Angel's Peak

Morning would be soon enough to feel guilty and stupid. So, she slept.



“Were you ever lonely, Franci?” he asked in a whisper against her neck. “Without me?”



Her eyes popped open, but she kept her breathing even, pretending to be sleeping.



“I never thought about it, about being lonely without you,” he whispered. “But I kept wondering why I was so empty.” He kissed her neck. “I looked for you in so many women and never understood why it didn’t work. Never understood it was because I loved you.”



She pinched her eyes closed against a tear.



He sighed deeply, pulling her close against him. “I want to take you to the Alps to ski—we used to talk about doing that. Remember? And I want to go with you to Aruba, to dive and lay on the beach. We’ll get one of those huts on stilts—we’ll make love outside.”



She heard him yawn deeply; he kissed her neck again.



“I thought eventually I’d get over you. I didn’t know I’d never get over you because I loved you.”



And then the talking stopped and she heard his light snore. Very softly she whispered, “Yes, I was lonely. You have no idea…”



At six-thirty in the morning, amazed to have slept so well, Franci slipped out of bed. She showered, toweled her short hair, pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. She stepped out of the bathroom to see Sean lying on his stomach, one arm dangling off the bed, the sheet pulled over his head and shoulders, but one long, muscular leg and his naked butt peeking out. The shower hadn’t even disturbed him; he was out cold. She shuddered. She’d completely worn him out. She hadn’t had sex like that in more than four years. That wasn’t exactly their typical lovemaking, but then there was no typical with Sean. It could be wild. Or sweet. Daring. Luxurious. It was never the same old thing. And it had always been whatever Franci needed at the time.



He had probably the nicest butt she’d ever seen, and some unattractive scratches on his back. There was also the perfect imprint of a small canine mouth right on his Achilles tendon. She shivered again. Oh, boy, she thought. I have really screwed this up. Now everything is about ten times more complicated.



She remembered a time she’d been so grateful to meet a man with whom she shared that kind of powerful chemistry. Now she was pretty sure she was cursed.



She turned the picture of her with Rosie facedown on the bureau before leaving the room.



She’d have to get him up, have a little talk with him before she went to fetch Rosie. Franci’s nerves were getting the best of her so she tried to keep busy, first feeding Harry on the patio, then coming back indoors to brew coffee in the kitchen. When it was ready she sat with her coffee and thought, I should probably get checked for STDs. Then she thought about the talk she was about to have with Sean—it would be quick and to the point. It was obvious a child lived here. If he hadn’t noticed Rosie’s picture in her bedroom, he would never miss the lavender bedroom right next to her own. There were toys in the dining room and right outside the French doors on the patio.



As these thoughts raced around her brain she had to admit she was afraid of his reaction. If anything happened to hurt Rosie, she’d never forgive herself, and yet she dreaded the thought of never having another night like last night again in her life. Because when he found out what she’d done, he’d be furious first, then he’d be gone.



In Franci’s bed, Sean rolled over with a moan, opening his eyes. He smelled coffee. She was up ahead of him. His very next thought was that maybe he could get her back in here. Soon. If he had the strength. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced a night like that. At least four years ago, he thought with a smile. He sat up slowly. He found his jeans on the floor along with a lot of clothes. Stumbling to the bathroom, he took a look in the mirror; yep, it was him. Good—he was afraid he’d just been hallucinating again. He rinsed his mouth, peed, then pulled on his jeans.



Sean found Franci sitting at the breakfast bar behind a steaming cup of coffee, and the first thing that came to mind was that she looked like a mere girl—her cheeks rosy, lips pink and swollen from hours of kissing, her face a mixture of innocence and something that seemed almost shy, but she was a demon lover. A phenomenon. There were times during the night he felt as if he’d rubbed up against both death and eternity at the same time. He took a step; he intended to kiss that mouth before there was any talking.



“We have to talk,” she said.



Oh, Jesus, she was thinking again. If there was one area in which they were complete opposites—Franci took everything so seriously. He, on the other hand, had trouble getting serious about much of anything and it drove her crazy. He stopped where he was and just stood there, trying to get his bearings. “Can I have a cup of coffee, please? Before you get started?”



“Help yourself,” she said, tilting her head toward the pot.



He leaned against the counter and took a few sips, trying to clear his head. She took a few sips, remaining blessedly quiet. He could tell by the expression on her face, there was going to be some drama about last night. He mentally prepared himself; she was going to warn him it didn’t mean they were getting back together. She could say that all day; he wouldn’t argue with her. But he wasn’t leaving; he wasn’t letting her walk away from him again.



Franci was thinking, too. She thought maybe the best thing would be to just blurt it out—Sean, I left you because I was pregnant. I have a daughter, your daughter. I have twenty reasons why I didn’t feel I could tell you before now and I—



Just then there was a sound at the front door and Franci gasped. She knew instantly what had happened. Franci and Vivian had an understanding. Vivian would go out to get the newspaper from the end of her sidewalk, look down the block at Franci’s house and, if there was a car in the driveway, Rosie would not be allowed to go rushing home to her mother until after a long, leisurely breakfast at Grandma’s house. And a quick phone call to clear the way.



There was no car in the driveway! Sean’s car was parked across the street along the curb.



Rosie pushed the door open, all grins and bouncing red curls. “Mama, we watched a scary moobie and ate pizza on Grandma’s good couch!” She ran to Franci, her coat not even buttoned, and Franci reached for her. Rosie threw her arms around Franci’s neck and Franci lifted her up, hugging her fiercely, rocking her back and forth. Once she had her daughter in her arms, she wasn’t afraid anymore. It was that way with Rosie and Franci—little else in the world really mattered.



“Morning, cupcake,” Franci said. “You didn’t let Grandma sleep in, did you?”



She shook her head, giggling. Then she spied Sean, leaning against the stove in the small kitchen. He held a coffee cup in one hand; his green eyes were wide and fixed, his mouth open in shock and disbelief.



“Where’s his shirt?” Rosie asked.



Franci pulled Rosie onto her lap more firmly, one leg on each side of her. “I think he forgot something,” she said. “Rosie, this is Sean. Sean, this is my daughter, Rose.”



“Wide Iwish Rose,” Rosie corrected her mother.



“That’s right,” Franci said with a smile. “My wild Irish Rose.”



“Mama, what’s Iwish again?”



“A country. A beautiful country that’s green like your eyes.” She glanced at Sean. He was in a state of shock. She hoped she wouldn’t have to resuscitate him in front of Rosie.



Franci heard footsteps. The door squeaked open farther and the doorknob rattled. “Good Lord, Franci, you left your keys in the lock! Not exactly safe! And presumably not locked, either, since Rosie—”



Vivian stopped dead in her tracks as she spotted Sean. She gulped.



“Mom, you remember Sean, don’t you?”



Sean recovered himself. His eyes were no longer wide, but narrowed, and his mouth was fixed in an unhappy smile. “Vivian,” he said with a nod. Then he sipped from his mug.



“Sean,” Vivian said, her hand rising to her cheek as she looked at the purple bruise on Sean’s.



“It’s healing up nicely,” Sean said. “How’ve you been, Viv?”



“Good,” she said a bit weakly. “Very well. Thank you.”



“Mama, did he fall down?”



“Yes, poor thing. But he’ll be just fine. Will you do something for me, peanut? I’d like to have a cup of coffee with Sean before he has to leave. Would you mind having breakfast at Grandma’s? Then I’ll come get you, and later, after we clean our rooms, I think we should take Harry to the dog park, then maybe we’ll bake something and put on one of your best movies.”



“Aww,” she whined.



“Come on, Rosie,” Vivian said authoritatively, a hint of panic in her voice. “I’ll let you scramble the eggs. Come on, right now.” She plucked Rosie off Franci’s lap and had her out the door so quickly it was almost a magic trick.



That left Franci and Sean standing in a very small kitchen in deafening silence. No one moved as the seconds ticked by. Then Sean lifted the coffeepot and filled both their cups. He pulled out a bar stool and sat down. He focused on her eyes and waited. When she didn’t speak, he said, “Tell me you didn’t—?”



She gave a brave nod. “I was just about to tell you when she came bounding in the front door. Rosie doesn’t walk anywhere.”



“You were just about to tell me? A few years after the fact?”



“I told you I needed a commitment, that I wanted a child…children. You were adamant—you were not interested in the same things I was.”



“You might’ve left out a couple of things—like you were pregnant. That red hair and those green eyes—they’ve been in my family for generations.”



“Did you really think I would tell you? After the way you acted about the whole idea?”



“I didn’t have the facts,” he said, anger seeping into his tone.



“Do you even remember how it was? Do you remember that I cried and said it was the most important thing to me and you said I’d have to come up with other important things because you weren’t getting into all that? Do you remember telling me not to let the door hit me in the ass? Do you remember saying, ‘Fat chance! Not in this lifetime’?”



“And do you remember telling me I was a child, an irresponsible fuck-around who would never grow up? That if I couldn’t settle down and have a wife and children, you weren’t interested in wasting any more time on me? Remember, Franci? But you didn’t tell me you were pregnant!”



“I couldn’t! I was afraid to!”



“Aw, Jesus, Mary and Joseph—afraid? You’ve never had any reason to be afraid of me!”



“I was afraid you’d marry me!”



“That was what you wanted!”



“I didn’t want you to marry me because I was pregnant! I wanted you to marry me because you loved me!”



“I did love you! I just didn’t want to be married!”



“Or have children!” she shouted back. She pinched her eyes closed and took a steadying breath. She spoke quietly. “I didn’t want you to be stuck with us. More to the point, I didn’t want us to be stuck with you, regretting our accident every day of our marriage. I wanted my child. I wanted to raise her knowing she was wanted. Loved. You will never understand this, Sean, and I don’t expect you to—but when my period was five minutes late, I started to love her. Passionately. And it grew by the day. If I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure that you’d love her just as much, I wasn’t willing to take a chance on you.”



“Were you never going to tell me?” he asked. “If I hadn’t bumped into you, were you—”



“Yes, I was going to tell you. I was going to have to—Rosie has just started asking questions. I was dreading it, but I was going to tell you.”

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