Mothers In A Million. Michelle Douglas
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the cake was ready. As usual, Wyatt didn’t come inside with them. He went to his own house for lunch. But that was okay. While the kids napped, she’d take the baby monitor receiver with her and deliver the cake to him.
The kids washed up, ate lunch, brushed their teeth and crawled into their little beds.
Missy took a breath and tucked the monitor under her arm. She grabbed the cup of sauce in one hand and the cake in the other and carried the best looking cake she’d ever baked across her yard, under the shrub branch and to his porch.
She lightly kicked the door with her foot. “Wyatt?”
He appeared on the other side of the screen. “Yeah?”
She presented the cake. “I made this for you.”
He glanced down at the cake, then back at her. “I thought we talked about you baking me a cake?”
She laughed. “It’s a thank-you for helping me out this morning. Not a thank-you for playing, because we both know that’s wrong. It’s thanks for helping me.”
When he said nothing, she laughed again. “Open the door, idiot, so we can cut this thing and see if it tastes as good as it looks.”
He opened the door and she stepped inside the modest kitchen. She set the cake on the table. “Where did your gram keep her knives?”
He walked to the cabinets, opened a drawer and retrieved a knife.
“Might as well get two forks and two plates while you’re gathering things.”
He silently did as he was told. She happily cut the cake. Dewy and moist, it sliced like a dream. She placed a piece on each plate, then drizzled raspberry sauce over them.
Handing one to Wyatt, she said, “There was supposed to be a whipped cream flower on each piece, but I didn’t have enough hands to carry the whipped cream.”
He sniffed a laugh, but didn’t say anything.
That was when she felt the weirdness. Something was definitely up.
“The cake really is just a simple thank-you. No strings attached.” She paused, pointing at his piece. “Try it.”
He slid his fork into it and put a bite in his mouth. His eyes closed and he groaned. “Good God. That’s heaven on a fork.”
Pride tumbled through her. “I know! It’s a simple recipe I found online. But it tastes like hours of slave labor.”
She laughed again, but Wyatt set down his fork. “We have to talk.”
At the stern tone of his voice, her appetite deserted her. She set her fork down, too. “You want to know what made me cry this morning.”
He squeezed his eyes shut again, then popped them open. “Actually, that’s the problem. I already know what made you cry this morning. When I was bringing the kids back after their surprise visit to my house, I overhead you and Monty.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment replaced pride. Heat slid up her cheeks. Her chest tightened.
“I heard him ask for money.”
She said nothing, only stared at the pretty cake between them.
“I also heard what you said about him beating your mom, you and your sister.”
She pressed her lips together.
“But that’s not the worst of it.”
Her head shot up and she caught his gaze. “Really? What can be worse than my dad beating me? About living a lie? About worrying every damn night that he was going to kill my mom, until she finally did die? What can be worse than that?”
“Look. I know it was a terrible thing.”
“You know nothing.” And she didn’t want him to know anything. If she believed there was a chance for them to have a relationship, she might have told him. The timing was perfect. He already knew the overall story. She might have muddled through the humiliating details, if only because she was sick to death of living a lie. But knowing there was no chance for them, not even the possibility of love, she preferred to keep her secrets and her mortification to herself.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” His quiet acceptance tiptoed into the room. From his tone she knew he wasn’t happy with her answer, but he accepted it. “But I have to tell you one more thing.” He dragged in another breath. “One day last week I ate at the diner. When I was done, I went back to the kitchen to say hello to your dad, and somehow the subject of you and your business came up—”
She jumped out of her seat. “Oh, my God! You told him?”
“I’m sorry.”
She gaped at him, horrible things going through her brain. She’d spent years staying away from her dad, not going to town picnics and gatherings or anything even remotely fun to protect her kids. And in one casual conversation, Wyatt had ruined years of her sacrifice.
She grabbed the monitor and turned to leave.
“I’m sorry!”
She spun to face him. “He’s a leech. A liar. A thief. I don’t want him in my life! I especially don’t want him around the kids!”
“Well, you know what?” Wyatt shot out of his chair and was in front of her before she could blink. “Then you should tell people that. Because normal people don’t keep secrets from their dads. Which means other normal people don’t suspect you’re keeping a secret from yours.”
Her chin rose. “I guess that means I’m not normal, then. Thanks for that.” She pivoted and smacked her hands on his screen door, opening it. “I need to get back to the kids.”
When she was gone, Wyatt fell to his chair. Part of him insisted he shouldn’t feel bad. He hadn’t known. She hadn’t told him.
But he remembered his charmed childhood. He might not have been well liked at school, but he was well loved at home. What the hell did he know about being abused? What did he know about the dark reasons for keeping secrets?
He’d been born under a lucky star and he knew it.
He scrubbed his hands down his face. Looked over at the cake. It was the best thing he had ever tasted. Missy had talent. With a little help, she would succeed. Maybe even beyond her wildest dreams.
But like an idiot, he’d blocked his chance to help her, by offering her money so he could stop being attracted to her.
Her life was about so much more than sex and marriage and who was attracted to whom. It was about more than being praised and admired. All she wanted to do was make a living. Be safe. Keep her kids safe.
And Wyatt kept hurting her.
He was an idiot.
Missy spent the rest of the kids’ nap in tears. Not because Wyatt had ratted her out to her dad. He couldn’t have ratted her out. As he’d said, he hadn’t known she kept her success a secret from her dad. Because she didn’t tell anybody about him.
And if she really dug down into the reasons she was suddenly so sad, so weary of it all, that hit the top of the list.
She didn’t talk to anybody. At least not beyond surface subjects. No one knew her. It was the coldest, emptiest, loneliest feeling in the world, to exist but not be known. In high school, she could pretend that the life she led during the day, in classes, at football games, cheering and being chosen to be homecoming queen, snowball queen and prom queen, was her real life. But as she got older, her inability to have real friends, people she could talk to, wore on her. And when she really got honest with herself, she also had to admit that her company was a nice safe way of having to connect with people in only a superficial way. Once a wedding was over, she moved on to new people. No one ever stayed in her life.
Of course, she had wanted to connect