Just Kiss Me (28 page)

There’d never been a father figure in her life. It had just been her mother, Mamaw Roz, and her. She wanted more for her baby. She wanted her child to know a daddy’s love. Not a fake daddy like she’d had, but the real thing.

Vivien could give her baby the real thing. She might think Henry was a colossal, coldhearted jerk, but there was no doubt in her mind that he would be a good daddy. “Okay, maybe we can work something out.” Like he could visit twice a year, and when the baby was older, go to Disneyland.

WITH A SOLID
click, Vivien unlocked the deadbolt to the carriage house and walked inside. It looked the same as it had the day she’d left. Boxes and bins, some packed tight and labeled. Others left open, waiting for the rest of her mother’s belongings to be organized and stored away.

“Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”

Vivien chuckled. “Yes, Spence.”

He looked as jumpy as a cat in a skillet. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t ready to be anywhere near his mother. That included across the yard. “I’m going out to dinner with Henry tonight. If he buys me a good steak and a nice bottle of wine, I might forgive him.”

“Really?” Vivien dropped her keys into her purse as Spence dropped her luggage on the floor. She looked across her shoulder at him. Today he wore a lavender polo shirt and somehow, the pastel didn’t look so bad on him. She must be getting used to his choice of Easter colors. Either that, or being back in Charleston made him a less glaring fashion victim.

She was back. Back to the Charleston heat and carriage house and memories that resided here. It had been four days since Henry had turned up in her limo. Four days since the sound of his voice had touched a visceral place deep inside. She wasn’t sure she was ready for any of it.

She was over Henry Whitley-Shuler. She didn’t love him anymore. Despite those lingering feelings imprinted deep inside. What she felt for him most was anger, but she did want what was best for her child. That meant Henry. He’d flatly refused to be a “Disneyland dad,” but it
didn’t
mean he got to call all the shots or set the parameters. Toward that end, she and Spence had waited three days to fly to Charleston. Not the next morning as Henry had insisted. “I don’t know how you can forgive him so easily.” Henry had left L.A. alone, but only after Spencer had assured him that he and Vivien would return together.

“He’s my brother.” Spence shrugged as if that said it all. “What you need to understand about Henry is that he always tries to do the right thing. He was dead-ass wrong not to tell me about you a long time ago, but most of the blame should be placed on my mother and yours. Henry kept their secret, but they lied.”

She understood that, but her mother hadn’t sent in an understudy to seduce and distract her.

“Henry would take a bullet for me.” Spence laughed as he headed out the door. “You never know when someone like that might come in handy in the future.”

She was still getting used to Spence’s ways of saying and doing and living his life. Vivien shut the door behind her brother and leaned back against it. Without Spence’s distraction, she felt the strong emotions from the last time she’d been in the carriage house. They were all still present. Like the boxes and bins, waiting for her to return and sort things out. Painful and confusing things from her past. Broken trust and heartbreak. Lies and unanswered questions.

Vivien kicked off her shoes and headed upstairs to her mother’s bedroom. She couldn’t fix broken trust, or heartache or lies from her past, but maybe she could find answers.

Three bins of photo albums and keepsakes sat on her mother’s bed. The answer had to be in there somewhere. For the next three hours she looked at old photos and read old letters from Mamaw Roz and Uncle Richie. She found the old newspaper article with a photo of a boat debris floating in the Florida Straits. She found her birth certificate, the father’s name left blank.

Vivien sat on the bed and looked at the old document in her hands. Her mother had explained away the blank line by telling her that Jeremiah Rochet hadn’t been alive to sign her birth certificate.

Little baby Jesus hates lies but loves the liar
, had been one of her mother’s mottoes, and perhaps that was how she’d been able to live with herself.

Vivien placed the certificate back in the album and returned it to the bin. Her momma had been a rich man’s mistress. The rich man was her father, but there was absolutely no record of him at all. Not even a photo of Fredrickk Shuler in the pile of albums that had recorded almost every moment of Vivien’s life. The most important man in her life had been cleanly deleted, but not forever. Like trying to wipe Henry out of her life, the past was never completely erased.

The answers to Vivien’s questions weren’t in a box or bin. Not in a photo album or stack of old letters. Her answers were in the big house beyond the roses and wisteria, probably having her first cocktail of the night.

Vivien returned downstairs and shoved her feet into sandals. It was time to face Nonnie,
mono e mono
in the Mantis’ lair.

VIVIEN HAD BEEN
right. She found Nonnie in the gold salon, reading a book and sipping a dirty martini. She appeared as always, like a queen minus a crown.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said as Vivien walked into the room. She set her book aside and took a sip of her cocktail.

“You know why I’m here then.” Vivien moved to the chair closest to Nonnie and sat. She wasn’t a kid. She wasn’t afraid.

“Yes, Henry told me the happy news.” She didn’t sound or look happy.

“I’m not here to talk about that.” If she had her way, Nonnie would have little contact with her child. “I want to talk about Momma.”

The older woman raised a brow. “What do you want to know?”

“Why did you and Momma lie to me?”

“
Lie
is such a strong word. Macy Jane and I did what we thought was best.”

“I can’t imagine my momma coming up with such an elaborate lie when she had a hard time following through with everything else in her life. You had to have said or done something to her to make her go along with your lies.”

Nonnie chuckled. “The day of Fred’s funeral, your mother came to
me
. He hadn’t even been put in the ground yet when she made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” She wiped at the lipstick smudge on her glass as if she hadn’t just quoted Don Corleone.

“Which was?”

“That I provide for the two of you financially, and she wouldn’t tell anyone that my husband was your father.”

Extortion didn’t sound like the mother she’d known. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.”

But lying like a cheap rug didn’t sound like her either. “And you were happy to agree?”

“Not happy. Resigned. I couldn’t have it known that Fred had an illegitimate child. Let alone that you were living under my nose.” She set her glass on the table between them. “In my carriage house.”

“My mother’s carriage house.” Vivien folded her arms across her breasts. “The carriage house was left to my mother.”

Nonnie gave a sharp nod. “When my husband was alive, he took care of the two of you. When he died, the responsibility came to me.”

“And you resented it.”

“Of course. My husband had a child with his mistress, and he had the gall to move the two of you into my own backyard. He put the needs of his mistress above his wife and sons.”

“That explains why you hated us.” She wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t have felt the same.

Nonnie lifted her pointed chin. “‘He who hates his brother walks in darkness.’ I don’t hate anyone. I didn’t care for your mother at first, but she didn’t seem to notice. After years of Macy Jane blindly believing we were best friends, I came to care for her a great deal. She was a good-hearted woman.” She reached for her drink and took a sip. “You, however, could try the patience of a saint. Your mother let you run wild.”

Vivien had heard that all her life; she didn’t care to debate it now. “Was your idea of providing for Momma and me putting us to work in your house?”

“Really, Vivien. You two did light cleaning for extra money.” Again she wiped at her glass. “Do you really think the money your mother made dusting some furniture was enough to support the two of you?”

She’d never known how much Nonnie had paid her mother, but who paid and how much wasn’t her biggest issue. “The two of you seemed to have worked it all out.”

“We both benefited.”

“Who found the newspaper article about the Rochets?”

“I did. Your mother could handle the basics of the story. It was up to me to think of every angle and fine-tune it.”

Vivien folded her arms across her chest. “Were either of you ever going to tell anyone the truth?”

“No. That was part of the deal. It was to be buried with us. It would have stayed buried if Spence hadn’t started to behave inappropriately—”

“—And you naturally made Henry keep me busy—”

“—I can’t make Henry do anything. I certainly didn’t make him spend so much time with you. In fact, I didn’t think anything good would come of it.” Her gaze drifted downward. “I was right.”

Vivien lowered a hand to her stomach, protecting the baby from Nonnie’s evil eye. “I didn’t imagine you’d be happy about the baby.”

“It’s not exactly an ideal situation.”

“What? That Henry is having a child on the wrong side of the blanket, or that he’s having it with me?”

“Both. This is a disaster.”

At least she was honest and consistent. Her feelings weren’t all over the place. Not like Vivien’s. One moment she thought she was doing the right thing by involving Henry in the baby’s life, and in the next, she felt all panicky because that meant Henry would be involved in her life, too. He thought the idea of co-parenting meant she lived across town from him, which wasn’t going to happen. She needed to set firm rules and boundaries with him the next time they talked. Vivien stood. “The good news for both of us is that you won’t have anything to do with this disaster.”

THE BAD NEWS
was that Henry arrived on her porch the next morning with bagels and fruit and she forgot all about boundaries and rules. “How are you feeling, darlin’?” he asked, his smooth accent pouring over her.

She used to love it when he called her that. “You should have called first.” She stood in the open doorway wearing her pajama shorts and T-shirt from the night before, and her hair was a mess.

“I don’t have your phone number.”

Oh, yeah. She let him inside and followed him past the boxes and bins to the round table that still sat in the middle of the kitchen. “I’ll give it to you, but you can’t just drop in like a screwworm anytime you feel like it.”

He didn’t acknowledge her personal boundary and she turned back toward him. “Did you hear me?” He didn’t answer even though he was staring straight at her. “Henry!”

“What?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Something about your phone number.” He moved to the counter and pulled a bagel out of a bag.

“I said you can’t drop in like a screwworm anytime you feel like it.”

“Okay.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “I don’t want to be a screwworm. What days work best for you?”

Oh. She hadn’t given it any thought and gave an arbitrary answer. “Mondays and Fridays.”

“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t stick to it. He came the next morning with fruit and yogurt.

“It’s Wednesday,” Vivien pointed out.

“You don’t say.”

He pulled out a chair for her and put yogurt and fruit on the table. So much for their talk about dropping by like a screwworm.

“I met Spence for dinner the other night.”

“I know. He said he was ready to forgive you, but I don’t think he’ll forgive Nonnie anytime soon,” she replied.

“That’s between the two of them.” He got two plates and sat across the table from her. “I’m out of the business of taking care of my mother and Spence.”

“Have you talked to your mother lately?” She and Henry were behaving so civil, this co-parenting might work out after all—if he respected boundaries.

“Not since I’ve been back in town.” He sat across from her. “Have you?”

“Yes. I talked to her Monday night.” Vivien placed strawberries and cantaloupe on her plate. Maybe she and Henry could even become friends someday.

“How’d that go?”

“She answered some questions about my momma.” She took a bite of cantaloupe and licked the juice from the corner of his mouth. “She’s not happy about the baby.”

He paused in the act of raising a fork, suspending a strawberry in front of his mouth. “Did she say that?” he asked before he popped the fruit in his mouth.

“She said it’s not an ‘ideal situation.’ She called the baby a ‘disaster.’”

“She said the word disaster?” He didn’t look happy.

“Yep. I guess this means she won’t be throwing me a baby shower anytime soon.”

He looked across the table at her, his gaze went from anger to speculative, but didn’t say anything.

When Henry didn’t appear the next morning, she told herself that he was respecting her boundaries. It was a good thing and she was glad. She wasn’t disappointed. Not at all, but Friday morning when she opened the door and he stood on the porch with a paper bag in one arm, she felt like her whole body smiled. Which was not a good thing.

“Good morning, darlin’.”

Again with the
darlin’
.

He brought Greek yogurt and granola this time. “When are you going to finish packing up your momma’s belongings?” he asked as Vivien took two bowls from the cupboard.

She was dragging her feet. She knew she was, but packing up the last boxes felt so final. “I have to finish going through all the closets upstairs.” The pink row house had sold the day before, and it felt as if she’d sold off a piece of her past. She hadn’t expected to feel sad and sentimental about the Candy-Button house her mother had dreamed about but never lived in. “I’ll be finished before the baby comes.”

“The baby has started growing toenails today,” Henry said as he took his usual seat across the table and dug in to his breakfast.