Roz Fox - The Seven Year Secret

“Why are you always so damned logical, Connor? Haven’t you ever done anything on pure impulse?”

A period in his life when Mallory had drawn him into some pretty wacky, spur-of-the-moment outings flashed past Connor’s eyes. Images he quickly erased. “Not for a long time,” he said in all seriousness. “What you see is what you get, Claire. I hope you understand this is who you’d be marrying.”

She turned to stare out the window. “I thought I knew you.” She swung back. “Surely you realize that the curve you threw me two nights before my wedding—a day I’ve dreamed about since I was fourteen—would upset any woman? I don’t think I’m being unreasonable, Connor.”

“No. I just think you’re forgetting that the same curveball came out of left field and hit me, too.”

The plane took a decided dip. The stewardess announced their descent into Tallahassee, noting they were half an hour late. Connor returned the blueprint to his briefcase and placed the case under the seat in front of him. It wasn’t lost on him, however, that Claire neither agreed nor disagreed with his statement.

Collecting both their bags from the overhead bin, Connor stepped aside and let her lead the way off the plane.

“So what’s the plan?” she asked, seeming not to notice that he juggled her suitcase, cosmetic case, his duffel bag and a briefcase, while her hands were free.

With difficulty, he glanced at his watch. “My appointment with Dr. Dahl starts in twenty minutes. He’s sandwiched me in between a speech he had to give at the U and an afternoon surgery. We’ll have to go directly to his office instead of phoning hotels from here.”

“Go to the clinic with our bags? We’ll look like a couple of vagabonds.”

“Just me. I’m wearing jeans. You look like a million bucks, as usual. Come on,” he said, motioning over her head to one of the waiting cabdrivers.

Once he’d given the driver the address and they’d settled into the back seat, Connor took Claire’s hand. “It’ll be fine. We won’t see a soul who knows us or who’ll likely ever see us again. I’ll ask the clinic receptionist if you can use their phone book along with my cell phone to locate rooms. Cost is no object,” he added, having learned early on that Claire liked everything first-class.

“Really?” She perked up at that. “Okay, but you may be sorry. I may find an indecently expensive resort. I mean, if the doctor’s able to schedule your tests for tomorrow, I’d rather sit by a pool than hang out in some hospital waiting room.”

“Can they do blood tests on demand?”

“You mean you might have to come back a second time?”

“Possibly. I’m operating in the dark, too, Claire. I’ve never met anyone who’s donated an organ. Well, except for Mallory, who gave Liddy a kidney. I should have questioned her more, I guess.”

“That’s all right, Connor. I’m sure the doctor will have all the information you need in order to make an informed decision.”

He smiled. Not his best effort. He’d managed to avoid hospitals since his mother died in one during emergency surgery, but even the thought of voluntarily allowing a surgeon to cut out a vital organ left Connor feeling edgy. Oh, he’d get over it, he supposed. No “supposed” about it. This was his child. He’d get over it.

What he’d have a harder time getting past, he feared, was the fact that Mallory had kept from him the news that she’d borne his baby. Anytime he thought about that, his blood boiled.

The cab swung into a circular drive, stopping under a brick portico. A profusion of greenery and blooming flowers flanked glass doors. “This is a clinic,” the driver said in accented English. “You take your bags inside?”

Claire jammed an elbow in Connor’s side. “See? He thinks we’re tacky.”

Connor peeled off the fare plus a generous tip. “We’ll be going to a hotel after we’re done. I’ll request your cab number.”

The driver smiled and nodded happily.

Connor manhandled the bags inside, discreetly depositing them behind a huge potted fern. There was only one other patron in the posh waiting room, a woman who had her nose stuck in a book. She didn’t glance up.

Claire took a seat. She pawed through magazines spread out on a glass-topped table. Connor approached a bank of windows. One slid open to reveal an elegant woman with smooth, coffee-colored skin. “Dr. O’Rourke, I presume?”

“Connor, please. I hope I didn’t keep Dr. Dahl waiting. Our plane was late.”

She smiled. “When aren’t they? Or other forms of transport, for that matter? The doctor’s with someone else—a last-minute meeting. If you’ll fill out this paperwork,” she said, handing Connor a clipboard with a sheaf of documents, “we’ll have you hooked up with Dr. Dahl in no time.”

Connor felt a door breeze open behind the receptionist and heard the jovial rumble of male voices.

“I believe he’s concluded his business,” the receptionist murmured. “You’ll have to write faster than I anticipated.”

In spite of her warning, Connor ignored the clipboard he held. “Due to FSU’s graduation, I wasn’t able to book a hotel,” he said. “I was told to check for possible cancellations when I arrived. I wonder if you can spare a phone book? Claire, my fiancée, will call around while I see the doctor.”

A door situated on Connor’s left flew open. A booming voice exclaimed, “Connor? Connor O’Rourke? Fredric said you had an appointment, but what’s this about a fiancée? Mallory didn’t mention you were engaged.” Bradford Forrest’s dark eyes canvassed the room. “Is that the little lady? Come, introduce us.”

Connor was too stunned at seeing Mallory’s father to act on his demand.

And Claire, although she rose, bristled at being called a little lady. She was petite compared to the bulk of Senator Forrest, however. Also compared to Connor, who topped six-two in his stocking feet.

Even Bradford Forrest, bear of a man that he was, had to reach up to clap Connor’s shoulder. “You’ve filled out since I last saw you, my boy. That was when? At Mallory’s graduation?”

“Yes, sir,” Connor said, recovering. “Claire, meet Senator Forrest.” At one time, Connor had been plenty intimidated by Mallory’s folks. Now he felt on a more equal footing with the senator, who’d aged.

Brad headed for Claire, saying to Connor, “I read good things about you in the Florida Business Review. You’ve done all right for yourself. Let me say how grateful I am that you’ve consented to set aside important work in Miami to come here for Liddy Bea’s sake. Gotta say, I did my damnedest to talk Mallory out of contacting you. To be perfectly honest, I expected you to dodge responsibility.”

Connor stiffened at that. “You and Mrs. Forrest always had a mistakenly low opinion of me, Senator.” Connor’s earlier congenial manner downshifted noticeably.

Bradford shrugged. “I was too busy back then to get to know Mark or Mallory’s friends. And Beatrice, rest her soul, loved them both to distraction. Some say she spoiled them. Really, she wanted the best life had to offer for our kids.”

Connor laid a hand on Claire’s arm. His bluster faded a bit. “I didn’t know you’d lost your wife. I’m sorry.”

“Bea went rather quickly after being diagnosed with a neuroblastoma. Under a year. We…the family has weathered some rough patches, what with the discovery of Liddy Bea’s polycystic kidneys, and now her latest downward spiral.”

“And Mark? How’s he?”

“Still career navy, stationed at Pensacola. He pops in and out. Not often enough, considering he keeps an apartment in town and a boat docked down on the Wakulla. But here we are discussing old times, leaving a beautiful woman in the dark.”