Delivered with Love (19 page)

"Your fried chicken was amazing, Sandy. You'll have to share your recipe with Blake." Her hands flew here and there like a chicken trying to escape beheading. "And those snickerdoodles . . . my, my, my, were they delicious."

Claire looked out the window as Geraldine rambled on. The older woman knew a thing or two about Michael and her mother's relationship, she was sure of that. What was her part in all of this? Claire folded her arms tight across her chest. If she hadn't shown Martin the letter, Sandy and Michael might be talking and laughing about how Michael ate
four
drumsticks or how Sandy forgot the salt and pepper. Instead, they were at odds with each other.

Suddenly Claire had the urge to call Blake. He had become such a confidant the past month. He would know what to make of the situation. Either that, or he'd tell her to move on with her life. But she couldn't do that now. She would get to the bottom of this even if it caused Sandy or Geraldine discomfort. Tonight she'd talk to Geraldine about the letter, and then she'd show her the picture frame—the one that looked strangely similar to the one Geraldine had in her own bedroom. Maybe it wasn't so strange after all.

C
laire paced the floor in the family room while Geraldine napped. Once they had arrived home, the older woman had gone straight to her room complaining of heaviness in her chest. Claire wondered if it had anything to do with the letter and her part in keeping it a secret.

Claire plopped down on the couch and flipped through Geraldine's
Senior Living
magazine. How long would Geraldine sleep? She scanned an article on the importance of exercise as people age, then tossed the magazine on the coffee table.

Outside, a car door slammed. She stood, walked to the kitchen, and looked out the window. Who was that? It couldn't be! "Haley?"

Her sister's beat-up Chevy hugged the curb.

Claire raced through the doorway and down the sidewalk. "Haley." She squeezed her sister tight the second she stepped out of the car. "What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you too." Haley teased. "I thought I'd check on you. You know, make sure you had a roof over your head and food in your belly."

"Don't I look like it?" Claire twirled around. "Hey, wait a minute." She stepped closer. "It's Mark, isn't it?" She looked into her sister's eyes.

"We're fine." Haley brushed her blonde hair back. "I needed a break, is all."

"A break from what?" Claire pulled the heavy suitcase out of the trunk. "From Mark's drinking?"

"He was doing so well." Haley swiped the stray tears from her cheek, opened the passenger door, and grabbed her pillow, a blanket, and her purse. "But last night he relapsed. A high school buddy came into town—Brett Wilder."

"Wilder?" Claire's mouth dropped. She remembered Brett from high school. He had been known as a partier. She rolled her eyes. "You let Mark go out with Wild Man Wilder?"

"Mark is a grown man, Claire. I'm not his mother. He can make his own decisions."

Claire set the suitcase down. "So, why are you here?"

"They went to a bar." Haley's mouth formed a straight line. "He broke his promise."

Claire touched Haley's shoulder. "That low-down, horrible—"

"Wait a minute." Haley held up her hand. "He's still my husband."

Claire took a deep breath, shut her eyes, and counted to three. "Okay, I'll keep my opinions to myself . . . for now." She picked up the suitcase. "I'm glad you came."

"I'm also here to make sure you're moving on with your life. No more talk of mystery letters, journals, or Mom's past. Plus, I want to see this hunky neighbor of yours."

Haley's timing couldn't have been worse. Just when she was getting to the bottom of her mom's relationship with Michael, her sister showed up. "Blake's at work. He's a police officer. You'll have to wait till tomorrow." Claire shrugged. "Oh, and Geraldine is asleep, so we'll need to be quiet." She pushed the door open with her foot. "You'll be sharing my room, okay? The house is small."

Haley nodded. "Small and adorable." She looked around. "Where did you get all this nice furniture?" She ran a hand over the back of the Victorian-style couch.

"It's Geraldine's. I'm fortunate she furnished the place." Claire set the suitcase down against the family room wall. "My room's the first door on the right." She walked toward the kitchen. "Anything to drink? Coffee? Soda? Water?" She opened the refrigerator.

"Water's fine. I've cut back on caffeine." Haley patted her belly.

"The baby, of course." Claire pulled out two water bottles. She joined Haley in the family room. "How are you feeling?"

"Nauseated most of the time, but I always carry crackers with me." She unzipped her purse and took out a small plastic bag filled with Saltines.

"Claire, you have company." Geraldine appeared, pushing her walker, her hair slightly askew. "Is that Holly?"

"Haley." The sisters spoke at once, then laughed.

"Haley, of course." Geraldine's cheeks flushed pink. "How are you, dear? I didn't know you were coming for a visit."

"Claire didn't know. I surprised her." Haley sat down. She crossed her long legs, a pair of black stilettos peeking from below her designer jeans.

"You didn't have to dress up for me." Claire pointed to Haley's shoes. "How did you drive in those? I can barely walk in the red ones you sent."

"Practice." Haley's mouth twisted into a teasing smile.

"You should have seen Claire the other night, she was breathtaking." Geraldine sat down in the recliner chair next to the fireplace. "I offered to go out with Blake—he's quite smitten with me, you know, but I wanted to give Claire a chance." Geraldine tossed a small blanket over her feet. "Claire, mind getting me water? In a glass, with ice, dear. All those plastic bottles will end up in a landfill." She leaned in Haley's direction. "I like to be environmentally friendly."

Claire walked back to the kitchen. The sight of Geraldine made her heart race. She was a sweet woman, funny even, but her part in keeping the truth from Claire stung. Why would Geraldine hide something as important to her as Michael's relationship with her mother? She exhaled and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. They had been close—like grandmother and granddaughter—and now this rift between them. Claire pressed the button on the freezer door and a few cubes of ice dropped into the glass.

She paused. So, Geraldine left out a few details. Did that make her an ogre? Claire picked up the water pitcher and filled the glass. No. Not an ogre, but definitely a mother covering up for her son. Claire tossed a look over her shoulder.

"Claire, dear. My mouth is parched." Geraldine clicked her tongue.

"Here you go." Claire hurried to the family room, handed her the glass, and sat down on the sofa.

"Oh, thank you, dear." Geraldine took a sip of water.

"Where's Haley?"

"She needed to use the bathroom." Geraldine cupped her hand over her mouth, "She's in the family way."

Claire leaned back against the couch. "And I'm going to be an aunt." What was taking Haley so long? Maybe now was her chance. "Geraldine, can we please talk about Michael and my mother—"

"What's there to talk about, dear? They knew each other when they were teenagers, went out a few times, and wrote letters." Geraldine's hand trembled. She set the glass on the end table.

"But there has to be more . . ."

Claire could hear the water running in the bathroom. Haley would return any second. She glanced down the hall, then back at Geraldine.

"You never forget your first love." Geraldine's voice was low. She kicked the blanket off her feet. "Is it hot in here? I'm sweating."

"You have the cutest bathroom." Haley came toward them, walking like a model. "Seashells and starfish, how adorable. "She glanced at Claire, then Geraldine. "Did I miss something? You two look like you've seen a ghost."

Claire popped up off the couch. "Why don't we get you settled?" She linked arms with her sister. "I bet you're exhausted from your drive." She pulled Haley toward her bedroom. Claire wanted to tuck her sister in her room and get back to her conversation with Geraldine.

"I
could
kick my heels off and rest a while." Haley pointed. "I left my suitcase in the other room."

"Don't you worry about a thing," Claire smiled. "I'll take care of it." She guided Haley to her bedroom.

"Wow, Claire. Where'd you get the furniture?" Haley sprawled across her bed. "Comfortable too."

"Long story." Claire walked backward toward the door. "After you rest a while, I'll tell you all about it."

"You're right." Haley yawned. "Maybe I do need to rest."

"Take as long as you need." Claire blew a kiss and closed the door. She turned and walked back into the family room. Geraldine looked pale, her eyes were closed, and her lips were a light shade of purple. "Geraldine?" Claire ran to her side. She touched the woman's arm.

No response.

"Haley, come quick! Something's happened to Geraldine." Claire checked her neck for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Thank God she was still alive.

"What's the matter?" Haley came running.

"Call 9-1-1. I think Geraldine has had a heart attack."

Michael plopped down on the couch and grabbed the remote. He had missed most of the football game because of the picnic. The scoreboard read ten minutes to go. Enough time to catch the last quarter.

Sandy walked into the family room wearing her exercise clothes, her iPod nano clipped to her red form-fitting top. She placed the earpieces in her ears. "I'm going for a run." Her tone was chilly. Michael nodded without saying a word.

Now with the game over, he flipped through the channels. His mind raced to the past. So he wrote Emily a few letters. So what? He was a kid at the time. Michael ran a hand through his wavy hair. He knew that was the least of his worries. His thoughts drifted back to that day so long ago.

"Michael? Is that you?" Emily's sweet voice had risen an octave, and a smile spread across her face.

Michael glanced over his shoulder down the hall at his mother's apartment, then back at Emily. "Mind if I come in?" He heard a toddler in the background.

"Sure, of course. Give me a minute, okay?" Emily shut the door.

Five minutes later, she welcomed him in. She had let her hair down, and her lips were colored a lovely shade of pink.

"Who is this?" Michael leaned down and ruffled the little girl's hair.

"Haley. She's almost two."

"And your husband?" Michael stood close enough to Emily to take in her perfume.

"Separated." Emily leaned down and picked Haley up.

"Want to go out for dinner?" Michael smiled. "Like old times. I'm sure my mother would be more than happy to watch your little girl."

Michael shook off the memory. How could he look his wife in the eye and tell her that his relationship with Emily had gone beyond his teenage years. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

He turned the television off and threw the remote across the room.
Lord, how will she ever forgive me?
He paced the floor. He had to get out of there before Sandy came home. Where would he go? He eyed his car keys sitting on the kitchen counter. Crossing the room in a few steps, he reached for them as the front door opened.

Sandy's breath came fast and hard. Her hands cradled her hips. "A good hard run was what I needed." She walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cabinet, and filled it with filtered water. "I thought about the letter while on my run."

"Oh, yeah—" Michael slipped his keys in his pocket.

"I'm sorry I overreacted." She took several big gulps of water. "We all have people from our past. Right?" She raised her eyes.

Michael nodded. "So, you're not mad?"

She cocked her head and pursed her lips together. "Mad, no. A little jealous, definitely."

Michael came up beside her and eyed her up and down. "I like the way you look in those tights." He touched her thigh, then walked his fingers up her arm.

She responded to his touch with a grin. "You, my dear, are quite the charmer."

A feeling of dread wormed its way into his heart. Is that what happened between him and Emily? Did he charm his way into her arms? Michael coughed. He brought his hand to his mouth. "Emily, you are quite charming yourself." He leaned against the counter.

"Emily?" Sandy glared at him. She tossed the remaining water at his chest and set the glass on the counter.

"Sandy . . . Sandy."
How could I—?
Michael grabbed both of her shoulders. "You know I didn't mean it. Of course, I meant to say your name."

"Well, you better get it straight. We have a daughter getting married soon, and—"

"Everything's fine and it's going to stay fine, I promise."

"No." Sandy took a step back. "It's not. It hasn't been for a long time—especially the last six weeks. I don't know what's gotten into you, but I have a feeling it has something to do with Emily."

"What do you mean?" Michael gripped the edge of the counter.

"Ever since Claire and your mother came into town, you haven't been yourself."

"That's ridiculous." Michael raised his voice. "You're imagining things." He turned and looked at the floor. "I'm stressed about work."

"No, Michael. You can't use work as an excuse. I'm right and you know it."

"Sandy, come on." He couldn't look her in the eye. She'd see right through him.

"So, what went on between you and Emily? Huh, Michael?" She folded her arms across her chest.

"Emily is gone." Michael slammed his fist on the counter.

Sandy let out a long breath, then walked away and stomped up the stairs.

Michael took off his soaked shirt, grabbed a clean one from the laundry room, and put it on. How could he have called his wife of twenty-seven years the name of an old girlfriend? He massaged his temples. Should he come right out and tell Sandy everything? No. He'd wait until after Julia's wedding. He pulled his keys from his pocket and headed out the front door.

The fresh air filled his lungs. He exhaled slowly and slid into his car. He started the engine, glanced over his shoulder before backing out, then slammed on his brakes. Sandy rushed toward him wrapped in a towel with streaks of mascara running down her face.

"Michael, STOP!" She whipped around to the driver's side door. "It's your mother. She's in the hospital."