Secrets on Cedar Key (24 page)

J
ason and John had flown into Gainesville, hooked up at the airport, rented a car, and driven to the island, arriving at the Faraway in the early afternoon on Monday.

I got a call from John saying they'd just checked in and would be over within a half hour.

“The boys are here?” my mother asked, walking into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” I said, letting out a deep breath.

She nodded as she prepared to make a pot of coffee. “Are you sure you wouldn't rather I go in my room or outside while you talk to them?”

“Absolutely not. Bella didn't even have to leave, but she insisted on taking the dogs downtown for a walk.”

Forty-five minutes later I saw my two boys emerge from the car and smiled. They weren't
boys
anymore. They were grown men. Within seconds of their walking in the door, I was scooped up in their arms, hearing their laughter and excited chatter, and I knew that they'd always be my
boys
.

“You look great, Mom,” Jason said. “Paris must have really agreed with you.”

“Yeah,” John said. “Gosh, you look younger.”

I laughed and took that as a compliment. “Come on, Gran's in the kitchen.”

After more hugs, kisses, and laughter, the boys each took a stool and sat down.

My mother poured mugs of coffee while I placed a platter of Christmas cookies on the counter in front of them.

“Oh, I was hoping you both made these,” Jason said, reaching for one and taking a bite. “As good as I remember.”

“The tree looks great,” John said, looking into the family room.

It
did
look great, and it had been fun getting it all decorated with Worth helping us.

“So bring me up to date on your news,” I said, joining them at the counter.

“No. First we want to hear all about your trip to Paris,” Jason said, and John nodded.

I looked over at my mother and cleared my throat. “I had a wonderful time. It was exactly as I remembered it. The apartment was great.” I neglected to make any mention of Worth being more than just somebody who allowed me to stay at his place. “I visited museums, sat at the sidewalk cafés, did Christmas shopping . . . and, well, it was everything I hoped it would be . . . and more. But . . . there's something I need to tell you. To talk to you about.”

I stopped to formulate my thoughts and saw the boys exchange a glance.

“Anything wrong?” Jason asked.

“No, no,” I said, attempting to reassure them, then let out a deep sigh. “Gosh, I'm not sure where to begin. Ah, well . . . a couple of months ago I got a call from Mail Boxes in Gainesville telling me that your father had a box there—a box that I knew nothing about—and I was told there was a letter that had never been picked up. They had no idea your father had passed away, but he had given them my cell number as an emergency contact. So that's why they called me.” I stopped for a moment to take a breath.

“Did you get the letter?” John asked, his expression full of curiosity.

“I did, and it was from an attorney in Boston. Actually, it had been sent last May.”

“Two months after Dad died?” Jason said.

I nodded. “Yes. And this is the part I'm finding difficult to explain . . . It seems . . . that in nineteen-ninety-three, when your father was teaching that summer at Amherst College . . . he met somebody.”

“Met somebody? Like a woman?” John said, clearly surprised.

“Yes. A woman. Her name was Bianca Caldwell. She passed away in April of this year. A fatal car crash. And . . . they had a daughter together.”

“What?” John's surprise had now notched up to shock. “You mean Dad was screwing around on you?”

“Did you know about this?” Jason asked, always my more sensitive son.

“I did
not
know. Not until I got that letter, called the attorney in Boston, and had him explain everything to me. Their daughter, Fiona, was born in April of nineteen-ninety-four, and . . .”

John leaned across the counter. “So I was three when she was born?”

I nodded again. “Yes, you were.”

“Did Dad have contact with her or her mother? Did he see them after she was born?”

“I don't think so, but I don't know for certain.”

“So why was that letter being sent to Dad?” Jason questioned.

“Because your father had paid monthly support for Fiona, year after year, till she was eighteen. However, most of the money had never been withdrawn by the mother, so the balance remains in this account. Your father's stipulations were that if anything happened to the mother, any money in the account was to revert to the daughter at age eighteen. He was to be notified of this and sign the appropriate documents.”

Jason shook his head. “Oh, wow! And since Dad is now gone . . . you are next of kin and that's how you were drawn into all of this.”

I nodded as he got up and came around the counter to pull me into his arms. I looked over his shoulder at my mother, who had been sitting quietly, and saw a gleam of moisture in her eyes.

“Are
you
okay, Mom? How are you dealing with all of this?” Jason asked as he stepped back to look at me. “God, I can only imagine the shock it must have been for you to discover all of this.”

Leave it to my firstborn to consider my feelings first. “I'm better now. I've had time to think about all of it. I couldn't tell either of you about this when I first found out. I needed time to deal with it and figure everything out.”

Following his brother's lead, John said, “Yeah, I can sure understand that. No wonder you went to Paris.”

I smiled before saying, “I was pretty angry. Hurt, betrayed, and angry, but over these two months, I've come to see that your father was simply human and humans make mistakes. I've now been able to forgive him.”

Both boys nodded in understanding.

“So now what?” John said. “Did she get the money in the account?”

I went on to explain that, no, I hadn't signed the documents yet. Then I took a breath and said, “We did speak on the phone . . . and she wanted to meet us. Before I just signed the money over to her, I thought that might be a good idea.”

“Oh! Wow!” John said, as the realization hit him. “She's our
sister,
isn't she? We have a sister.”

“You do, although technically she's your half sister, but she very much expressed a desire to meet both of you.”

“So when is she coming, Mom?” Jason asked, and I laughed for the first time in the conversation.

“I know you,” he said. “You wouldn't deny her the chance to meet us. You're not that kind of person.”

I glanced over and saw the tears in my mother's eyes.

“She's coming tomorrow,” I said with a smile.

“I'm really sorry that you had to go through this,” Jason said. “I know it couldn't have been easy. But I'm glad you told us, and just so you know . . . it doesn't make me love Dad any less. He was always a good father to us . . . and like you said, he made a mistake.”

My eyes were now stinging with tears. Andrew and I may not have had the perfect marriage, but we had certainly done something right in raising our sons. We had two boys who had grown to be men we could both be proud of. Men who understood, at a fairly young age, that humans had frailties, but that didn't diminish the fact they were still good people.

John confirmed this by saying, “I agree with Jason. I know this couldn't have been easy for you, but . . . I
always
did want a younger sister.”

I smiled as I brushed away my tears, because I was certain that was a definite expression of excitement I saw on his face.

W
orth had offered to drive with me to the airport to pick up Fiona, but I felt perhaps it might be best to meet her for the first time alone. Although he extended the invitation, he agreed and said Fiona and I would probably need that hour on the drive back to talk. Jason and John also felt that I should go alone to get her.

Driving along Archer Road, I thought about the conversation with the boys the previous day. I really was fortunate. It had gone way better than I'd hoped for. I'm not sure if it was because they were boys and that might cancel out any jealousy factor, but they had accepted the situation just as my mother and Worth had predicted.

Worth. I felt a smile cross my face. I'd figured I was on a roll after telling them about Fiona, so before the afternoon was over I plunged in and told them about Worth. That he was more than a friend, that we had fallen in love in Paris—that we were a couple. I'm not sure what I expected their reaction to this news to be, but again, it was more than I'd hoped for. Both of my sons seemed genuine in their happiness for me. When they found out he was staying at the Faraway, they insisted I invite him over so they could meet him. We'd spent the previous evening together, and when I'd glanced at Worth talking to my boys and laughing away, it seemed so natural. Before the evening was over, both of my sons made a point to let me know that they approved.

By the time I turned into the short-term parking area at the airport, I was feeling mighty good. I had hit some major bumps during this past year, but I had weathered the storm and come through the other side a much different person. A person who had learned and grown. Somebody who was in her element and felt that all was right in her world.

I walked into the small airport, saw I still had about fifteen minutes before Fiona's flight would arrive, and got myself a cup of coffee. I stood sipping the liquid, my eyes glued to the doors where arriving passengers would enter, and found that, like John, I felt excited about meeting Fiona. Any nervousness I previously had was gone. I felt confident that having her come to stay with us was a good thing.

And then . . . I glanced up as the doors opened, and one of the first people through was a tall, slim young woman with long dark hair and a face that closely resembled Jason's. I'm not sure how she recognized me, but I saw her walk in my direction, and that was when I saw it. Despite being slim, she had a bump that protruded from her stomach. My gaze flew from her midsection back up to her face as I heard her say, “Marin?”

I nodded as a million thoughts raced through my head. My God, she was
pregnant?
This young woman was carrying Andrew's
grandchild?
Why hadn't she said anything to me? Where the hell were we going from here?

She looked like she was about to hug me, but I'm sure the expression on my face halted her.

“I know,” I heard her say. “I'm sorry. I guess I should have told you, but . . . I was afraid you'd say I couldn't come, and I only found out for sure a few weeks ago.”

I nodded.
Okay, Marin, get it together,
I thought. The first thing I needed to do was move us away from the people exiting the aircraft. I took her arm and steered her off to the side.

That was when I noticed the look of fear on her face and saw the tears in her eyes. “It's okay,” I said, not believing a word I was saying. I put my arms around her and felt how thin she was. “Welcome to Florida. It's okay.” I took a deep breath as I took her arm, attempting to reassure her as much as myself. “First things first. Let's go get your luggage.”

We got her two bags and headed to my car, both of us remaining silent. She slipped into the passenger seat, while I put the luggage in the trunk and got into the driver's seat. I saw that the digital clock on the dash read 1:05.

“You're probably hungry,” I said, paying the parking attendant and heading out of the airport. “How about we stop for lunch before heading to Cedar Key?”

“That would be great,” she said and then remained quiet until I pulled into Cracker Barrel on Archer Road.

Since it was Christmas Eve afternoon, the place was fairly quiet, and I asked for a table in the back that might give us a bit of privacy.

Once our order was given, a BLT and cup of soup for her and a salad for me that I knew I wasn't going to be able to swallow, I said, “So? Are you married?” I knew so little about her that the thought had crossed my mind in the car that perhaps she wasn't a pregnant, single young woman after all.

But she quickly dashed this idea and shook her head. “No. No, I'm not. I know what you must be thinking.”

She did? I wasn't even sure what I was thinking. I looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Like mother, like daughter.”

“Oh,” I said and then blurted, “Is the father of the child married?”

“No. At least I didn't follow in my mother's footsteps by being with a married man.”

I nodded as the waitress placed two glasses of ice water in front of us.

“But Greg is ten years older than me,” she said, causing my head to snap up as I waited for more information. “He's a professor at BU. Teaches English lit.”

Okay. So he was twenty-nine, not married, and had a good education and career.

“How does he feel about the baby?” I asked.

“He doesn't know,” Fiona said, like it was the most natural thing in the world not to tell the father of your baby that you were pregnant.

“Oh.” I took a sip of water. “Why not?”

She let out a sigh while pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well . . . we've been together a little over a year. I met him a year ago August.” She paused to also sip water.

Okay. So she had already turned eighteen but hadn't begun her freshman year of college yet, so she couldn't have met him there. “How did you meet?” I asked.

“My roommate, Katy. Greg is her older brother. He had been teaching out west but took a temporary position at BU last July. She introduced us and we began dating a month later, and by Christmas . . . we'd fallen in love.”

I was failing to see the problem. “So did you not get along? Did he not treat you well?”

The waitress placed our food on the table, and Fiona waited before replying. “Oh, no, we got along really well. He was very good to me, but . . . I also knew he had no desire to get married. He never lied about that. He wants to pursue his doctorate and just isn't ready to make a lifetime commitment. That was why we were careful and used protection . . . which obviously didn't work.”

I took another sip of water as Fiona took a bite of her sandwich. “So are you trying to protect him by not telling him about the baby? Does he know where you are?”

She shook her head and wiped her mouth with the napkin. “No, I'm not trying to protect him. I just feel that under the circumstances, he doesn't need to know. What would be the sense? Then it would be like my father.” She paused and looked at me. “I don't understand why my mother even bothered to tell him. She never allowed us to visit. We had no communication. We didn't even know each other. So why did she even feel the need to tell him if she didn't want us to have contact?”

“Maybe you're wrong,” I told her. “Maybe it was Andrew who pulled back and relinquished any contact.”

She reached into her handbag and slipped a black-and-white photograph across the table. “Is this my father?” she asked.

I looked down to see an attractive, tall, slim woman with thick dark hair wearing slacks and a cotton blouse standing next to a little girl who appeared to be around six and strongly resembled Fiona. On the other side . . . was Andrew, laughing into the camera, with his arm around the child's shoulder. I felt an ache in the pit of my stomach. They looked like a typical American family out for a day of fun.

“Yes,” I whispered, unable to take my eyes from the photo. “Yes, that's Andrew.”

“I thought so. That day when we met him, I always thought he was my father, but my mother said no. She introduced him as a
friend
of hers. That was all she'd ever tell me about that day. We went to a park and out for lunch. Even years later when I questioned her, she'd only say he was a friend. Never that he was my father. Sometimes I believed her and sometimes I didn't. But I never saw him again.”

I saw the hurt on Fiona's face as I tried to regain my composure. I also wondered how Andrew had managed to arrange the only meeting he'd ever had with his daughter, but realized it had to have been during one of his trips to teach a seminar or workshop.

“So do you see?” she said. “Do you see why I felt compelled to at least come here to meet you and my brothers and maybe learn as much as I can about him?”

I nodded. “I do. But I still don't understand why you wouldn't at least tell the father of your child that you're pregnant. Don't you think he at least has a right to know?”

She shook her head. “No. I refuse to do what my mother did. To tell a man he has a child, knowing full well that he's unable to accept that child—either because he's married or . . . because it would interfere with his own life plans. When I found out I was pregnant, I broke up with Greg. It wasn't easy, but I told him I had a lot going on in my own life with my mother's death, finding out about my father, dropping out of college. He tried to change my mind, but he finally agreed that we wouldn't see each other anymore. Katy is my best friend, and she does know the real reason I broke up with him—but she agreed that it's probably for the best.”

I wasn't so sure about that, but of course, it wasn't any of my business. I stabbed a piece of tomato in my salad and made an effort to eat it, while Fiona spooned soup into her mouth.

After a few minutes, I said, “So what's your plan?”

“Plan?” she said, like she'd never heard the word.

“Do you plan to keep the baby? Give it up for adoption? Get a job? Stay living with your roommate?” I felt a twinge of annoyance that she was so young, probably had no direction whatsoever, and yet she was now responsible for another human being.

“Oh,” she said, wiping her mouth with the napkin again. “Yes, I'll definitely be keeping the baby. There's no way I could give away my own child. I'm not quite sure yet how I'll accomplish it, but I'm hoping to return to college in the fall. I'm due for the baby in May. So I plan to look for a good day-care program that will allow me to take my classes. I finished my first year as a nursing student and I plan to return. There's no way that I could support myself and a child without a good education and a well-paying job. So I feel going back to college isn't an option. It's mandatory. I inherited my mother's town house, and it's paid for, so that helps. Plus, I have Katy living with me and paying rent. She's a sophomore at BU, and staying with me in Marblehead is an easy commute for her. So for right now, it works.”

I felt ashamed. This young woman seemed to have it together. At least she had her priorities, and they were sensible ones. I realized that although she looked young, she was quite mature for a nineteen-year-old who was on her own.

I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “Finish your lunch so you can go and meet your brothers.”

The huge smile that covered her face touched my heart.