Oceans Apart (14 page)

But he would never be the same again.

Because his feelings for his father had all but died. And the secret of what happened that stormy night was locked permanently in the darkest closet of his heart.

In a place where Michele would never find it.

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Next to him, his copilot mumbled something, and the sound of it caught Connor’s attention.

He let the memory go. Besides, who had time for remembering? He had a plane to land, and a future that suddenly demanded his every waking minute. Somewhere in Honolulu he had a son, a boy who maybe even looked like him, a child who needed a home.

He realized something then, something as painful as it was stark and true. He could call Marv Ogle back and tell him no, and none 106

– Karen Kingsbury –

of them would ever be the wiser. Max would never know his father rejected him, and Michele . . . Michele would never know a thing about that awful summer night.

The muscles in his jaw tightened. How could he tell her a thing like this, that nearly eight years ago he’d had an affair and never found a way to tell her? He sighed and the sound of it filled the cockpit. Beside him, his copilot glanced over.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Connor’s answer was quick. “Fine.” The words tasted bitter and deceitful, because the truth was only just starting to work its way through him. No matter what pain his decision would cost Michele and the girls, he could think of no way around it. He hated himself for what he was about to do, what was about to happen to his life, his home, his family. But now that he knew about Max, now that he understood that somewhere in Honolulu lived a boy that was his own flesh and blood, his mind was already made up.

Regardless of Michele’s response, or the lies they’d have to tell the girls at first, the answer was obvious. He could argue with himself, refuse the possibility, even deny it existed. But still the boy would come. No matter what he might want to tell himself about putting Michele’s feelings first, or leaving well enough alone, the boy would come.

Connor couldn’t live with his curiosity otherwise.

The visit would last only two weeks, a trial run, to satisfy Connor’s questions even though the very act of doing so would scar Michele and the girls for life. But if he was honest with himself, Connor would admit he was already looking past the trial run with Max, and on into the slightest hint of a possibility. The possibility of a future with the boy.

A future that in the past few hours had changed to include a son he’d not yet met.

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Which was why his throat felt thick, and he had to work to fight the overwhelming urge to hate himself. Because no matter how much pain he was about to inflict on his family, he would do it willingly, all so he could take a chance at being the boy’s father. All so maybe, just maybe, he might have the one thing he’d wanted all his life.

A son to call his own.

108

ELEVEN

The date was Connor’s idea, and it improved everything about Michele’s day.

He called her before his last flight and asked her to find a sitter for the girls. “Meet me at the beach, at our spot.” She was finishing a haircut, and the sound of his voice was a balm to her soul. She sank into her desk chair and dropped her voice to a whisper. “What’s the occasion?”

“I miss you; we need time alone.”

His answer kept Michele guessing for the rest of the afternoon.

Nothing in his tone suggested the talk would be anything serious, but maybe he’d decided to contact his father. Maybe after seeing the car accident the other day he’d realized that life was too short.

His father couldn’t possibly have long to live, his heart being damaged as it was.

Or maybe it was something else.

Maybe he’d gotten a promotion at work and now he’d be flying international flights again. International flights brought a pilot more hours, which in turn meant more money. Only the most senior pilots had the option of flying international. Though Connor had flown them when he was younger, after the FAA investigation he’d had to work his way back to the place where he was now.

By the time Michele handed off instructions to the sitter, kissed Elizabeth and Susan, and headed for the car, she was almost certain that was it. It had to be. And knowing Connor, he was probably wondering if that type of promotion would actually be good for his family.

Of course he wanted to talk.

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She pulled onto the main highway and pictured their spot.

The place was three miles north of the beach where they liked to take the girls. It had more grass, with a beach too narrow for most tourists. A fallen log not far from the sand worked as a bench, and every few months she and Connor made their way to the spot for time alone.

Michele turned her car onto the frontage road. She was almost there now, and her heart beat harder at the thought of his news.

Whatever it was. Yes, he’d left only the day before, but life at home had been crazier than usual—missed hair appointments, late clients, and a permanent wave that practically burned the hair off the head of a seventy-two-year-old woman from the school’s vol-unteer library staff.

All morning Elizabeth and Susan fought over which of them owned a certain blouse, each certain that it belonged to her. When Michele told them to work it out, they ripped the shirt in two, and were relegated to their bedrooms as soon as they returned from school.

An hour of quiet intimacy with Connor was just what she needed.

The talks they had at their beach spot were crucial for her, maybe even more than for Connor. It was at their quiet spot that they used to pray together, back before life grew so full and busy.

But even without prayer, here she didn’t bury her emotions the way she so often did. Passion and depth were a part of her, the same way they were a part of Connor. But it was easier to breeze through the day confident in her work and her time with the girls, listening to her clients pour their hearts out while she did little but inter-ject an occasional yes or no.

Her heart took time to draw out, and Connor was excellent at doing that. He’d start with lighthearted, silly one-liners, and like 110

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a therapist or a magician, he’d pull from her a detailed report of her innermost feelings. Whether she’d wanted to share them or not. The thing of it was, she’d spent her life before Connor being independent, not needing anyone but herself and her God.

But Connor . . . Connor she needed. It had been that way from the beginning, and every year she relied on him more, found herself more in love with him. It wasn’t the same crazy, starry-eyed love they’d shared after college. Rather it was something deeper, something that blended love and friendship and complete, utter vulnerability.

The combination was intoxicating. Michele rarely let her mind wander, as she had a few days ago, down the path of what-ifs.

Because deep within her, in a place only he was allowed to see, she didn’t think she’d survive if anything ever happened to him.

She pulled into the parking lot and headed for their familiar spot. Connor’s car was there, and already she could feel the layers slipping away. From the place where she parked she saw him, saw his back to her as he stared out at the Atlantic Ocean.

For a fraction of an instant she wondered if something was wrong. His posture wasn’t quite right, not as tall and proud. More defeated, somehow. But she dismissed the thought as soon as it came. Connor didn’t call her out here to tell her bad news. What bad news could he possibly have?

She took light steps, and managed to sneak up behind him without gaining his attention. When she was a few inches away, she eased her fingers over his shoulders and loosely around his neck.

“Hey . . .”

He turned just enough to see her. “Hi.” His smile looked forced, and again she swallowed back a surge of doubt. “Thanks for coming.”

“I needed it.”

“Rough day?”

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“Very.” She walked around the log and took her place beside him. “Bad hair for Thelma Lynn, a torn blouse for Elizabeth and Susan.” She angled her face and caught his gaze. “But this was a good idea.”

Connor searched her face, then looked back out to sea and a sad sort of moan came from deep within him. Michele could barely hear it above the sound of the surf, but it touched a nerve in her soul all the same.

“Michele, we need to talk.”

“Okay.” She ignored his tone and kept hers light. “I’m here.” He hung his head and with his right hand, he rubbed the base of his neck. When he looked up, he sucked in a full breath and found her eyes again. “Remember that call the other day, the one from the attorney in Hawaii?”

“Yes.” Michele reminded herself to smile. “They want you in Honolulu for a week to testify, and you’re taking me along.” She let loose a bit of stiff laughter. “Right?”

“I wish.” Not even a hint of humor shone back at her from his eyes. He took her hand in his and worked his fingers between hers.

Without looking away, he exhaled through his nose and gave a single shake of his head. “What I’m about to say is the hardest thing I’ve ever told you. I want you to know that.” A lightheaded feeling came over Michele and made her dizzy.

She gripped the edge of the log with her right hand and felt her guard go up. What was he talking about, the hardest thing he’d ever told her? She gave a slight nod of her head. “The hardest thing, Connor . . . what do you mean?”

He turned so that he was facing her and brought his other hand to circle around the one he was still holding. “The attorney was representing the estate of a woman named Kiahna Siefert. She was a flight attendant killed in the Western Island Air crash the other day in Honolulu.”

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Michele felt a twinge in her feet—she had the sudden urge to run. Why would an attorney for a dead flight attendant want anything to do with her husband? Did Connor know the woman? If so, why hadn’t he ever mentioned her?

And why was this the hardest thing he’d ever told her?

She stared at the path to the beach and wondered how long it would take her to jerk her hand free and run to the surf. She could jump into the waves and swim until she was too tired to move another inch, and when she looked back at the beach Connor would be gone. It would all be a dream, and she would wake up beside him, free from worry or concerns about an attorney or a dead flight attendant or anything that might even remotely involve her and Connor.

Instead she tightened her grip on the edge of the log and found the strength to speak the single question burning a hole in her heart. “Did . . . did you know her?”

“Yes.” Again Connor held her gaze, but this time she was sure she saw regret layered across his expression. “For a short time.” She dug her nails into the wood and made a weak attempt to pull her other hand free from his. He didn’t let go. Anger joined the host of emotions wreaking havoc on her insides. “Get to the point, Connor.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked at the water once more and gave a slow shake of his head. “The attorney tells me Kiahna left behind a son, a seven-year-old boy.” Connor’s voice fell, and Michele had to strain to hear it above her pounding heart. He turned to her again, and this time his eyes were colored with an even deeper regret, a regret she hadn’t known he was capable of.

He looked straight up for a moment, and then back at her. “The boy is mine, Michele. I didn’t know about him until yesterday.”

“Y–yours?” She stared at him, her throat so tight the word barely squeezed through. She pulled her hand from his and crossed 113

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her arms hard against her stomach. Shock slapped her around and left her speechless, unable to even imagine what might come next.

If the child was Connor’s, then . . .

He’d had an affair.

He’d been with another woman and never told her about it.

Even when she’d thought everything was perfect between them.

Pain seized her chest and she knew instinctively what it was. A piece of her was dying. The part that had trusted Connor without hesitation was suddenly gasping for air, losing its heartbeat, unable to exist in light of the news.

What had she done wrong? She grabbed at the details floating in her mind and ordered them to line up. If the boy was seven, then Connor was with his mother what . . . eight years ago? So what was it, her depression? The trouble she’d had with losing her mother?

She could hardly help those things.

She’d been pregnant back then, hadn’t she? Pregnant with Susan. So, maybe he hadn’t been attracted to her. Maybe she wasn’t thin enough for him.

And who could blame him?

“It was my weight, right? I wasn’t thin enough.”

“No!” He shot her a look that mixed shock with growing shades of desperation. “Of course not.” He rested his forearms on his knees and stared at the sand and grass beneath them. “It was one time, Michele, I swear. One night when we were grounded in Honolulu during a storm.”

Michele closed her eyes and in a rush the things he was saying became real. It was true; he’d had an affair with a flight attendant.