Tell Me a Truth (The Story Series Book 5) (3 page)

“I’m a Florida girl, but alligators have always scared me. You made me face my fear and told me to keep paddling, even though they were only a few feet away on the riverbank. I kept paddling and I was so scared, but you told me I was doing great. You encouraged me.”

I paused and he grinned.

“I’m not afraid of them anymore. I mean, I don’t go near them, but we went kayaking a lot after that.”

“It sounds like fun,” he murmured.

“It was.”

I told him about other milestones: when Sarah and Laura declared their love to each other while we were all at the lake house, when I first met his parents, the time he gave me the expensive necklace for my birthday.

“And then one day, you told me you loved me when we were at the Ringling Museum in Sarasota—”

“That’s a great place,” he interjected. “You love it, as well? That’s amazing we had that in common.”

I beamed. “It’s where we got—”

The oven buzzer went off and I jumped.

“We can take a break to eat.” He laughed softly and touched my arm, which flared and tingled. “You don’t have to tell me everything tonight.”

“Well, I do,” I protested. “I feel like I’m on a job interview. Like I have to impress you otherwise you’ll turn me away. Or not believe me and ask for a paternity test.”

He reared back, his eyes wide. The cold, shocked expression returned and the earlier, playful, sensual mood between us evaporated. “Did you overhear me saying that to Colin this morning?”

I nodded.

“Emma, it’s pretty damned clear that you’re my wife. Colin showed me a copy of our marriage certificate today when I was at the office. And I have eyes. Charlotte looks almost exactly like I did in my baby photos.”

I nodded.

He pressed his palm over his heart, and his face looked so earnest that I wanted to hug him.

“But I need to find out the truth about my life. I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. You must forgive me if I ask questions. Require proof. If I repeat myself. If I don’t remember things. I’m hoping that all of these details will jog my memory. It’s not that I don’t believe you, but when you tell me about these things, it’s like you’re talking about someone else. Not me.” He eased away from me, and my chest actually ached from his words.

“And what if my stories don’t jog your memory?” I whispered, on the verge of tears. “What will happen to us?”

He moved to the oven and slid on a mitt, taking out the pan. “I don’t think we’re ready to answer that yet, Emma. I want to get to know you, because at some point, I obviously loved you enough to marry you. And I never thought I’d get married again after Tara, so you must be really amazing.”

He slipped off the mitt and turned to me, resting his hand on the counter. We stared at each other for a few uncomfortable minutes. I couldn’t tell if it was sexual tension or awkwardness, and the ambiguity scared me.

My gut churned and tears welled in my throat. “We were amazing together.”

He nodded. “So everyone tells me.”

O
ver dinner
, I paused our story and babbled about Charlotte instead. I told him about her birth, getting an epidural, how she’d been colicky and when she’d gotten her first tooth. He listened, sometimes laughing, sometimes frowning. Occasionally, he’d ask questions.

“Has my family given you a lot of support?”

“Have you gone back to work?”

“Who was there during the birth?”

I hesitated on the last question, but didn’t want to keep anything from him. “Everyone was there. And your brother was the first to hold Charlotte. Other than me, of course.”

He nodded. “I’ll be honest with you. That’s one of the reasons why my mind went immediately to the paternity test. My brother had actually, uh—”

I held up my hand, as if also trying to block the night I’d shared with Colin out of my mind. Telling Caleb about Colin wasn’t something I was eager to reveal and might never disclose.

“I know. Colin slept with Tara before you, in college.”

Caleb looked alarmed. “You know about all that? How much do you know? You know that Tara and I almost divorced? That she died from cancer?” I nodded, and he blew out a breath. “Well, I guess you know the big family secrets, then.”

I cleared my throat, thinking of my own secret. How I’d kissed Colin while drunk. How we’d gotten naked together. I reached for Caleb’s hand and covered it with mine.

“Maybe now’s not the time to dredge all that up.”

He nodded.

“Dessert?” I whispered.

He looked grateful and murmured a yes.

After dinner, we sat on the sofa, chatting about Charlotte. She seemed to be neutral, safe territory.

“I miss her right now,” I said. “I’ve only ever spent two nights without her, when I went to Miami for the book fair a few weeks ago.”

It was hard to believe that was only a few weeks ago, I mused silently. It felt like years. Again the specter of Colin flitted through my mind, as did waves of guilt.

“Do you like being a mother?” he asked.

“I do. I love it. Wait. I have an idea.” I held up my index finger and jumped up. Anything to tamp down the guilty, weird feelings. “Don’t move.”

Caleb looked at me and smiled. “I won’t.”

I practically skipped into the bedroom and went to the floor-to ceiling bookshelves that covered one wall, pulling out all of the scrapbooks and photo albums I’d made while I was pregnant. I looked to the nightstand, where my journal sat, and hesitated. I opened it and read a few things I’d written over the past few months. Shook my head.

No, now wasn’t the time for Caleb to read my letters to him. Especially not the passages about Colin. Not yet, and maybe not ever. I took my journal off the nightstand and hid it in the top drawer of my vanity, under a box of retro foam hair curlers that I hadn’t used in years.

The photos and scrapbooks, though, might be helpful. Especially those of our wedding. Hoisting the five big books in my arms, I padded back to the living room—only to find him stretched out on the sofa.

“Caleb?”

As I approached, I heard him breathing deeply, then he let out a little snore. Of course he was exhausted. How could he not be, after everything he’d been through?

I gently set the books on the coffee table and knelt next to the sofa, feasting on his face. He looked relaxed in slumber, and I studied his sharper-than-usual cheekbones. How I wanted to stroke his skin, kiss his curved lips.

I sighed. There would be no kissing, no touching tonight. Maybe not for a long while, I realized. I tiptoed to the linen closet and got out a white, velvety blanket. We used to wrap ourselves in it on the few cold winter Florida nights while watching movies. Tonight, I unfolded it and placed it atop him, making sure he was covered, tucking the blanket gently around his bare feet.

It was impossible to resist kissing him goodnight, so I bent to his forehead and shut my eyes when my lips met his skin. I allowed myself to inhale before I pulled away. He smelled exactly the same as he used to, and this brought alternative waves of relief and joy and desire.

He made a little noise when I kissed him, almost like a sigh-moan. My heart leapt; he sounded so familiar. I paused, watching his stunning face, wishing I could nestle next to him and fold myself around his body. It was too soon for that, I knew.

But my husband was home, and I had hope.

M
y daughter had
the best laugh. I heard it first thing when I opened my eyes. Wait, why was she laughing, from what seemed to be the kitchen? Then I heard Caleb’s laugh, too.

Our
daughter. I grinned.

Dressed in a cute, red silk pajama set, I went into the kitchen. Caleb, who was standing over Charlotte in her high chair, looked up.

“Sarah and Laura brought her over early. I thought I’d let you sleep in after I crashed early last night. I meant to thank you for the dinner. It was delicious.”

I grinned, kissing the top of my baby’s head. I noticed an orange chunk of food in her hair.

“And then you thought you’d feed her sweet potato?”

He chuckled and held up a bowl. I spotted a couple of flecks of sweet potato in his hair and grinned.

“Laura suggested I feed her breakfast, handed me some of this stuff, and then left. I think she’s getting more of it on her than in her.”

“I can take over from here.” I peered up into his hair.

“What?” He ran his palm over his head.

“You’ve got…” I reached up and plucked out a sticky bit of potato. “…some in your hair, too.”

He grinned bashfully. Dear God, he was cute. My husband was
cute
.

He stopped smiling and straightened, as if to rid himself of his vulnerability. He handed me the spoon and the bowl of puree. “Thanks for taking over. I’ve got some appointments at the office, so I’ve got to get ready, anyway.”

Charlotte reached out to me, and I fed her a little spoonful. “You don’t want to take it easy this week? You’d rather jump back into work?”

“I would. I want to get back to normal as quickly as possible.”

I nodded, my fantasy of us spending uninterrupted days together shattered. As I opened my mouth to ask him if he wanted breakfast, he spoke first. I turned to look at him.

“Oh, and Emma. One thing.” He drummed his fingers on the counter, and his tone was back to being cold and clipped. “I was thinking about it this morning as I was feeding Charlotte. Please don’t take offense, but I would like a paternity test. It’s just that I need empirical evidence that she’s my child. I’m so confused right now that only facts make sense.”

I froze with the spoon in one hand, the bowl in another. Forgot how to breathe. Who was this man standing in front of me? Where had his love for me gone?

“I know we were married. I saw the certificate, I told you that. But I want evidence for everything. Please know this has nothing to do with you or your integrity. You seem like an honest woman, and I’m certain you are. But I’ve had experiences with women who want to date me for my money. So I need to prove everything to myself. It will help. You don’t know what it’s like having memories stolen from you. I thought I’d gained my life back, and then I found out about you and Charlotte.”

“And you’re saying your life is now over that you have a wife and child?” I whispered. I set the bowl and spoon down on the counter instead of doing what I wanted: hurling it at him. With control, so as not to upset Charlotte, I looked my husband in the eye with a hard glare.

“N-no,” he stammered. He swallowed. “That didn’t come out the right way. I’m sorry.”

“I spent the worst nine months of my life, alone with your child, all the while wondering where you’d gone. Fearing you were dead. I had given up hope. It nearly killed me.”

He nodded and chewed on his lip. “I’m trying to process that, too. I’m starting to feel some guilt.”

I nodded. More silence. I wanted to scream.

“So a doctor will be over this morning to do a paternity test. They’ll swab Charlotte’s cheek. It shouldn’t be uncomfortable at all. I’ve paid for rush processing, and we should know by tonight.”

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving me with my mouth hanging open. His coldness was so foreign, so unwelcome. Devastating, even.

Was this some sort of karmic punishment for my night with Colin?

My hand flew to my forehead, trying to rub away the headache that had bloomed. Charlotte repeated her new word “
mama
” over and over, and I stared at her sadly.

Never had I imagined that Caleb wouldn’t believe a word I said.

It was then that I remembered something that only added to the awfulness: today was our one-year wedding anniversary.

L
ater that night
, after Charlotte was in bed, the doctor brought over the official results of the paternity test himself. That was the benefit, I supposed, of being part of the King family. Instant access to everything, I thought grimly.

After a few pleasantries, the doctor left. As Caleb opened the envelope, I went out onto the terrace with a glass of wine and sat on a lounge chair, staring at the darkening Florida sky. A storm was on the horizon.

Caleb walked out and handed me the paper. “She’s mine.”

No shit, I thought.

“I don’t need to look at it to know that.” I tried and failed not to sound snappish. I swirled my pinot in the glass. Maybe I’d drink too much tonight, to forget.

Caleb sank into the lounger next to me and extended a hand to my bare knee. His fingers lightly touched my kneecap, and I felt the familiar flame of desire ignite within my body. I reminded myself not to be angry with him, but at the crazy, illogical situation that had brought us to this point.

“Laura had a good idea.” His fingers lingered on my knee.

“Let me guess: she wants us to go to counseling.”

“How did you know?”

I smiled sadly.

“Of course. You know about her panic disorder and her history in therapy.”

I nodded. “She encouraged me to go when you were missing.”

“Did you?”

I chewed on my cheek and paused before answering. “No, not exactly. I initially didn’t want to share my problems with a stranger. But I had decided to go, right before you came back. Thought it would be good for me.”

He took his hand away from my knee, and I wanted to grab it and put it back. “How about now? Are you opposed to it?”

My eyes met his deep blue ones. “I’m not opposed to anything that will get us back to the way we used to be.”

Leaving my wine on the table, I stood up and walked to the terrace railing. Caleb joined me, our shoulders touching. His warmth spread through me, and I nearly turned to take him in my arms. But something stopped me. Maybe it was a hesitation coming from him or uncertainty on my part or exhaustion.

A gray storm cloud came closer, bathing everything in a pale, colorless light. Florida was ugly when it wasn’t sunny, I thought as I looked along the flat landscape pockmarked with buildings and palm trees.

“My family built a lot of this.” He extended a finger at the lights carpeting the horizon. In the distance, a flash of lightning sparked. Then another and another. As the storm bloomed in the distance, the sky went white-hot and gave the earth a negative blackness. “That stadium, my grandfather built that. And see that newer courthouse, the one all lit up, next to the old one? My father had a hand in that.”

He pointed way in the distance, at an Orlando suburb filled with high-end mansions where Colin lived. “That was all swampland until we developed it.”

I know
, I wanted to scream. But didn’t.

We didn’t move, instead looking out at the sprawl, so much of it created and inspired by the King family in Central Florida. It seemed unfair that Caleb knew about his family and his childhood and his legacy, but not about me.

I started to tremble. “It’s our anniversary,” I said quietly. “We were married one year ago today at the Ringling Museum. It was the best day of my life. A perfect day. Then three months of bliss and nine months of hell.”

He glanced at me quickly, then his eyes returned to the horizon. Somehow, Caleb was right next to me, but he might as well have been back in Brazil, missing, for all the connection we were making. Or weren’t making.

We stood in the moist night air, in silence, watching as the storm came closer.