Blame It on Paris (22 page)

She took a first sip of the wine, thinking that she wanted this. Not her mother's life. Her own. But she did want to raise kids and have a family in a neighborhood like this. It didn't have to be in South Bend.

It could be anywhere. But she couldn't deny wanting to raise a family in a neighborhood, American style. Not French.

The wine suddenly caught in the back of her throat, but then her mother finally hung up the phone and turned to her.

“Sounded like a business deal that is really going well?” Kelly said swiftly.

“Yes, a closing. A terrific deal, but forget that. What's the wine for? Did you make up with Jason? Or have a fight and not make up? What's wrong?”

“It's not about Jason, Mom. It's about you.” She handed her mom the biggest glass. “Take a sip,” she urged her.

“Are you pregnant?”

“Take a sip.”

“God. You're not sick, are you? You look so wonderful—”

Kelly sat across from her, on the old white frame rocker that had once belonged to her grandmother. “Come on. I told you I met my dad when I was in Paris. You know we're overdue for this conversation. Enough's enough. Tell me the story.”

Her mother opened her mouth, and then stopped, looking sick and unnerved. Her mom, who never had a hair out of place, who could probably run the UN in her sleep, stared at the wine in her glass as if she were lost in the reflection.

Kelly leaned forward. “His wife died, some time ago. But his two sons are a little older than me, so he had to have been married and had those kids when you met him. I have half brothers, Mom.
Family
. Maybe none of them want to know me—and maybe I don't want to know them—but darn it, they're blood kin.”

Finally Char's eyes shot up. “I swear I was going to tell you, honey.”

“When I was fifty?”

Her mother's cell sang out, but Char turned it off. She closed her laptop and faced Kelly with soft, worn eyes. “This is what it was all really about, isn't it? Your breakup with Jason. Not so much about Will, but about finding out about your father.”

“Maybe partly. Cripes, I don't know.” Kelly sighed, a long, miserable sound coming from her throat. “I felt totally and completely thrown when I found out he was alive, when I found out who he was. I thought my dad was a hero—not a guy who played around on his wife, much less had a wife with young children. And you, Mom, I trusted more than anyone else alive. And you lied to me. I
love
you, but I don't understand why you didn't tell me the truth. I know everything in your life isn't my business, but for heaven's sake. I could have had a father in my life. Even if he was a piker, he still might have had a role in my life. Why did you
lie?
”

“Because I thought I had to, honey.”

At the look in her mother's face, Kelly leaned forward and grabbed the wine bottle. This was no time for sipping. She filled up both glasses and waited.

Her mom haltingly started to fill in the blanks. “I went to Paris to study for a year at the Sorbonne—which you know. And that's when I met him. He wasn't in school. I met him at a bistro. It was chance. I took one look and fell head over heels.” She pushed at her hair. “I was the archaic good girl. A virgin. And your dad…well, he was every fantasy I ever dreamed of. Strong, yet gentle. Worldly, experienced with women. He knew what to say, what to do, to make me feel like the most desirable woman who had ever been born.” She sighed. “I'm sure that sounds naive.”

“No, it doesn't,” Kelly said softly, thinking she understood. Too well. Too much. Too completely.

“I'm not trying to make excuses. I'm just trying to say how it was. I not only fell in love, I fell way, way over my head. I didn't have a clue he was married—he didn't lie to me, he just didn't tell me. It's different there. Or it was different then. He married for business, as did his wife. They were happy enough. He just went outside the marriage from time to time for…for romance, I guess you'd say. I don't believe your father saw it as wrong. Cheating in a marriage there wasn't looked at the same way it is here. Or maybe he thought I was smarter than I was—smarter about life, smarter about men—and that I knew the rules of the game we were playing.”

Lights started coming on around the neighborhood. The sound of children's voices died, as the kids were called in for bed. The first firefly showed up in the dusky light. And still they talked.

“When I found out he was married…in fact, that his wife had recently given birth to new baby, a son…I almost died. He said his wife hadn't been well enough to have ‘relations' for months, as if that explained why he'd strayed. Truthfully, Kelly, I shut down like a slammed door when I found out. I bought a ticket home in a matter of hours, was throwing things in a suitcase, taking off for home at the speed of sound.”

“You didn't know you were pregnant then?”

“Didn't even cross my mind. Getting away from him, from Paris, from the whole mess, was the only thing on my mind.”

“But, Mom…” That time, when Kelly tried to pour, she discovered they'd finished the bottle. Undoubtedly there was wine or liquor somewhere in the house, because her mom entertained, even if she wasn't much of a drinker. But when it came down to it, she didn't want any more. And neither, from the look of her mother's face, did she. “Why didn't you
tell
me that you never got married? Why did you keep this a secret from me? Why didn't you tell him that he'd gotten you pregnant? Or did you?”

“I didn't tell anyone. Obviously, my mother knew there was a man in France, but not all of the circumstances. She nursed me through a broken heart, helped me through the pregnancy. So did the rest of the family. But as far as telling anyone else—or you—I never told because I was just plain ashamed.”

“But
why?
Tons of women choose to be single moms. You weren't living in the Dark Ages, Mom. No one has to cover stuff like that up anymore.”

Her mother said quietly, “He was married, with small children.”

“But still—”

“He was married. With small children,” her mother repeated. “I wasn't ashamed of what other people would think. I was ashamed of
me
.”

Kelly sucked in a breath. “Aw, Mom. Damn it all.”

“And that's why I didn't want you to know. Because I didn't want you ashamed of both your parents. Bad enough that your father was a cheater, but if I'd told you the truth, you'd have thought I was the kind of woman who'd sleep with a married man, who'd risk breaking up a marriage—a marriage with small children. I didn't want you to know the truth. I wanted to give you a family you could be proud of. I wanted you to think you came from good people. I wanted you to think that I was a good woman, a good mother.”

“Oh, for God's sake, Mom…” Kelly surged out of the chair and wrestled her mom out of hers. She folded Char up in a big hug and squeezed tight.

Cripes, she'd come here afraid she'd end up crying…not making her mother cry.

And she'd come to demand answers…only dagnabbit, her mom had
given
her answers. Exactly what she wanted. Yet instead of making her feel better, she'd not only upset her mother, but made herself feel worse.

In fact, she felt downright scared.

Will was nothing like her dad. He wasn't married. Wasn't a cheater. He was an honorable guy right down to the gut. But damn…Kelly kept thinking that it was hard
not
to be afraid of repeating her mother's mistake.

W
ILL STOOD AT
his father's office window. The view was his dad's favorite—not the river, not trees or a pretty landscape, but the sea of concrete and brick manufacturing facilities stretched below. For the past hour, the telephone had been glued to his ear. When he had occasion to be off the phone, it was only to turn to the mounds of crises covering his father's sleek slate desk.

The boat ride with Kelly might as well have been months ago instead of a week. His begging her to come back to Paris with him—she'd never had a chance to say yes or no. He kept telling himself she'd been going to say yes.

That yes was still possible.

He was holding on to that hope like a lifeline in a stormy sea.

“Mr. Maguire…”

Will spun around and viewed Aaron's new comptroller with suspicious eyes. First off, John Henry persisted in calling him Mr. Maguire. Second off, the guy was so perfect he probably didn't have to spit after brushing his teeth. He didn't joke, didn't cough, didn't trip, never complained, was courteous first thing in the morning—in short, he never did one human thing.

Something was off. Will couldn't pin it down, but nobody could be this perfect every second. Stranger yet was his sense of style. John Henry—what kind of a name was that?—could have auditioned for an escort service.

“I didn't mean to interrupt you,” John said, “but I have the reports you asked for, and you did ask me to bring them right away.”

“I did. And I needed them right away. Thanks, John. I'll get back to you later.”

South Bend was famous for Studebakers—a car that failed. The city was also famous for Notre Dame, of course. And then there were the Maguires, upstart Irish once upon a time, but Irish who weren't afraid to get their hands dirty. It wasn't a romantic business his family had gotten into, just the formula for an indestructible alloy. So far the product had been used on everything from trains to computers, from race cars to military hardware.

“Will…” Ms. Randolph showed up at his door next. She'd been his father's right-hand assistant for as long as he could remember. Her age was around 110, her gray hair wirier than a terrier's, and lions couldn't compete with her loyalty.

As far as Will could tell, she was part of the evil conspiracy determined to keep him here. Unlike any sane employee—who would surely think the prodigal son wouldn't know shit about running the place and was just going to muck everything up—Ms. Randolph acted as if the sun rose and set with him. She adored him.

More nauseating yet, he adored her.

“Your father called from the hospital,” she reported. “He'd appreciate your calling him before you leave tonight.”

“For a fresh set of questions and orders, and the daily tongue-lashing, I suspect,” Will said wryly.

“I think he wants to pull the great escape tonight, but he won't be able to manage it without you.”

“Oh my God, is he delusional? He actually believes I'd help spring him from the hospital so he could go home?”

“He does. But he knows you won't leave here for hours yet. And sometime over the next hour or so, Blake, in the finishing department, wants you to take a look at the Ariber proposal before we send it out.” She glanced at him. “Blake thinks you don't know beans, so watch yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“Ariber can't be familiar to you. It's a relatively new customer, but one of your dad's pet projects. Not a big profit to be had on this specific project, but serious opportunities down the road. Your father felt it was an important contract to land.” After filling him on the rest, she tapped her notepad. “Did you get lunch?”

“No, Mom. But I'm a big boy and can feed myself.”

“Humph. I've slapped your father upside the head, so don't think I can't do it to you. You'll either start scheduling a regular lunch or I'll start having it catered at noon.”

“Hey. I can fire you, remember?”

“In a pig's eye. You gave me a new job title and a salary increase the minute you got here.”

“That was only because my father's stingy.”

“Actually…he is. A little.” She looked uncomfortable. “I don't mean to imply that your father doesn't treat me absolutely fairly in every way. And you know how I love Maguire's. I had everything I needed—”

“This wasn't about what you needed. It was about merit and power, cookie. And you deserved more power. You've earned it.”

“Well, heaven knows, that's true.” Ms. Randolph stalked toward the door like the martinet she was. “But for the record, if you call me ‘cookie' again, you might not live to see the next daylight.” She closed his door on her way out.

When she knew he had a mountain to tackle, she always closed his door, then guarded it with the tenaciousness of a street bully. And she was right. Somehow he had to pack in eight hours of work before he could leave today—and it was already three in the afternoon. And no, he hadn't had time for lunch. In fact, he was damn near light-headed from hunger.

Hunger for food.

Hunger to be anywhere on the planet but here.

Hunger to be with Kelly. Just anywhere with Kel. Alone.

Ms. Randolph paged him right when he was knee-deep in trouble, out in the prefinishing production area, where the lighting was fierce and the temperature brain-baking. Maybe the heat contributed to old Willy Blake's attitude. The foreman had never liked hearing criticism, and liked listening to new ideas even less.

Ms. Randolph said crisply, “You've got a Kelly Rochard on line three. She knows you're busy. Said she could call back, but I figured you could use the sound of a sweet voice. Particularly if you've been listening to Blake cuss for long.”

Will was too whipped to even tease back. “Thanks.”

He punched in line three, one hand covering his right ear so he had a prayer of hearing Kelly clearly. Which he did. And simply the sound of her voice made him grin.

“Darn it, Will. I
hate
bothering you,” she said violently.

“You never bother me.”

“Yeah, I do. Of course I do. But I wanted to know how your dad was, and I couldn't call you at his place, because your mom could easily overhear anything you wanted to say. And if you were back at your sister's, I figured you'd be sacked out, so I didn't want to bother you there. So the only place left to call you was—”

Before she went on explaining forever, Will figured he'd just jump in and answer her question. “Well, my dad's ornery. Crabby. Insufferable. But I'm supposed to spring him from the hospital after dinner. The family doesn't think he's ready to come home yet, worried that he's way more than my mom can handle. So he called me to come do the jailbreak.”

“My. How much fun you're having, huh?”

“I don't suppose you'd like to come with me?”

“To help take your dad home? I'd love to.”

There. Just like that. A god-awful job turned into something livable.

 

A
ARON WAS IN THE MIDDLE
of yelling at a nurse and two aides when they walked in. When his dad spotted Kelly, though, you'd think an angel had arrived. He calmed right down.

“We're going to make Will do all the annoying paperwork, and we'll get you out of here,” Kelly said immediately.

“Finally, someone who listens to me!”

“I don't blame you for being frustrated. Hospitals are terrible places, aren't they?”

That was all she had to say for Aaron to go into his monologue. “You can't rest in here. They're always poking you or prodding you. Can't even go to the bathroom on your own without some pip-squeak yelling at you. The only food they serve that's edible is Jell-O. How is a grown man supposed to get stronger on Jell-O, I ask you.”

Will hit the offices, and got two exuberant kisses from nurses on the way back up to the room. He didn't figure the smooches were because of his sex appeal, just a measure of gratitude that he was taking Aaron Maguire off their hands.

Not that Will would admit it aloud, but unlike the hospital staff, he was damned glad to see his father yelling and acting feisty again. Aaron still looked beat-up, and he clearly couldn't put any weight on his right ankle. But by the time Will caught up with Kelly, she had his dad in a wheelchair and Aaron was chuckling at something she'd said.

He looked at her, just shaking his head. It wasn't a good thing, being in love with a woman who was this skilled at malarkey and charm. Everyone in his family knew Aaron was stubborn as a goat—and completely intractable once he'd made up his mind.

“Your dad and I were talking,” Kelly mentioned on the drive home, her voice very cheerful from the backseat. “He doesn't need help at home. And he's sick to death of everyone talking to him about rehab. He doesn't want strangers around.”

“I sure as hell don't,” Aaron agreed gruffly.

“But we were figuring that your mom is in different shoes. She's so used to your dad doing things that she might be a little thrown for a week or two.”

“No more than that,” Aaron qualified.

“I can't imagine she'd need more than that, either,” Kelly said soothingly. “But the point, Will, is that we were thinking your mom might need some help for the next couple weeks. Not for your dad, but for her. But we're both a little worried that your mom can't be talked into the idea.”

“You have no idea how stubborn my wife is,” Aaron affirmed.

“But if
you
could have a private talk with your mom, Will,” Kelly said gently. “You know, just suggest an extra guy servant around for a couple of weeks, someone to do lifting, the heavier things around the place. We don't want to offend her pride. We could pretend it was for your dad.”

At the family house, Will only had a second to say a word privately with Kelly before getting his father out of the car. “You actually did it. Talked my dad into help in the house. Made him think it was for my mom. What do you want—diamonds? A medal? A paragraph in
Ripley's?
”

She grinned. “Hey, you saved me in Paris. Just trying to do a little rescuing of my own.” But then she motioned to the Maguire house with a major change in expression. “Will?”

“What?”

“Look, I knew your family was well-off. But holy kamoly. This place is just way beyond me.”

He frowned. She'd never acted impressed or scared off by the Maguire money before—well, maybe for two seconds when they'd first met in Paris—but not once they got to know each other.

Still, he tried to see the place from Kelly's eyes. The grounds looked their best in late May, Irish-green and satin-soft. South Bend was on the flat side, but his dad had the money—and the stubbornness—to build his own hills, enabling the house to be built on levels. Each floor looked out onto its own unique landscaping: a Japanese garden from the top level; a woody, sloped area leading to a pool and tennis courts from the back; and flowering trees and open gardens at the front entrance.

None of it was new to Will, but seeing Kelly inhale the grounds, he could see it wasn't too bad from the outside. Even if, to him, it was a cage.

His dad, by then, was out of the car, and his mom was peeling out the back door. Naturally Will had pulled up to the one entrance that didn't have stairs. Even so, when he maneuvered the wheelchair to his dad, Aaron immediately started a new rant, claiming that he could walk on his own, thank you very much, he wasn't an invalid, didn't need fussing over…

“Come on, Dad, for Pete's sake—”

But Kelly stepped in, as she had at the hospital. When
she
took the wheelchair, Aaron willingly sat in it.

His mom sent Will a look, as astounded by Aaron's changed behavior as he was. Both of them had discussed getting help, but Aaron had unequivocably and furiously denied needing it. Now, as he was wheeled in the door, he barked at Will to get extra hands in the house. Immediately. For at least two weeks.

His mother cornered him several minutes later. Aaron was settled in his favorite room, the library, where dark green fabric walls matched the green leather couches, and recessed lighting in the bookshelves provided soft, unobtrusive light. A hospital bed had been set up in here, partly because it was on the first floor with an attached bathroom, and partly because it was one of Aaron's favorite rooms.

Kelly was sitting with him when Will took off for the kitchen with his mom. Aaron wanted fresh strawberries and cream. Will was putting together a half sandwich and drink to go with it.

His mother said, “My God. She's a wonder.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“Your sisters will never believe it. That anyone could get your dad in a wheelchair. Or that he could be conned into getting some help.” Barbara handed him the tray to take in, once she'd added a linen napkin and silverware. His mom had the softest eyes in the universe, but just occasionally, they could look quite shrewd. “So…it's clearly become more serious?”