The Secret Wife (8 page)

“It’s not your night to work,” he said. “I can do it.”

“Don’t be silly. Go have fun with the other kids. I won’t be a moment.”

He ducked into the dining hall because the alternative was to watch her walk away. It didn’t take long to get caught up in the celebration. After passing out cake and scoops of ice cream, he walked around the room, making sure everyone was having a good time. Before he could settle down himself and grab a piece of cake, Elissa was at his side.

“You’ve got to come quickly,” she said, her eyes wide and dark with worry.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he signaled for one of the college students to take charge. He followed Elissa outside.

“It’s Tiffany. She went into her room to get a sweater and when she didn’t come out, I went to check on her.” Elissa walked quickly, twisting her hands together as she talked. “She’s curled up on her bed, sobbing. She won’t tell me what’s wrong. I don’t think she’s sick, but I’m not sure. She’s crying as if her heart is broken.” She pulled open the dorm door and headed for the stairs. “I know I probably should have been able to take care of it myself, but I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

He took the stairs two at a time. The orphanage had a doctor on call. If Tiffany was sick, Cole could call, or take the child directly to the emergency room. Had she eaten something bad? Was it the flu? Was it…

He paused at the entrance to the room. Four girls about the same age shared it, but Tiffany was the only one in there now. She lay as Elissa had described her, curled up on her bed, sobbing as if her world had been destroyed.

Each choking sob ripped through him, as did a wave of helplessness. What did he know about raising children? Who was he trying to kid? He was the last person who should be in charge.

He was about to ask Elissa to try to talk to Tiffany again when he spotted the crumpled envelope on the floor. He bent and retrieved it, then smoothed it flat. The feel of heavy paper told him it contained a greeting card.

A name and address were carefully written in Tiffany’s handwriting. Stamped across that was the ink image of a hand with the index finger pointing to the left.

Moved and left no forwarding address.

Then he understood. He moved to the bed and pulled Tiffany into his arms. Her body shook with each sob. She clung to him as if she were in danger of falling and he was the only stable place in her world. He knew about that, too.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re not alone. I’m right here.”

* * *

Elissa checked the pot of coffee she’d made two hours before. It was at exactly the same level—full, less one cup. Should she toss it out and make fresh? Would Cole even bother coming to the kitchen when he had finished talking with Tiffany? Maybe he had gone straight to bed and she was waiting up for nothing.

Maybe, but a voice in her head said he would be coming here for coffee. She wanted to be waiting for him. Not only to find out what was wrong with Tiffany, but to once again try to make a connection with the man she’d married. They might have lived in the same location for nearly three weeks, but he was as much a stranger as he had been the day she arrived.

Footsteps in the hallway sent her hurrying to the door. Cole pushed it open before she could and stepped inside. She waited apprehensively, not sure what he would think when he saw her. But when his dark eyes met hers she saw nothing but exhaustion dilating his pupils. For once there was no anger, no suspicion.

“I’ve made coffee,” she said, walking to the pot. “Let me pour you a cup.”

“Thanks.”

He pulled out a chair from the large table in the center and sat down. Elissa set the black coffee in front of him and took the seat on his right.

The large kitchen had been cleaned for the night. There were huge empty pots on the counter. The ancient stove gleamed with obvious care. The tile sparkled and the food in the pantry beyond had been neatly arranged by size and type. There might not be a lot of extra money at the Grace Orphanage, but there was plenty of caring. Obviously Cole set the example for that; if Elissa had had any doubts, tonight had eased them.

“How’s Tiffany?” she asked.

Cole stared into his coffee mug. “Sleeping. It took nearly an hour for her to calm down. I guess I’m going to have to schedule her some time with the child psychologist.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He glanced at her, his expression hard. “Are you going to ask what’s wrong?”

“No. If you want to tell me, I’m happy to listen, but if it’s confidential, I don’t need to know. Either way, I’d still like to help.”

“The last of the good guys.” There was a cynical edge to his voice.

So much for them connecting, she thought wearily. She’d been a fool to try. “Who did you fight with before I arrived?” Elissa asked as she pushed to her feet. “You win, Cole. I’ll leave you alone. Good night.”

She got all the way to the door before he called her back. “Elissa. Wait.”

She paused, but didn’t turn around. Her stomach twisted painfully and she was way too close to tears. Why did he still have that kind of power over her? She hated it. Why couldn’t she have come to the orphanage, met Cole and found out the sparks had long since extinguished themselves? But no. That would make life too easy.

“Tiffany’s mother is a drug addict.”

“I know.”

“For the past year or so, her mother has been in a rehab program. She’s had a few relapses, but she’s always gone back to the program. She’s been living in a halfway house on the premises of the rehab facility. Even though she knows better, Tiffany was starting to hope that her mom might kick the drugs. When she got home from the play, Tiffany found that the birthday card she’d sent her mother had been returned. She’d left the rehab center without telling anyone where she’d gone. Which means she’s back on the streets.”

Elissa faced him. “That’s horrible. No wonder she’s so upset. Her mother could be ill or dead. How can she stand not knowing?”

“It’s worse than that.” Cole returned his attention to the mug of coffee on the table in front of him. “She hasn’t just lost her mom, she’s lost the dream.”

Without wanting to, knowing full well that he was going to bite her head off again, or find something to blame on her, Elissa returned to the table. This time, instead of sitting next to him, she took the seat across the table. Somehow the distance made her feel safer.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Isn’t there a way to find out what happened to her mother? Can’t we call the police or something to trace her?”

“Sure, and I will. But that’s not what Tiffany’s upset about. You can’t relate to this because you have family, but an orphan has no one. No parents, no family of any kind. Growing up that alone is very threatening, especially to a child. Everything they read or see on television is about mom, dad and kids.” He gave her a brief smile. “One exception is ‘The Sally McGuire Show.’ The children here watch it on cable all the time.”

“Although I’m thrilled they can relate, it’s pretty humiliating to remember I used to do that. Go on.”

He leaned back in his chair. “There’s a hierarchy. How old were you when you lost your folks? How much do you remember? Do you have any photos or other memorabilia? That kind of stuff. The more, the better. Then there are the few special children. Those with a living relative who for some reason can’t take care of the child. According to the rules of the orphanage, those are the lucky kids. They get the fantasy.”

Elissa nodded slowly. “I understand. Everyone here has a dream about being adopted into a family, and the children with living relatives believe they have the best chance for making it come true. If only Tiffany’s mother will stop taking drugs, Tiffany can be rescued. Her world made right.”

“Exactly.”

The night surrounded them. Although there were lights on in the kitchen, darkness invaded in the form of silence. Beyond these walls was the silence of sleeping children, dreaming dreams of families and homes in which they could belong.

She stared at the man across from her. Now, in the quiet, he seemed to accept her. She didn’t know how long that would last. Cole seemed so eager to find fault.

If only… If only she could get over him. If only the sight of him didn’t make her heart beat fast. If only she didn’t think he was the handsomest, smartest, most caring man she’d ever met—to everyone else, if not to her. If only his jokes didn’t make her laugh. If only she could have fallen in love with someone else instead of him.

Dark hair fell across his forehead. The hint of stubble shadowed his jaw, making him look like a modern-day pirate. His firm mouth pulled straight and she wondered what he was thinking. About Tiffany or about his own broken dreams?

“Did you wait for your grandfather to come rescue you?” she asked.

He raised his gaze to hers. “You remembered?”

She remembered everything about their time together. “Of course. I was with you when you got the letter from him.”

He laughed harshly. “The letter. Why does bad news always come through the mail? Can’t anybody call it in?” He shook his head. “Don’t answer that. Bad news isn’t any better delivered on the phone. As for wanting my grandfather to come rescue me, sure I hoped he would. I never stopped hoping, until he informed me not to bother him again.”

Elissa clenched her hands together tightly in her lap. She wished the old man was here so she could give him a piece of her mind. Cole would resent any sign of compassion from her, though, assuming—wrongly, of course—that it was nothing more than pity. Still, it was hard to sit still as she recalled the look on his face while he’d read the letter from his only living relative.

He’d been all of eighteen; she’d been a kid of thirteen. Her visits to the orphanage had been erratic, but she’d come whenever she could. She’d had a huge crush on Cole and had assumed he merely tolerated her presence. It wasn’t until later that she’d found out he’d had some feelings for her, too.

She’d begged her mother to let her come up to the orphanage to celebrate Cole’s high school graduation, and the older woman had agreed.

Elissa and Cole had left the party and escaped to the orchard, which had been their special place. He’d pulled a letter out of his jeans pocket and waved it in front of her.

“I heard back from him,” he’d said, his voice tight with anticipation. “My grandfather, I mean. I got the address of his company from the phone books at the library. I wrote him and told him who I was. Maybe he didn’t know he had a grandson, right? It could happen.”

Even at thirteen, Elissa had sensed the danger. She’d wanted to snatch the letter from his hands and destroy it. Not because if the old man wanted Cole in his life, then Cole would have to leave, but because she knew what the letter would say. Rich, powerful men didn’t “lose track” of their children, or their grandchildren. If Cole’s grandfather had wanted the boy with him, then that’s where Cole would have been.

But she couldn’t say anything or do anything. She could only be there as he read the harsh words aloud, his voice changing from eager to shocked and finally to ashamed.

“He doesn’t want me,” Cole had said, stunned, as the single piece of paper had fluttered to the ground. “He knew about me all the time and he doesn’t want me.”

It was the only time she’d ever seen him cry. It was the first time he’d taken her in his arms.

Elissa glanced around the kitchen, fighting memories and tears. She could still recall the awkwardness of his embrace, the rangy strength of his boy-man body. There had been nothing sexual about being in his arms; they’d shared pain as friends, perhaps as soul mates, although she’d been too young to realize that at the time.

In that single moment Cole had lost a lifetime of fantasy. All his dreams of home and family had been destroyed. She’d always known he carried a chip on his shoulder to avoid getting too close to anyone. After he’d read the letter, she’d understood how rare their friendship was to him. Now, with the hindsight of an adult, she was surprised he’d allowed her to get close. Maybe the difference in their ages had made her seem safe to him.

No wonder he had a fear of being abandoned. Yet he’d been willing to take a chance on her. He’d wanted to marry her.

And she’d left him.

Elissa stared at the table, but instead of clean Formica, she saw vignettes from her marriage. Cole coming home late at night, walking into the bedroom and holding her, even if she had been asleep. When she’d complained about him waking her, he’d told her he didn’t mean to, but he had to know that she was there and okay.

She remembered holidays spent with her family, Cole watching almost enviously as she and her sisters joked together. She remembered presents he gave her, the big ones at her birthday and Christmas, the little ones for no reason. They were always beautifully wrapped, showing obvious care, but he’d often dismissed them as nearly meaningless.

It was, she realized now, fear. Fear of being left. It was what he’d dreaded most and the one thing she’d done to him.

No wonder he hated her.

“The irony in all this is that the old man invited me back,” Cole said bitterly.

“What do you mean?” Elissa asked, forcing herself to let go of the past and give him her attention.

“About three years ago I received another letter from my grandfather. He’d been keeping track of me. I’d finished law school at the top of my class, been hired by a successful law firm and was doing well. To quote him, I’d ‘earned’ my way into the family and he was ready to welcome me with open arms.”

No emotion flared in his dark eyes, but Elissa knew what he was feeling. Her skin prickled in response as waves of pain washed over him.

“You told him you weren’t interested,” she said.

“I wasn’t that polite, but he got the message.”

“I know that he acted like a jerk, but he is a relative. You always wanted to belong.”

His mouth twisted down. “Not like that.”

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. Sometime while he’d been gone he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves. The white cotton accentuated his tanned skin and muscled strength. He had great hands. Large with square palms and long fingers. His hands had made her feel safe, although she doubted he would believe that if she told him.