right for opening the yarn shop, too?”
She fastened the seat belt with unnecessary force. “You’re a big help.”
Carrie smiled at her. “I know. What are sisters for?”
MARK SET THE SAFE-deposit box on the table in the middle of the bank vault and opened it, removing the envelope in which he had placed all the papers relating to Michael’s adoption.
He remembered his son’s birth name and where he’d been born, but Mark wanted to refresh his memory about the few clues to Michael’s mother’s identity that had been supplied in the standard background information.
He tugged at the knot of the tie he’d worn today for a meeting. Despite a cool temperature, he was sweating. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t committing himself to anything by reading old documents. He didn’t have to follow through.
But he thought about what a difference it might have made to Carrie if her parents had been open to her maintaining a relationship with her siblings. And Michael’s questions had hit him hard. He’d thought his son was still too young to wonder or worry about why his birth mother hadn’t been able to keep him. But maybe Mark had been suffering from deliberate myopia, not wanting to understand how essential it was for a child—and an adult, for that matter—to know his place within his family. Who he looks like and whether grandpa was good at math, too.
Even if he searched, he reminded himself, he didn’t have to make contact. Maybe he wouldn’t want to, until Michael was ready. If he didn’t think she’d be good for Michael, he could make excuses, put it off forever.
He growled under his breath, hearing Carrie’s voice as clearly as if she stood beside him.
No more secrets.
Okay, he could be honest with Michael. Maybe knowing your mother was a hooker and drug addict would be better than not knowing, wondering.
He could make that decision later. Much, much later.
Mark made himself concentrate on the sheaf of papers from the agency, making notes on the lined legal pad he’d brought.
Name: Michael Reginald Walker.
He and Emily had chosen to keep the name Michael—seeing it as a gift from the baby’s birth mother. Reginald they’d jettisoned. It wasn’t the kind of name that was popular these days, which meant that likely it was a family name. A grandfather’s?
Michael had been born at a hospital in Spokane. His mother might have gone to stay with a relative in Spokane if her pregnancy was being hidden, but these days such steps were taken less often. Chances were good that she had lived in the area.
There weren’t many clues in the spare explanation of her medical history and background. The most interesting was that one of her grandfathers was a farrier. If by chance it was her paternal grandfather, and he worked in the Spokane or Coeur d’Alene area, Mark might be able to track him down and find out about his granddaughter.
Michael was fascinated by horses. Mark had figured all kids were. He budgeted for frequent pony rides at the zoo during the summer, when they operated. But maybe Michael’s interest was hereditary. Mark found the possibility oddly unsettling. It almost made him angry to think that his son could be influenced by biological parents and grandparents who had nothing to do with him beyond the accident of birth.
He swore, his voice loud in the vault. He’d wanted to think he was different from most adoptive parents, and here he was, wanting to believe Michael was his in the most primitive way.
Disturbed, he slid the documents back in the envelope, the envelope in the safe-deposit box, and the box in its slot. He signed out and left the bank wishing he had somebody he could talk to about how he felt and whether he was pushing, to initiate a search instead of waiting until Michael was ready to do it himself.
He gave a grunt that might have sounded like a laugh to someone walking by in the parking lot.
Somebody he could talk to? Who was he kidding? He knew damn well who he wanted to call.
He stopped beside his car, his keys dangling from his hand, and stared at it without really seeing. Feeling a peculiar lurch inside, he thought, What if I did call her? What if I said, I miss you so much, I can’t sleep, don’t want to eat, am initiating a hunt for Michael’s birth mother because I can’t stop thinking about you and how much you were hurt by what you didn’t know?
What if he called her and said, Michael has picked you to be his mom and I think it’s a damned smart choice? And then if he finished by telling her it was killing him to know that she was turning to someone else now when she felt sad.
What would she say?
How would he ever know if he didn’t call?
THE PHONE was ringing when Carrie came in the door from work on Monday. She hurried to grab it before voice mail picked up.
“Hello?”
For a moment the caller didn’t say anything and she felt a chill. She could hear someone breathing. Then a high, child’s voice said, “Is this Carrie?”
Puzzled, she said, “Yes, it is. Who are you?”
“It’s Michael!” He sounded offended.
Her heart bumped. “Michael? How are you?”
“Dad said I could call you. He told me which numbers to push.”
Now her heart was racing. He was standing there, within earshot of his son.
“Did you just call to say hi?”
“Nope. Dad said I could in…invite—” he stumbled over the word “—you to my graj…graj…” She heard a muffled voice and then Michael sounded out carefully, “gra-ju-a-tion from kindergarten. We’re having a party.”
“Isn’t your dad going?”
“He isn’t sure. He might hafta work. Heidi said she didn’t mind if I asked you instead of her.”
Wow. Stunned, Carrie wondered what Mark thought of this. Had he agreed that Michael could ask her only because he wasn’t going to be able to go and therefore wouldn’t have to see her?
“When is it?” she asked.
“Thursday. That’s the last day of school. It’s at…” The quality of his voice changed. “When is it, Dad?” He came back on. “It’s at twelve. Dad says you might hafta work, too, but I’d really like it if you came.”
“I’d be happy to, Michael. Thank you for inviting me. You’ll have to tell me what school you go to and your classroom.”
“I’m in Mrs. Hooper’s class,” he said, as if that ought to be enough for her to find it.
She heard a brief, muffled discussion. Then Mark took the phone. “Carrie?” He gave her directions to his son’s school and classroom. “I know his request puts you on the spot…”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m honored that he chose to ask me. Besides, it sounds like fun.” Suddenly it occurred to her that he might be hinting that she make an excuse. More uncertainly, she added, “That is, if you don’t mind my going. He said you might not be able to…”
“I’ll try, but…” He didn’t finish his thought. “No, it would mean a lot to him if you could come. He’s, uh, got designs on you.”
“What?” she said, startled.
“I might see you then. Here’s Michael again.”
The little boy thanked her gravely, encouraged, she suspected, by his father, then mentioned that moms and dads were supposed to bring food.
“Only, you’re not supposed to make it at home. It’s got to be from a store.” He sounded disgusted.
Health regulations, she presumed. “Did you sign up for something I should bring?”
He had. Cupcakes and napkins.
“Tell your dad I’ll bring them,” she said. “Just think. After Thursday, you’ll officially be a first-grader.”
“Yeah!”
They said goodbye and she hung up wishing passionately that this was Wednesday, not Monday. How would she survive for three days?
And how would she survive the rest of her life if Mark didn’t come?
A PRETTY YOUNG woman with shiny brown hair in a ponytail met Carrie at the classroom door. “Hi, I’m Deb Hooper. I don’t think I’ve met you.”
“Carrie St. John. Michael Kincaid invited me.”
She smiled. “He’s been watching the clock since he got here this morning! He’d have been heartbroken if you hadn’t shown up. Did you sign in at the office?”
“Yep. And brought napkins—” she lifted the bag in one hand, then the cardboard box in the other “—and cupcakes, as ordered.”
“Wonderful. Thank you.” She led the way into the classroom, a hubbub of noise.
“Has his dad made it?” Carrie asked.
“Not yet.” She raised her voice above the racket. “Michael, look who’s here.”
“Carrie!” He shot out of his seat and across the room, wrapping his arms around her waist in a hard squeeze that startled her. “Dad said you might not be able to come, but I knew you would. You promised.”
Wow, what was going on here? Why had it mattered so terribly much to him that she came today? Over Michael’s head Carrie signaled a question at his teacher, who shook her head in silent puzzlement.
“Well, I’m here, and I brought cupcakes and napkins. Where do I put them?”
He let her go and said importantly, “Over here. I’ll show you.”
Carrie smiled at parents who were being led around the classroom by their students or who were perched on kindergarten-sized chairs around long tables at the back. The kids were all hyper, and she remembered the feeling. The last day of school before summer! A party! Mom and Dad here for something special! How could a kid not be buzzed?
She was setting the trays of cupcakes out on the table when Michael crowed, “Dad!” and left her to race across the classroom again. “Dad! Look who’s here!”
Carrie’s heart somersaulted. She turned slowly, the package of napkins in her hand, and saw the handsome, tough-looking man in the leather bomber jacket, head bent as he said something to Michael. She remembered the first time she’d seen him. She’d sensed that he represented danger and yet, somehow, she’d known he didn’t mean to hurt her.
Both true, she thought now, her pulse skyrocketing as his head came up and his eyes met hers across the room.
Beside her, Michael’s teacher murmured, “Ah.”
Carrie scarcely heard her. She couldn’t look away from Mark. Her feet stayed rooted, and she could only watch as he and Michael walked between desks toward her.
Deb Hooper greeted him, and he paused to talk to her. Michael’s voice, high and excited, came to Carrie’s ears. “See, Miss Hooper? They both came!”
“I do see,” she said to him with a smile. “You’re very clever.”
If Mark heard the comment, he didn’t pause to remark. He was covering the last few feet to arrive at Carrie’s side.
“Thank you for coming.” He took the napkins from her nerveless hand and set them on the table. “As you can tell, Michael was really counting on you.”
“But…why?”
He gave an odd, lopsided smile. “He’s afraid, with Heidi getting married, that she won’t be ‘like his mom anymore.’ I quote. So he’s decided you can be instead.”
“What?” she blurted.
“Shh,” he murmured.
At the front of the classroom, the teacher was clapping her hands. “Students, please go to your seats. Parents, thank you for coming. Today is a special day. Remember the first day of kindergarten, when some of my students didn’t want you to leave? It doesn’t seem very long ago, and yet, here they are, their first year of school complete.” She smiled at them, looking from face to face, her expression both proud and sad. “And my first year of teaching completed as well. Thanks to your children, it’s been the most wonderful year of my life. And so, today we’re here to celebrate this milestone. I have a certificate for each student.”
She called their names, and one at a time they went to the front of the classroom where she said a few soft words in their ears, gave them a hug and handed them their certificates to the applause of the parents. Some marched forward with backs straight in full consciousness of their momentary importance, others, rosy-cheeked, slipped shyly up and then back to their desks, but stole looks at their parents. All clutched their certificates as if they were precious.
Carrie smiled and clapped with all the other adults, but the whole time she was so aware of Mark’s arm brushing hers, so stunned by the last thing he’d said— Michael wanted her to be his mom?—that she couldn’t have afterward named a single other child in the class.
After the final applause, the teacher invited them all to eat. Just as the room exploded into activity, Mark said in a low voice, “I asked Heidi to pick Michael up. Do you have time afterward to go out to lunch…” He glanced ruefully at the laden table. “Or just somewhere to talk?”
Not knowing how long Michael’s party would take, she’d put in for an afternoon of personal time. Not that she’d have said no anyway.
“I can take a little while,” she said, then grinned at Michael. “Congratulations, first-grader!”
He bounced. “I get Mr. Pfeifer next year. Everyone says he’s the best first-grade teacher in the whole school!”
“That’s great.”
His dad ruffled his hair. “Congratulations, buddy. Before I know it, you’ll be showing me your high school diploma.”
Michael thought that was funny. He insisted they get in line for food, saying loudly to the boy in front of them, “Ryan, this is my dad. And Carrie. I told you she’d come.”
Carrie felt Mark stiffen beside her and wondered. Ryan, a little pudgy and redheaded, turned and surveyed Mark and Carrie, then shrugged. “This is my mom.”
&nbs
p; Carrie gathered that Michael already knew Ryan’s dad.
“She has hair like yours,” Michael said with interest.
Ryan’s carrot-haired mother smiled with amusement. “Oh, are you Michael? We haven’t met, have we? I work such funny hours.”
“So what if we have hair the same color?” Ryan demanded.
Michael looked perplexed. “So nothing. Her hair is the same color as your hair. That’s all.”
Ryan’s glower mutated into uncertainty. After a minute he shrugged again and turned back to his parents, who chatted briefly with Mark.
After they’d started filling their plates, Mark muttered in Carrie’s ear, his mouth so close his breath tickled her, “That kid is the devil incarnate.”
She turned, then blushed to realize their faces were only inches apart. “Really?” What had he said?
“Remind me to tell you about him,” he said in a low, intimate voice.
She didn’t actually care about Ryan, devil incarnate or not, but she smiled agreement. She’d also completely lost her appetite, but to please Michael she took a cup of lime punch, some chips and salsa and a cupcake. They found a place on a window seat, Michael sitting between the two adults, so excited he had trouble staying still long enough to eat. When Heidi arrived, he ran to grab her hand and bring her in to get food, too. Heidi paused to talk to the teacher, and Carrie realized she probably already knew her.
After all, she’d been “like” a mom, picking him up and dropping him off, writing excuses for illnesses, maybe chaperoning field trips.
Carrie felt a pang of undiluted jealousy.
But Heidi’s greeting was too genuine for Carrie to hold onto any resentment, especially when it was so misplaced. They made conversation for long enough to satisfy Michael, after which Carrie and Mark both congratulated him again and said goodbye. She waited at the door while Mark spoke briefly to the teacher and shook her hand.
Open Secret Page 23
