Truth Be Told (8 page)

G
race's mouth stretched wide in a yawn.

“Must've been some celebration you and Conner had last night,” Zoë teased as she entered the office.

Grace lowered her eyes to the report on her desk.

Zoë slipped a computer printout in front of Grace. “Here's the city budget. I'll give you a full report next week.”

Grace didn't lift her head until Zoë left. She tried to suppress another yawn, but her mouth stretched wide with exhaustion. She hadn't rested last night. Even when her eyes had closed after four this morning, it was a fitful sleep. And she'd gotten out of bed before seven. As she helped Amber dress and solved Jayde's morning challenges, her mind's eye was on her bedroom door. She prayed that Conner was still asleep, so they could talk once the girls left. But after Amber climbed into the school van and she stepped back into the house, Conner stood at the foot of the stairs, fully dressed.

“Early appointment?” she asked, trying to keep the other questions out of her tone.

He nodded. “I don't think I'll be late tonight, but if I am, I'll call.”

She hadn't missed the way his eyes averted hers. Or the slight touch of their lips when they kissed good-bye. Or that he hadn't mentioned their morning prayer.

As she thought back on Conner's actions this morning, the same chill that surged through her as she watched him walk away made her shiver again. She shook away the feeling and lifted the city council manual from her desk. There was no way she was going to expend more energy on what was on Conner's mind. He would tell her soon enough. Whatever it was didn't affect her anyway.

She flipped through the two hundred page manual, scanning committee descriptions—everything from Accessible Freeway Improvements to Widening Diversity Programs. There was little on public schools. Education was the responsibility of the school board. But from her past position, she knew the school board needed support.

This was going to be her legacy: improving the city's schools. Getting higher pay for teachers, implementing special programs to improve test scores, and executing the kinds of programs Devry was talking about. Her toughest battle was going to be for what Grace felt strongest about: holding public hearings and then developing a city initiative to be presented to the governor to return prayer to schools.

Yes, she thought, as she pulled out a notepad. If morals became as important as mathematics, the children would be blessed. She frowned as that thought passed through her mind. Schools weren't the only place that needed God's blessings. Right now, she could use a few in her own home.

She closed her eyes and prayed.

It was more than the conference room's heat that made Conner twist. He couldn't keep his eyes off the boy across from him. Every few minutes, the boy would feel Conner's stare. He'd smile, and Conner would look away.

“So, Mr. Monroe, can you help us?”

Conner looked at his brother. This was his consultation, but he was more than relieved when Chandler took the lead. He hadn't asked Chandler to do that; he didn't have to. Just the blessing of being a twin.

“Well, Mr. Jacoby,” Chandler began, “from what you've told us, we want to pursue your case.” Chandler looked toward the opposite end of the conference table, and Conner nodded.

“I thank you for Stefan,” Mrs. Jacoby sobbed, dabbing a tissue under her eyes to dry her endless stream of tears that began when her husband related their son's story. She was a slight woman who seemed sicker than her son.

Conner's eyes drifted to the boy again. He couldn't get a good look, not with the way the noon sun cast its long shadow along the conference table. The black bandanna that covered Stefan's head glowed under the light. He was twelve years old, according to Mr. Jacoby, and if Conner didn't know, he would assume that the boy was suffering from cancer and its treatments—radiation, chemotherapy—something that would have caused the loss of hair. Even his brow was bald.

But it was drugs that ravaged this boy. Drugs developed by a national pharmaceutical company and administered by a doctor. V.Q. was a medical breakthrough, designed to reduce the symptoms of asthma. But when Stefan became violently sick after seven treatments, the Jacobys were told the doctors had made a mistake. That was the extent of the explanation.

Conner suspected that V.Q. had been approved—but for adults. He'd bet his researchers would find similar cases across the country.

It took a moment for Conner to realize that Stefan was staring at him. This time Conner didn't look away. He stared into the boy's eyes.

A moment later, Conner pushed away from the table, startling everyone. “Are we done?”

Chandler frowned. “Well …,” he paused. When the Jacobys nodded, Chandler said, “We're finished.”

“It was nice meeting you.” Conner couldn't press any more through his lips. He rushed into the hall. Behind him, he heard Marilyn's steps, as hurried as his. But he closed his office door before she could catch him.

With heavy legs, he moved to his desk. There was no way he could stay in that conference room. Not with his secret planted in front of him.

He had to tell Grace.

Last night, his nerve had melted with his heart when he saw his wife's face lined with worry. Even now, he knew Grace's thoughts were with him, wondering what case had him so riled that he'd missed their afternoon tryst without explanation.

There was a light knock on his door, and Chandler walked in. He sank into one of the chairs and their eyes held for a minute.

“What's going on?”

Conner knew what the lines in Chandler's forehead meant. There was no use lying.

Conner shrugged. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“Something at home?”

His heart's ache sharpened. He had to tell someone. Conner stared into his twin's eyes, trying to convey without words all that he held inside. After a prolonged moment, he said, “Can't talk about it right now.”

More silent moments. Then Chandler nodded. He stood and leaned across the desk. “I'm here when you're ready.”

“You always have been.”

“It's like that with us.”

Conner remained still until Chandler left. Then he swung his chair around and faced the window. The sun was making its journey from east to west, dimming the light in his space. “I have to tell Grace,” he whispered.

“Did you say something?”

He spun around. “I didn't hear you come in.”

Marilyn said, “I'm sorry. You have a call.”

His heart knocked against his chest. He waited until he was alone before he picked up the phone. “Conner Monroe.”

“It's Pilar. I've been waiting for you to call me.”

He'd told her he'd call this morning. “I need more time.”

There was silence before Pilar said, “You didn't tell Grace.” He knew her statement was a question, but he didn't feel compelled to respond. “I need to get home, Conner. To my son. With what's happening …” She left her sentence unfinished, leaving them with their own thoughts of why this had to come to light now.

Pilar said, “You're Solomon's father.”

He pursed his lips. “That hasn't been established.” He heard her hurt through her silence. He apologized by saying, “I will talk to Grace.”

“When?”

“When I think the time is right.”

“We don't have time. You have to do this, Conner, or I will …”

His back straightened, stiffened. “Don't threaten me,” he uttered, the lawyer's fight in his voice.

“That's not what I'm doing,” she said softly. “I'm thinking about our son.”

He closed his eyes.

“I will call you tomorrow,” she said. The next second, he heard the dial tone, and he let the phone fall from his hands.

For minutes he sat, hearing her words in his head: “You're Solomon's father.” He wanted her to take those words back and go away, never to return to this side of the country. But he couldn't dismiss Pilar. Not with everything that she'd told him.

He had to talk. Tell someone. Picking up the phone, he practiced the words he would say to his pastor. But before he punched the last digit for Pastor Ford's office, he hung up. Although he could almost hear the comforting words from her mouth, he could definitely see the disappointment in her eyes.

With a deep sigh, he stood, inhaled, and then walked down the hall to Chandler's office.

The door opened before Conner knocked. Chandler stood on the other side, as if he knew the exact moment his brother would come. He stepped aside, allowing Conner to come in.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I know.” Chandler moved to one of the chairs in front of his desk, and Conner joined him.

Quiet sat between them. Words floated in Conner's head, but he couldn't grasp any to form a coherent thought. “I love Grace,” he said finally.

Chandler's eyes widened a bit at Conner's statement. “I know that.” He paused. “Grace knows that.”

Conner pushed a stream of air through his lips. “I hope she remembers.”

“It would be difficult for her to forget.” Chandler paused. “And Grace loves you too.”

Conner knew his brother's words were meant to comfort, but that truth sharpened his pain. How could he tell the woman he loved, the woman who loved him, this news?

“Grace and I have been through a lot.”

Chandler leaned forward and rested his hand on his brother's shoulder. “Your history makes you strong. That and the Lord.”

Conner closed his eyes. He had to say it. “I have a son. Another child.”

He felt Chandler's hand tighten, then slip from his shoulder. This time, there were no words of solace from his brother. Just silence. A quiet that intensified his grief.

Conner stood and walked to the window. With his back to his brother, his words poured from him. He repeated the conversation he'd had with Pilar. “She said this happened twelve years ago,” he finished. “My son … the boy that Pilar is claiming is mine … his name is Solomon.”

He waited for Chandler to speak, but when silence filled the room, he took a breath and turned, focusing on the space over Chandler's shoulders. He couldn't meet his brother's glance. He didn't want to see his eyes.

“Well …,” Chandler began.

It was the steadiness in that syllable that gave Conner the courage to look at him. Chandler hadn't moved, but now his elbows rested on the arms of the chair. He tapped the tips of his fingers together in a slow, steady motion. Conner recognized the pose—his brother was in lawyer mode.

“So what does this mean? What did you tell her?”

Conner raised his eyebrows. These weren't the questions he expected, but they were ones he could handle. It was easier this way. Turn this disaster into business. There would be plenty of time to handle it on a personal level.

Conner rushed to sit next to his brother. “I haven't told her anything … not really. I don't know what I'm going to do.”

“Good. You can take your time.”

“That's not exactly true. I don't have a lot of time.”

Chandler's fingers froze in mid-air. The silence didn't hide his question.

“Pilar has AIDS. She doesn't know how much time she has.”

“Wow.” A few moments of silence passed before Chandler said, “I'm sorry for Pilar, but this doesn't change how you should proceed. Pilar has relatives. Someone else could take her son.”

There was no humor in Conner's chuckle. “That's what I said, but apparently none of Pilar's relatives want anything to do with a black boy. She says if I don't take him, he'll be alone.”

Chandler took a deep breath. “Okay, so this is more complicated than I thought, but still we need to do the right thing.”

“That's what scares me,” Conner said. “Suppose the right thing destroys my family?”