been a tough couple of weeks all around, huh?”
“That it has.” “It’s kind of like we were meant to meet. To talk.”
He was glad to hear she thought so, too. “We’ve been through similar experiences,” he said. “Both finding out about family we didn’t know we had. It’s good to talk to someone who understands.”
“Especially since we aren’t going to get a chance to have relationships with some of them. Your sister. My biological grandmother. And even some I did spend time with weren’t who I thought they were. My whole life I thought my grandfather was this somewhat quiet, very loyal, hardworking family man who adored my grandmother. And then I hear that he was not only unfaithful to her, that he’d had a mistress on the side for years, but that he’d also had babies by her? He had both women pregnant at the same time with his two sons!”
“But they never knew they were half brothers.” “
No! We didn’t even know this other woman existed, and she was my mom’s mother! This woman raised her two sons—the second, younger than my mother, was fathered by the man she eventually married—and a grandson. So why in the hell did she give my mother away?”
“Maybe your grandfather gave her no choice. Maybe it was some kind of deal they made, that one of them raise one of their children while the other raised the other?”
“That stinks. Like kids are assets you’re going to split?”
Rick leaned back on the couch, propping his heels on the low table in front of it, more alive than he’d felt in a long time. “Yeah, probably not. You said he was a loving man. There was probably more to it than that. Maybe…
maybe the first pregnancy came so soon after her husband’s death she could pass the baby off as his. But your mother would have been obviously illegitimate.”
“That wasn’t my mom’s fault. And certainly no reason not to love her.”
“But then you live in a society that wouldn’t blink twice at a child born out of wedlock.” What an untenable situation. “I can’t imagine the rest of Robert’s life, as he lived with those choices.”
“My grandfather’s smile always seemed a little sad. I understand why, now. But I’ll say this for him. He was there for us. Always.”
“Us. You mentioned a couple of cousins. Are they Sam’s kids?”
“Belle is. The other, Joe, is Adam’s son.”
“So you knew this Belle growing up, but since you never met Adam, you wouldn’t have known Joe, which means you have a new cousin to become acquainted with, too.”
“No, that’s weird, as well. Adam’s son, Joe, was my best friend.”
Rick frowned. “What?”
“Yeah.” Sue paused a long moment. Then she explained about the friend she’d had but never brought home. “The best way I can describe my childhood is cloying,” she added, by way of explanation. “My mom’s the type who’s not content unless she’s inside your skin. Maybe because Uncle Sam always made her feel less a part of the family, I don’t know. Anyway, she met my father while they were still in high school, and they’ve been inseparable ever since. They do everything together, especially now since Dad’s retired.”
Rick was beginning to understand why Sue lived alone. And hoped it wasn’t a condition she wanted to maintain forever.
“By the time I met Joe, I was fourteen. We went to the same high school—just like my parents. I’d realized by that point that I was either going to spend my life fighting to get breathing space from my parents, go insane or keep secrets from them. He was my secret. I realize now that part of the secrecy was my way of keeping my distance, even with Joe.”
“You guys had no idea you were related.”
“Nope.”
Rick didn’t think he had a right to ask the obvious question. A boy. A girl. Close. Hormones.
“He asked me to go steady when we were seniors.”
Rick laid his head back against the cushions, focused on the lights twinkling with abandon in the vast world before him.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Chapter Nine
SUE HAD BEEN WANDERING around her house, touching things—a cold metal frame on the mantel, a picture of Grandma, the soft baby blankets on the edge of a bassinet. She rinsed the dishes in the kitchen. And picked up the toys left on the floor from her parents’ playtime with the kids.
She ended up in her bathroom, the baby monitor on the counter so she could hear if anyone needed her, and closed the door. Lighting a couple of candles, she switched off the lights, turned on the water in the garden tub, poured in bubble bath and started to undress.
All with her cell phone planted firmly at her ear.
“Joe and I went steady that whole year,” she told Rick, remembering. Speaking of things she’d never told anyone before. Not even Grandma. Because she could. Because she had a feeling he’d understand. Because, as he’d said, he was risk free.
Her blouse fell to the floor. Doing things with one hand was no problem for a woman used to living with a baby on her hip as an almost permanent fixture. The hooks on her bra were as easily mastered.
“Did you sleep with him?”
Why the question seemed appropriate, as if Rick Kraynick had a right to such intimacies, Sue couldn’t say. She unbuttoned her jeans, stepped out of them.
“Almost.” She told him the truth. “But no.”
After sliding her panties down her hips, legs and feet, Sue stepped into the soothingly hot water.
“So you think you sensed some kind of familial connection?” Rick’s voice sounded low. Sleepy. But not the least bit as if he was falling asleep.
“Maybe. I’d like to think so. I hurt him horribly.” She told Rick one of her secrets. She’d hurt too many people.
And wasn’t about to add another to her list.
No matter how much real estate Rick was taking up in her thoughts. Incredible, after only meeting this man twice.
“Was he at the reading of the will, too? This Joe?”
“Yeah. I was standing next to him when we found out we were cousins. He’s my boss now. I do bookkeeping for him from home. But we haven’t been close since high school. He’s all locked up inside. I’d hoped that finding out we were family would bring us closer again, but it doesn’t seem to have.”
“Give him time.”
Time. Everything took time. What happened when time wasn’t enough? She ran water down her neck, scooping it in her hand to splash over her breasts.
“Are
