The Seven Year Secret. Roz Fox Denny
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sake. Leave your mother out of it. Whatever Beatrice did, she did out of love for you. I won’t let you speak ill of her.” Spinning on the heels of his polished wingtips, Brad stomped out of the room. He pitched his soda can in a wastebasket outside the door. Then he waited for Mallory.
“I’ll go make a few calls,” he said tiredly. “See if I can turn up a current address on O’Rourke. Tell Liddy I’ll be back before they give her the anesthetic. Her surgery’s at four, right?” He shot a cuff to check his watch. “It’s two-fifteen. That allows me time to twist a few arms.”
Mallory hugged him. “Thanks. I may not always sound like it, but I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and Liddy Bea. You’re our rock. And just because I felt Mom treated Connor unfairly doesn’t mean I love her less. It’s certainly not her fault he went off to the South Pacific chasing storms. I made a conscious decision not to tell him I was pregnant, so I wouldn’t stand in the way of his big dream. It’s taken a while, but I can finally accept that I never meant to him what he meant to me. What I won’t do is take the easy way out now. Not if there’s even a remote possibility he can help Liddy Bea.”
Brad’s brow furrowed. “I could hire someone to tell him. Then you wouldn’t even have to speak to him.”
“I should’ve tracked him down when Liddy Bea was born. It would have been the right thing to do. If Mother hadn’t been so ill…if she hadn’t suddenly died…” Mallory gnawed at the inside of her mouth. “Time seemed to drift away from me, and…well, I rationalized that if he didn’t care about me, he didn’t deserve to…” Her voice faltered, her throat too tight to go on. The truth was, Connor had hurt her terribly by forgetting she existed.
Her dad’s shoulders slumped. “All hell will break loose, but it can’t be helped. I told Beatrice that someday…” The senator pulled himself up short, turned and stalked heavily off, shaking his head as he went.
Mallory stared after him. He seemed to shuffle down the hall. Her father, who did everything decisively. He’d suffered so much with her mother’s death. And Mallory hadn’t been as cooperative as she might have been. Her dad had begged her to live at home and assume the many social duties Beatrice had once performed so perfectly. But Mallory craved a life of her own, and she’d been determined to raise Liddy without the Forrest money—money she blamed, at least partially, for Connor’s lengthy silence. Yet after Liddy Bea got ill, she’d gravitated again toward her family.
When Liddy was an infant, Dr. Robinson had offered Mallory the job in the hospital’s public relations department; it had been an answer to a prayer. Life was idyllic until Liddy Bea took sick. Thinking of Alec prodded Mallory to action. She had to make arrangements for another leave. Or perhaps it’d be better for the hospital if she just quit this time.
Robinson didn’t agree when she went to see him. “We muddled along without anyone to do fund-raising until you fell into our lap, Mallory. There’s nothing crucial in the works until our winter dance. And you’ve already booked the site. Fredric will find Lydia a kidney soon. For now, take whatever time you need.” Alec checked to see that no one was watching, then kissed Mallory’s cheek.
“Thanks.” She drew back so the kiss barely grazed her face. “Once Liddy Bea’s out of the hospital, I’ll finish building the database for the ball invitations. I can do that at home, while we wait for a donor.”
Sliding an arm around her shoulders, Alec escorted Mallory from his private office. Concentrating on the ball helped take her mind off the impending surgery and a larger concern—visiting Connor. Mallory wasn’t sure why she hadn’t mentioned her plans to Alec. Maybe because she suspected he, too, would disapprove.
LIDDY’S SURGERY WENT WELL. By nine that evening, Mallory marveled at how quickly the child bounced back. Her own recovery as a donor had been slow. Liddy also had an optimistic outlook, a willingness to assume the best, something for which Mallory was extremely grateful.
The doctor elected to keep Liddy hospitalized a few days to monitor her for infection and to set up her dialysis schedule, but he told Mallory there was no valid reason to stay with Liddy around the clock. Which was why, Friday noon, she found herself on a Miami-bound commuter plane.
It was still officially spring, yet the air in Tallahassee was already summer-muggy. She actually looked forward to the coastal breezes. Mallory wasn’t sure, though, whether she looked forward to meeting Connor again, or dreaded it. At one time, she’d loved him more deeply and completely than she’d ever loved another human being. He, on the other hand, had been the one to drag his feet in their relationship. Despite that, she’d never dreamed he’d go off and forget all about her.
In fact, she thought she’d scaled all his barriers the year he entered grad school at Florida State University. She’d collected her public relations degree and moved into his apartment to devote herself to making him happy. That was the first time he’d used the word love in connection with her name. He’d even said he didn’t think he could live without her. But he’d certainly managed to do just that.
The eve of his master’s graduation, Mallory had news of her own—which she held back, planning to surprise him after they’d enjoyed his favorite meal of fat Gulf shrimp and tarragon rice, topped by skewers of mushrooms and tomatoes. If she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the Cajun spices—could feel the sultry air in the tiny apartment.
Connor, it so happened, arrived home with an MS and his own exciting news. A plum job offer—on a remote atoll in the South Pacific, complete with an opportunity to get his Ph.D. via correspondence. Courtesy of a Tallahassee manufacturer, and in conjunction with the national weather service, he was awarded a chance to realize his dream of developing an early-detection system for hurricanes.
Excited for him, Mallory suggested she accompany him as far as Hawaii. “I’ll find a job, then when you have breaks, I’ll be waiting there for you,” she’d said.
Although she’d tried hard to wipe out his answer, it came back as clearly now as the night he’d broken her heart. “You stay here. Marry one of those up-and-coming lawyers your folks keep parading past you. It’ll take me years to finish my work. You’re a distraction, Mallory. A huge distraction. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and I can’t afford to blow it.”
She’d given in to tears. Connor had relented marginally, saying they’d keep in touch by mail. And she had written once or twice. Until her mother’s illness worsened, and pregnancy sapped her own flagging energy. In all those nine months before Liddy Bea was born, Mallory never received so much as a word from Connor.
Beatrice Forrest died the day Mallory left the hospital with her new baby. After that, her life changed drastically, and she’d lost the courage to write him again. But she’d kept tabs on him occasionally by checking the national hurricane site on the Internet.
Sipping lime water provided by the stewardess, Mallory checked the creased blue paper on which her dad had scribbled Connor’s address. When the hour came to actually face him, she hoped the words would flow and her tears would not.
The plane landed on time. Her dad had ordered a car service to take her to the Biltmore, an elegant old hotel that rose like a terra-cotta wedding cake from the middle of residential Coral Gables. The driver said he’d return at six-thirty to drive her to Connor’s. Mallory knew without asking that the man had orders to wait outside the apartment while she went in and said her piece. She didn’t doubt that he might also drag her out if she didn’t leave in a reasonable period of time.
Nervously Mallory showered off the dust of travel. She dressed in a no-nonsense pin-striped suit. One glimpse in the floor-length mirror, and she stripped out of it again. She wanted to appear mature and professional. But pride demanded she look feminine, too. Connor, never stingy with compliments, had always liked her in blue. In a weak moment, she’d packed such a dress. A sleeveless sapphire silk with a flared skirt, banded by a straw belt. She had shoes and an oversize bag to match. The last thing she did was spritz her throat and wrists with her trademark perfume. If nothing else, the familiar scent bolstered her courage.
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