by Mary Brady
“Hey, Brianna, how would you like to go see how many minutes are on the pizza timer? The timer is on the table, so don’t go near the stove.”
“Pizza. Yippee. I’m starving.” She scrambled from her mother’s lap and danced away as a six-year-old should.
Christina studied her sister and Delainey puffed out a breath. “Thanks for the save. Is it much paint?”
Christina sat down on the floor beside Delainey.
“A touch bit more than a touch but less than a swath. So Hunter is back on the menu?”
Delainey hunched up her shoulders and let them drop. “No. Yes. No. He was very briefly, but I was just—I guess—consoling him.”
“Looks as though he should come back and console you. How was it?”
Delainey glared at her sister for the impertinence and then grinned. “Glorious.”
“But?”
“But, you know, the usual. Nothing has changed.”
Voices called from the entryway, “We’re here, dears.”
“Gramma! Grampa!”
“By the way, Mom’s bringing dessert,” Christina informed her. “Said she won’t paint and she won’t eat cardboard pizza, but she wasn’t against a brownie or two under the right circumstances.”
Delainey started to get up, but Christina tugged her back to the floor. “We ain’t done here, honeypie. The grands and the kid will occupy each other, and Dad will take the pizza out and cut it into sixteen pieces, looking all innocent so he can sneak a piece before Mom can stop him.”
“They will and he will.”
“So what was this past week like? How were you able to work with Hunter and not use your desk or his for illicit matters?”
Christina, the sly devil, was digging for the facts. About the desk—how did she know?
“No.” Her sister punched her on the arm. “Not the desk. I am so jealous. With all my time spent in offices, I’ve never gotten that kind of desk job. Yours or his? Why are you complaining about such a bad week.”
“His and it wasn’t this week and it was before ‘glorious’ and I chickened out.”
Christina leaned against her. “Then I’m so glad you got glorious. A girl needs glorious now and then.”
“I got through the week because I had to work on those contracts for you. They kept me busy.”
“And?”
“You’re a very pushy sister. And there is a little boy whose life I’m following closely because he might be in danger from his uncle. He came to school all week and seems safe so far. And Hunter and Shamus spent much of the time in meetings out of the office with some of the business moguls in the area. And Thursday they went to court. And when he was in the office, he was friendly and polite.”
“Polite. I hate polite. It’s like being told you have a nice personality.”
“How am I going to do a year of polite?”
“Really? Do you think he can shut you out for that long?”
“Even if he doesn’t, where does that get us? He’s got a big corporate law practice to get back to. He’ll have to work harder than ever now to make partner. She really did a number on his life and career.”
“Maybe he should take a look at small-town law.”
“His family and his family’s roots are in the Midwest.”
“Well, why did the Morrison and Morrison guys come all the way back east to establish a law practice in this tiny little spot of a town?”
“Maybe they heard we had pirate’s treasure out here and didn’t want to miss out.”
“Weren’t they disappointed?”
“There was a different kind of treasure in Maine for them. Twins. Their wives were twin sisters who lived right here in Bailey’s Cove. They traveled to Chicago with their father on business one summer and love ensued times four. I guess it was quite a wedding and send-off.”
“Wow, they got two Morrisons to move to Maine and stay.”
Delainey gave a small, mirthless laugh. “I wish I knew their secrets.”
“Well, I’m depressed now.” Christina sighed and pushed up from the floor. But Delainey tugged her back down. “Like you said, honeypie, we ain’t done here. Have you heard from Sammy?”
“He called and I didn’t want to talk to him, but I did. He’s not coming back, ever, and I’m not going after him.”
“I’m sorry, Christina.”
“Me too. I had hoped I would love him enough for it to matter. Wanna compare notes on which is worse—love them too much or not enough?”
“Christina, there’s something else.” Delainey couldn’t help the grave tone in her voice.
Christina turned and looked at her.
“I keep wondering if I made a mistake about Brianna.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean about her father. I might be totally out of my head, but what if I’m wrong? What if the doctor was wrong? What if Hunter is really Brianna’s father?”
“How is that possible? She’s so dark. I never got to meet Mr. Revenge Sex, but you always talked about how dark his hair was and how dark his eyes were. Like Brianna. You even searched hard for Mr. Whosit.”
“Micky. His name was Micky Johnson. Or that’s the name he gave me.” She shifted to draw her knees up and leaned her chin on them. “But her eyes are darker than Micky’s, much darker. There are portraits at the office of Hunter’s ancestral grandfather and uncle. His grandfather is light and blond but the uncle has dark penetrating eyes.”
“Like Brianna’s. Means almost nothing. We probably have a relative or two in our tree with dark eyes and dark hair.” Christina took a deep breath and shouted, “Mom!”
“Yes, dear.” Helen Talbot’s answer came from the doorway directly behind them.
“Sheesh, Mom, you scared me half to death,” Christina complained with her hand to her chest.
“And you bellowed for me, dear.”
“Sorry, Delainey made me do it.”
Delainey rolled her eyes and then hopped up to clear off the chair with an old towel so their mother could sit. “So, Mom, how much of that did you hear?”
“Well, I definitely didn’t hear anything about revenge sex, but I did hear about the dark-eyed photo in the office.”
“They’re painted portraits, Mom.”
“Fine, but I’d say Christina is right about it meaning almost nothing. The doctor was quite sure Brianna was premature, and as much as I’d like to know my grandchild’s father, I’d have to side with the doctor.”
“So do we have any relatives with Brianna’s coloring?” Christina asked as she stood.
“There might be a couple generations up, but don’t put too much stock in that, either. I have old pictures. I can look through them.”
“I keep thinking about the low probabilities and yet I keep coming up with only one question. What if I’m wrong about Brianna’s father?”
Helen looked from one of them to the other. “You have to put your uncertainty to rest for your daughter’s sake. Her life is hard enough. If you believe Hunter has a chance of being her father, then you need to find out one way or the other. These, of course, are just my opinions, but uncertainty will eat at you.”
“I know you’re right, but...” She looked at her mother, and knowing her mother had no answer for the question, she asked it anyway. “What if he wants to take Brianna away from me, even if it’s only for a few weeks out of the year?”
“What makes you so sure he won’t come here to live? Did you ask him?”
She reiterated what she and Christina had just discussed and her mother shook her head.
“Seems as if he doesn’t want to be trapped anywhere by anybody right now,” Delainey said as she tried to push down the pain rising in her chest. “He’s injured by what happened to him.”
“Maybe that will pass,” her mother persisted.
“Maybe, but, Mom, I have to be concerned with Brianna. Thanks to you and Dad, I have been—”
Christina cleared her throat.
“You and dad and Christina, I’ve been able to make her life as peaceful and happy as possible.”
“You’ve done a great job, honey. And I intend to keep doing my part.”
“But you need to have that surgery your doctor recommended.”
Helen waved a hand dismissively. “Eventually.”
“Sooner rather than later, Mom,” Christina said, and Delainey nodded her agreement.
“Not while I’m needed.”
“You will always be needed. Always, and we’ll all be there to help you. You shouldn’t be worried about the rest of us.”
“Not worry—okay, I’ve got it. Meanwhile, you had better get to the kitchen before your father eats all the pizza and the brownies.”
“You two go. I’m going to remove a little paint from my hair.” Delainey smiled while she felt like collapsing on the floor in a tantrum. Instead she went to the bathroom to see to her hair.
If she had a tantrum, it would be her first, but it seemed warranted. Hunter should stay. Brianna should be his daughter and Delainey should have known it from the beginning. There never should have been revenge sex. There should have been desk sex. She should have been an attorney for years by now. Her sister should have a good man in her life. Their mother should be totally healthy and their father shouldn’t go against his doctor’s wishes and eat too much pizza. And for good measure, somebody should find the treasure of the pirate Liam Bailey.
As she searched for more paint in her hair, she looked at herself in the mirror. Who are you and why did you mess up Delainey’s chances at happily ever after so badly? She dropped her hands to rest her palms on the mirror. If she did nothing else, she had to find out if Brianna was Hunter’s and if she was, she had to prepare herself to share.
The pain doubled her over.
* * *
HUNTER RECLINED ON the floor in front of the fire. He had taken all the couch cushions and propped himself up. A neat scotch sat on one side of the pillow stack and his laptop sat balanced on his thighs.
The week had been arduous and not because the work was hard. Seeing Delainey almost every day had made him begin to wonder if he was out of his mind for thinking he could last another month, let alone a year.
He had called the Chicago office and his boss had told him he was glad the woman had been caught, but the damage to his image had been extensive and would take time to repair. He could come back in a couple months, but he’d have to keep his head low. Maybe he’d be back on lead when some of the most important current cases got resolved.
He poked at his laptop and pulled up a long inventory of friends he could poll to see who could use a few years’ work. Someone who could take over for him but not keep the job so Delainey didn’t have one when she got out of school.
He started calling people and by nine o’clock Maine time, he already had a candidate who hadn’t given him a definite no. Jobs were harder to get for lawyers than they had been in the past. Three years of experience could launch many a stalled career even if the time was spent in a small town in Maine.
He drained his scotch and got up to pour more. Shamus had given him a bottle of single-barrel single-malt scotch whiskey aged fifteen years as a housewarming gift. “Don’t want you succumbing to one of the cold Maine nights,” he had said.
When he returned to his pillow pile with the second glass, his phone rang. He snatched it up from the floor. He had left several messages tonight and the more candidates he had, the more chance he had of finding someone who might fit this particular situation in Bailey’s Cove.
The phone call wasn’t about the job. Delainey’s number appeared on the screen.
It wasn’t going to do either of them any good to spend too much time together. He wasn’t sure this call was even a good idea, but he couldn’t toss away their years of friendship to make his life easier. “Hello, Delainey.”
“Hunter, I need to speak with you.”
Her words were formal, but her voice was soft and hesitating. Something was bothering her. Something she was afraid of. She used to call these things the monsters under her bed.
“Whatever you need,” he said. “When?”
“Now.”
He looked at the untouched second glass of scotch. “I can meet you anywhere in about twenty minutes.”
“I’m outside in your parking lot.”
“I’ll be right down.”
He tossed the cushions back on the couch, dropped the decorative pillows in the corners and placed the glass of scotch on the nearest end table. Then he closed his laptop and set it on the dining room table with the tablet of paper tucked underneath.
By the time he made it downstairs to let her in, she was waiting outside the door looking drawn and troubled. This monster must be a big one.
“Thanks, Hunter, for seeing me,” she said to him after they were in his condo and he’d led her over to the fire.
He took ahold of her arm and turned her to face him. “I am still your friend. Whatever this is, I am still your friend.”
“I do hope so.”
He took her coat and hung it on the back of one of the dining table chairs and poured her a finger of the scotch.
She placed the glass on the table at the far end of the couch. He sat near his scotch and forced himself to relax. She was going to tell him what she’d come for in her own good time.
She sniffed the scotch and took a sip of the dark amber beverage. Her face scrunched up as she swallowed. “Great stuff.”
He laughed. “Have you ever had scotch neat before?”
“If neat means stripped of anything that might make it so it doesn’t make my toes curl, like ice cubes, soda, water or even a skewer full of olives, then no.”
He held his glass up so he could see the fire through it. “It was put in the barrel around the time I moved to Bailey’s Cove the first time.”
“Wow.” She held her glass up. “It’s like it holds our whole history.”
“So very maudlin, my dear friend,” he said in a very sober voice.
She looked at him and they both laughed.
“What have we done with our lives, Delainey?”
She took another sip of her scotch and tried for deadpan this time; instead she shuddered. “Really great.”
“You’re pathetic,” he teased.
“Well, you’re...cute,” she shot back at him in the spirit of an insulted thirteen-year-old.
“Is that the best you’ve got?”
“I’ve already told you how I felt about you in sixth grade, so anything I say from now on is designed to try to get into that coconut head of yours and get you to see the world as it is.”
“Coconut head, wow, I haven’t heard that one for ten years.”
“Tell me one thing....” She sat up suddenly and looked around. “I’m so sorry. I never even asked. Were you in the middle of something? Am I interrupting? I...um...”
“Roxie, you can come out now,” he called in the direction of the bedroom.
“Oh, my God. I’m—”
“Relax, gnat brain. I’ve got the rest of the night and all day tomorrow. I’m all yours.”
“Roxie, you’d better get out now,” she called, but then scrunched up her face without drinking scotch this time, as if she was considering the seriousness of his offer.
He wasn’t sure what he was offering.
“Okay, let’s just go with chatting for now.” She took the pillow from behind her back and held it against her chest. “I can get to the point, but I’m scared, so if we can just act silly for a while until I get m
y courage back up. In the car on the way over here, I was so brave. I ruled the realm. Now I’m not sure.”
“So you’re afraid of me?”
She took a big sip and threw her shoulders back. “Of you? You puny water boy. I have never been afraid of you.”
She held his gaze with her warm gray one. Her words reassured him. He would have been certain that was true the day they graduated college, but since then he was unsure of how much damage he had caused.
“So why did you never try to seduce me in high school or all those summers during college?”
“You were the most innocent. And I did not want to end up ruining our friendship by taking advantage of you.”
“And after college?”
“After college I thought we were old enough, mature enough. And you were so damned hot.”
“But you might have been wrong.”
“Not about the hot part and maybe not about the mature stuff. We’re friends again. I like to think that’s all that counts.”
They talked of the years they’d spent in school in Bailey’s Cove and of the summers there after college. They’d sailed, fished and laid their smooth, perfect bodies out in the sun for color, sneaked into the forbidden caves at Little Cove Park, cooked marshmallows until they were black on the outside and kind of a creamy goo on the inside, and watched the sunrise more than once from a blanket on the ground or sitting on the rocky shoreline.
It was all like a storybook tale, bound to end when the pages ran out.
She took a big breath and a large swallow of scotch, draining the glass without shuddering at all. “Hunter, I might have made a mistake.”
“I assume you’re not talking about your average run-of-the-mill mistake.”
She snorted. “It could be a huge one with vastly unfair consequences.”
“You’re here, so either I’m involved or you’re looking for my advice.”
Her long blond hair fell forward over her shoulder as she studied him. She wore a dark gray sweater that showed the swell of her perfect breasts. She sat with her jeans-clad legs curled up under her. Her cheeks were rosy, either from being out in the wind or from the scotch.
