Aftershocks

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

PATRICK HADN’T FELT this good in years. Three years to be precise, he realized as he drove away from Briana’s place and a night he’d never forget.

After living through grief, and then getting on with life because he had to, because he had kids to raise and a job to perform, he felt amazed to be experiencing this incredible emotion he’d almost forgotten.

Happiness.

Oh, he’d been content for the past couple of years, with healthy children, a wonderful family and a challenging career. But he’d felt sort of numb. And here, when he’d least suspected it, he’d gone and fallen head over heels in love.

He felt corny even thinking about it, never mind the fact that he was whistling along to a love song on his car radio by the Bee Gees. But after almost forgetting he was capable of it, he’d rediscovered love. Briana had brought him that goofy-smile-on-your-face kind of happiness that comes with new love.

Maybe he shouldn’t have sprung his feelings on her like that. He hadn’t intended the words to spill out, but he’d been feeling so damned good that the words came out before he could stop them.

At the time, he’d felt more than a little foolish, especially when she hadn’t blurted those magic words right back, but now he was glad he’d admitted his love. He liked everything out in the open. He loved Briana and his feelings were honest. He was proud to love her, so why shouldn’t he tell her?

He planned to tell her often, he decided with a grin that seriously impaired his whistling, so she’d better get used to it.

He picked up his kids, and the single-eyebrow-raised look from his kid sister told him his newly admitted feelings were blazoned all over his face. Not that he minded Shannon knowing how he felt, but he’d be a lot happier to go public once Briana worked for someone else.

“Dad!” Fiona squealed when he entered the kitchen, where they were just finishing up breakfast. “I missed you.” She ran up and threw her arms around him. He lifted her up, anyway-sticky fingers, syrup-streaked cheeks and all-for a good-morning hug.

“I missed you, too, Fiona.”

Dylan, more manly and restrained, said, “Hi, Dad,” and continued to eat. Patrick ruffled his hair and took the mug of coffee John had already filled and held out to him. He nodded his thanks.

Fiona ran back to the table to finish her breakfast and Patrick sipped his coffee.

The three adults took their coffee out on to the back deck.

“I’m guessing my little ploy to give you two some couple time worked,” Shannon said with no pretense at discretion.

“Really?” He tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible when she looked so desperate to hear all about his night with Briana.

“Yeah. And I’m guessing someone I know owes me a big fat favor!”

“Really?”

Shannon narrowed her eyes at him. “If you keep saying ‘Really?’ you’re going to be wearing that coffee, big bro.”

He pulled her to him in a half headlock, half hug. “Okay. I owe you big time.”

“Back off, Shannon,” John said. “If Patrick wants to tell you, he will.”

Shannon merely shot him a mischievous look and went right back to grilling her brother.

“When she ran out of there like the place was on fire, I thought it was a no go.”

“Well, it would have been, but your suave and persuasive older brother-that would be me-drove over to her place and convinced her that a date with me was a good thing.”

“Date? Is that what they call it?”

He squeezed a little tighter. “That’s what we’re calling it.”

She pulled away, laughing. “Okay, okay. From the look on your face, the ‘date’ was spectacular.”

He allowed a little of the smugness he felt this morning to wash over him. “Oh, yeah. It was spectacular all right.”

She nodded. “Are you worried about people talking? I mean, because she works in your office?”

“First off, no one knows except you. So if any of this leaks out, I’ll know who to kill. Got that?”

She threw up her hands. “Hey, I’m the good guy, remember? I took your kids for a sleepover so you could enjoy a night of luv.” She held her clasped hands at her chest and gazed up at the ceiling.

He ignored her immature antics and answered her question. “Briana’s going to put in for a transfer to a different job. Until that’s done, obviously, she and I have to keep things under wraps. I’m not happy about this, of course. Of all women to fall for…” He shook his head.

“Hey, you can’t help who you fall for.” She rolled her eyes. “Look at me!”

Patrick laughed out loud. “You and John couldn’t be better suited or more in luv, so give it up, kid.”

“So,” Shannon said, “you’re going to play it cool until she gets this transfer?”

“That’s right.”

Shannon snorted. “You give it up, kid. You’re crazy in love with the woman. You’re never going to be able to stay away from her.”

Patrick was secretly worried that his sister was right. Even though he’d only been apart from Briana for less than an hour, he missed her. He wanted to call her, just to hear her voice, to see what she was doing. He’d forgotten to ask what she was up to today.

Once the kids had washed up and collected their night gear, he packed them straight off to Dylan’s Little League practice, and once that was over, treated them to lunch at a family restaurant. He chose the location because it was pretty close to Briana’s place. He figured this was still the weekend, so she wasn’t officially his employee again until tomorrow.

Knowing he was stretching his own ethics, he called her on his cell phone anyway, deciding a spur-of-the-minute invitation to lunch when they were right in her neighborhood was perfectly appropriate. They’d be well-chaperoned by his children. But Briana wasn’t there.

He felt a little disappointed, but figured she’d gone out to exercise or shop or something.

Later in the afternoon, he called again to see if she wanted to come over for a family supper, and once more got her voice mail. He hadn’t left a message the first time, not wanting to appear too eager, but this time he did.

“Hi,” he said to the machine. “It’s Patrick. The kids and I wanted to invite you for dinner, but I guess you’re not there. Call me back when you get in. Bye.”

It was strange that she’d been out all day, but he didn’t own the woman. They’d spent the night together-that didn’t give him the right to know her every movement. Still, he’d feel better when she called back.

BRIANA WAS FURIOUS. Her uncle had used her and betrayed her, but underneath her anger, she was heartbroken. She’d believed in Cecil Thomson. He’d been almost like a father to her. She’d trusted him. Loved him and her aunt. And he’d used her.

Manipulated her.

Lied to her.

And all so that she would manipulate and lie to the decent wonderful man she’d fallen in love with.

As the miles between Acadia Springs and Courage Bay disappeared, she grew angrier. And what about her poor Aunt Irene? How would she react when she found out the vile truth?

The first thing she did when she arrived home was to call Joe Carlton’s daughter. Before she confronted her uncle, Briana wanted to be absolutely certain that Joe Carlton’s story was true. Right away she explained who she was, and Joan said, “Yes, I know. Dad told me you’d be calling.”

“I’m really sorry to bother you on a Sunday night, but could I see that photograph?”

“I don’t see why not. You can’t take it with you, though. I don’t trust that Cecil Thomson not to try and destroy it if he finds out where it is.”

“No. I won’t take it anywhere.”

There was a message on her voice mail from Patrick, but right now Briana didn’t feel able to talk to him without sobbing her heart out and telling him the whole story.

Except she didn’t yet have the whole story. Not the final chapter anyway. Or, she supposed, it was really the first chapter she needed in this sordid tale.

She found Joan’s house without difficulty and was invited in to a cozy kitchen where the smell of lasagna permeated the air.

Joan had a file folder sitting on the kitchen table already. Briana’s hands shook slightly as she opened it. Inside was a copy of the arrest report, mug shots of her uncle, looking younger and more disheveled than she’d ever seen him, and his companion.

The hooker was a blowsy woman with long bleached hair and too much lipstick, as though she’d reapplied it for her mug shot.

But the third photo was the one she’d really come to see. It was still a little blurry, but there was no doubt that the startled-looking man was her uncle, and the woman peering up from his lap was the blond hooker.

“You’re sure this is all…accurate?” she asked Joan’s husband, Tom.

“Believe me, we’re very careful about libel at the Sentinel, especially when a public figure’s involved. My paper wouldn’t have run that story if we weren’t certain it was true. And while there were a few letters to the editor from Councilman Thomson, lambasting the paper for its scurrilous reporting, he never sued for libel. Never even threatened it, because he knows the story is true.”

“But we keep this file well hidden, just in case,” Joan added.

Briana felt the last of her hope that her uncle might still prove to be innocent fall away.

“You seem awfully interested in this story about the councilor,” Tom said, gazing at her with the sharp speculation of a reporter whose newshound nose is twitching. “Any particular reason why Mayor Patrick O’Shea’s assistant is researching Cecil Thomson? The same Cecil Thomson who’s blocked the mayor’s efforts for more funding?”

Darn it. She’d been so all-fired determined to get to the truth that she’d forgotten to be discreet. Thinking up a good reason for her interest was not an easy task.

She shook her head. “This has nothing to do with the funding crisis. I’m working on a…” What? “Well, an ad hoc ethics committee. I wanted to research recent scandals involving local politicians.”

“Interesting timing, looking for dirt on Councilman Thomson right when he and your boss are pitted against each other.”

“The two things are not related,” she insisted. “Please, I need you to keep this meeting off the record.”

“Any reason why I should?”

What could she offer him in return for his silence? Nothing he’d care about.

Her gaze fell on Joan, who was watching with interest. “I can’t explain right now, but what I’m doing will probably mean the end of Cecil Thomson’s career,” she said, her voice shaking a little at the knowledge that this was true. “It’s personal.”

Joan stared at her for a moment and nodded. “Tom won’t print anything.”

“Now, wait just a minute!” her husband said.

“Remember,” Joan said, turning to him and jabbing him in the chest, “I gave you that picture and the story on a silver platter. If I tell you not to blab about a social visit Ms. Bliss paid to me, not you, then you don’t blab.”

The reporter didn’t look happy with his wife’s logic.

Hoping to prevent him going off half-cocked, Briana said, “How about this? If Councilman Thomson quits because of my investigation, you’ll be the first to know.”

“A scoop, huh?” he said with a wily grin.

“Yes. A scoop.”

“Okay. Deal.” He stepped forward and shook Briana’s hand. “I expect you to keep your word.”

She smiled sadly. “Don’t worry. I work for a man who believes fiercely in truth and honesty. I won’t let you down.” She wished the same could be said of herself in reference to Patrick.

Her last stop of the evening was the one she least wanted to make.

After parking outside her aunt and uncle’s house, Briana walked up the path and rang the doorbell.

From inside, she heard the muted sounds of a television program, which meant they were probably both home and not entertaining. Good.

Her aunt opened the door and smiled with delight. “Briana, what a nice surprise. Come in, dear. Have you eaten? I’ve got some fresh tuna and salad left from our dinner.”

“Thanks. I’m not hungry. I’d like to talk to you and Uncle Cecil.”

“Why, whatever’s happened?” her aunt asked, looking at her searchingly. “Honey, do you feel all right? Did that awful Patrick O’Shea do something to upset you?”

Briana wanted to laugh hysterically and had to force herself to calm down. “Please, I really need to talk to Uncle Cecil.”

“Well, sure, honey.” Looking concerned, Aunt Irene walked her into the living room, snapping on a light and making sure the drapes were closed tight. Then she went to fetch Uncle Cecil.

He walked in a couple of minutes later. “Why, Briana, what’s this-”

She glared at him, letting everything she now knew and thought about him show in her eyes. “How could you betray Aunt Irene and me? How could you?”

Uncle Cecil flinched, then glanced away, his ruddy complexion darkening. With a sigh, he lowered his bulk heavily into a chair.

“It’s time you stopped lying,” Briana told him. “To your wife, to me, to everybody.”

“Lying? Why, Briana, whatever is the matter? Cecil?”

“I’m going to tell Patrick O’Shea everything,” Briana said. “I came here tonight, first, out of courtesy and out of loyalty for all you’ve done for me in the past. But tomorrow I’m going to tell my boss how I took the job of his admin assistant in order to trap him into an indiscretion and ruin his career.” The words almost choked her and she felt the first tear blur her vision. Resolutely she blinked it back. “He’s an honest, decent man, Uncle Cecil. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Oh, Cecil, what have you done?” her aunt asked.

He rubbed a hand over his face and looked suddenly older and smaller somehow. “Sit down, dear,” he said gently to his wife. Then he turned back to Briana.

“How did you find out?” he said.

“I knew after I’d only worked for Patrick for a little while that he was incapable of the kind of deceit you accused him of. So, because I believed in you, because of my loyalty to you, I decided to investigate myself and find out who’d spread those awful lies about you.”

Her voice was rising, she couldn’t seem to help it, and the tears were only held at bay by the force of her will.

Her uncle didn’t answer, so Briana continued. “I tracked down the source of that story in the newspaper. I interviewed the arresting officer, and he told me how, after you were arrested, you called your friend, Chief Conway, the police chief of the time. He made sure no charges were ever laid. He even managed to dispose of the photographic evidence of your misconduct.” She was starting to sound like a legal textbook, but she didn’t care. “You were good friends, you and the chief, back in the eighties, weren’t you?”

Her uncle still said nothing, merely stared down at his hands, clasped between his knees.

“Even after I interviewed the arresting officer, I still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced.” She sniffed. “I saw the picture. With nothing blacked out.”

He flinched at that.

“Chief Conway destroyed the photo that the arresting officer included in his report, but he didn’t know there was a second photograph. Officer Carlton kept it for all these years.”

“But-but those were lies, Cecil. It was all a lie!” Her aunt began to weep, and for a moment Briana felt guilty for the pain she was causing. But she wasn’t the one causing pain, she reminded herself. Uncle Cecil had used her to try to cover up his own wrongdoing. That’s where the pain was coming from.

“I’m sorry, Irene,” Uncle Cecil said at last.

The cry grew into the wail. “You were unfaithful to me?”

Uncle Cecil buried his face in his hands and his voice wasn’t quite steady when he said, “It was after you miscarried that last time. We both went through a rough time.”

Miscarried? Briana had never heard anything about that. Her aunt and uncle had never had children, but she’d assumed that was by choice. When her aunt began to cry, great wrenching sobs, she wished she were a million miles away.

“I’d never done anything like that before, and I never did again,” Uncle Cecil said, moving to sit on the couch beside his wife, who turned her back on him. “I was angry and upset with the world and you weren’t yourself. I didn’t know what to do or where to turn.” He touched the sobbing woman’s shoulder, his face twisted with love and remorse.

“I ended up in some dive bar down in Victory Park. I figured nobody knew me down there, and if I wanted to get liquored up and forget my troubles, it was my business.

“I got good and drunk, then left the bar. But I dropped my keys trying to get into the car. A blonde picked them up for me and, well, it was crazy. I was crazy. I never would have done anything if I’d been sober, and if we weren’t going through that bad time.”

A tear tracked down her uncle’s face. “God, I’m sorry Irene. I’d do anything if it weren’t true.”

Quietly, Briana rose and headed for the door. He had done something, Briana thought. He’d tried to destroy the man he believed had dug up the old arrest report and fed it to the media. The man she loved.

She hadn’t realized there’d been a bad time in her aunt and uncle’s marriage, or that they’d faced the tragedy of wanting children and never having them. That made her sympathetic to their plight, but still, she couldn’t forgive Uncle Cecil.

Not yet.

Wouldn’t it have been better if he’d been honest with his wife about his horrendous lapse in judgment when it first happened, rather than going to such absurd and unsavory lengths to hush up the truth?

Of course it would.

He’d done wrong. Briana could find it in her heart to forgive him for the first lapse. But as for manipulating her to do his dirty work, just so the truth would stay buried, no, that she was going to find very hard to forgive.

She got into her car with a heavy heart. Her first impulse was to drive to Patrick’s place and throw herself in his arms. But a quick check of the clock showed her it was getting on for eleven. His children would be in bed asleep; he might well be asleep, too. He deserved his rest. As always, he had a busy Monday ahead of him.

And so did she.

She had to admit to the man she loved that she was a fraud.