Truth Be Told (10 page)

“I
have to make a quick stop,” Conner said as he pulled the car to a halt in their driveway. He could see the protest in Grace's eyes. “But I'll be right back,” he added. When Grace stared at him a moment longer, he said, “I promise.”

Grace nodded and moved toward her door. But before she could get out of the car, Conner reached for her, leaning over the console of the Suburban. He held her tight, wanting the embrace to resemble the thousands that they'd shared before Pilar had come to Los Angeles. When she pulled back, Conner traced the edge of her face with his fingertips, and a smile filled her face.

Conner smiled too. This was coming to an end. By the time he returned home, his life would be the way it should be.

“See you in a little while, Daddy,” Amber said before she ran into the house after Jayde.

He squeezed Grace's hand. “Give me an hour.”

Her smile widened. “The girls and I will get dinner ready.” She paused. “Maybe we can catch a movie tonight. Mom asked if the girls could stay over since tomorrow begins their spring break.”

He nodded. “Let's do that,” he said before he kissed her cheek.

Conner smiled as he pulled away from his home and directed his car toward the meeting place with Pilar. But as he got closer to Kenneth Hahn Park, his grin faded as he thought about the words he'd say. He would explain that he'd take this journey with her, but there was no need to disrupt his life and no need to disturb Solomon any more than they had to. After all, he was losing his mother. He didn't need the added emotion of finding out about his father. Surely, there was someone to whom Pilar could give custody, especially since he was willing to take care of Solomon financially. He hadn't worked out all the details, especially not how he was going to provide money for Solomon without Grace finding out. But those were minor details that would be solved once Pilar agreed.

Conner swerved into the park and then rushed up the hill to where he'd told Pilar to meet him—away from the main thoroughfare. At the top of the hill he paused, until he spotted her sitting on a bench. His steps slowed as he approached her. He searched for signs of how she would accept his words. But it didn't matter. This was his plan; she'd have to agree.

He sat next to her, feeling the hard wooden planks of the bench through this suit.

“Hello.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes straight ahead. He followed her glance and saw four boys tossing a football. He wondered what she was thinking. Wondered if she was imagining her son's life in the years without her. He would assure her that Solomon would have a good life.

“Thank you for meeting me,” she spoke finally. “I needed to move this along. We have to start making plans.”

“I agree. I want you to know that I will do everything I can to take care of Solomon.”

For the first time she looked at him. She smiled. “Thank you.”

He looked down. The words had been in his mind since they'd spoken last night. He'd hardly been able to sleep. He'd prepared what he'd say as he would a summation. But now that Pilar sat next to him, this was tougher than any courtroom situation he'd ever been in.

“I will do everything I can….” He stopped. He didn't need to look at her to know that her smile had faded as she waited for his next words. “I'm sure there is someone who would be better for Solomon.”

“I told you, there is no one else.”

“I'm really thinking about Solomon.”

Pilar turned away and raised her hand above her head. Conner frowned and followed her glance. In an instant, one of the boys broke from the group and raced toward their bench. With each of the young man's steps, Conner's heart stabbed his chest. Approaching him was the image in the picture that Pilar had given him. The boy with the bushy eyebrows, the high cheekbones, the cleft in his chin. The boy who left no doubt. The boy who was his son.

“Mom, did you need me?” the boy said to Pilar.

She smoothed her hand against his head. “No, I just wanted to make sure that you weren't overdoing it. You know there's a three-hour time difference between home and L.A.”

“Oh, Mom.” The boy grinned as if he were used to this protectiveness. “I'm fine.” His grin went away. “Are you sure you're okay?”

She nodded.

The bench was Conner's prison. He felt as if shackles bound his feet, his hands, his head. Only his eyes were able to move as he followed every movement, each gesture, trying to ingest twelve years of information about the boy. His mind raced, yet he captured a single thought: I love my son's smile.

His son turned to him. “Hello.” Solomon tilted his head. “Do you know my mom?”

Before Conner could respond, Pilar said, “Solomon, you'd better go back to your game. We'll be leaving soon.”

“Okay, Mom.” He stared at Conner for a moment longer, then ran back to the group.

Conner tried to swallow, but his lips were pinched together. Pilar allowed the silence and the sight of her son to settle before them.

Finally he said, “That was Solomon.” His voice was soft, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just seen. “Why didn't you tell me he was here?”

“Would that have made a difference?”

Conner didn't respond. He didn't know.

“It's time for us to make plans, Conner. I have to make sure my son is taken care of when … I'm no longer here.” She stood and swayed slightly. Conner reached for her, helping her to steady her stance. “We'll be leaving for New York in the morning. I have a doctor's appointment, and I don't want Solomon to miss too many days of school.” She began to walk away, but just steps later, she glanced over her shoulder. “You just laid your eyes on your son, Conner. I'll be waiting to hear from you.”

Conner stayed as Pilar trudged across the grass to where Solomon tossed the football to one of the other boys. Then she placed her hand on his shoulder, and they walked away. He stared, still unable to move. He wanted to run after them. He wanted just another minute, even just a second … with his son.

Just before Pilar and Solomon disappeared over the curve of the hill, the boy turned around and waved. He could have been waving to the boys he'd just played with, but Conner was sure the gesture was for him.

He closed his eyes and pressed the tears back. Every thought, every plan, all the preparations dissipated inside of him. There would be no hidden checks or hushed meetings. There would be no secrets at all. He had to claim his son.

Conner's hand trembled as he pressed the remote for the garage door. It's good that it's Sunday, he thought for the thousandth time. At least this morning, he and Grace had prayed together, worshipped together. And by the time they got home, they had hoped together. Although they still had not talked, Conner knew that Grace had the same wishes he had—that their lives would return to normal.

But that was hours earlier.

He didn't know how much time had passed since he'd left Pilar, but he knew that it had been too long for Grace. He was sure she and the girls had long ago had dinner.

When he stepped to the door, he closed his eyes. “Dear Lord,” he began. “I'm finally doing the right thing. Please help me to find the right words.” He'd said that prayer in variations all afternoon.

Inside, he moved slowly through the darkened hallway, but at the kitchen door, he stopped. Grace sat at the table with her arms crossed, her frown planted as if it had been in place for hours. The curry from the shrimp she'd cooked still fragranced the air. Conner tried to gulp the lump in his throat. His wife had prepared his favorite dish.

“Grace …”

She held up her hand and stood. “Conner, I am not going through this anymore. You've disappointed me and the girls for the last time, and …”

This time he stopped her. “I know. We need to talk.”

She backed away slightly as if surprised by his words. “Okay.”

He looked around. “Where're the girls?”

“With Mom. They're spending the night.”

He took a breath, and then reached for her hand. The chains that he'd felt in the park returned as he led them to the living room. But it was the noose he felt around his neck that frightened him the most.

“Is a case bothering you?” she asked as they sat.

He knew that was her thought, that was her hope. He stroked her face with his fingertips and wished that God could take them away from this place. Finally, he took her hand and moved closer. Their knees touched. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart.” The apology was a good beginning.

“About what?”

He lowered his eyes. “There's something I have to tell you, but I don't know how.” His tongue grazed his lips again.

Grace took both of his hands into hers. “You can tell me anything.”

The water welling in his eyes blurred his vision. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Conner.” Her voice trembled.

He hoped she'd say those words again when he was finished. “I found out something. I don't understand … I don't know how … I don't know what …,” he jabbered.

Grace held his hands tighter.

“Pilar …”

She pulled away.

He looked down at his hands, alone now. “She told me something you have to know.”

It was time to say it. He stood and looked at the fireplace. Even though it was spring, he wished he had started a fire. Anything to warm the sudden chill that filled the room.

When he turned back to Grace, her face was already filled with pain. He was torturing them both. He looked at her hands, wanting to take them into his, wanting to hold her as he twisted her world inside out.

He returned to the couch. “Pilar has a child.” He paused to make sure that he was still breathing. “A son.” He coughed, hoping in that second he'd discover courage. “He's mine.” The two syllables stopped his heart.

An eternity passed in the seconds that ticked from the grandfather clock.

Though every nerve inside him screamed to touch her, he was afraid. Instead, he rested his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands under his chin. But the shaking that quaked through his body continued.

“What are you talking about?”

Conner stared at Grace. Her question was casual, as if she were talking to one of her aides, asking them to repeat something she didn't quite understand.

“Grace, I'm so sorry.”

Her face was stiff with seriousness. “What are you talking about?”

He blinked. Did she want him to repeat what he'd said? He didn't have enough inside of him to utter those words to her again.

“You are the father of Pilar's child,” she said for him.

He nodded and trembled more.

“That can't be.” She shook her head. “In order to father a child, Conner, you would have to sleep with that person.” She stood, and her voice rose with her. “You would have to have sex, intercourse, intimacy.” She turned to him with fire in her eyes. “Tell Pilar she's a liar.”

“It's true, Grace,” he said softly.

She held up her hands. “It's not true, because, Conner, I know how much you love me. I know how much you love God. I know how much you love our children. I know that with all we've been through, you would never do this now.”

He jumped from the couch. “Oh, no, Grace. This didn't just happen. Her son … my son … he's twelve years old.”

“He's older than Amber?” she whispered.

Conner swallowed and nodded.

He could tell by her eyes that her mind was calculating, asking, and answering questions.

“Please, Grace, sit down. I want to explain.”

Her eyes filled with water. “You've told me everything I need to know. You have a son with another woman.” She bit her lip, trading that pain for the words she'd just uttered. “There is nothing more to explain.” Grace turned abruptly.

Conner grabbed her arm, stopping her. Her eyes moved from his hand to his eyes. Then she jerked from his grasp and ran up the stairs.

Grace opened her eyes; it took a moment for her to adjust to the darkness. It wasn't that she'd been asleep. Unconsciousness was too easy.

She didn't know how much time had passed—it could have been four minutes or four hours. It was an empty canvas of time with a battle between empty thoughts and ones that warred in her mind.

She rolled to Conner's side of the bed, stroked his pillow, and whispered his name. She wished that he would come, lie beside her, and assure her that her ears had deceived her. But she knew he spoke the truth. Only truth could push those words through his lips.

She wiped invisible tears from her face. She was surprised. She hadn't cried. Her calm felt eerie. As if the news hadn't yet traveled to her brain.

“Pilar has a child … a son … he's mine.”