Delivered with Love (23 page)

Tears sprang to her eyes. For a year she had wondered about her mother's relationship with the writer of the old love letter. And it was her father. Haley had known all along. And kept it from her.

"Go. Leave." Claire pointed to the door.

"When you're ready to come back to L.A., call me." Haley walked to the doorway and stopped. "I need you. And so does my baby." She blew her sister a kiss, then left.

Claire heard the front door click shut. She wanted to run after her sister and tell her goodbye, but her feet were frozen to the floor. Claire felt hurt, deceived by her own flesh and blood
. Her half sister.
The thought unnerved her. She sat down on her bed and leaned her head into her hands.

Cali jumped up and rubbed against Claire's arm.

Claire held the cat close to her chest.

Michael. Her father?
Her heart felt as though it had dropped into her stomach.

That meant Geraldine, the woman who lay in a hospital bed, was her grandmother. Claire exhaled deeply, set Cali down next to her, and lay back on the bed, allowing the tears to fall.

M
ichael swerved his BMW into a parking space at Dominican Hospital, numb from Emily's note. Why hadn't Emily told him sooner? And what about his mother? Had she known all these years and yet never said a word? His stomach clenched. He had to know.

Glancing at himself in the rearview mirror, he couldn't help but notice the pouches of skin that sagged under his eyes. The last six weeks had taken their toll. He ran a hand through his hair and slid out of the car.

Michael walked into the hospital and up the stairs. The long corridor to the cardiac unit stretched on, making each step difficult.
Sandy and Julia.
Michael broke out in a sweat. How would he tell them about Claire? His heart pounded.

Dear sweet Emily.
She must have known it would split apart his family and break their hearts. Michael stopped and leaned against the wall. All these years, did he consider anyone else's feelings? Had
he
thought of anyone but
himself?
He let out a deep breath. The pastor of Capitola Christian Fellowship once told his congregation to live for an audience of one—God. But Michael lived for a different audience of one—himself. He leaned against the wall, tears slipping down his cheeks.
Lord,
I'm so sorry for the mess I've made of my life. Help me make things right.
Michael reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and wiped his face.

"Michael?" Nancy's voice grabbed his attention. "Are you all right?" She laid a hand on his arm.

"I'm okay. Thanks." He tucked the cloth in his pocket. "I was on my way to see my mother."

"Nothing wrong, I hope."

"No." Michael shook his head.

"That mother of yours loves company." Nancy smiled. "She'll be happy to have a visitor. Well, I'm off. Tom is expecting me home. It's our anniversary."

"Congratulations." His tone belied the sentiment. Would he and Sandy make it to their special day?

"Twenty-nine years." Nancy's eyes sparkled. "They haven't all been easy. In fact, they've been downright hard. But God has been faithful, and He's helped us through the tough times."

Michael nodded. "Thanks for the reminder. I needed to hear that."

"You bet. See you later." Nancy waved and walked away.

Michael continued to his mother's room. He peeked his head in the door. The curtain was closed. "Mom? It's Michael."

"Come in, son."

His mother sounded alert. Good. He slipped past the curtain. She was sitting in a chair wearing the blue housecoat he had given her for Christmas. "Look at you. You're doing great!"

"The nurses don't want me staying in bed. I've got to keep this old body moving."

"Did Claire bring your robe?" Michael's voice quivered at the mention of Claire's name. He sat down on the edge of the hospital bed.

"Yes, this morning. Isn't she the most considerate young woman? And she's going to bring my hairbrush, and lipstick. "His mother's face brightened. "I have a handsome man coming to visit me tonight."

Michael's brows shot up.

"It's Blake, dear." His mother swatted the air with her hand. "An old woman can dream, can't she? And besides, he's perfect for our Claire. Any amount of time those two can spend together is good, don't you think?"

Our Claire.
Did she know how true that was? "Now, Mother, don't go matchmaking. If they're meant to be together, they will. Let them find their own way."

"In the meantime, I plan on looking my best—or the best I can under these conditions." She straightened the collar of her housecoat.

The time had come. Michael couldn't wait any longer. His pulse quickened. "Mom, I have something important to ask."

"Of course, dear."

"Do you remember the night I spent with Emily? I realize it was a long time ago."

His mother's eyes dimmed. "I may forget many things, but I'll never forget that night. I was half sick worrying about where you were. You were supposed to be back in a couple of hours. Instead it was morning."

Michael hung his head. "That's the night." He pulled the note he received from his secretary out of his pocket, then handed it to his mother.

"What's this?"

"Emily's last words to me."

"My glasses." His mother pointed to the small table.

Michael retrieved them. He waited the few minutes his mother took to read the note.

Her mouth moved and her hand shook as she read. Tears slipped down her wrinkled cheeks. She dropped the note in her lap.

"Did you know, Mom?" Michael noticed the strain in his voice.

"How could I have known?" His mother shook her head. "I was a grieving widow and barely holding on." She fingered the note. "I didn't pay attention to anyone else." She let out a breath. "All those years, my own granddaughter lived down the hall from me and I never knew."

Was his mother telling him the truth? How could she not have known? The blue eyes, the wavy hair—Claire reminded him of himself. Then why didn't he know? Why didn't he suspect Claire was his daughter at Emily's funeral?

Why would he suspect he fathered a child when it took him and his wife a few years to conceive? And he and Emily were together only one night. Guilt and doubt clouded his mind.

"When are you going to tell Sandy? And Julia?" His mother brought his attention back to the present.

Michael stood and shifted from one foot to the other. "Sandy suspects something is going on. She's barely speaking to me. With Julia's wedding in a couple of months, it might be better to wait."

"What?" His mother's voice rose. "You can't go on like this, Michael. You need to own up to your mistakes and confess your past to your wife. You owe Sandy that much." She gripped the letter and waved it at Michael. "And there is a beautiful young woman who deserves to know her father— and her grandmother."

Michael sat back down and rested his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He looked up. "How do I face Claire?"

"The same way—with grit and determination to make things right." His mother's heart monitor beeped a strange rhythm.

"Mom, are you okay?" Michael jumped up and pressed the call button.

"Don't bother, son. I'm fine. This machine does strange things sometimes."

Michael placed a hand on his mother's arm. "Are you sure it's not your heart?"

A nurse walked in. She fiddled with the heart monitor, then checked his mother. "You need rest. I hope this gentleman didn't rile you up." The nurse gave Michael a stern look. She reached under his mother's arms and helped her stand. "Here, let me help you to bed."

The last thing Michael wanted to do was stress his mother's already damaged heart. Time to leave.

She reached up and patted Michael's arm. "Remember what I said, dear."

Michael watched the nurse cover his mother with a blanket. She looked small and frail. "Bye, Mom. Take care."

"My granddaughter is coming for a visit tonight with her handsome beau," his mother said to the nurse.

His stomach somersaulted and his breath caught in his throat. His mother was already calling Claire her granddaughter. If he didn't tell the women in his life the truth, his mother might beat him to it.

"Well, let's get you all rested up so you can enjoy your visit." The nurse's voice sounded gentle, yet firm.

Michael walked out of the room resolved that he was going to tell the truth, even if it killed him.

Claire stood in front of the mirror and brushed her hair. Blake would arrive in twenty minutes. She was refreshed after her nap, yet felt hollow inside. She loved Haley and missed her already, but it would be a while before Claire would speak to her. She needed to sort out her feelings—about Haley, and her father. The thought of Michael being her dad overwhelmed her. What did Haley say? He found out
today?
She didn't understand why her mother never told Michael she was pregnant. Claire might have had a whole different upbringing if her mother had.

Claire looked around the family room. She grabbed a magazine off the couch and placed it neatly on the coffee table, then picked up the afghan, folded it, and hung it over the edge of Geraldine's chair.
Her grandmother's chair.
The thought brought a smile to her face.
Lord, help her to be okay.

Hanging out with Blake had been great for her prayer life. Before he showed her that praying to God was as natural as talking to your best friend, Claire had hardly uttered two words to the Lord.

Claire stepped outside. The air was chilly. She walked down the walkway to the mailbox, gathered the contents, and flipped through the envelopes. Bills, but mostly junk. A large manila envelope with her name on it caught her eye. She glanced at the return address and saw Vivian's name at the top. Why would Vivian send her a package? Claire shut the mailbox and hurried inside. She placed the rest of the mail on the table, and tore open the manila envelope. A brochure? She pulled out the thick booklet. A yellow sticky note was attached.

Claire,

Pursue your dreams. You can do it!

Love,

Vivian

Claire remembered Vivian telling her the day she got fired from the restaurant in L.A. that she was college material. Claire opened the Cabrillo College brochure and read the different programs and degrees. Could she do it? Did she have what it took to be a college student? The nursing program intrigued her. After all those years taking care of her mother, and now Geraldine, Claire realized she loved helping people.

The familiar knock on the door sent Claire scurrying. She collected the mail and tossed it in the basket on the counter. Her insides quivered as she thought about spending time alone with Blake. She turned the knob and welcomed him in.

"I hope you like sweet and sour chicken and Szechwan beef." Blake held a bagful of groceries. He had a sly grin on his face as if he already knew the answer.

"Who told you?" Claire closed the door behind him and followed him into the kitchen.

Blake emptied the bag's contents on the counter. "I have my ways."

"No, seriously. How did you know?" Claire picked up the can of diced pineapple.

"I asked Haley." Blake threw her a sideways glance. "Before she left with her husband."

So, he knew Mark came to get her sister. Claire set the can down and leaned against the kitchen counter. "What else did she tell you?"

"To take good care of you." Blake tapped her nose with his index finger. "And I told her not to worry. That you'd be well taken care of."

But what about Miss Mustang?
Claire knew Kristy wouldn't go for that. "I can take care of myself." Claire opened the bag of Chinese noodles and popped several in her mouth.

"You'd live on soup and cereal." Blake laughed. "You know you like my cooking."

"Are you kidding? I think I've gained ten pounds since you started." She patted her belly.

"If you'd rather I left . . ." he teased.

Claire enjoyed the easy banter between them. She needed a light conversation after today's events. Her mind shifted. Haley would be halfway home by now, and Michael . . . who knew what he was doing and thinking.

"Hey Claire, you're a million miles away. Anything I can do?" Blake rested his hand on top of hers on the counter.

"Tell me Miss Mustang doesn't mean a thing to you." The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them.
Think before you speak.
Her mother told her that her tongue would get her into trouble one day.

Blake rolled his head back and let out a hearty laugh. "Methinks the lady is jealous." His accent was a mix of knight in shining armor and bad British drama.

Claire knew her cheeks must be a deep shade of red. How she wished she could duck under the kitchen table. "You're not interested in Kristy? I saw her Mustang parked in front of your house this morning."

Blake rested his arm across Claire's shoulder. "Kristy is an interior decorator. She helped me pick out a countertop. But I love it that you noticed."

See Haley, I knew it was nothing. Or at least I hoped.
Claire felt her insides warm at Blake's nearness.

The phone rang.

"Do you want to get that? I'll start dinner." Blake winked.

Claire liked that Blake could be so practical. He was also confident in his decisions and knew what was important in life. She was falling for him and falling hard. Red flag!

She glanced at him over her shoulder, then reached for the phone.

"Claire?"

"Yes?" She looked at Blake and shrugged her shoulders.

"It's Pearl, dear."

"Pearl!" Claire shrieked. "It's so good to hear your voice."

"Yours too. I had a dickens of a time finding your number. Thank goodness for Samantha, sweet girl."

Samantha. Claire needed to call her. Would her friend take her advice and come to Capitola?

"Harry and I are on our way to visit John and Melody in San Francisco."

"I bet you miss the little guy."

"We sure do. Say, we were hoping to spend tomorrow night at New Brighton Beach and we'd like you to join us for dinner." Claire could hear the eagerness in Pearl's voice.

In the past, Pearl had been a source of wisdom. Claire needed to hear what the elderly woman thought of the chaos in her life now. "I'd love to."