Eventually he shook his head.
And as though fate had stepped in to save him for once, footsteps bounded down the stairs. Mrs. McConnell took the interruption as an opportunity to move back to the food station that Margie, Eliza’s assistant for the past ten years, had laid out.
Maybe she thought he and Eliza had lost a child. He had, after all, told her he’d lost someone.
Lord knew why he’d said that. He’d never lost anyone he was close to.
His mother had taken off before he was old enough to remember her. His old man was gone, but since he’d been drunk so much of Pierce’s life, that hadn’t been a big surprise. At least he’d been a nice drunk.
Pierce had had no reason to commiserate with the woman’s loss as though he understood. Living without Eliza all those years—that had been his choice. He’d consciously opted not to contact her when he’d gotten back from the war in Iraq, a changed man. One who’d been hit by an explosive device that left him sterile.
After going by her place in Savannah, where they’d grown up, finding out that she’d moved to South Carolina the summer he left and that her folks were in Florida, he’d gotten on with his life. A life without her. Except for keeping tabs, just to make certain she was thriving. That’s how he’d known she was at Harvard while he finished his time in the marines as a cop at Quantico.
And known that she’d graduated and was running a bed-and-breakfast when he’d married a fellow marine shortly after getting out. And that she was still there three years later, when he married his second wife. A waitress from the coffee shop where he had breakfast every morning.
The woman had a young son. Pierce had fancied himself a father.
He just hadn’t been a good husband. Too distant. Too many nightmares. No desire to spend his off time with the woman he’d married.
Turned out, he hadn’t been a great father, either.
Nope, he hadn’t lost anyone. He’d made conscious choices.
And would probably make them again if he had a second go at it. Including the one that had resulted in an inability to father children. Some days he figured he’d deserved that. He’d still choose to join the army, too. If he was going to make anything of himself, get away from the reputation he’d earned as the son of the town drunk, get any kind of education, he’d have had to join up. He’d had no money for college. Nowhere to live, no way to support himself during the four years of attending classes to get a higher degree. No way to support the love of his life, or prove to her father that he was good enough for her, unless he joined the army, worked until every bone in his body ached, and earned not only money but also respect.
No, as hard as leaving Eliza had been, it was a choice he’d make again. For the same reasons.
Even the worst choice he’d ever made, given the same situation, the same intel, he’d make again, because when you made choices you got only the before, not the after. He hadn’t known that that one choice would irrevocably change his world. Change him.
One choice. A split second. The pull of a trigger.
And Pierce Westin had lost his soul.
* * *
“I’M SORRY FOR the long wait, Eliza. Thank you for your patience.”
Mrs. Carpenter came into the room quietly. Efficiently. All business.
From the chair she was clinging to like a life raft, Eliza nodded. Forced a smile. She didn’t do this whole fragile thing well. Her days didn’t require it.
Her life didn’t require it.
Because she’d kept her secret. Banished it to the past. Made a life without it, just as her parents had espoused.
She was beginning to see why they’d been so adamant. And figured they’d been right.
She watched the counselor take a seat. Fold her hands. And knew.
This wasn’t good news.
“I’ve looked through your file,” Mrs. Carpenter told her. “Your adoption was a bit...unique...” she said. “Private adoptions have more leeway as far as terms are concerned. According to your documents, your child is to be given any information we have about you, anytime he asks. But it was further agreed that even if you ask, you are not to be given information about him.”
She hadn’t known that.
“I’m assuming you knew that. Your signature was on every page.”
Okay, so maybe she had known. She hadn’t remembered. She’d been just shy of her seventeenth birthday. Scared to death. Heartbroken.
If only Pierce had contacted her. Even once...
If only she’d known then that her father had had a very firm talk with Pierce after he’d joined the army. Feeding Pierce’s fears that he wasn’t good enough for her. That she was destined for great things, a settled and successful society waiting for her, that nothing about her assets was suited to the moving around required by military life.
Pierce could have told her. Said now that maybe he should have told her that part. He’d still have joined up—and hadn’t wanted to bad-talk her father to her.
And what was done was done. They’d determined before they’d married seven years before that the only way for either of them to find happiness was to let go of the hurts they couldn’t change. And be thankful for all the great years they had left to share. To make the most of every minute of those years.
To realize that they, unlike so many others, had a special appreciation of their love that would prevent them from falling into the habit of taking that love, taking each other, for granted like they’d both seen happen with so many other couples.
“I can’t even know his name?” she asked, after taking as long as she could to assimilate her situation and pull herself together.
Clearly she hadn’t done either, yet.
Mrs. Carpenter shook her head. To give the woman her due, she didn’t seem in any kind of hurry to get Eliza out of there.
“You do have the right to stipulate if you’d rather we not give him any further information about you,” the woman said after another few minutes of standby.
Eliza knew Mrs. Carpenter was waiting for her to go. She just didn’t.
Thoughts of the gathering in the hotel lobby, due to start in less than two hours, skirted across her mind. She watched the other contestants flit about like in some kind of weird movie. A flash of the lobby. A group of strangers.
“Can he give his permission for me to know about him?”
“His parents were willing to give that information at the time of the adoption,” Mrs. Carpenter said. “This is a strange situation. Clearly you feared that at some point in your life you’d want to revisit this situation, but from what you knew at the time of the adoption, with everything still clear in your mind, you wanted to protect your future self from the eventuality.”
“I was sixteen.”
“You’d been counseled for months. And asked your father to sign the papers, as well.”
She kind of remembered that.
“You re-signed them when you turned eighteen,” Mrs. Carpenter said softly, as though not sure what she was dealing with, a rational human being or a crazy lady. Eliza didn’t blame her. She wasn’t sure herself.
“I did?” she said.
“Yes.”
She might have. She’d been so messed up back then. Hardened. Hurting beyond what she could bear. Her parents—and her grandmother—just kept telling her to look forward. To effect that which she could effect. To use the past as a lesson. To take every opportunity to make a good life for herself.
She’d signed a few things. To be executor of her grandmother’s estate in the event that anything happened to her, even though, in Eliza’s mother’s eyes, she was still just a kid. Her mother had thought she should be the one with power of attorney over her own mother’s estate. It hadn’t happened that way.
Eliza’s grandmother had made
a will of her own.
Taken out a life insurance policy.
A readmission of her adoption papers could very well have been one more piece of business to be dealt with and filed away.
Standing, Mrs. Carpenter came toward her. Eliza expected to be shown out. There really was nothing more for them to say. Instead, the woman sat down in the chair next to her and took Eliza’s hand. “Were you raped?”
What? “No!” Was that what her parents had told people? Was that how they’d saved face?
She’d thought leaving town before anyone had known she was pregnant had done that.
Mrs. Carpenter looked at her in a way that made Eliza feel like she was being professionally assessed.
“I had one very, very wonderful, if completely inappropriate, night with a boy I loved very much,” she said softly.
The words wouldn’t stay back. Wouldn’t remain unsaid. She and Pierce...that night...deserved better than that.
More words flew to her throat as though they’d all been waiting for release.
But with so many years of silence, she managed to contain them. They were making her nauseated, all bottled up in there. But in there they stayed.
Because what would she say? How crazy would this counselor think her if she knew that Eliza was now married to that same boy? But that he knew nothing about the son he’d fathered?
To know would do neither of them any good. It would be more of the hurt from the past that could prevent happiness in their future. More angst, acrimony. More whys without answers.
They couldn’t have their son. And Pierce couldn’t father another one. It seemed too cruel to let him know what he’d missed. And to what end? So that he could hate himself for not contacting her after he left?
So they could both die of what-ifs?
“I have to ask you again,” Mrs. Carpenter broke into her thoughts. Oddly, having come full circle, Eliza felt no more certain of anything, no less vulnerable. And yet she’d found her strength.
“Ask what?”
“At this point, all your son has done is make one query into your information. Do you want to update what we have so that, if he comes back, he can contact you?”
Her heart started to pound again. “Can you contact him and let him know it’s here? That I’ve been here and left updated information?”
She supposed she wasn’t surprised when Mrs. Carpenter shook her head. She was disappointed. Hugely so. But back in control, she nodded. Took a breath.
Did she want this young man to be able to call her out of the blue? Any time of the day or night or year? Just to show up, unannounced at their door?
Yes! Of course! Absolutely!
And what about Pierce? What if he was having one of his bad spells? Or even if he wasn’t? Was it fair to him to open the door to this possibility? To the fact that at any moment, he could come face to face with his son without even knowing he had one?
If she did this...gave Mrs. Carpenter her information, gave her son the ability to contact her...she had to tell Pierce that the young man existed.
First.
“Can I call you and do that?” she asked now.
“Of course.” Mrs. Carpenter sat back.
Was Eliza no longer sounding like she was about to lose her marbles, then? She still felt like she was.
“You do realize there’s a possibility, given the internet, that he could find you anyway, right?”
Fear shot through her.
Mixed with excitement.
“That’s why I came,” she said. “To find out what the future might hold.”
Maybe she’d hoped to be able to see her son on her own. To know if finding out about him would cause Pierce more pain than good. To know if, regardless of the pain, their son needed them.
That had been the closer. If the boy needed them, she and Pierce had to put their own regrets, their own pain, aside and be there for him.
“I want him to have my information,” she said. “I want him to be able to contact me. But I need to take care of something first. I will be contacting you just as soon as I’ve gotten that done. I don’t know exactly when that will be...how soon...but it will be as soon as I can get it done.” She was babbling. Pedaling forward and back. Afraid for Pierce. Afraid for their son.
Mrs. Carpenter took her hand again. “That’s fine, hon. You don’t have to do this. That’s why you gave him up for adoption in the first place. So that he would be the son—the responsibility—of someone else. Whatever prompted you to do so...you clearly did what you thought best. What your parents thought best, too, based on what I read. You have no reason to feel guilty. Or obligated...”
“Oh, no. I want this!” She needed this. And hadn’t realized, until just that second, how much.
“It’s just...not just me...and I have to tend to others who love and need me...”
The woman nodded. Looking wise and understanding. And for the first time, Eliza felt like she was doing the right thing.
She stood. Walked to the door. And couldn’t quite step out. Not yet. Looking at the woman who’d somehow become a friend to her heart, she said, “Is there some way you can make a note in my file...to let him know...in case he comes back before I call...that I will be calling?”
“I can make a note that you said you would be calling.”
Eliza got the distinction. Mrs. Carpenter still thought she might change her mind. Or that she didn’t know her own mind.
She didn’t blame her. History wasn’t looking too good for her on that one. Recent history included.
But as Eliza left, as she drove back to Palm Desert and met all but one of her opponents in the contest, she’d never felt more like she and her mind were in sync.
They’d found each other again. Her thoughts and heart.
Somehow she was going to have to find a way to bring Pierce into the mix.
CHAPTER FOUR
THAT FIRST WEEK there was no televised show he could watch. The contestants would be shuttled from the hotel to the studio for their first taping the next morning, but it was for footage that would be woven in throughout the series as warranted. They were being introduced to each other, shown their kitchen pods, their green room and lockers. And then toured around the studio. Natasha Stevens, the show’s host, wanted them familiar with their surroundings when the competition began the next weekend.
For the next five weekends, Pierce was going to be sleeping alone. If Eliza won any of the four weekly competitions, there’d be a sixth trip to Palm Desert for her. And he’d be expected to accompany her in the event that circumstance came to pass. If she actually won the whole thing, he’d be called up on stage to stand beside her as she accepted her award.
Lying in bed alone that Friday night, his arms folded on the pillow, his hands propping up his head, Pierce stared at the ceiling. And pictured his beautiful, vivacious, loving wife up on stage, on national television, announcing to the world that he, Pierce Westin, was her husband.
It was way too early for him to be lying in the dark, too early to have stripped down to his T-shirt and briefs. Guests were still up and about. Someone could need something.
But social hour was over. And if no one had a problem that Margie couldn’t handle, he could lie there alone until morning without being missed.
When he’d come in, he’d kind of had a plan to turn on the television mounted on the wall across from their big four-poster bed. Thought maybe he’d take in one of the more violent suspense flicks he liked. The ones that Eliza read through. If she could bear to be in the room with the sound at all.
Kill ’em and die movies, she always called them.
He grinned. What did that really mean? If you killed them, you didn’t die. That was the point.
He’d brought a fresh glass of iced lemon wa
ter in with him. And a plate of Eliza’s macaroon cookies. They were sitting where he’d left them, side by side on his nightstand.
In the dark. Just like him.
He was waiting for Eliza’s call telling him her cocktail party downstairs was over and she was up in her room for the night. With the three-hour time difference, it might be a while. Still, he’d wait to speak with her before turning on a light.
Or starting a movie.
With the lights out, he could almost pretend she was there with him.
Not that he’d ever tell her—or anyone—that he had those kinds of thoughts. Doing so would only raise emotional expectations he’d be sure to fail to live up to.
And while he was more comfortable with his wife by his side, he wasn’t a sap. Or even a warmhearted guy. He was a man who’d done wrong. Who could never right that wrong. And who was spending the rest of his life serving others to pay an unpayable debt.
He was a man whose heart had ever been completely open only to one other—Liza Westin. She didn’t go by Liza anymore. And he wasn’t the same man who’d once loved with such trust and abandon. But he remembered...
He must have dozed off—a shock in itself—and sat upright when his cell phone pealed, catching it on the first ring.
“How’d it go?” He’d seen her caller ID with bleary eyes.
“Good!” Her upbeat tone had him on edge. Eliza wasn’t one to get overly excited. Not anymore, at any rate.
But then, she’d never been to California, or been about to be on national television before, he reminded himself as he listened to her tell him about the contestants she’d met that night.
A set of identical twin sisters who co-owned a bistro in New Orleans and were both contestants. Neither had ever been married, which Eliza found hard to believe because they were both quite striking, with dark hair and eyes and infectious smiles. There was the computer genius—she called him that because of his glasses, clean-shaved face and haircut—who learned to cook from his mother when he was a kid. He worked in a bank and entered cooking contests. The Family Secrets qualifier was his fourth major win, but he’d won hundreds of local contests.
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