Hidden in the Heart Page 8

  Claire stared at the computer screen and frowned. “Okay. Well. I’ve been doing some research and I know that by law, you and Mom would have to have been given some basic information about my biological parents. If you could just…”

  She heard a low curse slip from his lips and scowled into the phone. A long silent moment passed and he cleared his throat.

  “Since you’re clearly not going to give this up, I’ll try to tell you what I can remember, which isn’t much. But we weren’t told much either. Your birth mother was young. A college student, I think. Maybe in her early twenties. She couldn’t afford to keep you. There were no health issues with the pregnancy and no genetic diseases that we were told about. We didn’t get any information about your birth father.”

  “Where was she from? Can you remember that?” Claire gripped the receiver and swallowed a bitter cocktail of anticipation mixed with anxiety. Shaken not stirred.

  “Some place up north. Vermont.”

  “Maine?”

  “Let it go, Claire.”

  “Thanks, Dad. Have a good trip.” Claire ended the call and stared at the website for Tara’s Place again. The idea wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Ludicrous.

  She picked up the handset again. The implications of making the next call jacked up her pulse and made her a little light-headed. But if she didn’t follow this lead, she’d never know.

  Claire concentrated on the figures she’d written down and punched in the numbers.

  “Tara’s Place, Mac speaking.”

  Claire balked at the gruff voice and her ability to speak vamoosed along with her nerve.

  “Hallo? Anybody there?”

  “Uh, yes. Sorry. I…uh…I was wondering about booking a room.”

  “Ayuh.”

  Claire blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Ayuh. You want to book a cabin or just one room? We don’t have many visitors yet, it’s early in the season, you can take your pick.”

  Claire scanned the website again. The cabins were newly renovated. “A cabin would be great. Maybe next month? Do you have anything available?”

  “Ayuh. We have a new cabin available at the beginning of May. For how long, miss?”

  Claire frowned and tapped her fingers on the desk.

  How long would it take to uncover the past?

  “Can we say two weeks and go from there?”

  “As you like. Now, I’ll just take down your information…”

  Claire hung up a few minutes later and stared at the phone. She was going to Maine. Probably the craziest thing she’d ever done in her life. She could see it now. Hi, I’m here to find my birth mother, I think you may have some information that could help me...

  She’d better stop drinking altogether.

  The shrill ring of the phone made her jump. Maybe the old guy was calling back to say he’d made a mistake, that they were full after all. Claire lunged for the receiver.

  “You are there. I was starting to think your phone was out.”

  “James.”

  “I…uh…I’m coming over.”

  “What? What’s going on?” He didn’t sound good. Claire waited for his answer, but all she heard was dial tone.

  Chapter Eight

  Thunder clapped overhead in conjunction with the doorbell. Claire ran downstairs, the dogs ahead of her, barking. She peeked through the curtain on the side window, flung open the door and stared at the dripping figure on her doorstep. “You’re actually here. I didn’t think you were serious.”

  He pushed back his hood, small rivers of water running off his yellow rain slicker onto the threshold. “Your cell is going straight to voicemail. Took me forever to get through on the house phone. Don’t you use call waiting?”

  “I was talking to my father.” Claire leaned against the door, feeling woozy. She still hadn’t eaten. “What are you doing here?”

  He looked over her head and she watched the light in his eyes go out.

  “It’s Mel, isn’t it?”

  “They induced her this morning.” His face said it all. Tension etched into every crevasse, wrinkled his brow and set his lower lip trembling. “She’s not doing so well.”

  “I don’t want to hear this.” Fear slammed her and she backed away, but he took hold of her arm before she could escape. Claire met her husband’s eyes and saw the reality of the situation in them.

  “The baby is breach. They’ll probably do a C-Section. She’s scared. She asked if you would come.”

  Claire struggled out of his grip and gasped for air. “Oh, no.” She stumbled toward the stairs and sank onto the bottom step, her hands shaking.

  As if it wasn’t enough for God to take her mother, then another baby.

  Melanie was going to die too.

  She heard James shrugging out of his coat and coming to crouch before her. His hands rested on her knees, his touch forcing her to look up and meet his anxious eyes.

  “I don’t want to do this alone, Claire,” he whispered. “Will you please come with me?”

  Claire bit down on her lip and ran a finger across his cheek, wiping away the moisture. “You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I don’t think I can…Jamie…I…” She buried her head in her hands. “I can’t go to that hospital, Jamie…please don’t make me.”

  The last time, she’d started bleeding in the middle of the night. As soon as she saw the blood she knew she was having a miscarriage. They said it was due to stress, nothing she could have done to prevent it. Sometimes pregnancies just have a way of terminating themselves.

  She’d heard that before.

  They’d done a D&C and kept her in overnight for observation.

  A few more weeks and she would have made it through the first trimester, this time around.

  Sobs rose and threatened to explode in loud and violent protest. Her chest wanted to explode with them, needed to. But she sucked in air and refused the indulgence. James pulled her close and rested his forehead against hers.

  “Okay.” His voice hinted of defeat and desperation. “Okay. It’s okay. You don’t have to. Mel will understand.” He rose and turned.

  Claire stood, reached out and took his hand. “I’m sorry. I just…I can’t.”

  “I know.” James set his jaw, grabbed his coat and pulled the door open. “Make sure your cell is charged.”

  Claire watched him go, locked the door and went upstairs to the bathroom. Her stomach emptied, she washed her face, popped a couple of pills and tried to quell the hammering of her heart. James looked so lost, so out of control. She’d only ever seen that look on his face once before…the night she tried not to think about.

  Maybe she should go.

  “No, no, no…” Nausea returned with a vengeance and Claire put a fist to her mouth. She willed her body to stop trembling, plugged in her cell, and waited for the pills to kick in. Going to that hospital, re-living it all…it was more than she could bear.

  She stopped outside the closed door of her parents’ bedroom. Her father had insisted they share a room, right to the end. Instead of hospice, Mom had spent her final days here at home, in a hospital bed by the window, looking out at the gardens she’d loved.

  Claire pushed open the double doors and stepped inside the large room. Dad was a neat freak. Nothing was ever out of place. In the months after Mom’s death, he’d organized the packing and clearing out of all her things. Claire hadn’t been able to stand it. In the end it had been James, Melanie and Steve who’d come to help him.

  She wandered across to the spacious dressing room, her mother’s side now completely empty. Almost. Something on the floor at the very back of the closet caught her eye. Claire bent to retrieve it, her fingers closing over a colorful silk scarf.

  She sank to her knees, brought the thin material up to her face and breathed in the scent of her mother’s perfume. Tears stung as her throat constricted. She gave up, let out a muffled wail and let emotion have it
s way.

  Claire trudged back downstairs sometime later, hating the silence of the big house.

  In the kitchen she jacked up the volume of the stereo, fed the dogs and threw a handful of salad greens onto a plate. Toasted a piece of bread and opened a container of black olives. She set everything down on the table and stared at her meager meal. Then she slowly inched towards the refrigerator. An invisible, magnetic force field pulled her toward it. The more she resisted, the stronger the tug grew.

  Claire grasped the stainless steel handle, cold metal on her hand. Took a deep breath and yanked it open. The bottles of wine sat where she’d left them days ago, golden liquid glimmering under the bright florescent bulb. Untouched.

  One glass wouldn’t hurt. One glass would actually help.

  One glass would get her through the next few hours.

  Claire wrestled with conscience, determination to do the right thing and a desire that overpowered both.

  Tears blurred her vision, called her the coward she was, and mocked her as she reached for the bottle.

  ~

  Claire willed time to pass, but eventually allowed her mind to blur. It was too easy to give in to the sensation of floating, airborne in space, where nothing mattered.

  No future. No past.

  No nothing.

  She kept the dogs with her in the den. The air had chilled with the predicted cold front and she managed to light a fire. The flames warmed her, soothed her at first, but eventually retreated and left her to her raging thoughts. She tried watching a movie but couldn’t focus.

  Unable to sit still, too frightened of what memories lucid thought would bring, she opened another bottle.

  ~

  “Claire. Claire, wake up.” Somebody shook her, gently at first, then more insistently.

  Claire stirred, rubbed her eyes and sat up. James squinted down at her, his mouth drawn in a thin line.

  She was still on the couch in the den. Still dressed.

  “Wh…what time is it?” She pulled the soft blanket up to her chin and tried to recall the last few hours. Her eyes stung and her mouth felt dry, jammed with cotton. And she had a wicked buzz going.

  “It’s around ten-thirty. I called but I guess you didn’t hear the phone.” He ran a hand over his face and crossed the room to the built-in cabinets. Claire heard the clinking of ice on glass and sat straighter.

  She watched him down a hefty shot of her father’s bourbon. And then he took another.

  Claire froze.

  “Is she dead?” The words tumbled out, but somehow in the translation she heard the voice of a child. She drew her legs up to her chest and gripped her knees, pressing her fingers into her flesh through her jeans.

  James put down the glass and looked back at her with that are-you-stupid expression she knew so well. “No, of course not. She’s fine.” He pushed his fingers through his hair and took slow steps around the room. The dogs followed at his heels, their tails slapping his legs.

  “Jamie…” Claire could barely breathe. He looked so…desperate.

  Defeated.

  He stopped his march and turned her way again. His face told her just how hard the past few hours had been on him. “You were right to stay home.”

  She nodded, feeling the fist prick of tears as he walked back to where she sat. With a sigh that said more than words, he sank down beside her, leaned into the cushions and flung one arm over his face.

  “Is Mel really okay?” Claire whispered.

  “Yes.” His voice was muffled. “They did a C-section. They’ve taken her up to a room now. The doctor says everything should be fine.”

  “Thank God. I’ve been going nuts.”

  He lowered his arm and opened one eye. “So I see.”

  The empty bottles sat on the square table just in front of her in silent accusation. If she could have conjured up some trick to make them disappear, she would have. “The baby? Is the baby all right?”

  James grunted. “She’s fine.” He got up and threw a couple of logs on the glowing embers. Flames sparked and heat soon filled the cold room. He sat down again.

  “It’s a girl?”

  Her heart constricted as he inhaled and stared at her through bleary wet eyes. “Yeah,” he breathed out. “Mel wants to call her Jaclyn. After us.”

  “She what?” Claire screwed up her nose, watching the reflection of the flames dance in the gold band on his left hand.

  “J A for James, C L for Claire. Jaclyn. Don’t ask, that’s Mel for you.”

  Claire lowered her head and let her tears fall. James moved a little closer and then he pulled her against him into his embrace. Back into the familiar place of safety she’d been running from for so long.

  “I had no idea it would be this hard.” He ran a hand up and down her arm and she heard his own shuddering breaths.

  “We should be happy,” she told him, almost convincing herself. “Mel’s all right, the baby is healthy. That’s the important thing.” She swiveled to face him and even managed a smile.

  “I know. You’re right.” James ran a light finger down the side of her face, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “But it reminded me of everything we’ve lost.”

  The pain etched into his features was unbearable. Claire leaned against him again. “Have you seen her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “I know.”

  Claire shifted, putting some distance between them, afraid of the depth of her emotions and what they might cause her to say. Or do. “I…I couldn’t…stop.” Her eyes went to the bottles on the table, the admission unnecessary but needed.

  He let go a ragged sigh, his hand resting on her back. The warmth of his touch went straight to her soul and ignited feelings held dormant for too long.

  She turned, almost afraid to meet his eyes. But when she did, her fear died and a familiar heat rushed through her and caused an odd fluttering in her stomach.

  She’d always laughed at the notion of love at first sight. A shared look across a crowded room—soul mates from that moment on. The day Claire met James Ferguson turned her into a believer.

  He was too close.

  “Jamie…I…”

  “Don’t,” he murmured, his eyes capturing hers, taking her back to a different place and time. Back to when things were good and normal and they were happy. “Don’t say anything.”

  James cradled her face between his hands, threaded his fingers through her hair. And very slowly brought her lips to his. Claire melted into his kiss and let him pull her close. His tender embrace shook her senses and called her back from dark slumber. She allowed his kisses, too exhausted to think about what was really happening. Where this could lead if they let it.

  After a while he pulled back. His lips grazed her forehead and he blew out a breath and gave his head a shake. “Are you…fully here, Claire?” Doubt simmered in his eyes.

  She may not have been when he woke her, but she was definitely sober now. “If you’re asking whether I’ll remember this in the morning, the answer is yes.” Claire wrestled with the deep need inside of her. She couldn’t change the past, couldn’t take away the pain. But maybe, for a little while, they could forget.

  “Maybe I should go.”

  She pressed her hand against his wet cheek, light scruff bristling against her skin. “You don’t have to.”

  His eyes locked onto her and told her what he wanted.

  “Jamie…” Her arms came around his neck before she could think about what came next. She brushed her lips across his as he gave a low groan.

  “Sweetheart, don’t do this to me…” His lips found hers again with a new sense of urgency.

  They should stop. Letting him spend the night wouldn’t help. But his touch felt so good. So right. Like it always had.

  Desire and emotion banded together and kicked aside reason.

  Even as she pulled him closer, threaded her fingers through his hair and felt his hands slide low
er, she knew it was too late for second thoughts.

  ~

  Dawn’s first light streamed through her bedroom window. Claire opened her eyes, stretched, and smiled.

  It was going to be okay.

  She rolled onto her side and found the other half of the bed empty.

  Claire showered, pulled on her sweats and followed the aroma of coffee downstairs to the kitchen. James stood at the counter, already dressed in his jeans and crumpled white oxford shirt, un-tucked. His damp hair curled up at the collar.

  A grin played with her mouth and her stomach did a funny little flip-flop. “I’m glad you’re here. I thought I was having a really good hallucination.”

  He turned quickly, tipped his head and gave a wry smile. “Morning. You okay?”

  “Yes. I have a bit of a headache, but I’m good.” She hugged herself and watched the dogs playing on the lawn outside. The rain had stopped and a few rays of sunlight poked through the thick grove of trees that surrounded the property.

  She pulled out a chair and sat at the table. “Are you going to work?”

  “Maybe later.” He handed her a steaming mug of coffee and took a seat opposite her. His eyes were restless, wouldn’t settle on her. For a long moment he said nothing, just stared. “Uh…so last night. That probably wasn’t a great idea.”

  Claire sipped and tried to ignore the sudden sick feeling working its way upward. “Okay. Not sure what I’m supposed to say to that.” She attempted a laugh that went nowhere. “We’re still married. It’s not like we did anything wrong.”

  “No, but…I shouldn’t have let it happen. I’m sorry, Claire.” He concentrated on his coffee instead of looking at her.

  “Sorry?” A knife plunged through her, ripping out the happiness she’d felt just moments ago. He was sorry. “Why? You…” Seeds of doubt began to take root. “…is there…someone…” She bit her lip, unable to speak it. Unable to fathom it really, but under the circumstances she could hardly blame him.

  James looked up and narrowed his eyes. “What are you asking me?”

  Claire put down her mug and clenched her hands. The trembling started up again and she waited a moment. “I…I guess I wouldn’t be that surprised. After everything I’ve done and…”