Another Chance to Love You (16 page)

She choked on an unexpected sob. She was scared. She would rather fly around the world twice than see them coming apart at the seams a second time.

“Mama! Come quick!”

Responding to the urgency in Heather’s voice, Monica rushed from the kitchen to the living room.

“Look!” Heather pointed toward the television. “It’s Daddy.”

Indeed it was. A still photo of Daniel filled the big-screen TV.

“Turn up the sound, honey.”

Heather obliged, and the newsreader’s voice filled the room. “Charles Cooper had no comment when asked what prompted Daniel Rourke’s return to Chicago recently, but according to one source, the seasoned reporter will soon have his byline once again in the paper. The general opinion on the street is that his return will be welcomed by the reading public.” A film clip followed, the reporter interviewing people on the street. “He’s one of the best, one of the few honest guys in the media, if you ask me,” one man said. “Oh, I never missed a Daniel Rourke article when he was writing for the paper,” a twentysomething woman announced, “and I couldn’t put down his book about the Henderson case. He’s pretty cute, too.” “The morning paper hasn’t been the same without him,” a grandmotherly type said as she stared toward the camera.

“And so,” the newsreader continued, “we say, welcome back, Daniel Rourke. Chicago has missed you.” The newscast continued with sports.

Chicago has missed you.

Heather turned down the sound again. “Wow! That was neat. Wasn’t it, Mama?”

We miss you, too, Daniel.

“Mama?”

She shook off her thoughts. “Yes, honey, it was cool. You’ll have to tell your dad you saw it.”

If he gets home in time, she silently added.

As it turned out, Daniel did make it to the apartment before Heather went to bed, but he was too keyed up to pay much attention to what she told him.

Not long before he left the newspaper office, he’d received what he believed to be the break of his lifetime. The last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. The story was ready to go, with some minor tweaking. Charley was waiting for him to send the final draft to him via e-mail attachment as soon as he had it finished.

“As long as they don’t get wind of the real story until tomorrow,” he told Monica, “I don’t care what they say about me on TV.”

“Don’t you?”

He frowned at her odd question. “No, I don’t.”

She shrugged and left the living room.

He thought about following her, then turned back to Heather, who was seated on the couch, her legs curled beneath her. “I’ve got some work to do, squirt. How about if you tell me about the zoo in the morning?”

“Whatever.”

For a second, he thought she sounded like her mother.

What was wrong with the two of them?

Feeling out of sorts, he headed for the office next to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him, then sat down at his desk, turned on the computer, and after it booted up, slipped the flash drive into the USB port.

Nearly three hours later, he picked up the phone and
called his editor. “Check your e-mail, Charley,” he said without wasting time for a greeting. “I just sent it over to you. Sorry it took a little longer than I thought it would.”

“It’s still in time to make the morning edition.” Charley’s voice was riddled with the same excitement and anticipation Daniel felt. “Listen, Rourke, you’d better plan to be at the paper first thing in the morning. The television media’s gonna be swarming all over this place, looking to talk to you. And I imagine there’ll be a few government officials who’ll want a piece of your time, too.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I bet they will.”

“Well, go celebrate with that fiancée of yours. How ’bout the three of us have dinner together tomorrow night? I’d like to meet this gal who stole your heart.”

“Make it four of us and you’re on.”

“Four?”

“My daughter will be with us.”

“Okay, four it is. I’ll make reservations.” There was a pause, then, “Rourke, great job. I mean it.”

“Thanks. See you in the morning.”

He hung up the phone. Celebrating sounded good. He’d like nothing better than to snuggle up with Monica and tell her everything about the story. Now that it was written and ready to go to press, he wouldn’t have to hold anything back. Once he told her, she would understand why this had all been so important.

Only, when he emerged from his office, he found he was once again too late. Monica and Heather had both gone to bed. Disappointed, he let himself out of the apartment to return to his temporary sleeping quarters at his friend’s apartment three floors below.

M
onica was awakened at six o’clock by the ringing of the telephone. She blinked her eyes to make certain she’d seen the time correctly. She had.

She rolled over and covered her head with her pillow. Who would be calling Daniel this early in the morning? She decided to let the answering machine pick it up.

She hadn’t slept well, and she was exhausted. There was this hard knot in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t go away; that hollow feeling in her chest was still there, too.

The phone rang again.

She jerked the pillow from her face and stared upward. The first fingers of daylight were inching across the ceiling. She wondered what time Daniel left last nght. He’d been working in his office, the door closed, when she and Heather gave up waiting and retired for the night. She supposed it was petty of her, going to bed without saying good-night, but she’d been so angry.

“Daniel,” she whispered, “what’s happening to us?”

Again the phone rang.

She glared at the phone. Who was that? Couldn’t they take a hint? “Go away.”

But then she wondered if it might be Daniel calling from his friend’s apartment. Maybe she should answer it. Before she could find out, the phone stopped ringing.

“Thank goodness.”

She got out of bed and slipped into her cotton bathrobe, knowing it was pointless to try to go back to sleep. She picked up her Bible, thinking she would have a quiet time with the Lord out on the deck. Perhaps she would find some answers in His word.

Just as she opened her bedroom door, she heard the click of a key turning in the front door. She glanced a second time at the clock on the night stand, surprised that Daniel had come to the apartment so early in the morning. Then the telephone started ringing once again. He answered it before the second ring. Not wanting to eavesdrop, she stayed where she was, waiting for him to finish his conversation.

At last he hung up, but before she could move, the phone rang again.

A strange uneasiness pervaded her as she waited a second time for him to hang up the phone. And then she had to wait a third time as well.

Daniel’s voice rose, carrying down the hallway. “I said I’ll call you later.” She heard the unmistakable sound of the receiver slamming into its cradle.

Monica took a deep breath, then walked down the hall and stepped into the living room. Daniel stood with his back toward her, raking the fingers of both hands through his hair.

“What’s wrong, Daniel?”

He turned around. “Wrong?” He shook his head. “Nothing.” His expression confirmed his words. If anything, he looked pleased as he stepped toward her.

But Monica wasn’t pleased. She had a terrible sense that something was wrong—with them. “Who was on the phone?”

“A congressman, the mayor’s assistant and a television reporter. In that order. The story’s in today’s paper. Apparently I’ve struck a few nerves.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a quick kiss. When he released her, he said, “Have a look.” He picked up the newspaper from the coffee table and handed it to her.

A short while later, Monica sat at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee and reading the article that had consumed Daniel from almost the moment they’d arrived in Chicago. At last, she understood what he’d been trying to tell her. If Daniel Rourke had been well-known before, he would be doubly so now. She looked at him.

He leaned against the island counter, his arms folded over his chest, his ankles crossed. He wore what could only be described as a Cheshire cat grin.

“Charley wants to take us out to dinner tonight to celebrate,” he told her. “He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“What about Heather?”

“Her, too. Get gussied up, as my dad used to say. I’m going to make sure Charley takes us someplace fancy and pricey.” His smile broadened. “
Very
pricey. He owes me after the last few days.”

“I can see why he brought you back to do this story.”

“Ed deserves a lot of the credit. I just pulled it all together in his absence. That’s why we’re sharing the byline. I
couldn’t have done it without all the legwork he did before I got involved.”

“How is he? Ed, I mean.”

Daniel pushed off from the counter. “Lots better. The doctors are amazed. He’s awake and talking some. His wife is probably reading him the article right now. I’m going by to see him later today.”

A new thought occurred to her. “Was it an accident that he was shot? Or did it have to do with this investigation?”

“We’ll probably never know.”

“And you, Daniel? Are you in danger?”

A small frown pulled his eyebrows toward one another. “I could have been.” He shrugged and the frown vanished. “But not now that it’s all been made public. My guess is there’ll be some arrests made within a day or two. This wasn’t news to the police. They’ve been after these guys. Especially the cops on the take.”

She pondered this for a few moments.

“Listen,” he said, breaking into her thoughts, “I’d better get to the office. Charley’s expecting me soon. You might want to turn the ringer down on the phone and let the machine screen calls. I suspect there’ll be a few people trying to track me down here.” He bent over and kissed her forehead. “I’m off.”

She listened to him whistling softly as he strode toward the foyer. When she heard the front door close behind him, she lowered her gaze to the newspaper again.

It was a brilliant piece. Several brilliant pieces actually. There were photos and charts and even a copy of an actual letter that implicated some well-known names. Well-known even to a woman from Idaho. Any reporter would have been
proud to write this story, but it was Daniel who did it. She wanted to share his pride in what he’d accomplished, but she was unable to shake her sense of dread.

“Daniel Rourke is back, and he’s better than ever,” Charley Cooper said as he looked into the camera. “And we’ve got him.”

“Mama?” Heather tugged on Monica’s sleeve. “Is Daddy ever going to have time to do stuff with us?”

Monica shifted her gaze from the television and the six o’clock newscast to her daughter, who was seated beside her on the sofa. She tried to think of something comforting to say, but her mind was a blank.

Heather frowned. “I liked it better at home. In Boise. He wanted to be with us then.”

She put her arm around her child’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “This may all be over soon. Probably no one will even remember it a week from now.” She knew she was being overly optimistic. She knew it likely wouldn’t be over by then. Maybe it would never be over. Daniel was a celebrity.

Heather saw through the attempt to let her down gently. “No, it won’t,” she mumbled. Then she picked up the remote control and changed the channel just as the television flashed another photo of her father.

Heather’s words stayed with Monica as she finished getting ready for their dinner on the town. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror while brushing her hair and wondered if Daniel cared that his daughter felt left out.

It wasn’t easy, taking a child from her home, friends and extended family and plopping her down in a strange environment. Perhaps Heather’s expectations were a trifle unre
alistic, but Daniel should have made an effort to spend more time with her.

But this story—and his career—had come first.

She’d been down this road before.

“I’m back!”

The sound of Daniel’s voice caused her heart to jump, and she was filled with an odd mixture of pleasure and sorrow. She heard Heather greet him, knew the two of them exchanged a hug.

Daniel loved Heather. He loved Monica, too. She believed it with all her heart, knew it to be true. But was it enough? She’d thought love was
always
enough. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

She turned toward the bathroom door.

He was holding a bouquet of red roses. “They didn’t have any calla lilies. These will have to do.”

She smiled. “They’re beautiful.”

“So are you.” He stepped into the room, dropped the roses on the counter, then pulled Monica close for a kiss. When their lips parted, he said, “You wouldn’t believe my day.”

“Maybe we should stay in. Just spend the evening together, the three of us.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you kidding? Charley’s eager to meet you and Heather.” He looked at his watch. “I’d better get changed if we want to arrive at the restaurant on time.” He kissed her on the cheek, then strode down the hall to his bedroom.

Forty minutes later, Daniel ushered his fiancée and daughter into the restaurant. Charley waited for them at their
table. Daniel performed the introductions, then they were seated.

It didn’t take Monica long to decide she could like Charley. Though no more than ordinary in appearance—gray hair, glasses, a round, slightly pudgy face—the fiftyish Charley Cooper had an engaging smile and a friendly laugh. He looked every bit the newspaper editor.

It was obvious he was proud of his star reporter. “You can’t imagine how much we’ve missed Daniel at the paper. I’m glad he’s back with us.” Charley launched into a detailed report of what he anticipated would transpire over the next few days. There would be more television interviews, of course, and he’d already had requests for Daniel to appear on some nationally syndicated talk shows. “You might need to go to New York in the next couple of weeks. Maybe sooner.”

Monica wasn’t so sure she could like Charley Cooper, after all.

She glanced toward Daniel, waiting for him to remind his editor why he couldn’t go to New York. Instead he peppered Charley with questions and comments about which talk shows it would be best to appear on, what follow-up articles would be necessary and how soon, and more.

It seemed he’d forgotten the little matter of their wedding.

On the drive home from the restaurant, Daniel felt the tension emanating from Monica. She hadn’t enjoyed herself tonight as he’d expected her to. He’d noticed that her smile never reached her eyes. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but he decided to wait until they were back to the apartment.

He settled for an attempt at small talk. “My steak was delicious. How was your salmon?”

“Good.”

“You should have tried that dessert.”

No response.

“Heather, how about you? Did you like your dinner?”

“It was okay.”

To Monica again: “It’s a nice restaurant. We’ll go back sometime if you’d like to.”

“If that’s what you want.”

Hmm. “Charley was taken with both you and Heather. I could tell.”

“He seems nice.” Monica turned her head to look out the window.

So much for small talk.

By the time they reached the high-rise, Heather had fallen asleep in the back seat. Daniel carried her up to the apartment and into her bedroom. She hardly stirred, waking just enough for Monica to help get her out of her party dress and into her nightclothes. Both parents kissed the girl good-night, then left the bedroom at the same time, Monica leading the way to the living room.

“What’s the matter?” Daniel asked as he followed her.

Her eyes widened as she stopped and turned. “You really don’t know, do you?”

He shrugged, mystified by her mood.

“Do you suppose your interviews in New York will get in the way of our wedding or the little matter of our honeymoon?”

“Is that what this is about? Did you really think I’d forgotten?”

She ignored his questions and asked one of her own. “Do
you know how little time you’ve spent with us since we got to Chicago?”

“It couldn’t be helped, and you know it.” He felt his temper rising. Why was she being difficult and temperamental, tonight of all nights? They were supposed to be celebrating, and instead a fight was coming on.

“What about the next story, Daniel? Can
it
be helped?” She moved to the far side of the room. The distance yawned between them.

“I don’t understand any of this, Monica. I thought you’d be glad for me.”

“Oh, I’m glad for you. You’re a huge success. Everyone knows who you are. You’re on the evening news. Your photo and byline are in the newspaper. You will no doubt get another blockbuster book out of this mess when it’s all over. But that could take years, couldn’t it, by the time it moves through the courts and you’ve written your countless articles on all the defendants and suspects and witnesses. And when, in between all that, do you intend to spend any time with Heather?”

He sighed. “We’ve been in Chicago less than a week. I’ll take her to the zoo soon.”

“This isn’t about the zoo. She just wants to be with you. Do you know what she said to me today? She said she liked it better in Boise, because you wanted to spend time with us when we were there.”

He felt those words like an uppercut to the chin. “What do you
want
from me? I’m a reporter. This is my
job.
”

“Lots of people have jobs,” she retorted, her eyes flashing, “and they don’t forget what’s really important. What about your relationship with God? He’s supposed to come
first and then your family next. Your work comes after the people you love. Heather won’t be a little girl much longer. She’ll be grown in an instant, and you won’t even know your own daughter.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not ignoring Heather. You’re over-reacting.” He sighed again. “There’s no talking to you when you’re like this.” He strode out of the living room, and she heard him slam the door as he left the apartment.

The instant the door closed behind Daniel, Monica sank onto the couch, her knees too weak to hold her up. She was shaking all over.

As if it were yesterday, their fights from years ago replayed in her mind, mingling with the one that had just occurred, magnifying this one many times over.

She covered her face with her hands as she swallowed a sob.
“Oh, God. I thought it would be different. I thought it would be better. Show me what to do. Help me, Lord. Help us.”

The next day, Monica and Heather went to Navy Pier, both of them hoping a few rides and other amusements might cheer them up. Monica had held out a slim hope that she and Daniel could talk reasonably about their argument, but he didn’t come to the apartment for breakfast this morning. She assumed he was avoiding her. Perhaps that was for the best.