The Newcomer (Thunder Point #2)(42)

He knocked on the front door. He was afraid to ring the bell—what if there was grieving. Mrs. Cunningham answered and God bless her, she had aged far more than ten years. Cooper couldn’t even imagine losing a family member like this—dying by inches. He put out his hand. “Mrs. Cunningham, do you remember me?” he asked.

“Of course, Coop. Thank you for coming. I realize it’s a lot to ask of you.”

“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” he said.

“Is that him?” he heard someone ask. Then the man who must be Spencer came into the foyer. “Cooper?”

“Yes,” he said, putting out his hand again. “Spencer?”

“Nice to meet you, Cooper. Can I get you a drink or something?”

In fact, Spencer looked as if he could use a drink. So did Mrs. Cunningham.

“No, thanks. How’s she doing?”

“She’s hanging in there. Hospice does a good job of keeping her comfortable. I don’t know how to prepare you, Cooper—she’s not the same girl you dated. Her appearance is—” Then he ran a hand around his sweaty neck. “We converted the sun porch into a hospital room so she could be here with the family. Our house is smaller and less accessible—two-story and all. I’m sure you want to get on with this. Follow me.”

In fact, Cooper didn’t want to get on with it. He wanted to bolt. But that ship had sailed and here he was. He walked through a family room. Mr. Cunningham and a couple of younger men were watching TV but the volume was turned low. There were three kids and a teenager playing a board game at the dining room table and two women puttered around the kitchen, whispering. The house had a pall of death over it—all subdued and respectfully quiet.

He had a sudden and profound understanding of wounded animals sneaking off into the forest to die alone and without an audience.

The room was large and while the blinds were partially closed, he could see that if opened, it would be a bright and sunny room. It was dominated by a hospital bed, the back raised and the woman in the bed was not his Bridget. This woman looked a hundred years old. She had only yellow fuzz on her head and she was slumped over, her bony arms appearing spidery, her fingers too long. She had an IV hooked up, and a woman who must be a nurse busied herself keeping Bridget comfortable. The accoutrements of illness were present—wheelchair, bedside table holding a couple of glasses of liquid, straws, basin, towels, bedpan. There was a cot beside the bed—someone slept there, close by her side.

Spencer leaned over her, kissed her forehead and said, “Honey, he’s here.”

Bridget roused slowly. “Cooper?” she asked.

Spencer stroked her na**d head and she opened her eyes. They were no longer that bright, fiery green but pale and weak. She tried to sit up in the bed, but Spencer wouldn’t allow her struggle. With strong hands under her armpits, he pulled her up. The nurse left immediately and Spencer backed away from the bed. Bridget patted the bed beside her, indicating Cooper should sit down and Cooper, feeling like the biggest coward alive, hesitated.

“Cooper, I’m sorry for all the secrecy,” she said, her voice much stronger than he expected. “This is my fault, but I swear to you, I didn’t know. Less than six months ago I learned something you need to know about. We did a lot of tests of everyone in the family and extended family in search of a bone marrow donor—I was too sick for my own bone marrow to be harvested. That was when we discovered something. Cooper, you have a son. My son. Spencer and I always assumed he was ours, but the testing showed... Cooper, I’m sorry. I really didn’t think it was possible.”

Cooper was stunned. He couldn’t speak. She must be mistaken, surely. He said nothing because in his head he knew these must be the delusional ramblings of a very sick woman.

“I started seeing Spencer a few months after we ended our engagement but you and I, we always had one last goodbye, didn’t we. We just discovered this and it seemed logical to wait until later, after Austin was older.... But then I decided at the last minute, I couldn’t leave this to them.” She made a sound that was like a chuckle. “Last-minute. That’s putting it mildly. Austin is ten years old and very smart and we explained it to him. I wanted to be the one to tell you. And to plead with you—know him if you want to, but please don’t take him away from his father.”

Take him away? Cooper thought. I’m not sure I even want to have a kid. Finally, fighting through the shock, he said, “You can’t be sure.”

“I’m sure. There’s no other possibility. But you should have tests—DNA. We’ll cover the costs, of course. I just can’t move on unless my conscience is clear. I didn’t know. I really didn’t know.”

“You didn’t suspect, after we were together...?”

She shook her head. “When I first realized I was pregnant, you’d been gone for a month. Austin was born two weeks early and weighed seven pounds. Possibly he was actually two weeks late, instead. That aside, he doesn’t have Spencer’s DNA. And there is no other possibility.” She reached for Cooper’s hand. “I’m sorry. I never would have kept something like that from you.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

She nodded. “He knows. We told him Spencer is his father of the heart, but he has someone else’s genes. You and Spencer will have to work things out.” She coughed weakly. “Please consider their relationship. I’m out of time, Cooper.”