Another Chance to Love You Page 2

  She glanced up, met his gaze again. “Heather will be eleven years old in September,” she said softly, then waited.

  She could almost see the wheels in his head turning, could almost hear him adding and subtracting and coming up with the only possible sum. His eyes widened a fraction. His black eyebrows drew together in a frown. His back stiffened as he leaned slightly forward.

  “What are you saying, Monica?” It was a needless question.

  She answered it anyway. “Heather is your daughter.”

  He stared at her, unmoving, his expression suddenly closed and unrevealing. She imagined it was the same neutral mask he wore in his work as an investigative reporter.

  “I’m sorry, Daniel,” she whispered as her hands closed around her cup.

  “You’re sorry? You’re telling me you gave birth to my child almost eleven years ago and never bothered to tell me. And you’re sorry?”

  Monica closed her eyes. As if it was yesterday instead of more than a decade ago, she recalled their final argument. His voice had been angrier then, yet much the same. Just don’t go trying to trap me into marriage by pulling that pregnancy thing like Jennifer did to Tony. It won’t work on me. We’re finished.

  She lifted her gaze. “You would have hated me.”

  “Hated you? What on earth are you—”

  “It would have ruined all your plans. You wanted other things. Remember? You decided you didn’t want a marriage and family.”

  Daniel struggled to rein in his anger as he stared across the table at Monica. She seemed much too poised, considering what she’d told him. As if she didn’t realize her disclosure was earthshaking. As if she didn’t know her revelation had hit him in the gut with the force of a .44 Magnum.

  A child. A daughter. And already half grown.

  He stared hard at the woman seated opposite him and wondered, briefly, if this had to do with money. Maybe she’d decided it was time to cash in on his success. The old Monica wouldn’t have been so calculating, but how did he know what she would do now? Time had to have changed her, just as it had changed him.

  “Why now?” he demanded gruffly.

  Monica paled. Something akin to pain flashed in her eyes, then disappeared. “It’s a long story. Let’s say I realized I had to tell you the truth. I would have written, but then I heard you were coming to Boise, so I waited. I thought it might be better in person.”

  “When can I meet her?”

  “I hadn’t thought—”

  “That I’d want to meet her?” Sarcasm deepened his voice.

  “No… I…” She paused, drew a quivery breath, then said, “I didn’t know what you’d want, Daniel. I don’t know who you are anymore.”

  Her words echoed his own thoughts of moments before.

  Years ago, they’d been in love. Two college kids with their lives stretching out before them. They’d had big dreams and unlimited expectations. More than once in the years that had passed, Daniel had regretted breaking up with Monica. But she was a hometown girl who had wanted white picket fences, a house on a tree-shaded street, and babies. Daniel had wanted fame and fortune, bright lights and big cities.

  “Daniel?”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t want to be trapped by an unplanned pregnancy. Remember?”

  It was true. That’s what he’d told her. He’d meant it, too. Still, to have kept this a secret all these years…

  “Is that what you thought you could do, Monica? Trap me into marriage? Is that why you got pregnant?”

  He said it to hurt her. When he saw her flinch, he figured he’d succeeded. It didn’t make him feel any better, but he wasn’t sorry for it.

  She shook her head and mouthed the word, “No.”

  His voice still terse, he asked, “What does she… What does Heather know about me?”

  Monica’s eyes grew misty. She shook her head again.

  “She must have asked who her father is.”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I told her I would explain things when she was older.”

  Daniel stood. “I want to meet her.”

  Monica stood, too. “Of course.”

  “When?”

  She looked at him for a long time before answering. “Whenever you like, Daniel.” She held out her hand, offering him a business card. “I wrote my home number on the back.”

  He took the card. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He turned and strode out of the espresso bar.

  After Daniel disappeared through the doorway, Monica sank onto her chair, feeling too drained and shaky to maneuver her own way out.

  Ever since Heather was old enough to ask questions about the daddy she’d never met, Monica had agonized over how and when to tell her daughter about Daniel. How did one explain to a child that her mommy had made poor choices, choices she wouldn’t make now that she was a follower of Jesus? And yet it was those same misguided choices that had given her Heather, a little girl whose life was a cause for celebration, not shame. How could she explain it when she hardly understood it herself?

  Of one thing Monica had complete understanding. God loved Heather even more than she did. He hadn’t been surprised by her birth or the circumstances that brought her into this world. God had plans for Heather’s life, just as He had plans for Monica. Plans for good and not for disaster, to give them both a future and a hope.

  Peace fell over Monica like a comfortable shawl on her shoulders. Yes, she would have to tell Heather about her father, but she needn’t fear what she would say. God would help her, as He’d been helping her all along.

  Daniel hadn’t been inside his dad’s old house since shortly after Richard and Stephanie Rourke died in a car accident during Daniel’s sophomore year in college. It seemed strange to be in it now.

  He stood in the middle of the living room, wondering how a house could shrink. He didn’t remember the place being this small.

  The rental management people had replaced the carpet twice over the years. They’d painted the interior half a dozen times. About five years ago, some renters had put a hole through the wall dividing the living room and kitchen. Daniel had paid the bill for those repairs, and apparently he’d gotten his money’s worth. He couldn’t tell where the hole had been.

  He walked into the kitchen, half expecting to see Stephanie, his dad’s fourth wife and Daniel’s favorite stepmom, standing at the stove. Stephanie Rourke had been happiest in the kitchen, whipping up something delicious for her husband and stepson. She’d been quite the gourmet cook. He hadn’t appreciated it back then. He would now, but it was too late.

  Daniel felt a sting of longing for the past. It caught him off guard. He’d been glad to shake off Boise’s dust when he left for Chicago all those years ago.

  A daughter. He had a daughter.

  The thought hit him suddenly and left him winded.

  A daughter. Heather. Heather what? Fletcher?

  Anger returned. He’d bet a year’s wages her last name was Fletcher, since Monica hadn’t bothered to tell anyone he was the father. Least of all Daniel himself.

  How could she do this to him? How could she decide to shut him out?

  Maybe the girl wasn’t his.

  But he knew better. Monica wouldn’t have been unfaithful to him back then and she wouldn’t lie to him now. If she said Heather was his child, then she was.

  You didn’t want to be trapped by an unplanned pregnancy. Remember?

  He leaned against the door of the forty-year-old refrigerator, fighting the urge to pound his forehead repeatedly against the cool white surface. He’d come to Boise to relax, to find some answers, to decide what it was he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

  Well, having a daughter would certainly affect the rest of his life. That was for sure.

  Chapter Two

  The jangle of the telephone caused Monica to jump. She stared at the offending contraption as if it were evil incarnate.

  “I’ll get it, Mama,” Hea
ther called from upstairs.

  “No!” she shouted quickly, grabbing for the receiver. “I’ve got it.” She lifted it to her ear. “Hello.”

  “Monica?” her mother’s voice came across the wire. “Are you all right, dear? You sound strange.”

  She pressed her free hand against her chest in an attempt to quiet her racing heart. “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “Dad and I didn’t see you in church this morning. I was afraid Heather might be sick again.”

  Monica’s head was beginning to pound. Maybe she was sick. “No, we…we went to the early service.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. We were hoping you two might join us for a barbecue this afternoon. It’s such a beautiful spring day. Your father can’t wait to fire up the grill.”

  A beep interrupted her mother, announcing another incoming call. Monica was relieved; she wasn’t ready to tell Ellen Fletcher that she’d gone to see Daniel yesterday.

  “Hang on a minute, Mom,” she said quickly, then tapped the switch-hook with her index finger. “Hello.”

  “Monica? It’s Daniel.”

  Oh no! She wasn’t ready for this, either. She hadn’t talked to Heather. She’d put it off all morning.

  “Monica?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m here. Just a moment while I get off the other line.”

  “Sure.”

  Again she depressed the switch-hook. “Mom, I’ve got to take this call. We’d better take a rain check on that barbecue. I’ll call you later.”

  “But, dear—”

  She hung up on her mother.

  “I’m back,” Monica said into the receiver, trying to sound normal. She didn’t succeed. She could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

  Daniel got right to the point. “I thought about this situation all night. I think it would be best if I met Heather before we tell her who I am. Give her a chance to get to know me. What do you think?”

  “If…if that’s what you want.”

  “It is.”

  “Okay.”

  He cleared his throat. “This afternoon?”

  “That would be fine.” Monica closed her eyes a moment. The headache was intensifying. “Why don’t you come for an early dinner? Say four o’clock?”

  There was a lengthy silence on the other end of the line. “What are you going to tell her about who I am?”

  “I…I’ll tell her you’re an old college friend. Just like you introduced me yesterday. She’s probably seen your photo in the newspaper. Be ready for questions and lots of them.”

  “Right.” Another pause. “I got your address out of the phone book, but you need to tell me how to get there.”

  “We’re in a subdivision off Overland, west of Maple Grove. It isn’t hard to find.”

  “I’ll be there at four.”

  “Okay.” Her voice broke on the word.

  Daniel hung up without saying goodbye. Monica assumed he was still angry. And could she blame him if he was?

  Yes, she answered silently. She could blame him. He was the one who had decided he didn’t want marriage, that a career was more important to him. He was the one who had said he wasn’t ready to settle down and have a wife and family. He was the one who had walked out on her, breaking her heart along with their engagement.

  The memory of her pastor’s reading from Colossians intruded on her self-righteous anger: “You must make allowance for each other’s faults and forgive the person who offends you. Remember, the Lord forgave you, so you must forgive others.”

  No matter what Daniel had or hadn’t done, did or didn’t do, Monica was called to forgive him. His actions didn’t excuse her own. Daniel should have been told he was a father. He should have been given a choice.

  Drawing a deep breath, she walked out of the kitchen and stood at the bottom of the stairs. Music—if one could call it that—blared from beyond her daughter’s bedroom door.

  “Heather!”

  No answer.

  Rubbing her forehead with her fingertips, Monica climbed to the second floor. She rapped on the door. When she didn’t get a reply, she opened it. Heather was lying on her back on the floor, eyes closed. Her black hair, worn in pigtails, curled in twin circles on the carpet.

  “Heather,” Monica said loudly.

  Her daughter opened her eyes.

  “Mind if I turn this down?” She stepped toward the stereo and fiddled with the knobs until she found the right one.

  When she looked at her daughter again, she had to swallow a gasp. It was a long time since she’d thought how much Heather resembled Daniel. She’d come to see her child as an individual, unique, not looking like anyone but herself. But now Monica saw the resemblance again. Their gray eyes. Their aquiline noses. The stubborn jut of their chins. The olive tone of their skin.

  How could Heather not guess Daniel was her father the moment they met? Was she making a mistake not to tell the whole truth before he arrived?

  “Did you need something, Mama?”

  She forced a smile. “We’ve got a guest coming over for dinner. I’ve got to go to the store. Want to come along?”

  “Sure.” Heather hopped up from the floor as if she hadn’t undergone an emergency appendectomy only a month before. “Who’s coming?”

  “An old college friend of mine. His name is Daniel Rourke.”

  Heather grinned—a smile just like her father’s. “A man? Wow, Mama. That’s pretty cool.”

  Monica resisted the urge to pull her daughter into a tight hug. Oh, Lord, she prayed, don’t let Heather be hurt. Please protect her.

  Daniel steered the rental car up close to the curb and braked. He cut the red convertible’s engine, then turned his head to look out the window.

  Monica’s home was a two-story, brick-and-frame house in a newer, upscale neighborhood. The deep green lawn was freshly cut. Flowers of every variety and hue bloomed alongside the curving sidewalk that led from the driveway to the front door. Three young aspens applauded Daniel’s arrival with fluttering leaves.

  As he got out of his car, he wondered what Monica did for a living. The card she’d given him was generic, listing only the company name, address and phone number. Her name and position with Solutions, Inc., weren’t printed on it. Judging by this subdivision and her home, it appeared she was successful at whatever she did.

  She hadn’t needed him, that much was clear. She’d succeeded in providing for herself and her daughter—their daughter—without his help or interference. No wonder she’d never told him about Heather.

  Bitterness left a sour taste in his mouth as he headed up the walk.

  The door opened before he reached it. A bright-eyed youngster stepped into the sunlight. Her black hair was captured in two pigtails tied with yellow ribbons that matched her short set. “Hi,” she greeted him. “You must be Mr. Rourke.”

  Heather. His daughter.

  Daniel wasn’t often caught speechless. His profession didn’t allow him that luxury. But this was one of those rare times when his mind drew a blank.

  “Mama said you went to college with her. How come we’ve never met before?”

  “I live in Chicago.”

  Except for her long hair, looking at Heather was like looking at an old photograph of himself at the same age. She was tall for ten, thin and wiry. Her right knee had been skinned a while back, the scab just beginning to disappear.

  Heather watched him, one eyebrow raised higher than the other, her gaze frank and curious. A duplicate of an expression Daniel himself often wore.

  If he’d had any doubts about his paternity, they would have been dispelled now. The resemblance was uncanny.

  “Hello, Daniel.”

  He looked up to find Monica standing in the open doorway.

  “Welcome to our home,” she added softly.

  “Thanks.”

  Heather grabbed hold of his hand. “Come on in. I want you to tell me all about my mom when she was in school.” She dragged him past Monica, through the living room and kitchen and int
o the family room.

  Daniel’s instincts as a reporter didn’t completely fail him. In those few brief moments, he managed to notice many details about Monica’s home. It had a warm, cozy feel. Lots of windows, letting in plenty of sunshine. Springtime colors—mauve, teal, soft yellow, sky blue. Uncluttered, yet lived in. Two oak-and-glass carousels held videos and DVDs, including what appeared to be all the Disney movies available, both old and new. There was a neat stack of CDs beside the stereo; he couldn’t read the titles or the names of the artists. He wondered if Monica’s taste in music had changed. She used to like country. He preferred classic rock and roll.

  “Look,” Heather said. “I dug out Mom’s old yearbooks. I found your picture.”

  The green-and-gold high school yearbook lay open on a glass-and-wood coffee table. Faces from the Borah Lions’ senior class stared up at him. His was in the center of the page.

  He almost laughed at the sight. Had he ever been that young? Fifteen years felt more like fifty.

  “Mine’s worse.”

  Daniel glanced at Monica and experienced a deep sense of nostalgia. Fifteen years melted away like magic, and they were both eighteen again, eagerly awaiting graduation and college and the bright glorious future. Monica looked the same now as she had then. Only prettier. No wonder he’d fallen in love with her that summer.

  Surprise, then wariness entered her brown eyes, breaking the spell. She moved away from him. When she spoke, her voice seemed strained. “I hope you still like fried chicken. It’s Heather’s favorite.”

  “Really?” Daniel looked at the girl. “Mine, too.”

  Heather grinned. “Do you like dogs?”

  “Hot dogs?”

  “No, silly. Real dogs.”

  He grinned back at her. “Sure do.”

  “Then come meet mine. Her name’s Cotton.” She took his hand again. “Do you have a dog? I’ve had Cotton since she was a puppy.”

  Monica watched as her daughter led Daniel out the back door. As soon as it closed, she sank onto the sofa and covered her face with her hands. She was shaking all over. Nerves, she told herself, but honesty made her wonder if it wasn’t something much more. Something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.