His Secret Child Page 14

  “About her.” The old man’s hand clamped down on Carlo’s forearm. “Want to ask you something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do I have a great-granddaughter I don’t know about?”

  The question hung in the air of the quiet apartment while Carlo’s mind spun. He looked into his grandfather’s eyes and realized he had the right to know.

  He shifted in his chair until he was facing Gramps. “I think so. We went for a paternity test yesterday and should get the results back soon.”

  Gramps’s eyes widened. “I’ve been hearing whispers, past couple of days, but I didn’t believe it was true.” His bushy eyebrows came together and he glared. “Why’ve you been so scarce, such that a stranger had to take in one of ours?”

  “I just found out.” He filled in his grandfather on Kath’s letter and how he’d rushed home. “And the thing is, Mercedes—that’s her name—doesn’t know yet. Fern and I want to tell her ourselves, so please put a stop to any rumors you hear.”

  Gramps shook his head, his eyes on Carlo’s. “Don’t you remember how a small town works, boy? There’s no stopping rumors. If you try, you only make ’em spread faster.”

  “What am I supposed to do, then?” He hadn’t anticipated leaning on his grandfather when he came in here, but he was at the end of his rope. Fern didn’t want anything to do with him, but his daughter stood to be hurt if they couldn’t work out the adult problems.

  “Back when I was young,” Gramps said, “you’d do the right thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  Gramps looked at him as if he were a particularly dense specimen. “Marry her.”

  Carlo stared, then laughed. “You’ve missed a vital step. Fern isn’t Mercedes’s mother. She—”

  “She is now,” Gramps interrupted.

  Carlo shook his head. “Kath was her mother, and I was married to Kath until she kicked me out. Fern is just...” He trailed off, because he knew that, in every way that mattered, Fern was Mercedes’s mother now.

  “Not trying to buck responsibility, are ya? That never was your way.”

  “No! I’m not...” He trailed off as he realized that he was trying to convince Gramps that he’d done his best, trying to gain absolution.

  “Do you like her?”

  “Who, Mercedes? Of course!”

  “No, idiot. Fern. You like Fern?”

  Carlo leaned away from the harsh voice and scrutinizing eyes, suddenly feeling about twelve. “I like her plenty. She’s a great person.”

  “And you’re at loose ends. Looking for a purpose, far as I can see. You’ve always wanted to help the underdog, probably because of how you grew up. Well, here’s an underdog, and she just happens to be your daughter. How about marrying her mom?”

  Carlo opened his mouth and then shut it as the possible solution coursed through his body and soul.

  Marry Fern? Could he do it? Should he do it?

  Would she have him?

  He focused on the probably negative answer to that question. “Not likely she’d have me if I asked.”

  Gramps crinkled his eyes shrewdly. “Scared?”

  The word hung between them.

  Slowly, Carlo nodded. “You know how I grew up. You know I haven’t had a good example of marriage set before me, and I wasn’t a good husband the first time. Why would it be any different with someone I’m marrying just for the sake of the child?” Although he knew in his heart that marrying Fern wouldn’t be just about Mercedes.

  “Ah, but—” Gramps wagged his finger at Carlo. “Now you’ve got religion. With the Lord on your side, you can do a whole lot more than you can without Him.”

  Gramps got to his feet, leaning heavily on the arm of the chair but waving away Carlo’s offer of support. “You better go on, now. Think about what I said. And make sure you tell that little one fast, because I got the feeling the rumors ain’t gonna die down.”

  Carlo gave the old man an impulsive shoulder hug that had him waving Carlo away but looking just a little pleased. Carlo went down the elevator and headed toward the exit, his mind spinning. He needed some time to figure all this out. But he didn’t have time, because the wagging tongues of Rescue River—not ill intentioned, but wagging nonetheless—were going to say something that would filter back to Mercedes. And he couldn’t stand the thought of his daughter hurting that way.

  She was his daughter, he was sure of it. And he needed to do the right thing, but...marry Fern? Could the solution really be that simple? And that...exciting?

  He was just about to the door when he glanced to the right, into the little library. There was Fern, talking to the veteran Bob Eakin with animation, a book in her hand.

  He could sneak past her and leave. Or he could do the right thing.

  She’d probably be glad if he didn’t stop in. She wouldn’t want to see him before their prearranged time. If then. She had no interest in seeing him anytime, really.

  So he should go.

  Instead, he turned and walked into the library.

  Bob gave him a knowing look. “I’d better get down to the cafeteria if I want to hold my table,” he said, winking at Carlo as he headed out the door. “That Minnie Falcon is always trying to steal my window seat.”

  “But... Oh.” Fern watched the old man’s surprisingly rapid exit and then looked at Carlo without the faintest hint of happiness. More like resignation. “What are you doing here?”

  “Visiting my grandpa. And Miss Minnie Falcon.” He looked around to make sure no one else was in the room, then closed the little library’s door. “Fern, we need to talk, and soon. Rumors are spreading.”

  Her lips tightened. “I said I’d meet you for dinner. Tomorrow.”

  “I’m worried it’s not soon enough. Where’s Mercedes?”

  “She’s at her day care program. I wanted to keep her in her routine, so she’s still going part days even though I’m on vacation.” She sounded defensive.

  “Good,” he said. “Would you want to go have lunch and talk about it now? Because I’m worried she’ll hear something soon.”

  Fern looked at him and he read the struggle on her face. “I have to finish up here,” she said. “I handpick books for a few of the residents.”

  “That’s fine, I can wait. Or I can read. Or I can help.”

  “Fine,” she said, stress evident in her voice. “Wait here.” She turned on her heel and spun out of the library.

  Leaving Carlo to stare down unseeingly at the stack of books in front of him and wonder just what he was going to propose during the lunch to come.

  Chapter Twelve

  An hour later, Fern sat across from Carlo at the back of the Chatterbox Café, feeling incredibly awkward.

  Why was he treating her so gently, as if she was about to shatter? Did he think she wasn’t strong enough to face the truth of the situation, the fact that she might very well lose Mercedes?

  Well, he might have a point. She wasn’t strong enough for that.

  The café was bustling, full of moms with children, the police chief and one of the officers, some workmen from down at the pretzel factory. Waitresses in pink shirts rushed around with trays and pots of coffee. Through the large windows at the front of the restaurant, Rescue River’s main street was visible, picturesque with snow.

  Fern could smell burgers and fries, which she normally loved. Now the greasy odor turned her stomach. She grabbed a plastic-coated menu from the stand on the table and stared at it, barely seeing it.

  But it beat staring at Carlo, who was even more handsome now that he was clean shaven. He’d hung up their winter coats, and his short sleeves revealed his massive soldier arms. Without the beard stubble, his jaw looked even more square, and his eyes, as he watched her, shone dark blue and honest.

 
She had to keep reminding herself that he’d misled her and Mercedes, not letting them know his beliefs about being Mercedes’s father.

  She pinched the back of her hand, hard, to distract herself from the emotional pain of Carlo’s betrayal and of losing Mercedes.

  “Thank you for coming,” Carlo said, still sounding cautious.

  “Sure. We have to talk. It’s just...hard.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. How do you think we should tell her?”

  She shook her head. “I’m worried she’ll be upset. Especially if she thinks there’s going to be a change in her living situation. Which...there will be.” Her stomach lurched as she said the words, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Um, about that.” Carlo reached across the table and took her hand. “I have an idea.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles in a back-and-forth motion.

  Even that light touch took her breath away. She tugged her hand back. “What’s your idea?”

  He took a deep breath and then blew it out. “This is going to sound crazy, but...we could get married.”

  Fern’s heartbeat accelerated as everything around them seemed to fade away.

  Marriage. To Carlo. A real family. Fun and caring and sweet, sweet togetherness. Her heart seemed to expand in her chest.

  When she didn’t answer, he continued talking. “I don’t mean a regular marriage. I wouldn’t expect that. It would be for Mercy’s sake.”

  She stared at him. His mouth kept moving, but she’d stopped processing the words.

  She’d gotten stuck on two particular phrases.

  We could get married, which had made her heart soar.

  I don’t mean a regular marriage, which had brought her right back down to earth with a crashing thud. Of course someone like Carlo wouldn’t be able to really love someone like her.

  “Can I take your order?” came a perky voice. It was Lindy Thompson, who’d just graduated from high school last spring. She was a sweet and pretty girl, and Fern liked her because she was a reader who made regular appearances in the library.

  “Hey,” Lindy said, staring at Carlo. “You’re that big war hero, right?”

  A flush of color crossed Carlo’s face. “I’m a veteran, but no big hero.”

  “No, I remember hearing about you in town. I was telling my brother he should meet you. Didn’t you get a whole bunch of medals?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have a few. Who’s your brother? Is he a vet, too?”

  “Yeah, and he’s not doing so well.” Lindy’s mouth turned downward. “He’s got to go have some more surgeries just as soon as he’s up for it, but we don’t know when that will be.”

  “I’m sorry. You give him my best, will you?”

  “Oh, thank you, I will! That’s really nice of you!”

  Okay, enough. The girl’s eyes held the kind of hero worship that was pretty much irresistible to men. Great.

  “Hey, maybe you could meet him sometime,” Lindy suggested. “It would mean a lot to him. Sometimes he and Mom come in for lunch.”

  “Sure,” Carlo said easily. “I’m in town for a while.”

  Lindy took their orders and Fern struggled with an absurd sense of jealousy.

  Carlo didn’t really want to marry her. Much more suited to him would be someone like pretty, young, outgoing Lindy. Just look at him, how handsome he was, how modest about his war achievements, how kind to a young waitress. He was a catch, all right, and in a little town like Rescue River, he’d be snatched up immediately. By someone much more fun and lively than Fern.

  “So,” Carlo said after Lindy walked away, “guess my suggestion fell flat.”

  She bit her lip. No, it sounded wonderful!

  “I mean that we should get married.”

  This was the moment. She could agree to a marriage and have the wonderful family feeling she’d tasted during the storm.

  Only it wouldn’t be real.

  “It would never work,” Fern said. Better to pull the Band-Aid off quickly.

  He swallowed visibly, opened his mouth as if to argue, and then closed it again. “Then, we should tell her together.”

  Fern forced herself to shrug and nod. “Sure.”

  “That way,” he said, “she’ll be more comfortable. So she can ask questions.”

  Push him away, push him away. “She’ll have a lot of them. Not only about why you weren’t there for her first four years, but about why you didn’t tell us the truth during the snowstorm.”

  Carlo closed his eyes for a second and then reached out and took her hand, his expression regretful. “I want to build a relationship with you and I know it got started wrong.”

  The feel of his hard, large, calloused hand seemed to burn her. Her heart raced and she snatched her hand back, feeling heat rise in her face. “There’s no relationship.”

  “Why?” He sounded bewildered. “Fern, I know I was wrong not to tell you my suspicions, but you of all people ought to know what it’s like. We were practically strangers. I didn’t know how to bring it up, or if I should. Things got away from me, but I never intended to deceive you.”

  She drew in a breath between clenched teeth. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop acting so nice.” Fern’s throat closed up, and tears burned her eyes.

  Don’t you dare cry. The words of one of her particularly harsh foster mothers echoed in her mind. She’d learned to hold back her feelings then, and she could still do it. Again she pinched the back of her hand, hard.

  Carlo leaned closer. “Fern. I want to work this out.”

  “It’s not going to work out. How can it? You’re her father, and you have the right to her. She likes you. It’ll be fine for her. I’ll just be a memory in her life, someone who took care of her for a little while until her daddy could come.” Her voice squeaked and she clenched her mouth shut. Enough talking.

  “Fern. I’m drawn to you. Are you sure you won’t consider—”

  “No!” He wanted a marriage of convenience, not of love. He didn’t care for her as a woman.

  “Why?” He was looking at her steadily. “Maybe there’s a way we can work together. We certainly have to work together to tell Mercedes.”

  If she agreed to it, she’d be making a mockery of something that was supposed to be sacred. And she’d die a little more every day, living with Carlo and knowing he didn’t love her.

  She hardened herself to the hurt and concern on his face. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that no means no?”

  He gave her a long, pained look and then broke eye contact and slumped back in his chair, seeming to shrink before her eyes.

  Lindy approached with their food and Fern used the brief interruption to take deep, calming breaths. She could get through this. For Mercedes’s sake, she had to. Had to hand the child off graciously to him, could never let Mercedes suspect that her daddy had broken Mama Fern’s heart.

  The bells on the front door jingled, and Lindy put their plates in front of them and looked toward the restaurant’s entrance. “Hey, it’s my mom and brother. If he’s feeling okay, can I bring him over for a minute?”

  “Of course.” Carlo’s voice sounded stiff and formal.

  “Mom,” Lindy called. “Over here.”

  A tired-looking fiftysomething woman, whom Fern had also seen at the library, was struggling to get a wheelchair through the door. In it was a man who couldn’t be more than twenty-one. He wore a hoodie and flannel sweats, and his head rested in a special support.

  A couple of men near the front hurried to help with the door, and the older woman looked up, saw Lindy beckoning and headed over, a wide smile creasing her face.

  “Mr. Camden, sir, I’d like you to meet my brother. Tom,” Lindy said to the man in the wheelchai
r, “this is the one I told you about, who became a missionary? The Purple Heart, Silver Star guy? Say hi.”

  The man in the wheelchair didn’t seem to be able to move much, but he lifted his eyes to meet Carlo’s.

  Carlo was out of the booth in a flash, squatting to put himself on the same level as the man in the chair. “My pleasure,” he said. Then he lifted his hand in a slow salute. “Thank you for your service.”

  The man in the chair blinked and swallowed and gave a little nod, and Lindy reached out to put an arm around her mom, whose eyes were shiny.

  In the space of a few seconds, the two men seemed to exchange some knowledge that none of the rest of them could share.

  “Would you like to join us?” Carlo asked, still kneeling.

  The man shook his head, making garbled speaking sounds. He looked up at his mother and tapped his chest.

  “He wants me to show you his medals,” she interpreted, and reached into a bag attached to the wheelchair. She pulled out a small box and flipped it open. “He got the Purple Heart. We carry ’em all the time.”

  Fern watched, her food forgotten, as Carlo looked at the medal and then talked with the family about the younger man’s combat. He was obviously comfortable with the man’s disability and with the family as he walked with them to another table in the diner.

  All Fern could think was what a good daddy he would be for Mercedes. And how proud and happy the woman would be who won his love.

  He came back in and sat down across from her, looked ruefully at his cold burger and her untouched chicken salad. “I’m sorry about that,” he said, still sounding polite and distant.

  “It’s fine. When...when do you want to meet with Mercedes?” His kindness and heroism just made it harder to think of how he’d probably take Mercedes and go somewhere else. Now she just wanted to get out of the café before she fell more in love with him. More impossibly in love.