Daddy, Unexpectedly Page 5

  “Getting back to you and Sherri...” She poured olive oil into the pan. “Sorry. I don’t have any butter.”

  He’d caught a glimpse of the inside of her fridge and noticed she didn’t have a whole lot of anything. As for him and Sherri, he might as well get that out in the open.

  “She’s the reason I quit drinking, so I’ll always be grateful to her for that. But stuff happened, bad stuff, and there was no getting past it.” With the onions and peppers sliced and ready, he started on the mushrooms.

  Claire poured the egg mixture into the pan. “I’m listening.”

  “We were both drinking,” he said. “A lot. I used to hide the car keys because once she was into a bottle, there was no stopping her. No matter how hammered she was, she’d get behind the wheel, especially if she ran out of booze.”

  Between using a spatula to check the underside of the omelet and adding the vegetables to the pan, Claire gave him an anxious look.

  “God knows, I’m no saint,” he said. “But I got good at juggling the liquor so I was sober when I was on duty. Sherri didn’t work so she didn’t have that to keep her grounded.”

  “Do you think a job would have grounded her?” Claire asked.

  He leaned against the counter, watching her. “I don’t know. Maybe not. Probably not. Anyway, one night she found the keys. Or maybe I forgot to hide them. I’m not sure. She went out, with a blood-alcohol reading that was something like three times the legal limit, and plowed into a tree.”

  Claire looked up at him then, eyes brimming with concern. “Oh, Luke. Was she hurt? Was anyone else?”

  “She was. No one else, though.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but he didn’t know if he should tell her. Aside from that night at the E.R., he’d never talked about the baby. Not with anyone. Not even Sherri.

  “That’s a good thing, at least. Is she okay now?”

  Should he tell her? Did it make sense to tell her? After all this time, here he was. Here. With her. He hadn’t known how much he wanted to be with her until she’d invited him into her bedroom last night. He wanted to spend more time with her. Starting tonight, if he could find a way to make it happen.

  You know what you need to do.

  Step four: Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

  Step five: Admit to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

  Here goes nothing.

  “She wasn’t wearing a seat belt, so she was pretty badly banged up. Concussion, a bunch of stitches. And...”

  Claire sliced through the omelet, slid the two halves onto plates and set them on the counter. “Salt and pepper?” she asked, suddenly very matter-of-fact. Very Claire.

  “Sure.” He took the stool he’d been sitting on earlier.

  She got out cutlery and napkins, took a pair of salt-and-pepper grinders out of a cupboard and sat next to him.

  “This is good,” he said after swallowing a mouthful.

  “Thanks.” She picked up her fork. “So you were telling me about the accident.”

  “When I said no one else was hurt, that wasn’t entirely true. She was pregnant, and she lost the baby.”

  “Oh, my God. Luke, I’m so sorry.” She set her fork on her plate and laid a hand on his arm.

  He couldn’t look at her, not until he finished, because he didn’t want sympathy. He wanted to move forward, maybe with her. For that to happen, she needed to know the truth.

  “I didn’t know about the baby. I don’t know if she did, either.”

  “Really? How far along was she?”

  “Two months, maybe a little more.”

  “And she was drinking all that time?”

  “Yeah, a lot. The doctor never came right out and said it, but I got the impression that the miscarriage was probably for the best.”

  Claire squeezed his arm but stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

  “Then I said some stuff to Sherri, and she played the victim. She was good at that and I’d always let her get away with it, but not that time. She swore she hadn’t been drinking. Just swerved to miss a cat, and then there must’ve been something wrong with the brakes because she couldn’t stop. I called her on it, pointed out that the blood work didn’t lie, but she did. About the drinking, the accident, the baby...everything.”

  “Is that when the two of you broke up, when you decided to stop...?”

  “Not quite.” She didn’t need to know he’d stormed out of the hospital that night, met up with a couple of buddies, got smashed. Two days later he woke up on a friend’s couch with a buzz saw carving up his gut, the taste of bile in his throat, a jackhammer pounding on his skull and absolutely no recollection of how he’d spent the past forty-eight hours. If that wasn’t rock bottom, if it was possible to feel like a bigger piece of shit than he had that morning, he didn’t want to find out.

  “I actually went on a bender for a couple of days, sobered up in time to bring her home from the hospital. I accused her of being careless and irresponsible, trying to trap me into marrying her, forcing me to have a baby I didn’t want.”

  Claire snatched her hand away and picked up her fork again, averting her eyes.

  He hated that she pulled away, mostly because he had no clue what it meant. Had he said too much? Sounded too harsh?

  She refocused on him, this time with intense scrutiny. “But if the circumstances had been different...if the baby had been okay...you’d be a father right now.”

  That was something he hadn’t been able to wrap his head around then, and it didn’t get easier with time. “She knew I didn’t want a family, and I didn’t mean not at that particular time, and I didn’t mean just not with her. I meant not ever. There’s no way I’ll bring another Devlin child into the world and have it grow up the way I did. Sherri knew that.”

  “But you’re not your father, Luke.”

  Nice of her to say, and he’d sure like to believe it. Truth was, he’d spent most of his adult life being like his father. Getting sober had changed that, he hoped, but it was a daily struggle. Only another alcoholic could understand that and there was no point in trying to explain it to Claire, so he let it drop.

  “Sherri and I talked about kids more than once and she always gave the impression we were on the same page. After she lost the baby, I stuck around, tried to work things out, but I knew the only way to fix things was to do it sober. She agreed, but I was the only one who quit drinking. So I joined AA, moved into a place of my own, got a dog and here I am.”

  “It sounds as though you did what you could, and then you did what you had to do,” Claire said.

  Nice that she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Or so it seemed. He wouldn’t know for sure until she agreed to see him again.

  “Speaking of the dog...” He shoveled in the last forkful of omelet, drained his coffee cup. “Rex’ll be going squirrelly. I need to take him out for a run sometime this morning or he’ll unstuff a piece of furniture.”

  Claire slid off her stool and cleared away their plates and empty cups. “Why don’t you go? I can wait for the locksmith. I still have plenty of time before I meet my clients.”

  No way. Rex could knock himself out with the arm of the couch that still had some upholstery on it because Luke was not leaving her alone here until Donald’s key no longer worked the lock.

  “I’ll stay. Marty can be a little intimidating.” Three hundred pounds and a hundred hours at the tattoo parlor tended to have that effect.

  Claire was already dressed for work in tailored navy pants with a matching jacket and crisp white shirt. They had a little time before Marty would get here, and Luke was toying with the idea of unbuttoning the shirt when music started to play.

  Was that... “La Cucaracha”?

  “It’s Donald.” She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket. “After last night, he’s got a lot of nerve.”

  Nerve? The guy was either supremely arrogant or completely stupid. Maybe both, and that was always a dangerous
combination.

  “I’ll let it go to voice mail,” she said.

  “Take it. Otherwise you’re giving him the upper hand.” He’d like to answer it himself, except that would be adding fuel to this guy’s fire, which was already raging out of control. “Act like his showing up here last night never happened.”

  Claire lowered her eyes as she answered. “Good morning, Donald.”

  Luke stopped her when she tried to turn away. He couldn’t hear what the ex was saying, but he’d be able to read it in her expression.

  “I have appointments all day so no, I won’t have a chance to talk to my lawyer. I’ll call her on Monday.” Claire shook her head. “I’m not agreeing to that. The book was a gift and I’m keeping it. Like I said yesterday...”

  He could sense the struggle it took to keep her voice steady and not react. He reached for her free hand, stroked his thumb across her palm, wanting her to know she was doing great.

  “Yes, I’ll call her on Monday morning to set up an appointment, and she’ll let your lawyer know what we’ve decided. Honestly, Donald, it’s just a couple of days and I would appreciate it if you would stop calling.”

  Then she looked at him and he felt her go tense.

  “That is none of your business,” she said.

  He knew what that meant. The son of a bitch was asking if Luke was still here. He hated this was happening to her, hated to think this jerk would now try to use him as a reason to keep stalking her, even though Luke could tell the harassment had been going on for far too long. Maybe even while they were married. Why did she put up with this?

  He was tempted to go down to the lobby and see if he could spot the guy somewhere in front of the building, but this wasn’t the time to leave Claire alone. He had ways of finding out what he needed to know about Donald Robinson, and he wouldn’t waste any time doing it.

  “I have to go. I have appointments and I have to start getting ready.”

  She ended the call, heaved a huge sigh and set her phone on the counter. “I’m so sorry you’re being dragged into this. I don’t know why he’s doing this.”

  Luke knew exactly where the guy was coming from. He’d witnessed enough domestic disputes to know there was likely no getting through to Donald, especially since, after being caught at gunpoint last night, he was already hounding her this morning. This guy was trouble, and Luke didn’t like what his instincts were telling him.

  “Marty should be here anytime, so at least you know Donald can’t get back in. What about your open house this afternoon? Will you be there alone?”

  Her nod was barely discernible.

  “Can you arrange to have someone there with you?” If not, he’d stake out the place himself.

  “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  “Depends on how comfortable you are with him finding out where you are and showing up.”

  “I’m not. I’ll call my business partners and see if one of them will join me.”

  “Good plan.” He picked up her phone and swiped the screen to bring it to life.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Adding my number to your contacts. If you need me for anything, if Donald gives you any grief, I want you to call me.”

  “I’m sure he won’t—”

  “Please promise me you’ll call.”

  “All right. If he calls me, I’ll call you.” She sounded convincing. And then she laughed. “I’ll have to find a ring tone for you, so if you call me I’ll know who it is.”

  “Don’t need one.” He tucked the phone into her jacket pocket, leaned in and caught one soft earlobe between his teeth. “It won’t ring when I call. It’ll vibrate.”

  * * *

  CLAIRE STOOD IN FRONT of the bathroom mirror, brushing her teeth. Luke had just left, she had a new front door key on her ring and this was the first chance she’d had to reflect on the events of the past eighteen hours or so since she’d run into him yesterday afternoon.

  She looked perfectly ordinary. Same wavy brown hair, same dark-rimmed glasses, her favorite suit. No one looking at her would ever guess she’d ridden on a motorcycle, brought a man home to spend the night and had a tattooed guy named Marty change her locks.

  She rinsed her mouth, then rinsed her toothbrush and returned it to its holder.

  “And don’t forget seeing your ex held at gunpoint.”

  Ironic that she and Luke had joked about the movie versions of their lives over dinner last night, and now hers felt every bit like one. But forget Mona Lisa Smile. This felt more Ocean’s Eleven. Or The Pelican Brief.

  She rolled her eyes at her reflection. “Would you listen to yourself? You’re being ridiculous.” This was all simply a bizarre series of coincidences that had led to a bizarre series of incidents. In a few minutes she’d be on her way to the office to meet clients, just as she did every Saturday. Her life was perfectly normal, just the way she liked it.

  And it was about to get even more normal, because sometime between Donald’s intrusion last night and having a tattooed biker change the lock this morning, she had made a decision. It was time to sell the condo, finalize the divorce and move on. If she left for work now, she would get to the office with time to spare. While she waited for her clients to arrive, she could look at real estate listings with her own wish list in mind.

  A character home with three bedrooms, hardwood floors, a white picket fence and the world’s biggest, deepest, claw-foot tub. The fence was optional because Sam had long ago offered to build one if she found the perfect home minus the white pickets.

  Until then, she would keep the Beatrix Potter book in her office. She had already pulled it off the shelf and tucked it in her bag. Donald shouldn’t be able to get back in here now that the lock was changed, but she had to give a new key to the building manager and she wouldn’t put it past Donald to talk the guy into letting him in. She still didn’t know exactly why he wanted in, if he’d been coming here all along or if this was something new, but now that he had a bee in his bonnet about the book, she would keep it locked in her office. The idea of him in here, going through her things, was downright creepy, but so far she hadn’t noticed anything missing and she’d like to keep it that way.

  She drew in a breath, sucking in her tummy as she buttoned her jacket. She breathed out and watched the pull of the fabric reflected in the mirror. She undid the jacket and let it fall open.

  “Why won’t you go away?” she asked the muffin top that was discreetly disguised by the extra layers of fabric. Still...

  She turned sideways, studied herself in profile, ran both hands down the sides of her body. Luke had insisted on leaving a light on last night, insisting he wanted to see what he touched. She slid her hands back up and lightly over her breasts. Beautiful. Not an adjective that had ever come to mind when she looked at herself in the mirror, but that’s what he’d whispered, and he sounded as though he meant it. No, if Luke had noticed her weight, he hadn’t seemed to mind. Even now, the memory of his careful and deliberate exploration of her body had her heating up all over again.

  “Still won’t hurt to lose a few more pounds.” Ordinarily she went down to the gym every morning and spent twenty minutes on the treadmill, not that it ever seemed to make any difference, but she hadn’t wanted to abandon Luke. Besides, she figured the workout he’d given her last night, and again this morning, should have burned at least as many calories as her usual morning routine in the gym, which was one of the building’s many amenities. She would miss that when she moved out.

  “Who are you kidding?” She hated working out, but she did it anyway. When she no longer lived here, she would join a gym, maybe the one Sam belonged to, or at least buy a treadmill and set it up in one of the empty bedrooms. Otherwise she would turn into a blob.

  She washed her hands, towelled them dry and opened a drawer in the vanity where she kept a tube of hand lotion.

  She squeezed a small amount of rose-scented lotion into her palm, capped the tube an
d rubbed her hands together.

  Luke had suggested dinner again tonight, said he’d call this afternoon. She got a little warmer, remembering his playful remark about making her phone vibrate. If he did call, that wouldn’t be the only thing humming.

  She was about to slide the drawer shut after dropping the tube inside when the plastic birth control dispenser caught her attention. She plucked it out, hating the way her chest went tight.

  Had she missed a dose? Yes. Last night, for sure. And maybe the night before that? She closed her eyes and drew a couple of long, steadying breaths before she let herself look.

  Oh. God.

  She tossed the plastic disk into the drawer and slammed it shut. She hadn’t taken one in nearly a week.

  Chapter Five

  Claire sat on the edge of the bathtub and let her face fall into her hands. This could not be happening. Luke had asked her about birth control last night, and she had assured him that she had it covered. At the time she’d been tumbling down the deliciously slippery slope of Luke-induced preorgasmic ecstasy when he’d asked the question. She remembered gasping yes because she was all but brainless and no other answer would have worked. And then he’d been inside her and sealed the deal on that orgasm.

  But now, what if...?

  She’d wanted a baby since she and Donald were first married, but she’d never missed a pill because he had wanted to wait. Now that she was single, she’d thought about stopping birth control altogether. Why bother if it wasn’t necessary? But to let herself be so careless last night. How could she have let that happen?

  Over breakfast Luke had shared his deep and lingering resentment over being lied to and tricked into parenthood, and at the same time he’d made his feelings known to Claire, too.

  She knew I didn’t want a family, and I didn’t mean not at that particular time, and I didn’t just mean not with her. I meant not ever. There’s no way I’ll bring another Devlin child into the world and have it grow up the way I did.

  It hadn’t been his only reason for breaking things off with Sherri, but it had been one of them. Would Claire be able to convince him that she hadn’t lied? That she’d just made a mistake? And if she couldn’t make him believe her, could she live with his anger and mistrust, no matter how well justified they were?