An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach), Mariah Stewart [best classic novels TXT] 📗

a steady stream to leave their mark on the pristine sheets of paper, a mixture of pain and joy at odds within her.

Caught completely off guard, she was oblivious to the presence of her daughters and the fact that their discovery of her deepest secret had driven a wedge between them. For a moment, knowing her son—her son!—was reaching out was more than she could process.

“Joe. His name is Joe,” she whispered.

Maggie’d never given him a name. In her heart, he’d always simply been my baby boy. She’d believed naming him would be the prerogative of someone else, but seeing his name in print, saying it aloud . . . somehow it sounded right to her. Joe. Joseph.

“Mom? Oh my God, Mom. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Apparently realizing the anguish her actions had caused, Natalie reached for the emails to take them back. “I didn’t think. I didn’t know. I didn’t . . .”

Maggie held the pages she’d read in one shaking hand, out of Natalie’s reach. Then, sobbing, she read through to the last page.

“Mom, please . . . I’m so sorry.” Natalie began to cry. Grace observed both her mother and her sister as if watching a play.

I have been in contact with my father. I spoke with him over the weekend. We will be getting together sometime soon, and I am beyond happy.

Maggie felt she’d been struck by lightning.

“What?” she yelled, the tears forgotten. “He . . . what? He knows? Son of a bitch.”

Natalie and Grace both jumped, obviously jarred by their mother’s curse.

“Who knows what?” Natalie dabbed at her face with a tissue.

Maggie slammed the handful of paper onto the counter and hopped off the stool. “When I get my hands on him . . .”

She grabbed a handful of tissues and paused to wipe off her face before tossing them into the trash, then headed out the front door, her bag over her shoulder, cursing under her breath every step of the way.

“Wait, Mom!” Natalie raced to catch up.

“Not now, Natalie.” Maggie was already out the door and halfway to the sidewalk and showed no sign of slowing down, muttering all the way down Cottage Street. “Brett Crawford, you have a lot to answer for . . .”

Maggie stormed into the municipal building as if she were being chased by a demon, which in a sense she was. She forced some semblance of control as she rounded the hall toward police headquarters and took a deep breath as she opened the glass door and approached the receptionist.

“Hey, Maggie. What’s up?” Coraline Webster asked as she hung up from a call.

“I’d like to see Br . . . the chief. Is he still here?”

“I think he’s still here. Let me check.” Coraline hit a button on her phone and, seconds later, said, “Chief, Maggie Flynn is here to see you. Sure.” She hung up and glanced at Maggie, clearly curious. “He said go on back.” Turning to point to the left, she added, “The chief’s office is—”

“I’ll find it.” Maggie headed toward Brett’s office, her anger boiling over. When she saw Brett standing in his office doorway, leaning against the jamb as if he hadn’t a care in the world, as if this were a social visit he’d been expecting, she almost blew.

“Inside and close the damned door,” she growled as she drew near him.

He took a step backward, his eyes widening, a look of confusion on his face. He stepped aside for her to enter, then did as she’d demanded. He closed the door softly.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

“Joseph Miller.” She threw the name at him in a fast volley.

Brett stared at her, his face blank.

Maggie moved closer and repeated the name, more slowly this time. “Joseph. Miller.”

Brett continued to stare, obviously caught off guard.

“Do I have to say it again?”

“Ahhh . . . ,” he finally said after clearing his throat.

“How long have you known?”

“Known what? That I had a son?” He sat on the edge of his desk, his expression no longer confused, his eyes no longer defensive. It appeared Brett had gone on the offensive. “That’s something you’ve never let me forget.”

“How long have you known?” She ignored his attempt to put her on the ropes. This was her showdown.

He walked around the desk and sat on the worn brown leather seat. “He contacted me about a month ago. He’s been looking for—”

“A month ago?” She leaned on the back of the guest chair, too amped up to sit. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I’ve been trying to let you know he’s been looking for us for months, but every damned time I tried to talk to you, you blew me off.”

“How did he know . . . how did he find you?” She was embarrassed she couldn’t get her thoughts out in a coherent fashion, but she was angry and confused.

“He’d done that DNA testing thing on one of those genealogical sites, and they showed a match to my sister, Jayne, who’d joined the same site. He contacted her at the end of last summer, since she was identified as an aunt. Jayne and I are the only children in our family, so it wasn’t hard for her to figure out whose son he was. I tried to tell you at the reunion he was making inquiries, but you kept walking away from me. I wanted to give you a heads-up, but I couldn’t make you listen.”

“You could have called me.”

“If you wouldn’t listen to me when I was standing right in front of you, why would I think you’d have picked up my call?”

He paused, no doubt collecting his thoughts, but she wouldn’t have it. She gestured with her hand for him to continue. “Keep going. The rest of it.”

“So Jayne asked me how she should respond, and I told her the truth.” Another pause, this one longer, but Maggie’s emotions were too jumbled for her to press him. He sighed deeply. “She asked me if she could tell him who his father was, and I said yes. Long