The Fourth Child

by C. J. Carmichael

  Claire's mouth went slack. Now she was the one who couldn't find words. Did Kirk realize what he was implying?

  "Come on, Kirk." There was a cautious note behind Grady's good-humored tone. "What's gotten into you?"

  As Grady stepped out from behind the kitchen counter, Claire moved forward quickly. She had a feeling she'd better keep these two apart. She turned to Kirk, hoping he'd realize how ridiculously he was behaving.

  "Grady's a good friend. He and his sons are welcome here anytime. Right?"

  She looked at Kirk, waiting for him to confirm the invitation. Whatever weirdness had gotten into him today, he needed to get it under control. And quick.

  But she wasn't encouraged by the sardonic expression that glimmered in his eyes as he spoke. "Oh, sure, Claire. Grady's so good with kids, so handy with repairs. I see why you'd want to have him around. Maybe even more than your husband."

  "What?" She'd never heard Kirk talk this way before. It was crazy, and embarrassing… She eyed Grady, shaking her head apologetically.

  "I don't know what's up, Kirk," he said. "You know I think the world of Claire, but you can't seriously believe there's anything going on…"

  "Oh?" Kirk stepped sideways, blocking Grady's path. "Can't I?"

  "Hell." Grady glanced back at Claire, who was too overwhelmed to speak, then swore again, more softly. "Maybe things'd be a lot clearer if I made a little confession."

  Kirk's chin rose a notch. "That sounds like a good idea."

  "I am in love, Kirk. So much that I can hardly think straight. And I sure as hell can't sleep at night. But I'm not in love with Claire. It's Terese."

  For the first time, hesitation sparked in Kirk's eyes, and Grady pushed his advantage.

  "Couldn't you tell how I felt about her last weekend? It was pretty obvious."

  Kirk regarded the two of them, measuring, calculating. After a moment, the hard set of his mouth eased and he backed away from the door.

  "Yeah. I noticed." He met Grady's gaze. "I guess I was out of line."

  "That's okay. You've been under pressure. Believe me, I understand." Grady patted Kirk on the shoulder as he headed for the door. Before leaving, he looked back at Claire.

  “Thanks for the beer.''

  Claire was so embarrassed she could hardly meet his eyes. "Thanks f-for the faucet…"

  When the door had closed, Claire turned to her husband, her embarrassment flaring into anger. Grady was a good guy; he probably wouldn't hold this against Kirk. But she wasn't as forgiving. Her hands tightened into fists, and she took a deep breath, hardly knowing where to start.

  "That was insane, Kirk."

  To her great consternation, Kirk didn't look the slightest bit abashed. He threw his overnight bag on the couch, then faced her, hands on his hips, feet planted shoulder-width apart.

  "Was it?" he said, his tone as hard as the expression on his face.

  Claire had never felt frightened of her husband before. Now, for the first time, she did, and the emotion had a bitter, ugly tang. "Why would you think Grady and I—"

  "Why?" The word blasted from Kirk's mouth. "Have you ever asked yourself how you feel about Grady? How you really feel. 'Cause from where I stand you practically worship the guy. If you had half the admiration for me that you have for him…"

  Kirk strode to the fireplace, where he picked up the poker and slashed at the cold ashes. "Grady's such a wonderful father, such a model husband. Always home for dinner, always there to help with the kids. Isn't that what you really want, Claire? Isn't it true that I've been a big disappointment to you?"

  She was blown away by the ruthlessness of his conclusion. "That's not a fair comparison."

  "Maybe not." Kirk withdrew the poker, allowed it to hang by his side. "But you're the one who's always making it. Why did you marry me in the first place? You knew I was ambitious. You knew what I wanted."

  Yes, she'd known, and admired him for it.

  "I was second choice, wasn't I? You really wanted Grady, but he was already married to Bess. Isn't that a fact, Claire?"

  "This is ridiculous." Claire wanted to put her hands over her ears. "If you think you can deflect attention from your affair by pointing a finger at me…"

  She whirled around and headed for the bedroom, but paused at the end of the hall. "I have never been unfaithful to you."

  "Is that right?" Kirk threw down the poker, and Claire winced as it thudded on the pine floor. "Maybe not in deed," he said.

  Anger buzzed in Claire's head. She couldn't think anymore she was so furious. "Don't try to twist this on me. You're the one who had an affair. You're the one who broke our wedding vows. You fell in love with her."

  "And aren't you still in love with Grady? Even just a little?"

  "No." She turned her back. He couldn't talk to her this way. She didn't deserve—

  "I admit what I did was wrong," Kirk said, his voice quieter, but somehow colder for it. "But at least I've made an effort to be honest. Maybe it's time you did the same."

  Kirk was wrong, wrong, wrong! She wasn't in love with Grady. Sure, she had a soft spot for him.

  Wasn't that normal? Didn't most women feel that way about their first love?

  Claire paced the length of her bedroom, pausing to punch some air in her pillows, before pacing some more. Ten minutes later she heard a tentative knock.

  "Leave your mother alone. She's resting." Kirk's voice growled from somewhere in the main living area of the cottage. Whoever was at the door retreated.

  After half an hour, Claire was beginning to feel like a caged animal. But she couldn't go out; she was too afraid of starting a scene in front of their daughters. Eventually, she heard some sounds in the kitchen, then the smell of cooking. Eggs, maybe? And something else…

  There was a second knock on her door. Claire opened it and found Andie with a tray of food: creamed eggs on waffles; a cup of tea, with a sliced lemon on me saucer.

  "You'd better eat this," Andie ordered. "Dad went to a lot of trouble for you."

  Claire couldn't meet her daughter's eyes. "Thank you, Andie."

  After the door closed, Claire sat on the edge of her bed with the tray on her knees. Her gut was still burning with anger and pain; eating seemed impossible. Yet she didn't dare return the tray with the food untouched.

  The first bite was a struggle, but the meal went down more easily than she would have thought This baby wanted to be fed, she decided, regardless of the state of its mother's mental health. Claire shook off the thought of those damn blood tests. Her baby was normal. She just knew it.

  The tea was soothing against the rawness of her throat. Claire cupped the mug with both hands and tried to focus on pleasant, calming things. She imagined she was floating on the lake, rising and falling with the gentle swell of the waves. Soon, her trembling stopped and her anxiety eased. By the time she'd finished the tea, a measure of equanimity had returned. She crawled under the covers and sleep came quickly.

  When she awoke, it was morning. The room was hot, the air still, and her head felt like a stone. She glanced around, noticed the tray from last night had been removed, then closed her eyes to rest for another minute—and fell back asleep. About an hour later she woke again, this time with her head feeling a little lighter.

  She pulled on maternity shorts and a new hand-painted T-shirt from Mallory's shop. When she opened the bedroom door it was to a quiet, deserted house. A note was propped up against the faucet.

  The non-dripping faucet.

  Claire, we've gone waterskiing with the Hogans. Andie wants to try dropping a ski again. Don't worry about dinner. I'll make it when I get home.

  Kirk

  Claire stared at her husband's signature, then reread the note. There was certainly no sign of any regret in those brief sentences for the previous day's argument. But he was going out on the boat with Grady. That meant he must have called and apologized for yesterday's scene. She intended to add her own apology in short order.

  However, ther
e was someone else she needed to see first.

  Claire baked a double batch of her family's favorite cookies, then had two, plus some fruit salad and a glass of milk, for breakfast. When she was finished and the kitchen tidy once more, she packaged up the cookies, men grabbed the keys to the van.

  So much had gone haywire this summer it seemed an impossible task to sort everything out. But if her marriage to Kirk was going down the drain, she wasn't about to pull any other happy relationships along with it.

  Driving down the tree-lined lane, she thought of the desperate sincerity in Grady's voice when he'd said / love Terese.

  She'd been such a bloody fool about that relationship. This was no transitional affair, and Grady wasn't simply acting the part of hero to the rescue. He truly cared about the petite woman, and Claire was certain that Terese loved him equally in return.

  In twelve minutes she was in Port Carling and parked out front of the Conroys' pretty Victorian-style house. Terese and Lisa were still living in the basement apartment; she hoped she'd find them at home.

  The midmorning sun was warm on her back and her head as Claire walked along the stone steps that led to the backyard. Woolly thyme grew wild in the dirt spaces between the stones, and with each step she released some of the familiar scent into the air.

  She found Terese sitting on the deck, sketching something in the grass by her feet. One of the straps from her baggy overalls had fallen off her shoulder, and her bangs were clipped back from her face, revealing a smooth, slightly rounded forehead.

  Terese's concentration was so intense Claire hesitated to intrude. Then abruptly Terese looked up, one dark eyebrow rising in a dramatic arch. "Hello, Claire."

  Claire stepped closer, then bent to examine the fragile blue, bell-shaped wildflower that Terese was replicating on paper. "I didn't mean to interrupt. Where's Lisa?"

  "Playing at a friend's." Terese added a line to her drawing, then snapped the pad closed. "I'm glad you stopped by. I needed a break. Why don't you sit down." She indicated a second chair, which shared the shade of an old maple. "Could I offer you a cool drink?"

  Claire relaxed deep into the seat and let out a sigh. "That would be nice."

  Terese disappeared inside and came out with two glasses of lemonade. Claire had a long swallow of the refreshingly cold beverage and smiled her thanks. "Kirk's taken the girls out for the day. I feel a little at loose ends."

  "Still, it's nice to have a break, isn't it? Much 'as I adore Lisa, the constant stream of conversation gets to me sometimes. Especially when I'm trying to draw or paint."

  "It's the age," Claire assured her. "Five-year-olds will recount their life story to a parking attendant if he stands still long enough. It's a cute stage, really. Just wait until she turns ten and won't tell you what she's thinking anymore."

  Andie. That accusing look from yesterday was fresh in her memory, and still had the power to wound. For some reason Andie seemed to blame her because Kirk wasn't around as much as Andie would like. If you were nicer to him… Her daughter's words came back to Claire, along with Kirk's accusation of the previous day: Aren't you still in love with Grady?

  "It's good to be reminded how quickly they grow up. I can't believe Lisa starts school full-time this September."

  "And Jenna next year."

  "Isn't letting go hard?" Terese said. She settled her head against the back of the chair and stared up into the canopy of maple leaves. "Just think how Grady must feel with the twins about to start their last year of high school."

  "Speaking of Grady…" Claire leaned forward in her chair. This was, after all, why she had come. "Have you seen him lately?"

  Terese sighed. "Not since lunch at your place the long weekend."

  A light breeze carried perfume from Pat Conroy's rose garden. Claire heard the leaves whisper around her. "Maybe you should. See him, I mean."

  Terese's eyes opened wide. "When we talked the other day, I got the distinct impression you agreed with me that it wasn't a good idea to drag him and his boys into my—my situation."

  Claire shook her head. "That was so wrong of me. I was just being—oh, I don't know. Overprotective? I've always had a soft spot for Grady, and I want him to be happy."

  "Me, too," Terese said quietly.

  "Being with you makes him happy, Terese."

  The petite woman smiled uncertainly. "But my ex-husband—"

  "How long since you left him?"

  "Almost three years."

  "Then isn't it time he stopped controlling your life? You deserve happiness, Terese. So does Grady." And what if Ed turned out to be one of those psychos who showed up one night with a hatchet and an intent to kill?

  Okay, not a likely scenario. But the fact that the man was Lisa's father meant he would always be a part of Terese's life. And everyone agreed he had the potential for violence. Yet that was hardly Terese's fault. Besides, Grady loved Terese.

  "I just don't know what Ed is capable of," Terese said. "That's what really scares me."

  "Understandably. But you can't let him block the happiness you so obviously find with Grady."

  Terese ran her hands through her thick dark hair, her expression an agony of indecision. "Don't you think that would be selfish of me? Putting my own happiness above the safety of Grady and his boys?"

  For Claire to admit what she knew was true was hard. "Grady and the boys can look after themselves."

  Terese laughed without humor. "That's what Grady says."

  "Then believe him." Claire leaned forward to touch the little wildflower poking up from the grass. "And love him. That's what I'd do."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Drew's explorer, as well as Kirk's sedan, were parked outside Grady's home. Claire wasn't surprised. Mallory worked at her boutique on Saturdays, so it made sense that Drew would bring Angel to hang out at Grady's.

  No point in knocking at the front door; they wouldn't be inside on a great day like this. She picked up the box of cookies from the floor of the van, then headed around the house to the gray deck that connected house to boathouse. A thirty-foot pier ran perpendicular to the deck, branching out into a T at the end. That was where she saw Grady, his attention on the lake.

  Boards creaked and Claire's thongs snapped against the wood as she walked out to meet him. He was sitting on a deck chair, his wet hair plastered against his head, droplets of water still clinging to his powerful back and shoulders. Tumbled at his feet was a collection of beach towels, two bottles of sunscreen and a single water ski.

  He twisted around when he heard her approach and raised a hand in friendly salute. "Claire. Perfect timing. Daisy's skiing right now, and when she's done, Andie's going to try dropping her ski."

  Claire's gaze shot out to the water. She could just make out the red-and-white of Grady's motor-boat and the small dot that was her daughter, being pulled behind. "Who's driving?"

  "Drew. Kirk's in the boat, too, along with all the kids."

  At the mention of her husband's name, her eyes caught Grady's and held them for a few moments. "About last night—"

  Grady shook his head. "Don't say a word. We men have sorted everything out."

  "Are you sure? I can't tell you how mortified I feel… I still can't believe he said those things."

  "You've got to cut the guy some slack. He's been under a lot of pressure." Grady's usually good-humored face set into bleak lines. "It's a scary thing for a man to face the prospect of his family breaking up. Believe me, I know." "Still. It was kind of ridiculous.'' "Ridiculous?" Grady's eyebrows rose. "Kirk knows you and I have a history. I could see how a man might be threatened by our friendship."

  Claire sat in the chair next to him, feeling the dock sway under her. The boat was out of sight now and she focused on the man beside her. "Yes, but our history lies almost twenty years in the past. We were just kids."

  Yet even as she spoke the words, her mind was telling her a different story. Come on, Claire. Maybe your feelings for Grady aren't truly in the past. />
  She shut her mouth and looked out to the water. What were her feelings for the man beside her? If she was going to be honest with Kirk, she needed to start by being truthful with herself.

  The memory of her last counseling session loomed, in particular the moment Riva had asked about Claire and Kirk's marriage in the years before Janice.

  She'd admitted to Riva that even then there had been problems, and right after admitting that she'd thought of Grady, although she hadn't said anything. What did that indicate about her commitment to Kirk and to their marriage? She couldn't blame Kirk for accusing her of comparing him with Grady and finding him short of the mark, when it was true. And not just since the affair with Janice, but years before.

  Beginning, she acknowledged, when the demands of family life had started to impinge on Kirk's career. That was when she'd begun to suffer the occasional stab of doubt. Had she married the right man?

  "Yeah, it's been a lot of years," Grady conceded. "But you have to know the way the male mind operates. This is going to sound arrogant, but a man likes to feel that as far as his woman is concerned, he's the one and only."

  "An interesting point. How do you think women want to feel? That they're one out of five?"

  Grady laughed. "Hell, Claire, you don't give an inch, do you? The point I'm trying to make is that the male ego is fragile. And believe me, after my divorce, I know of what I speak."

  "Oh, Grady." She reached out to touch his arm. "You are such a great guy."

  "I appreciate the sentiment. But your husband needs to hear those words from you." Claire sat back in her chair, stung. "Hey. I didn't intend to sound ungracious. Your friendship means a lot to me, Claire. And it's exactly why I'm being so blunt. Whatever problems you two are facing right now, sort them out. You and Kirk don't want to end up like me and Bess. And there's no reason you should. You guys are great together, and you've manufactured three super kids." He glanced at her belly.

  She knew what he was thinking. Soon to be four. Protectively, she wrapped her arms around her middle. She'd started feeling the baby's movements a couple of weeks ago. And those first flutters had awoken her maternal instincts with a vengeance.