Delivered with Love (21 page)

M
ichael climbed the steps and walked down the long corridor of Dominican Hospital to room 2125. He turned left and nearly ran into Claire. She held a mauve-colored pitcher in her hand.

"I was getting your mom ice water. You know how she likes her water . . .with ice." Claire stammered.

Michael could tell he made the young woman nervous. It didn't surprise him one bit after the fiasco at New Brighton Beach. "Here, I'll get it. Why don't you go back to the room, and I'll be there in a minute."

The surprise on Claire's face brought a smile to his own. Claire needed to see his softer side. He did have one, even though he didn't show it much. He had tried to give his wife a bit of affection too this morning, but it didn't get him far. Guilt clawed at his insides. He could be nice to Claire, Emily's daughter. "Really, it's no problem."

"Thanks." Claire handed him the empty pitcher. She turned and slipped into Geraldine's room.

With container in hand, Michael walked to the nurses' station. "Where can I find the water—and ice?"

A nurse looked up. It was Nancy. Michael knew her at once. "Michael. I was wondering if I'd see you today. Follow me." Nancy stood and walked down the hall to a storage room.

Michael followed behind, and then entered a rectangular room filled with storage supplies. He filled the pitcher.

"Claire loves your mother." Nancy grabbed a few cups off the shelf. "She acted quickly yesterday. You must be so grateful that your mom has such a wonderful caregiver."

Claire had been doing a great job. The doctor told him it was a miracle his mother was able to have the angioplasty. "You're right, Nancy. Claire is the best person to come along for my mother in quite a while. And I'm going to make sure she knows it." He'd make sure his mother gave Claire a hefty raise.

Nancy handed Michael the cups. "For you and Claire."

"Thanks." Michael made his way to his mother's room.

Mom was asleep, and Claire sat in a chair, one leg curled under the other, flipping through a magazine.

"How long has she been out?" Michael set the pitcher and cups down on the table.

"Not long. I came twenty minutes ago. She was wide awake when I went to get the water." Claire glanced at his mother. Her mouth hung open as she took deep breaths.

"Want to grab a coffee?" The words were out of Michael's mouth before he had a chance to think. Why did he do that? Did he feel he owed Claire after saving his mother? He ran a hand through his hair.

"Sure, why not." She stood and followed him out the door.

"I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of my mother."

"We take care of each other."

The statement warmed Michael's heart. He had noticed his mother fussing over Claire a time or two.

"I owe her a great deal. If it wasn't for your mom, I wouldn't have a job or a roof over my head." Claire kept a good distance from him as they walked side by side down the long corridor.

Michael motioned for her to go first through the entrance of the cafeteria. "How's it working out with Blake cooking in the kitchen?"

"Fine. Really good."

Did Michael see a hint of pink in Claire's cheeks? Blake had the same effect on his eighty-two-year-old mother.

"If I remember correctly, you like mochas?" Michael pulled out his wallet.

"Yes, but—"

"I insist." Michael ordered the drinks. "Why don't you find us a seat and I'll be right there." He watched Claire walk toward the chairs. She was a sweet woman—reminded him of his own daughter Julia in a way, but with lighter features. Now might be a chance to get to know Claire. Find out about her background. Something he should've checked before he hired her.

Michael collected his change and carried the steaming drinks to the table Claire had selected by the window. "Here you go."

"Thank you." Claire brought the cup to her lips and sipped the hot liquid. She kept her eyes averted, then peered out the window.

"Claire, we started off on the wrong foot." Michael rested both forearms on the table, his coffee tucked between his hands. "My mother knew you from L.A., and I know you're Emily's daughter, but that's all I know about you. I'd like to know more. What brought you to Capitola?"

A few seconds ticked by. Claire seemed to be formulating her thoughts by the way she hesitated. Her eyes met his. "Ever since my mom died, I'd been working as a waitress, living with my sister, and wanting to be on my own. Then, when I was fired, my brother-in-law kicked me out. I needed somewhere to go." Claire leaned back in her chair. "I couldn't forget the letter. So, I came here to find out who wrote it."

Michael heaved a sigh. What did this girl want from him? "And? Now what?"

"The man I dreamed about doesn't exist." Claire turned her head toward the window.

"Don't you think you're being a little unfair?" Michael knew his voice sounded condescending. "After all, I was barely out of high school. A kid. Someone who thought he was in love."

"It's not the teenage boy I'm disappointed with, but the man you've become—" Claire shot her hand up to her mouth.

Michael didn't like who he was either. He had to give Claire credit for speaking her mind. Where had the caring family man gone? Michael let out a long breath.

"I can't believe I said that. Please don't fire me. I need this job. Geraldine means the world to me."

"Whoa." Michael held up a hand. "Slow down. I'm not going to fire you—."

"Michael . . . Claire?" Sandy walked toward their table, her outfit perfectly coordinated and her right hand planted on her hip. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No." Claire bolted out of her seat. "I was just leaving."

Michael watched Claire's retreating back as she sprinted out of the cafeteria. "Mom's asleep, so we grabbed a coffee." He motioned for Sandy to sit down.

She didn't budge. "I don't have time. I came to check on your mother. Then I have an appointment with Julia."

At least Sandy was talking to him. "We could've come here together." Michael downed the rest of his coffee, stood, then tossed his cup in the trash. "Maybe Mom will be awake later. "He kissed his wife on the cheek.

"Don't make light of the situation, Michael." Sandy straightened her collar. "Until you want to tell me what's
really
going on, you can sleep in the guest room."

"Baby, please." His pet name for Sandy when he wanted to score points rolled off his tongue. "Don't you think you're being a little extreme?" He kept his voice low. He didn't want anyone overhearing his conversation. "My mother is in the hospital, finances are tight, and our daughter is getting married. Life is stressful." Michael grabbed Sandy by the elbow and led her out of the cafeteria.

"I still think you're hiding something from me." Sandy opened her purse and pulled out a tube of lipstick. She applied a thick layer over her perfectly formed lips.

Michael felt as if he were sinking into a mud hole. How could he consider telling his wife of twenty-seven years that he had broken his wedding vows? Was one night with Emily out of thousands with Sandy worth ruining his life—and his future? Keeping the secret from his wife might break up his marriage if the look in Sandy's eyes was any indication.

He needed to do something fast. Michael slipped his arm around her waist. "Sandy, sweetheart, I assure you. You're the only woman I want to be with forever. But we need to work together." He led her to the lobby doors. "Now I've got to go to work. I'll see you tonight."

Michael pulled his keys from his pocket, leaving his wife's empty glare behind him.

"Bye, Geraldine. You take care. I'll see you tomorrow." Claire leaned over and gave Geraldine a hug. The last fifteen minutes had been awkward with Sandy's watchful gaze on Claire's every move. Was Sandy mad at her? The picnic had turned out to be uncomfortable. Claire could feel the tension between Sandy and Michael then, and once again today in the hospital cafeteria. Now, Sandy couldn't keep her eyes off
her.

"Claire, can I talk with you in the hallway?" Sandy motioned with her hand.

Claire's pulse quickened. Why would Sandy want to talk with her? "Okay. I'll be right there."

Sandy turned on her heel and left the room.

Claire turned toward Geraldine. "Is there anything you need from home?"

"Blake."

"Excuse me?" Claire thought Geraldine must still be under the influence of pain medication.

"Can you bring that handsome man by tonight? I'm going to miss dinner." Geraldine winked.

"He's going to make Chinese food." Claire patted Geraldine's hand. "I'll ask him to sneak you an egg roll or two."

"That would be nice." Geraldine reached up and touched her white hair. "Can you bring my hairbrush and lipstick?"

"Of course." Claire smiled. She loved Geraldine's spunk. "I've got to go see what Sandy wants."

Geraldine frowned. "It was a pretty big blow for her to find out Michael loved your mother."

"But they were only teenagers." Claire hooked her purse on her shoulder.

"He loved Emily for a long time. Too long."

Claire's stomach tightened. What did Geraldine mean? How long? She glanced at the door, knowing Sandy was waiting.

"Go on now. I'll see you tonight." Geraldine waved. "Tell Blake I'm looking forward to my egg roll."

Claire headed toward the doorway. She thought back on the awkward situation at New Brighton Beach. She didn't mean for Sandy to see the letter or for there to be an awkward moment between her and Michael. And she certainly didn't intend for Sandy to find her and Michael in the cafeteria together drinking coffee. Did Sandy think there was something going on between them? Claire recoiled. She would never intentionally spend time alone with a married man. The cafeteria was filled with people coming and going. Surely Sandy didn't feel threatened by her. Claire stepped into the hallway and looked left, then right. Sandy was nowhere to be found. How odd.

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.

T
he 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. Michael 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?"