Delivered with Love Page 23

  Claire chuckled to herself. She remembered when they were camping how frightened Samantha was of animals.

  "It looks like you've got yourself a great place." Samantha craned her neck and looked around.

  Claire sat down on the recliner. "I love this house." Her voice was wistful. She twisted her hair between her fingers. "And I've got a great job taking care of the elderly woman who lives here."

  "What's going on?" Samantha cocked her head. "I can tell something's bothering you."

  "You're right. I have a big decision to make." Claire tucked her foot under her thigh. "My sister wants me to move back to L.A. to help her when the baby comes. And I'm considering it."

  Samantha's brows furrowed. "Why? You're on your own. Do you want to go back?"

  "I may have to."

  "Give me one good reason."

  "Remember the letter I told you about? The one signed 'M.'?" Claire stood and walked to the window.

  "I do remember. Did you ever find out who wrote it?"

  "I did. His name is Michael. And—he's my father!" Claire took a deep breath. "But that's not all. He owns this house. And the woman I'm taking care of—Geraldine—is his mother, which makes her my grandmother."

  "You're kidding!" Samantha jumped up from the couch and joined her.

  "It's true—all of it. My mother had written a note to Michael before she died. My sister Haley was supposed to give it to him at my mother's memorial. But she held off—until today. Meanwhile, Haley went back to L.A. with her husband." Claire pressed her fingers to her forehead. "Now it's up to me—to confront Michael or leave. I'm scared. I don't know what to do."

  "I'll be here for you." Samantha laid her hand on Claire's shoulder and squeezed. "Seeing that I have nowhere else to go. Wait, that didn't come out right." She crinkled her nose.

  "I know the feeling. You're welcome to stay here. I'd love the company. I get lonely without Geraldine."

  "Where is she?"

  "In the hospital. She had a heart attack and needed surgery." Claire picked up Cali and nuzzled her cheek against the cat's soft fur. "She should be home in a few days." She set the cat down.

  "I'm glad she's going to be okay."

  "Me too." Claire led Samantha to the kitchen. "You hungry?"

  "Starving."

  "How does leftover sweet and sour chicken sound?" Claire opened the refrigerator. "Blake made it for dinner tonight. Oh, and there are a couple of egg rolls."

  "Explain to me again how you roped your neighbor into cooking for you every night." Samantha put her hands on her slender hips.

  "I had nothing to do with it. His kitchen burned down and he needed a place to cook. I'm one of the lucky recipients." Claire pulled out the Tupperware with the leftovers. "But it's going to end soon. Blake's new cabinets went in. And his counter should arrive soon."

  "I can't wait to meet him." Samantha opened the cabinet and pulled out a couple of plates.

  "None for me. I finished the Szechwan beef at dinner." Claire grabbed a spoon and emptied the contents on a plate. She stuck the dish in the microwave. "You're going to have to wait until tomorrow to meet Blake. He was called in to work." The microwave beeped. Claire filled Samantha's plate and joined her at the table. "I'm falling for him." Her palms grew moist.

  Samantha stuck a forkful of sweet and sour chicken into her mouth. "He definitely can cook."

  "That's not the only thing he's good at." Claire giggled. "Say, after you're finished eating we'll get you settled. I want to hear all about what's going on in your life."

  Later that night, Claire watched one of her favorite movies with Samantha. She'd seen it at least a dozen times. Her mind wandered as she stared at the television screen. If she did go back to L.A., Samantha could take care of Geraldine. Claire glanced at her friend. She was friendly, caring, and needing a job. Yes. Geraldine would definitely like Samantha.

  Would Blake? Claire's stomach churned. He needed a woman who knew what she wanted and was ready to settle down. Her imagination ran wild. Claire wanted to be that person. And she knew Blake was interested in her. But was it worth hurting Michael's family in the process? Should she disappear and go back to L.A.—and to her sister, where she knew she was needed?

  The college application sat on the end table by Geraldine's recliner. How she wished she could fill out the paperwork and mail it.

  She'd have to make a decision—to stay or leave. And soon.

  Michael's knees burned.

  "Lord, I messed up and now it's caught up with me. You gave me a beautiful wife and daughter, a wonderful home, so many blessings. And I blew it." He paused. "Please forgive me for breaking my vows. Help me." Michael's voice shook. "I don't know what to do or say to make things right again. I've hurt so many people—Emily, Sandy, Julia, and now Claire. If you get me out of this mess, I promise to live my life for you from now on. In your name." He glanced at the clock. The past hour had flown by. Sandy would be home soon.

  Michael clutched the comforter and stood. He rubbed his aching knees, then grabbed for the phone. Confession time. He'd call his friend Martin at the nursing facility.

  "Martin's room."

  A woman's voice trilled over the line. It didn't sound like Debbie. She was probably at the bridal shower with Sandy.

  Michael loosened his collar. "This is Michael Thompson. Is Martin available?"

  "Just a moment, please."

  Michael heard shuffling noises in the background. A couple of minutes passed.

  "He-llo."

  Michael caught his breath at the sound of Martin's slow drawl. Would he ever get used to the fact that his high school buddy had such a difficult life? Michael's life wasn't exactly easy at the moment, either. "Martin, it's me. Michael."

  "I thought you might call." Martin exhaled loudly.

  "Why's that?" Michael paced the room.

  "It's Thursday. Sandy stopped by to see Debbie. She looked like she had a lot on her mind."

  Michael walked over to his dresser and picked up a framed picture of his family. Sandy's arms were wrapped around his waist, and Julia held his hand. His heart skipped a beat. Would it ever be that way again?

  "Michael?"

  "Sorry, buddy." Michael set the picture down and sighed. "I need to finally tell Sandy the truth." Michael sat down on the edge of his bed. "And there's more." He hesitated. How would Martin respond to his news? "Claire's my daughter."

  Michael waited for a response. He heard Martin breathing. Was he going to say anything?

  "Trust God, Michael," Martin encouraged. "He'll get you through."

  "I'm scared." Michael slid off the bed and sat on the floor with his elbows propped on his knees. He lowered his head into his hands.

  "God forgives you."

  "Do you forgive me?" Michael winced. If he hadn't asked Martin to meet him that night, his friend never would have been in the accident that left him paralyzed.

  "Yes, I forgive you."

  "But—"

  "But nothing."

  Michael felt sick to his stomach. Aside from his mother, Martin had been the only one he had confided in until the other day at lunch with Eric.

  "I've wanted you to tell Sandy for a long time."

  "I know." Michael let out a breath. "Since the accident . . ."

  "I never blamed you for what happened to me."

  "Thank you."

  "For what?" Martin's voice softened.

  "For sticking with me. I haven't been a good friend to you. But you've always been there for me."

  Martin's tone lifted. "You can make it up to me."

  "How?"

  "Get me out of this place for a few hours. Let's have lunch sometime."

  Michael laughed through his tears "How about next Thursday?"

  "You know where to find me."

  "See you at noon. And thanks, Martin, for being the kind of friend I want to be from now on." Michael stood.

  "I'll hold you to it. And remember, friend, trust God."

  Michael l
ooked heavenward, then returned the phone to the cradle.

  He walked to the couch, sat down with a stack of photo albums, and slowly flipped through the pages. Michael stared at the lovely image of Sandy on their wedding day. Her white dress hugged her figure. He chuckled at his tuxedo and the goofy grin on his face. So young. And naïve. That had been the best day of his life. He loved Sandy with every ounce of his being. Then why? Why did he spend the night with Emily?

  Michael turned a few more pages. He ran his hand over a photo of Martin and him before his friend's accident. Michael's eyes clouded. He rubbed the back of his neck with a sweaty palm.

  The next album was filled with pictures of Julia. Her tiny body after birth was hooked to all kinds of tubes and wires. How fast life had flown by. His little girl was now a beautiful woman—about to be married. She'd make a wonderful wife to David. He was grateful to Sandy for being such a loving mother. His heart raced. After what he was about to tell Julia, would she even want him to walk her down the aisle?

  A car door slammed. Sandy? Dear God, help me.

  37

  Michael'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, an
d 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."