Unexpected Arrivals(66)
Instead of responding, he handed me the envelope he’d received in the mail. I glanced at the sender—Clary, White, & Boyd—not recognizing any of the names from Geneva Key. Unfolding the piece of paper, my eyes bounced back and forth between James and the sheet in front of me. When my gaze finally met the words on the page, I didn’t have to read it; the entire contents stood out in just a few short words: paternity test (DNA) for minor child Airy.
“You said you used a condom!” I wasn’t sure what that proved at this point. “Her kid can’t be yours. You promised me.”
“I did use a condom. I’d never lie to you about that.”
“Then how can she claim you’re the father of her child?” I rarely raised my voice. However, as we sat on our back porch, it dawned on me that I was screaming at my husband over something that happened six years ago…when we weren’t together.
He handed me another piece of paper—this one already unfolded. “I have no idea, Cora. All I can tell you is she had a condom, and we used it. It didn’t break. I know she didn’t go back to get it off the beach. I have no clue how she got pregnant.”
Ninety-nine point nine percent. James had fathered a child he’d never met and knew nothing about. And now the mother of this child was gone.
My mind went blank, my heart hurt, and my chest constricted. I grabbed my wine and raced into the house with James on my heels.
“Please don’t walk away.” The anguish in his voice ripped at my heart. “I’m scared, Cora. Please help me.”
Never, in all the years I’d known and loved James, had I ever heard him admit he was afraid. And when I turned around, he stood in front of the sliding glass doors, shoulders slumped, tears streaming down his cheeks, completely broken.
“Please.” It was nothing more than a whisper, almost a prayer.
And I couldn’t bear for him to endure this alone. I couldn’t even be angry that we now faced an issue no one should ever deal with. I couldn’t imagine why Chelsea had kept the baby a secret, but we’d never have an answer to that question. We wouldn’t get the answers to lots of questions. All that mattered was my husband was destroyed, hanging on by a thread…and somehow, we’d figure out a way to get through this. Together.
***
At that moment, I needed to connect to my husband, the man I loved, the one I’d committed my life to, because the world didn’t make sense without him. I needed a reminder of the bond we shared and that the world fell away when his skin was flush with mine.
James didn’t question me when I pulled him to our bedroom, or when I undressed him before removing my own clothes, or when I pushed him down on the mattress. And when I straddled his waist and he sunk into me, his eyes remained focused on mine without a word uttered between us. He let me be the aggressor, expending the negative energy his news had brought, casting aside my disdain for Drake Halifax, and when the tears began to fall, he rolled me over, reminded me of how desperately he loved me, and brought me back home…to the place where nothing could hurt us, as long as we were together.
Lying next to each other—my chest pressed to his, our sticky skin cooling off—he ran his fingers through my hair and traced my cheek with his thumb. The light through the window had started to wane, and shadows fell around us, yet I could still see his crystal-blue eyes focused on me and searching my features. Everything in our life was suddenly uncertain, but I knew for sure that I’d walk through a burning house to save this man, and I wouldn’t leave his side.
When James finally spoke, it was obvious he thought I was saying goodbye, when in reality, I’d been taking his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m lost over what to do. You never wanted children, and this one isn’t even ours.”
With more conviction than I actually felt, I tried to reassure him. “I can’t say I’m happy. The only thing I can tell you is that we’ll get through it together. Somehow, we’ll figure it out.”
“How do you figure out a kid? It’s not like you’re pregnant and we have nine months to formulate a plan. This child is already here and just lost its mother.”
“Do you have any information about it? Is it a boy or a girl? Who has the child now? Is it in foster care?” That was only the tip of the iceberg of the questions we needed answered.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I didn’t ask anything. What kind of father does that make me? I don’t know the first thing about my own child.”
It was hard to comfort him when I needed so much myself—we both had the same uncertainty and neither of us had any answers. The truth was, we were just going to have to wade through it and hope we didn’t drown in the process. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s hard to be informed when things were intentionally kept from you.”
“I can’t imagine why she never told me. It wasn’t like the two of us never talked again.” Something had just crossed his mind, a realization, though he hadn’t shared it. “She would have been several months pregnant when I left for Paris.”
“So you think she didn’t tell you because of me?” I highly doubted that.
“I never spoke to her again after I came back from France. I texted her the night we got engaged to tell her you’d accepted. She never responded, and I didn’t think much about it. Once I got home, I tried a couple times to reach her. We were so busy at the office that I didn’t pursue it.”