Man of His Word

by Cynthia Reese

  Daniel felt his mouth quirk in amusement. “Can’t be any worse than a team of baseball players, but yeah, I see that around here. I know they’ve got a lot of bottled-up energy, even if I have been working my guys into the ground. I was thinking about maybe a training burn—the county’s considering burning two old houses that it condemned and then had to take back on a tax lien. Maybe that would help the crew a bit. But it won’t be until next week before I find out definitely,” he warned.

  The men nodded in agreement. Their crews needed to keep their skills sharp, and a controlled burn was a good way to do that.

  With nothing else offered up as a concern, Daniel released the group with a wave of dismissal. Chairs scraped against concrete, the room filled with jokes about which station’s crew would beat the others at the upcoming baseball tournament. Daniel ignored it all and bent over paperwork that needed his attention.

  At the sound of someone clearing his throat, Daniel looked up to see Rob still standing in front of his desk.

  “Yeah?” Daniel halfway expected his brother to start teasing him about Kimberly—he’d gotten more than a few nudges and winks the past couple of times Rob had joined them for supper at Ma’s.

  “I’m reopening the investigation of the warehouse fire, Daniel.”

  Confused, Daniel leaned back, scratched his head. “What warehouse fire? There was that one last year, the one caused by the lightning strike—”

  “No. Dad’s fire.”

  It was a wallop to Daniel’s gut. He compressed his lips, tried to think what to say to his little brother. “Rob...it’s done. It’s over with. Some punk kid started that fire, and he’s long gone now. That arrogant wannabe chief Rick Perdue—now, that’s who killed Dad.”

  Rob scowled and leaned a hand against the back of a folding chair. “No, you got that wrong. Some punk kid did start that fire—well, at least someone did. I don’t know if it was a kid. But that’s why Dad was there that day—and yeah, I agree. Perdue was a sorry excuse of a fireman, but if that fire hadn’t been started in the first place, Dad wouldn’t have ever been in harm’s way.”

  “You got so much time on your hands that you can kick a dead horse? How many hours were sunk into that investigation when it was fresh, huh? And they didn’t come up with anything solid then.”

  Rob didn’t say anything for a minute, and Daniel thought maybe he’d put this crazy obsession of Rob’s down, at least for the time being. He waited for Rob to agree.

  His brother tapped out a staccato rhythm on the back of the chair with the pen he held between his thumb and forefinger. Then he set his shoulders and straightened up, but his words weren’t what Daniel had been hoping for.

  “Science has changed things, Daniel. You know I try to keep up with the science—I get heckled out of every training class I attend by old-timers who still want to believe that sagging bedsprings and spalling in concrete are sure signs of arson, but science can help us find out who did this. And I want to chase that punk kid down and put him behind bars for murder.”

  “Fat chance—I hate to say it, Rob, but you’ve got a goose egg’s chance of finding out the truth, even with the most current science.” Not this again, Daniel thought, not when he had his plate full already with Kimberly and Marissa. “Besides, all the investigation in the world isn’t going to bring him back. The only thing it will do is hurt Ma, dredge up old memories. You know that.”

  “It nearly killed her, Daniel. You weren’t there when they came to tell her. She wound up on the kitchen floor, on her knees, screaming. I can still hear those screams...”

  Daniel clenched his jaw. Guilt from being away, chasing a foolish dream, when his mother had needed him the most, gnawed at him. “It had to be hard on you kids, I know that—”

  “Hard? Hard!” Rob scoffed. “Ma deserves the truth. I don’t plan on shouting from the rooftops about what I’m doing—I don’t want to get her hopes up, for one thing. But I just wanted you to know that every spare minute I have, I’m going to be reviewing that fire. So...I may need to talk to some of your men.”

  “You mean Dad’s men. The ones that were here when Dad was chief.” Daniel shook his head, wanted to snap in two the pencil he held in his hand to relieve his pent-up irritation at his brother. “And you seriously think it won’t get back to Ma?”

  Rob swallowed, doubt eroding his confident expression for the first time. He averted his glance. “I’ve got to try, Daniel. Fresh eyes... What can it hurt?”

  “It better not hurt Ma, that’s for sure,” Daniel growled. “She’s just getting back to her old self, so do what you gotta do—you’re a stubborn cuss, and you’re going to do it anyway, but...tread lightly, okay?”

  Without a word, Rob moved for the door. Daniel heaved a sigh and tried to turn his attention back to the paperwork in front of him. But the door didn’t slam closed.

  Instead, it swung open, and in marched Kimberly, her eyes dark and thunderous. Marissa trailed after her mother.

  “I want to know why you bought Marissa her gold baby bracelet...and then lied about it,” Kimberly demanded.

  If Rob’s news had been lobbed like a grenade, Kimberly’s question completed the ambush. He couldn’t answer her at first.

  “Well, don’t just sit there gaping at me,” she added. “You lied, Daniel Monroe, you who are so big on truth and integrity—you lied.”

  That blasted away some of his paralysis. He shot back, “I did no such thing—”

  “Oh, yeah? Maybe not overtly. But you stood on your mother’s front porch and held that bracelet in your hands and never told either of us that it was you who bought and paid for it. And you did it again in my hotel room. I think—no, I know you owe us an explanation.”

  Daniel swore inwardly. He’d thought it a harmless misunderstanding that first day and then again when he’d helped Kimberly find the bracelet—who was he to burst Marissa’s idea that the bracelet was from her birth mother?

  “What does it matter?” he asked. “And how did you find out? I never told anybody.”

  “The jeweler who engraved it. He still has a bill of sale for it, by the way. You didn’t figure on that, now, did you?”

  “Kimberly—” He stared past her to Marissa, afraid of how she might be taking the discovery. Strangely, Marissa didn’t seem even a quarter as upset as her mother. Instead, a beatific little grin played at the corners of her mouth—it was almost, if he didn’t know any better, an I-told-you-so smile.

  He turned his attention back to Kimberly, who showed no signs of cooling off anytime soon. “Yes. I bought the bracelet. But it was Marissa’s birth mom’s wish—well, not exactly the bracelet. She made me promise to do what I could to get Marissa’s adoptive parents to keep the name she’d chosen for her.”

  Kimberly quirked a brow. “And you always keep your word, don’t you, Daniel?”

  Anger torched through him, but he held its full force back. Instead, he growled, “I try. To the best of my ability. I do try to be a man of my word.”

  “You lied, though. You told the social worker that it was a gift from Marissa’s birth mother.”

  “No,” he said heavily. “I didn’t. I called that blasted woman and left at least a dozen messages on her voice mail. I told her I had a bracelet for Marissa—tried to explain it as best, as honestly as I could, given what I could and could not say about, well...the whole deal—”

  “And you can’t say a lot, even though we both know you’re under no legal obligation—”

  “Kimberly!” he snapped. “I have my reasons.”

  “Right. You and your precious reasons are going to—” Kimberly clamped her mouth shut in midsentence and darted a glance at Marissa.

  Her daughter had that same little grin, watching the two of them as if she was a spectator at Wimbledon. She shrugged her shoulders. “I get it. The kid should leave so she’s not scarred by grown-ups disagreeing. Better stop before she should actually ever see conflict resolution play out.”

  With th
at, she ambled out, letting the door slam behind her.

  Well, thought Daniel, Marissa’s wrong about one thing. From the way Kimberly is looking, there won’t be any resolution to this conflict anytime soon.

  He gestured to one of the empty chairs. “You might as well sit down. This is going to take some explaining.”

  Kimberly didn’t immediately sit. It was as if she was afraid she was giving up hotly contested ground if she did. But finally she sank into the chair. Some of her earlier anger dissipated. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like a fishmonger’s wife, Daniel. But you have to understand. It was... Marissa— I thought it was Marissa’s one link to her birth mother.”

  “I never, ever, in a million years meant to hurt you or Marissa. When you first said it was left to her by her birth mother, I debated then on telling you the truth,” he admitted. “But what did it matter who actually bought and paid for the bracelet? It served its purpose, right? You kept Marissa’s name.”

  Kimberly shook her head. “You don’t get it, do you, Daniel? It’s not the blasted bracelet that I care about. It’s what it symbolized. For years, I’ve told Marissa over and over that bracelet meant her birth mother loved her and cared for her and wanted to keep her, but couldn’t. It was part of her adoption story. I don’t expect you to understand...but it was all Marissa had from her birth mother—that bracelet and the name engraved on it.”

  “I—I get that. Now.” He hung his head and breathed out to clear his churning thoughts. “And all I can say is that I’m sorry. How upset is Marissa?”

  Kimberly’s eyebrows skyrocketed. “I can’t figure her out, to be honest. I thought she’d be devastated. But...it’s like water off a duck’s back.”

  “Guess we should be thankful for small miracles?” he ventured.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Her conciliatory tone evaporated a second later. “Still—think about it, Daniel. It was my last lead. You have to tell me what you know, because there’s no one else left for me to ask.”

  Her pleading eyes nearly undid him. Miriam’s name was once again on the tip of his tongue. To escape the power of Kimberly’s eyes, he stared at the clutter on his desk.

  There, off to the side, was a framed studio shot of his father, in full dress uniform. It had been taken not six weeks before his death—and in fact, the finished photographs had come in right before the funeral. His mom had chosen the big eight-by-ten version to stand by the casket—the closed casket, because his dad’s body was in no shape for an open casket service.

  Keep your word, Danny, keep your word, no matter the cost.

  “I would if I could, Kimberly. I would if I could,” he told her.

  Without a word, she stalked from his office.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “SO? WHAT HAPPENED?” Taylor exploded the minute she and Marissa were out of earshot of the house and the grown-ups gathered on the back porch. “You sent me that text and then it was radio silence. I couldn’t get anything else out of you!”

  “Didn’t have Wi-Fi for one thing, plus my mom is hovering really bad now, worried that I’m going to freak because I found out...” Marissa grinned at Taylor as they headed for the oak tree.

  “What? Are you trying to drive me up the wall, cuz? You know, you are such a drama queen when you want to be.”

  “Can’t help it. I like to keep you in suspense.”

  She liked it so much, in fact, that she made Taylor help her spread out the blanket they’d brought under the low boughs of the oak tree before saying another word.

  Maybe it wasn’t only the power she held over Taylor at that moment. Maybe instead it was the sure knowledge, deep in her heart, that Daniel Monroe was most definitely her dad.

  He had bought that bracelet for her. When she was a tiny baby, he had been the one to lean over that counter and turn that display case, choosing her very first gift. Maybe even the whole thing about her birth mom wanting her to be named Marissa was complete hooey. Maybe Daniel—her dad—had picked out her name.

  Marissa Emily Monroe. It even sounded right. She was a Monroe. She belonged.

  As she and Taylor collapsed onto the blanket, the hard warm ground biting into her even through the layers of thickness, she wished for the thousandth time that her mom wasn’t a complete freakazoid about her bleeding disorder. What would it hurt to climb up to the tree house? Sure, it could be dangerous. But so could anything, right?

  But she had promised her mom...and moreover, she’d promised her dad, too. Marissa hugged herself, holding that secret close to her for a moment or two longer before she could share it with Taylor. Once she told it, maybe it would break the magical feeling it had cast over her.

  Taylor pulled a big plastic jug of Ma’s homemade lemonade and waggled it in Marissa’s direction. “I will drink all of this in front of you and not offer you a single sip if you don’t spill, and this minute,” she threatened. “What happened?”

  So Marissa spilled. Over Ma’s lemonade and a stash of leftover chocolate-chip cookies, Marissa mumbled out the events of the morning, trying not to forget a single detail.

  “Your mom hasn’t figured it out? That Uncle Daniel’s just got to be your dad?” Taylor stuffed yet another cookie in her mouth. “Is she totally dense or what? I mean, it’s as plain as the nose on your face—or should I say, the cleft in your chin?”

  “I think she was too mad about him lying to really get it. Honest, I had to keep my expression poker-faced because she seemed to think I should be all sad. I mean, what difference does it make? My birth mom must not have really wanted me—but Daniel did. He wanted to keep me all along. He said so.” The knowledge warmed Marissa, and she pulled it closer to her as if it was a blanket on a chilly day.

  “After you left them alone in Uncle Daniel’s office, could you hear anything? I mean, maybe he told her then.”

  Marissa shook her head and reached for the jug of lemonade. “They were through yelling, and they got all quiet. Well, until the last, when Mom came storming out. I don’t think he told her the truth. My mom would have been completely shell-shocked by that news, and she wasn’t, believe me. She was mad as all get-out on the way home—well, here, because this isn’t really home.”

  Taylor giggled. “Yet anyway.”

  “Yet. You are so right.” Marissa set her red plastic cup carefully on the blanket and lay back on the soft cotton patchwork to stare up at the bottom of the tree house way above her head. Huh. From here, it did look pretty high.

  “You do have a problem, though,” Taylor pointed out. “If they’re blazing-hot mad at each other, how are you ever going to get them to go on a picnic with you—a picnic that you plan on ditching at the last minute? Whenever my mom gets on the outs with my dad—which isn’t often, ya know, but it happens—the last thing she wants is alone time with him before she has a chance to cool off.”

  “I know. I thought about that.” Marissa twisted around and propped on an elbow. “Are there any more cookies left?”

  Taylor poked around in the bag. “Oops. No. Ma’s got more in the kitchen. I think. Unless I ate more than I thought.”

  “You’ve got to have a tapeworm inside you. If I ate like you, I’d weigh a ton.”

  “Cheering.” Taylor licked an errant smudge of chocolate off her upper lip. “I highly recommend it—it melts the pounds off you if you have a coach like ours. Just wait. She runs you. In. The. Ground. Planks and laps and push-ups—boy push-ups, not girl push-ups. When you get on the squad, you’ll be eating your head off, too.”

  “I don’t know, Taylor. I mean, honestly...” Marissa let her doubts get the better of her. “My mom has a teaching contract in our old school, so even if I did get them together before we have to leave for me to get poked and prodded by those new doctors in Indiana, she can’t quit, at least not for this school year.”

  “So?” Taylor slurped up the last of her lemonade. “It’s only, what, three hours away. Maybe your mom will let you start the school year here and she can go teach unti
l, say, she finds a substitute. Teachers do leave in the middle of the year. My art teacher did last year. Of course, she probably had to because of all the practical jokes some of the boys in my class did to her. Man, they were nasty. Dad said they should have been expelled.”

  “My mom would never leave in the middle of the year, not if she signed a contract. She’s like Daniel when it comes to doing what she says, and saying what she means. She won’t go back on a promise, even if it nearly kills her. And you have got to be the most majorly optimistic person in the entire world if you think for a second Mom will let me stay three hours away from her, even with Ma, and she’s nuts about Ma.”

  “But once she knows that Uncle Daniel is, you know, your dad, then it will be okay, right? I mean, my mom has to go out of town sometimes and she doesn’t freak about leaving me with my dad.”

  “Your mom and my mom?” Marissa snorted. “They are two completely different animals.”

  “Then, we’ve got to get her and Uncle Daniel together and so absolutely in love that she can’t bear to be away from him.”

  “Which means...” Marissa blew out a breath. “I have to figure out a way to get her over being so mad at him that she spits every time she says his name.”

  “Spits?”

  “Spits,” Marissa confirmed. “But she wouldn’t get so mad if she didn’t really love him, right? Because, honestly, I’ve never seen anybody push my mom’s buttons like Daniel does—not even my stupid doctors.”

  “Yeah. It’s like that in all the movies. First they hate each other, and then they can’t bear to be apart.”

  Marissa frowned. “You reckon real love is really like that? Like in the movies? Wouldn’t it be easier to skip the hating part?”

  “I think it must be some sort of natural law, like, you know, you always find romance in Paris,” Taylor said in that knowing voice that told Marissa she really didn’t know any more than Marissa did.