Delivered with Love Page 20

  Claire walked down the stairs and out to the parking lot. A silver Lexus peeled around the corner. Claire jumped back. She adjusted her sunglasses and strained her eyes to see the driver. It couldn't be? Could it?

  Sandy gunned her car out of the parking lot and into traffic on Soquel Drive.

  32

  The red Mustang was gone. And so was Haley. Claire had used her sister's car, so she knew Haley couldn't have gone far. Did she go for a walk? Claire knocked on Blake's door. She needed a friend, someone she could talk to. There was no answer. Her heart sank. She didn't have a claim on him, so why did the thought of Blake being with Kristy bother her so much? She knocked again. No answer. Strange. His truck was parked out front.

  Claire followed the walkway around Blake's house to his carport in back. Her VW Bug's trunk was open.

  "Claire, just the person I wanted to see." Blake wiped his hands on a rag. "I think I finally did it."

  He was home. Her heart skipped a beat. "Did what?" Claire approached. She smiled at the oil-stained jeans and old T-shirt Blake wore. He looked like a regular mechanic.

  "Rebuilt your engine." He shut the trunk's lid. "Come on, let's fire it up."

  Claire swung around the back of the car to the passenger's side door. She slid in while Blake sat behind the wheel. "Ready?" He flashed her a smile and turned the key.

  The hum of the motor brought tears to Claire's eyes. She ran her hand over the dashboard and took in a deep breath. She had her car back because of Blake. She reached over and squeezed his hand. "Thank you so much."

  "Wait till I give you the bill," Blake chuckled. "You might not be thanking me then."

  Claire leaned back in her seat. "You'd accept payments, right?"

  "Oh, yeah." Blake looked over his shoulder and backed out of the driveway. "Starting with my first neck rub tonight after Chinese food." He shifted the car into first gear. "Let's see how this baby drives."

  "Whoa, buddy. I meant monthly payments." Claire couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips.

  "We'll work something out. Don't worry."

  A comfortable silence filled the car as they cruised the neighborhood. Claire rolled down her window and let the cool air blow through her hair. She glanced over at Blake and smiled. It felt right—the two of them driving around Capitola.

  Blake spoke first. "What's your sister up to?"

  "I don't know. She was gone when I got home from the hospital." Claire held up her hand to keep her hair from flying in her face.

  Blake pulled up to the end of the street overlooking the ocean and cut the motor. "A taxi came by to pick her up."

  A sense of panic overwhelmed her. Haley couldn't go back to Mark now, she couldn't. "Did she have her suitcase?" Claire's pulse quickened.

  "No. I think she was only carrying a purse." Blake shifted in his seat, the sound of newspaper crunching beneath him. Claire appreciated the fact that Blake didn't want to soil the upholstery with his dirty jeans.

  Relief washed through her. Her sister wasn't going back to Mark. Then where? Babies R Us. Haley had mentioned she wanted to visit the baby store. "Shopping. My sister must have gone shopping."

  "And you didn't want to go with her?"

  "I was visiting Geraldine at the hospital."

  "How is she?" Blake's voice held a note of concern.

  "She looked good—there was color to her cheeks, but she was real sleepy."

  "It's probably the meds."

  "Geraldine wants you to come by the hospital tonight." Claire played with the strap on her purse. "She misses you."

  "Me or my cooking?" Blake chuckled.

  "I think a little of both."

  "Hey, you need to see my new kitchen cabinets. They're beautiful." Blake rested his arm on the open window frame. "And I picked out a counter."

  Claire tightened her grip on her purse. She was sure Kristy had something to do with that decision. The brunette must mean more to him than he was letting on. She had to know. "Did you pick them out yourself?"

  "Actually, I had help." Blake started the engine. "Let's go back to my place and I'll show you."

  The last thing Claire wanted to see was the new kitchen counter Kristy had picked out. Her stomach knotted. Was she jealous? Up to now Blake had been little more than a friend, a good neighbor. Sure, he'd cooked for her, fixed her car, and taken her out on a date, but that didn't mean—. Claire was lying to herself. Blake Coombs had done so much more. He made her feel special. Cherished. Like a person someone could love. And she had blown him off—pushed him when he attempted to kiss her, and then told him she wasn't ready to date. And now Kristy was here to help with his kitchen, which Blake had asked her to do, but she had refused.

  "Hey, you're quiet. Lost in your thoughts?"

  Claire pulled herself back to the present. "You could say that." Blake's kitchen was almost finished, and her car was fixed. She had a feeling she'd see less of Blake, and more of a red Mustang parked out front.

  Blake pulled the VW in front of the rental. He cut the engine and handed Claire the keys. "All yours."

  "Thanks." Claire pulled on the door handle and slid out of her car. "Can I see your kitchen another time?"

  "Are you sure? It'll only take a minute." Blake walked around her VW.

  "I'm going to grab a nap before Haley comes home. I didn't sleep too well last night." Claire covered a yawn.

  "Okay, if you say so." Blake held up his dirty hands. "I'm going to grab a shower. See you at six?"

  "I'm looking forward to it." Claire started up the walk, then stopped. She turned around and looked at Blake. In a rush of emotions, she ran up to him and hugged him tight. "Thanks for fixing my car. It means the world to me."

  "You're welcome." He gave her a genuine smile.

  Dirty or not, she felt right in Blake's arms. Did he think the same thing?

  Michael looked at the clock on his desk—again. He leaned over his laptop and stared at the empty screen. I must be crazy. Why consider admitting to his friend and colleague that he had an affair? After all these years, did it matter now? Michael knew it mattered. A gnawing ache swirled in his gut. It mattered to him, and, more important, to his wife. There was something about Eric that caused Michael to trust. Was it Eric's family values? Work ethic? Faith? A combination of the three? Michael tossed a paper clip into his empty coffee cup. He thought of himself as Eric's mentor—but sometimes, when it came down to the tough issues of life, it was the other way around.

  "Hey, man, you ready to go? I'm starving." Eric clapped him on the back.

  Michael jumped.

  "It's one o'clock. We agreed to go out to lunch, right?" Eric stood with briefcase in hand. "You don't mind running by a house on the way back, do you? It should only take a few minutes."

  Michael chuckled, shut his laptop, and slipped it into his briefcase. "Why don't we take two cars? Your few minutes could take an hour."

  "All right, wise guy." Eric straightened the stack of folders on Michael's desk. "But no one has accused me of not being thorough."

  "You're right on that count." Michael grabbed his cell phone and clipped it to his belt. "Where are we going?"

  "Red Apple Café?" Eric led the way out of the real estate office. "Sound good?"

  "Meet you there." Michael headed toward his car.

  "Michael?" Crown Real Estate's secretary called from behind.

  Michael turned.

  Valerie waved a small white envelope. "I wanted to give you this. It seemed urgent. A blonde woman dropped it off not two minutes ago. Said it was priority mail."

  Claire. It must be an apology from this morning. "Thanks, Valerie." Michael stuffed the envelope into his back pocket.

  "Have a nice lunch." Valerie called over her shoulder.

  Michael slid into his BMW, opened the sunroof, and slipped on his sunglasses. At age fifty- two, he liked to think he was still young, successful, and could turn women's heads. That kind of thinking is what got him into trouble all those years ago. Mic
hael pulled his car into the restaurant's parking lot, got out, and slammed the door behind him, cutting off the recollection.

  He walked into the café and noticed Eric was already seated.

  "What took you so long?"

  "Valerie stopped me." Michael dropped his briefcase by his feet.

  A heavyset waitress came to take their order.

  "And for you, sir?" The redhead turned to Michael after taking Eric's order for a hamburger.

  "Cobb salad, please."

  The waitress took their menus and promised rounds of water coming right up.

  Twenty minutes later, Eric took a bite of his burger. Ketchup oozed out and dripped onto his plate. "So, how are the wedding plans coming?"

  "My checkbook tells me I'd better sell another house—and fast—if I'm going to keep up with Sandy and Julia's plans. "Michael gulped his iced tea and then dug into his salad.

  "So, what does a wedding cost these days?" Eric wiped his face with a napkin and popped a French fry into his mouth.

  "I'll let you know when the final bills come in. For now, my baby girl's getting married and nothing's going to keep me from giving her the best wedding possible."

  "There's a new listing in the Uplands." Eric smiled and raised his eyebrows.

  "Don't tell me, you're the listing agent." Michael folded his arms across his chest.

  Eric laughed. "What can I say, when I'm hot, I'm hot."

  "You dog!" Michael tossed a wadded napkin at Eric. "Is that the house you wanted to check out after lunch?"

  "The one and only."

  "Do you pay someone to get those listings? Today's market's so slow, I don't know how any of us survive."

  "Only the best." Eric took a swig of his Coke and looked deep in Michael's eyes. "Hey, man, you sounded kind of serious the other day. You said you needed to talk."

  The turn of conversation made his palms sweat. He didn't know if he could do it. Michael pushed his salad aside, reached for his glass, and brought the iced tea to his lips. He took a long, hard drink.

  "Anytime you're ready." Eric leaned back in his seat and rested his hands on his belly.

  Michael bit his lip. "I was in love once—or thought I was—to a girl the summer after high school. And then we met again—twenty some years ago."

  Eric sat up and propped both elbows on the table. "Go on."

  Michael inhaled and let his breath out slowly. "I had an affair." There, he said it. He exposed the secret that caused the ache within him. Michael looked out the window. "We had a one-night stand twenty-some odd years ago."

  "And you're still thinking about her?"

  "A year ago she died of cancer."

  Their waitress stopped in front of their table. "Can I get you anything else? A box for your salad?"

  "Yes, please." Michael felt his cheeks flush. Had the waitress overheard his conversation? He looked down at his half-eaten salad.

  "You're paying, right?"

  Michael nodded. "Yes, it's my turn."

  Eric rubbed his hands together. "Okay, then, I'll have a brownie with vanilla ice cream."

  The thought of eating dessert turned Michael's stomach.

  "Anything for you, sir?"

  "No." Michael let out an annoyed breath.

  "I'll be right back with your brownie." The waitress turned on her heels and lumbered to the kitchen.

  Eric pushed. "Does Sandy know?"

  "No, Sandy doesn't know. Neither does Julia." Eric's brows furrowed.

  "I wasn't going to tell you either, but the guilt is killing me."

  The waitress brought the dessert, set it in front of Eric, and handed Michael a to-go box. She placed the bill on the table. "Anything else?"

  "We're good." Michael held up a hand.

  The waitress walked away.

  Michael scraped his fork along his plate, filling the box with salad.

  "What are you going to do?" Eric crammed his mouth with a forkful of the brownie.

  "Nothing. Nothing until the wedding is over, when I can sit down with Sandy and tell her the truth."

  "Sounds like a plan." He finished off his dessert with a swig of his Coke.

  Eric's cell phone went off, interrupting their conversation. "I've got to take this one. Potential buyer." He stood and walked outside.

  Michael dug in his back pocket for his wallet and felt the envelope Valerie had handed him. He pulled it out. Surprisingly, the letter was unsealed. He glided the piece of paper out of the envelope. "Dear Michael . . ." He gasped. The note was in Emily's handwriting. He checked the date. It appeared to be written right before her death.

  Dear Michael,

  Even though I want to stay in this world and be with my girls, cancer has taken over my body. But I have won the fight. God is calling me home.

  Michael swallowed the lump that formed in his throat.

  I take the blame for what happened between us. You were a married man, with a child on the way, and I was a separated single mother needing to feel loved.

  No, Emily, it was my fault as much as yours. Michael exhaled and kept reading.

  I never wanted to tell you—to burden you, or make you feel obligated to be part of my life— but now I must, because I don't have much longer and I want you to know.

  Michael glanced out the window at Eric. He was still talking on his cell phone.

  Nine months after the night we were together, I delivered a beautiful baby girl.

  "Hey, man, ready to go?" Eric stood over him. "You don't look so good. Are you sick?"

  Michael charged to the restroom. And lost his lunch.

  33

  Claire nestled under her covers. A nap would do her good. She felt exhausted—between Geraldine's heart attack, her sister coming to town, coffee with Michael, and Blake's possible new love interest, Kristy, Claire could sleep for a week. She rolled over on her left side and pulled the covers under her chin. She closed her eyes, took in a few deep breaths, and tried to empty her mind.

  "Mew." The muffled sound came from outside her window.

  Claire turned over and settled in a comfortable position on her back.

  "Mew." The sound was louder now.

  She'd never be able to sleep with that noise. Claire kicked off the blanket and wandered over to the slightly opened window. She opened it all the way and listened.

  "Meow."

  A cat.

  Claire pushed herself away from the window, then sprinted to the front door and around the side of the house. Sitting in the bushes was the most beautiful calico cat she'd ever seen. Claire took a few steps closer. She could see it was mostly white with black and tan markings. And it didn't have a collar.

  "Meow."

  "Are you hungry, little one?" Claire pushed her hair behind her ear, then gathered the cat into her arms.

  It purred and nuzzled Claire's neck.

  "Come inside with me." She stood, cradling her find. "I'll pour you some milk."

  Once in the kitchen, she filled a bowl and placed it on the tile floor.

  The cat lapped the milk up quickly, then walked over to Claire and rubbed against her legs.

  "Where are your owners?" She leaned down and scooped the cat up. "I'm sure they miss you." I know I would. Claire recalled her pets growing up, and she stroked the cat's fur as she walked into her bedroom and sat on her bed. The cat hopped off her lap, then walked around in circles before settling down in a ball near Claire's feet.

  "I'm tired, too." Claire plumped the pillows and sank into them. She stared at the ceiling and felt the cat's soft fur against her leg. Thoughts of her mother's journal invaded her mind. She reached in her nightstand, grabbed the book, and opened it. It felt good to see her mother's handwriting—neat and straight, unlike hers. It reminded Claire of all the times her mother wrote notes and stuck them in her school lunchbox when she was a child.

  Claire read the first line.

  I'm in love with Martin DeWitt.

  Ever since finding out Michael wrote the letter, a naggi
ng feeling told her something wasn't right. Why did her mother write in her journal that she was in love with Martin when Michael was the one who wrote the letter?

  Claire looked closer. Wait a minute. The ink in Martin's name appeared to be a shade darker than the ink used for the rest of the sentence. Claire flipped a couple of pages. She found Martin's name once again in darker ink. Who changed it? And why? Claire tossed the journal on her bed and stroked the cat's back. It didn't make sense.

  "Claire?" Haley's voice called from the family room.

  "I'm in the bedroom." Claire picked up the cat and sat her on her lap. She'd question Haley later, when the time was right. "You'll never guess what I found."

  "Oh, no. You let an animal in the house." Haley covered her nose and mouth with her hand. "Don't you know pregnant women shouldn't be around cats?"

  "That's only a myth." Claire scratched the top of the cat's head. "Pregnant women shouldn't change the litter box, that's all."

  "Where did you find her?"

  "Outside my bedroom window."

  Haley sat on the edge of Claire's bed. "Are you going to call Animal Services?"

  "Yes. Then, if no one is missing a calico cat, I was hoping you'd come with me to the pet store for food and a litter box." Claire held the cat like a baby. "Isn't she the sweetest thing?"

  "What do you think Geraldine will say? After all, she lives here too."

  "Don't you remember? Geraldine loves cats. She had at least a half a dozen at one time. I'm sure she'd welcome Cali with open arms."

  Haley rolled her eyes. "Cali? You named her?"

  "It fits, don't you think?" Claire held Cali up underneath her front legs.

  "Oh, brother." Haley stood, walked to her suitcase, and rummaged through it.

  "Where were you, by the way? Blake said you left in a taxi."

  "Blake and Miss Mustang were locked in an embrace, I didn't think he saw me."