Delivered with Love (25 page)

M
ichael's heart pounded. A light sweat crested his upper lip. He closed the photo album and placed it on top of the others. From his place on the couch, he could see the marble entryway. Any minute now Sandy would walk into the house. Was he ready? Was a man ever prepared to tell his wife that he had a one-night stand that had produced a daughter? He'd never be ready, but he had to tell Sandy the truth. He loved her and he owed it to her. The door swung open. "Julia?" He stood.

"Hey, Dad." She came up beside him and kissed his cheek.

"Where's Mom?"

Julia set her handbag on the coffee table and slipped out of her coat. "I'm worried about her. She didn't seem at all like herself tonight."

He took her coat and hung it in the closet.

"Dad, she threw me a surprise bridal shower, and she looked like she didn't want to be there." Julia threw up her hands. "Doesn't she want me to marry David?"

Guilt gnawed at Michael's insides. "Of course she wants you to marry David." He reached for his daughter. "Come here."

She went to him.

He hugged her tight. "Did
you
have fun tonight?"

Julia pulled back. A smile spread across her face. "I was definitely surprised. Most of my high school girlfriends were there—Emily even showed up, late, of course. We played a game where I was wrapped in toilet paper. It was supposed to look like a wedding gown."

Just hearing the name Emily threw Michael for a loop. He walked to the kitchen for a drink of water. His mouth was parched. He tried to listen to Julia describe the party, but he was concerned about his wife. Where was she?

". . . and Mom's friend Debbie gave me a certificate to a spa. I told her I'd go before the wedding. Anything to help me relax before my big day." Julia had followed him to the kitchen. "Dad, are you listening?"

"Something to drink?" Michael offered.

"Do you know where Mom is? I was hoping we could talk. Something's definitely bugging her." Julia reached into the refrigerator and pulled out the milk and chocolate syrup.

"That won't keep you up?" Michael handed her a glass and a spoon.

"I'm so wired from the party right now, I don't think I could sleep. Besides, David wants me to call and tell him all about the shower. I already blew it with sugar today. What's another dose of chocolate?"

"Did Mom drive her car to your house?" Michael took another glass out of the cabinet.

"Wait a minute. No, she didn't. I think she might have come with Debbie. Mom didn't want me to recognize her car." Julia squeezed the chocolate sauce into both glasses.

Michael poured the milk. "You didn't see her leave?"

"Emily wanted me to take a drive around the block in her new Porsche. Mom told me to go ahead. Said she'd finish cleaning. I didn't think I'd be gone long. When I got back, Mom had left."

It didn't sound like Sandy. She wouldn't leave Julia without saying goodbye. Michael picked up a spoon and stirred the milk. The liquid darkened like his life—once white and pure, now heavy and dark. Didn't the Bible say he'd be white as snow when he was forgiven? Michael clung to that thought as he downed his chocolate milk. How would he be able to tell Sandy about Claire? It might put her over the edge. He waited until Julia finished.

"Why don't you go home, honey?" Michael laid a hand on her shoulder. "I'll go look for your mom. I think I might know where she is."

"You're sure she's not upset with me?" Julia grabbed her coat and purse.

"I'm positive." He followed her to the front door. "Hey, do you have time for a date with your old man before the wedding? Just you and me."

According to
his
mother, it would be better if Michael told Julia about Claire before the wedding. He still had his doubts. He wanted Julia to look at him as she always had—as her hero.

"Are you sure you can spare the change?" Julia teased. "You've been rather stressed out lately."

"Just trying to keep up with David's family. It's hard to compete." Michael held the door open.

"You don't have to compete. They're not that kind of people." She gave him a quick hug. "I'd love to go out with you before the wedding." A sly grin crept on her face. "Wait until I tell David I was asked out on a date. I'll let him sweat before I tell him it's my father." She chuckled.

"You take after your grandmother—full of energy. I hope David's ready for you." Michael flipped on the porch light.

"I'll take that as a compliment. I hope I'm exactly like Grandma when I'm in my eighties. I'm relieved she'll be at the wedding. What a close call. I'm grateful for Claire. See you later. Love you."

Michael watched his daughter get into her car. He wished his relationship with Julia could always be this way—lighthearted and comfortable. Why did she have to know Claire was his daughter—her half-sister? He knew the answer. Because he was done with lying and living for himself. Julia started her engine and pulled away.
Please don't drive out of my life.

The headlights of Michael's BMW shone bright on the back end of Sandy's Lexus. He knew he'd find her parked on State Park Drive overlooking the beach and the city lights of Santa Cruz. It was her favorite place when she needed time to think. Michael's too. He'd asked Sandy to marry him on the beach below. When he pulled up next to her car, Sandy was looking straight ahead, seemingly unaware of his presence.
Dear God, what have I done to her?
He prayed, then put the car in reverse and parked his car behind hers.

Michael slid out of the driver's seat and shut the door. He kept his eye on Sandy as he approached. She stirred. He stood nearby and waited for her to notice him. The streetlight illuminated her face. Sandy turned and looked at him. Michael could see the sadness in her eyes.

He blinked hard. Now was his chance. Michael tugged on the door handle. It was locked. He could see the indecision on Sandy's face. Would she let him in? Then, the button popped up, and he pulled the door open. Michael crouched down and laid a hand on her thigh. "Talk to me, please."

"I don't know what to say." Sandy's voice was void of emotion. "I don't feel I know you anymore."

"Will you come out? Sit on the bench?" Michael stood and reached for Sandy's hand. Surprisingly, she took it and followed him.

Michael linked her hand around his arm. They approached the bench. He didn't want to let her go.

"Michael, I want the truth." Sandy stepped back from his grip. "Is there another woman? Are you seeing someone else?" She looked down and kicked the dirt with her foot.

Michael raked his hand through his hair. "No. I'm not seeing anyone else."

"All those late nights at the office, your preoccupation with Claire—who by the way is young enough to be your daughter—"

His breath caught and hung below the mass in his throat. Did Sandy think he was in love with Claire? The thought jarred him. He grabbed Sandy by the shoulders and gently led her to the bench. "Please, honey, sit down." He sat next to his wife and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Sandy might not want him after tonight, and he needed the feel of her body next to his. "Can we enjoy the view for a minute?"

"What for?" Sandy's shoulders slumped.

"I need to tell you something." Michael's voice shook. "But I'm scared."

"Haven't I waited long enough?"

Speaking the words he had to say might send his wife away forever. Could he risk that? There was no easy way to tell Sandy what had happened. His heart pounded.

"Do you remember when I went down to L.A. for a Realtor's convention?" His hands shook.

"Which one?" Sandy inched away from him.

"When Julia was born—"

"That was years ago."

Michael hoped her response was in his favor. "It was— many years ago." He turned to look at the view. The city lights glistened in the distance. The romantic setting called for kissing his wife, not breaking her heart. "I went to visit my mother, and I met up with an old friend." Michael couldn't look Sandy in the eye.

"Who?"

A heaviness crushed his chest. Michael faced Sandy. "Emily."

"The woman you wrote the letter to when you were teenagers?"

Michael bit his lip and nodded. "Sandy, I spent the night with her. One night. I've regretted it ever since. We both knew it was wrong."

"And you're finally getting around to telling me?" Sandy let out a breath.

Michael pressed his fingers against his temples. "I never wanted to tell you. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake."

Sandy stood and walked to the edge of the cliff. "And I had our baby alone. No wonder I couldn't get a hold of you. You were holding someone else!"

Michael came up behind her.

"You've been playing me for a fool for over twenty years."

Michael grabbed Sandy around her shoulders and pulled her back. He held on to her. "No, I've been the fool. Don't you see? I've carried around the guilt of breaking my promise to you."

"How many others have there been?" Sandy spat, jerking herself free.

Michael's mouth hung open. "None. I promise. I've been faithful to you ever since."

"I don't know if I believe you." Sandy shook her head. "Your promises obviously mean nothing to you."

Michael gasped for air. He clutched his hands behind his head. This moment was as awful as he imagined it would be. And he hadn't yet told Sandy that Claire was his daughter.

"I've prayed to God to forgive me for my selfishness. "Michael kneeled in front of her in the dirt. "I don't expect you to forgive me right now. But I want you to know that I'm truly sorry."

Sandy stood over him, silent and still.

Michael looked up. "I love you, Sandy. With everything I am."

Sandy's body shook. "Do you mean that?"

Michael rose. He cupped her face in his hands. "I'd do anything for you." Tears streamed down Sandy's cheeks. He kissed them away.

Sandy looked into his eyes. "Michael, why are you telling me
now?
It happened so long ago . . . I wish you had never told me." She sucked in a breath.

Should he tell her about Claire now or wait until another time? She was already distraught. Needles pricked his eyes.

"Can we go home now? I'm cold." Sandy made a move toward her Lexus.

Michael grabbed her arm. "There is one more thing." He questioned his words, as he took off his jacket and draped it around his wife's shoulders.

Sandy clutched his coat tight with white knuckles. Her body stiffened.

Michael took a breath and talked on. He couldn't go through this pain all over again. "I recently found out—that Emily had a baby nine months after we were together. Sandy, I don't know how to tell you—except to say it. Claire is my daughter."

Sandy's knees buckled.

Michael caught her before she hit the ground.

R
ed Apple Café's omelet rivaled Blake's. Claire dug in her purse for tip money. "Oh, no, you don't." Samantha produced a few dollars and laid them on the table. "My treat."

"But you already paid the bill."

"It's the least I can do for letting me crash at your house."

"You're welcome anytime." Claire stood and led her friend out the door. "See you this afternoon. And good luck with your interview." It was so like Samantha to have an interview all lined up the first day in a new town. Claire waved and reached into her purse for her car keys.

"Claire," Vivian called from the restaurant's doorway. "I'm so glad I caught you." She motioned Claire to come toward her.

"What's up?" Claire's breath caught in her throat. Vivian's face was ashen next to her burgundy Red Apple Café T-shirt.

"It's Blake. I overheard a couple police officers. He was stabbed. Blake's at Dominican Hospital."

Claire's heart pounded.
Blake was stabbed.
The news didn't compute. She must get to the hospital—and fast. "Vivian, I've got to go." She was on her way to visit Geraldine, but she'd have to check on Blake first.

"Keep me posted, honey. And drive safe." Vivian's words fell on Claire's retreating back.

She ran down the cement stairs that led to the parking lot. Claire glanced at her watch. 8:30. When did Blake enter the hospital? He was called in to work last night while they were visiting Geraldine. Claire put her key in the lock and opened her car door. She flung her leftovers and her purse on the passenger seat, her adrenaline shifting into overdrive. Claire couldn't lose him, too. There were already too many losses in her life. She peeled out of the parking lot and into traffic.

The fifteen-minute drive to the hospital jostled Claire's nerves. The traffic was stop and go. She found herself praying for Blake's injuries, Geraldine's health, and her upcoming talk with Michael. Could she leave them all behind?

Claire merged off the highway and onto Soquel Drive. The hospital was on her immediate left. She pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine and a few minutes later approached the information desk on shaky legs. "Officer Blake Coombs, please."

The elderly woman wrote Blake's name on a piece of paper. Then she typed on the computer keyboard.

Claire drummed her fingertips against the counter. Why was the woman taking so long? She couldn't wait to see Blake. The smell of his cologne from last night's hug lingered in her mind.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have him listed." The woman looked up from behind the small glasses that pinched her nose, giving her the appearance of an ostrich. "Are you sure
he
was the patient?"

Claire let out a breath. "Are you sure you spelled his name right? C-O-O-M-B-S?"

The woman checked again. "Oh, wait a minute. I see he came in early this morning to the emergency room but was released. Anything else I can help you with?"

Blake was released. That was a good sign, wasn't it? "He's all right then?" Claire gripped the counter with both hands.

"That's all I can tell you." The woman shook her head.

"Thank you." Claire stepped away and called Blake's cell phone. No answer. She'd try him again after her visit with Geraldine.

Claire climbed the stairs to the second floor. She walked the hallway and then peeked inside Geraldine's room. The bed was empty. What was going on? Everyone who mattered to her seemed to disappear. She spoke to the nurse sitting in the hallway thumbing through a stack of paperwork. "Excuse me. I'm looking for Geraldine Thompson."

"They moved her to Dominican Rehabilitation on Frederick Street. She needed physical therapy before she could go home."

"Where is the rehab center located?" asked Claire.

"You can head straight down Soquel Drive toward Santa Cruz or take the highway and get off on Morrissey Boulevard."

"Thank you." Claire bit her lip. Her frustration mounted. Should she call Geraldine first to make sure it was a good time to visit? She searched for her phone.

A folded piece of paper was inside her right pocket. Claire turned away from the nurse, walked down the hallway toward her car, and pulled out the paper. It was an envelope.
The letter.
In a way, she wished she'd never pursued the writer of the letter. It had only brought heartache.

Michael was not someone she could respect as a father. From what she saw of him, he was selfish. Claire wouldn't be surprised if he'd known all along she was his daughter. She was sure he abandoned her mother the minute he found out she was pregnant. Wasn't Julia older than she was? The thought disturbed her. Why would a married man give it all away?

Claire sat in her VW, her thoughts drifting to her mother. Why would her mother have an affair with a married man? She hit the steering wheel with her fist. Didn't her mother think she deserved better? Haley followed in her mother's footsteps, except she chose a man who drank his troubles away.

It was time to confront Michael and make a decision whether she should stay in Capitola or return to L.A., but her heart told her to first check on her neighbor.

Blake's white Ford F-150 sat in his driveway. Claire pulled up next to the curb in front of her house. She slid out of her car, ran up the sidewalk, and knocked on Blake's front door.

"Coming."

At the sound of Blake's voice on the other side, Claire sucked in her breath. What was she going to say?
Thought I'd check on you. By the way, I may be moving back to L.A.
The idea seemed crazy whenever she was near him. Claire could list a dozen characteristics she admired about Blake—his relationship with God, for starters. She'd never met a man who put God before everything else.

The door swung open. "Claire, what brings you by?" Blake's right forearm was covered in gauze.

"I heard you were stabbed. I rushed to Dominican Hospital, but you weren't there." Claire hurried to him and threw her arms around his waist, her head resting on his chest. "I was so scared."

"I should get hurt more often." Blake slipped his left arm around her and squeezed her tight. "I like all this attention."

Claire stepped back. "What happened?"

Blake motioned her inside. Claire hadn't been in Blake's house more than a handful of times. She liked what she saw. It needed a feminine touch, but it was comfortable. She sat down on the black leather couch. Blake joined her.

"Capitola police have been dealing with gang members tagging signs, restaurants, trash bins, anything they can get their hands on." Blake looked down, then back at Claire. "Last night was rough. I thought I had it all under control until the guy pulled out a knife. He sliced my arm pretty good, but I was fortunate. He was aiming for my face."

"No." Claire was suddenly nervous. "Did you call for backup?"

"Amber came, but by that time it was too late." Blake's torso deflated. "In self defense, I shot the guy. I'm on a paid leave of absence until they investigate."

"You could have been seriously hurt." Claire brought her hand up to Blake's cheek.

"They caught the two other gang members who took off running. All three of them were carrying weapons." Blake held her wrist and kissed the inside of her hand. "Do you know what flashed through my mind?"

Claire's pulse quickened. She shook her head.

"I didn't want to die without telling you how I felt about you."

Was Blake going to kiss her? She wouldn't push him away this time. No, she'd welcome the intimate moment. But would she give him false hope when she could be moving back to L.A.?

"Claire, I know you're scared of a relationship. I can see it in your eyes. But I want you to know—"

Oh, no. He's not going there.
"Your kitchen is amazing!" Claire bolted off the couch. She rubbed her hand over the granite countertop. "When was this installed?"

Blake stood next to her, his nearness making her regret her actions.

"Claire, you sure you want to talk about my kitchen now?" Blake's husky voice moaned in her ear.

"It's perfect. And these cabinets are beautiful. I love maple. "Claire fingered a handle and opened the door.

Blake blinked hard. "Okay, Claire. I get the message. You're not ready."

Oh, yes, I am!
Claire knew the real reason she held back. Fear.

"Kristy knew of wholesalers trying to get rid of their extra granite. I got a deal."

"You have great taste." She knew she was being overly dramatic. Why couldn't she allow Blake to open up to her?

Because of Michael. If her father didn't want her around, she'd hit the road. Whether back to L.A. or another California town, she'd leave. Every other man who mattered to her had rejected her. Why would Michael, or Blake for that matter, be any different?

One look into Blake's eyes told her the truth. He would never hurt her. She longed to love him with her whole heart. "Blake, I've got to run." She needed to talk with Michael. Her future depended on it. "I'll talk with you tonight, okay?" Claire stood on her toes and kissed Blake's cheek. It was rough from stubble, but she didn't mind. To be near Blake sent a rush of emotions through her.

"Why don't we drive to New Brighton Beach in my truck?"

"Are you sure you feel up to it?"

Blake walked Claire to the door. "Definitely. Any time with you is worth it. But you'll need to drive, okay? I'm on pain meds."

"Harry and Pearl can't wait to meet you." She took a few steps, then looked back. "Oh, and by the way, my friend Samantha will be joining us. She's in town. We'll knock on your door at a quarter till six."

"You can get me anytime." He leaned against the doorframe, a silly grin on his face. "I love you, Claire."

He loved her?
Her hands grew clammy. She didn't know what to do with those words. Did she love him too? She opened her mouth to speak. "See you tonight."

Was Blake's love enough to keep her in Capitola?

The scribbled note hung haphazardly on the front door.

Samantha,

I'll be back soon. There's something important

I need to do. It couldn't wait.

Claire

With white knuckles, Claire gripped her steering wheel and drove to Michael's house. Would he be home? Surely he didn't work every day of the week. Maybe that's what it took to drive the kind of cars he and Sandy drove. And who'd want to clean such a big house? People with money hired help. She'd take her small house by the beach, with tons of character, any day.

Claire stopped on the street in front of Michael's house. What if Sandy was home? Claire definitely didn't want to hurt Michael's wife as she had at the picnic. Sandy was a nice woman. She could tell Sandy she wanted to speak to Michael privately about Geraldine. In a way, it was true.

If Claire were honest with herself, she was surprised Michael hadn't made any effort to contact her since Haley had given him the note from her mother. Of course, he had a family to consider. Were they begging him to go on with their lives as if nothing had happened? Claire looked up. The sloped driveway and trees blocked her view. She let out a nervous breath
. Michael is my father!

Dear God, give me strength.
The only other time she'd been at Michael's house was when she was hired to take care of Geraldine. Blake had prayed for her before they went in. And now she was praying to God all on her own.

Claire hit the gas pedal and drove up the driveway. She didn't see Michael's BMW. Was it in the garage? Claire's stomach tied in knots, and her pulse raced. She second-guessed herself. Her car idled while she sat staring at the flagstone steps that led to the front door.

With a surge of courage, Claire turned off the engine and stepped out of the comforts of her VW. She gently shut the door and walked up the steps. Her hands shook. She balled them into fists, then relaxed. She'd watched her mother die of cancer, lived with her sister and her sister's alcoholic husband, and moved to a new town. Claire could face Michael and find out if he wanted a relationship with her. She brought her hand up to knock. But before she did, the door swung open.