Caught in the Act (The Davenports) (30 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

C
AT STEPPED INSIDE
the back door of her beach house that night, thirty minutes after the play was scheduled to end. Brody would have attended, and should be arriving at the house soon.

And then she would destroy him.

She paced to the other side of the room, her hands twisting in front of her. She’d woken beside Brody that morning, him asking her to move to Maine to be with him, and she got to wrap up the day by telling him he had a daughter. Her stomach cramped at the thought.

She turned back to the door. She needed fresh air.

Only, Brody was there.

He stepped inside, and without a word, took several long strides to her side and kissed her. The kiss was long and hard. His touch was heaven.

“I missed you.” He punctuated the words with another hard press of his mouth.

When he lifted his head, Cat stared up at him, her breath in her throat. This was going to hurt him so badly.

“What a night, Kitty Cat.” Brody took her hands in his, squeezing them as excitement shone from his eyes. “I know we have things to talk about.” He tugged her forward and kissed her again. “Plenty of things,” he stressed. “Things I should have said this morning. But first”—he paused and leaned back to look down at her—“first, I have to tell you about tonight.”

“Okay.” She nodded. His exuberance spread to her, momentarily easing her worries. “What happened?”

He bit his lip as if to hold back his smile, but it didn’t work. “Searcy showed up.”

She sucked in a breath. “The producer? What happened? How’d you get him there?”

“You.” Brody smirked. “He came to see you.”

“So I got to help without you actually letting me help?”

“Looks like. But I still didn’t want your name getting me a look.”

“I guess you told him to leave, then?” She smiled.

“No, smart-ass. I didn’t tell him to leave. Instead, I found him the best seat in the house, got the man a glass of wine, then went to the back and begged everyone to give the performance of their lifetimes.”

“And what happened?” Cat lost her breath at his near hysteria.

“What happened is they gave the performances of their lives. I love them. They were terrific. Searcy loved them. He loved the play. There was love all around.” His giddiness made her laugh. “No promises, though.” He held a finger up as if to tamp down her hope. “But he did say he’d get back to me next week.”

“Oh, Brody.” Cat threw herself into his arms. “I’m so happy for you. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” He smacked her with another hard kiss. “But it’s not sold yet. And thank your name for getting him here in the first place.”

“My pleasure.” She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the buzz vibrate from him. So much that she seriously considered holding off on her news for another time. She couldn’t bring him down. Not after this.

“What a day,” he said. He hadn’t stopped smiling. “I woke up with you, I got to meet your kids—two really terrific people, by the way—and then it wrapped up with Searcy in the audience.” He took her by the hand and swung her out as if dancing. “And now”—he waggled his eyebrows—“I have you again.”

No way would she tell him right now.

He twirled her back into him. “And the first thing I want to do is tell you that I love you.”

She quit breathing.

“I should have said it this morning.” He rushed the words out. “Instead of just asking you to move here. But surely you know that already. It has to be written all over me every time I look at you.”

Oh, hell. He loved her. She had to tell him now.

Even if it did ruin a perfectly good day for him.

She gulped. She hated herself in that moment.

“What?” Brody asked, clearly picking up on her stress. He kept her within the circle of his arms, but she could feel his own tension take hold.

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

Happiness registered immediately on his face, but disappeared just as quickly. “Then what’s wrong?”

She swallowed again, the words sticking in her throat. “But . . .”

The shadow of worry that passed over his features made her knees weak, and she lifted her hands to caress his face. “I do love you,” she repeated sincerely. “I swear. Very much.”

“But?” he asked carefully, his tone a shade cooler than it had been before.

They remained standing together, his arms around her waist, her hands on his face. Only, tears now streamed over her cheeks, and she could feel a wall trying to come up between them. She fought for courage, but failed. Then she stepped out of his embrace.

“We had a daughter eighteen years ago,” she quietly announced.

Brody’s face went blank. “We what?”

Then
he
took a step back.

“That summer,” Cat said. “I got pregnant.” She moved farther into the room, putting the kitchen table between them. “I went to California until she was born. Mom had a friend there. And I gave her up for adoption,” she finished in a whisper.

Confusion marred Brody’s face. “No.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t have done that.”

When she didn’t say anything else, his eyes narrowed.

“You would have told me,” he insisted.

“Except my mother got in the way,” she reminded him. Her heart pounded wildly. “We quit calling each other. We both thought the other had moved on.”

The green of his eyes began to harden.

“She’s eighteen,” Cat told him. Her voice broke, but she kept going, fearing if she didn’t, she wouldn’t get it all out. “Her birthday was April seventeenth. I found out I was pregnant a few weeks after I went home, after we’d already stopped talking.”

The clench of his fists made her pause, but only for a second.

She gulped. “We conceived the last day I was here. Out on the beach.”

Brody’s eyes were now ice. “You think I wouldn’t be aware of when we could have conceived a child? We made love
once
.”

“I—”

“And then you gave her away?” he suddenly roared. “Without even telling me?”

“Mom thought it was best.”

Shit.
She cringed when he jerked back. That had been the complete wrong thing to say.

“Your
mother
thought it was best?” His tone turned menacing.

She had totally messed this up. “Let me explain,” she pleaded.

Brody shook his head, his jaw working back and forth. Cat plowed on.

“I tried to tell you about the pregnancy,” she squeaked out. “I called your house. Twice.” They both knew that his mother had not passed along those messages.

“So you’re blaming
my
mother now?” he asked. Revulsion was clear on his face.

Cat’s shoulders sank. “No, it was . . .
damn
.”

She couldn’t say it was her mother’s fault. Emma may have been the one who’d kept them apart, but Cat had made the final decision. She’d agreed to the adoption. She’d thought it was best for Annabelle.

“
I
thought it was best,” she finally stammered. “Mom made the arrangements, and I went away until I delivered. But afterward, I fell into a depression. I was on meds for months.”

“Funny,” he said with a nasty smirk. “I saw you in the news that summer, smiling and happy with another guy. One you
eventually
married. You didn’t look too depressed to me.”

“I’ve always been able to fake it in the media,” she whispered brokenly.

“Isn’t that the truth? You’re good at it, too. The perfect Davenport.”

Ignoring his snide remarks, she continued her story. “I wasn’t coming out of my depression, so a few months later Mom told me she’d found out that Annabelle had died. She said our baby had been born sick.”

With the mention of her daughter’s name, Brody froze.

His green eyes—the very eyes that looked so much like the picture on her cell phone—turned to hatred. “You named our daughter after my mother?” His words were hard.

Cat nodded. “I loved you. I wanted to—”

“Don’t you dare say you loved me,” he snapped. “If you’d loved me, you wouldn’t have had our child without so much as telling me. You wouldn’t have given her away!”

He had a point. Her actions had not been indicative of love.

But she had loved him. She
still
loved him.

“That’s why I took that particular flower from your house and left it on the beach when I came back. It’s an Annabelle hydrangea.”

Brody simply stared at her. He didn’t say anything for several long seconds. Seconds in which she could hear the waves leisurely lapping toward high tide on the other side of the deck. Seconds where she took in the laugh lines at the corners of Brody’s eyes and pictured her daughter someday having those same marks of life.

Seconds where she watched his nostrils flare with each indrawn breath that he took.

She was losing him. She knew it. She’d gambled, and she’d lost. But telling him had been the right thing to do.

“How can she be eighteen if she died when she was a baby?”

“Mom lied,” she admitted. He didn’t look surprised.

“You sicken me.” He ground the words out. His mouth twisted as if the sight of her caused his stomach to revolt, and he reached a hand behind him toward the door. “Your entire family sickens me. And you’re just like them.”

“She’s coming here,” Cat added before he could go. “Annabelle is. Her mother is bringing her. I’m meeting them in Portland on Saturday. I thought you might go, too.”

Brody’s hand went still on the door as a flash of hatred passed over his face.

“She knows who you are,” Cat whispered. “She wants to meet us both.”

He slowly shook his head. As if he were in a daze.

“I have her picture.” She pulled out her phone. “Her adoptive mother sent it to me tonight. She has your eyes,” she finished.

Brody didn’t look at the picture. “You mean Arthur Harrison’s eyes?” His words were flat.

“She’s
your
daughter, Brody. Not a Harrison.”

He still didn’t look.

“Look at her,” Cat demanded.

“How long have you known she’s alive?”

“I found out tonight. I’ve been calling Patricia—her mother—all week. I wanted to tell you about her, but wanted to know what happened first. I wanted to be able to share something with you about our baby.”

“The baby you thought was dead?”

“Yes. Only she’s not.” Cat hiccupped out a sob. “She’s alive, Brody, and she’s so beautiful. And all this time I thought she was dead.”

“And all this time you never told me.”

“I hadn’t seen you in eighteen years.”

“You saw me three weeks ago. I didn’t hear a confession then.”

“You had things you didn’t confess either!” she shouted.

“You think this compares to me keeping my father’s name from you? From someone who was just a
fling
?”

She cringed with his words, but she knew he was just trying to hurt her. “I was never a fling, and you know it. We both know it.”

“Looks to me like you were never anything more.” He glanced briefly at the phone she still held out, but didn’t make a comment on the picture. “If you’d been more, I wouldn’t just now be finding out that I have a daughter.”

“I was only sixteen,” she begged him to understand. “I thought I could trust my mother. I thought she was helping me.”

“Yeah? And how did that work out for you?”

“Brody,” she whispered. “Please.”

He shook his head. Hatred shone in his eyes. There was no longer love. And no longer hope.

She’d done that to him. She’d destroyed him.

“You’re not who I thought you were, Cat. Go back to your mother. I’m sure she can fix it for you.”

The door slammed behind him as he left, and she wanted to run after him. But her feet wouldn’t move. She’d ruined everything. It was over.

Her knees went weak and she collapsed to floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

A
ND THIS IS
the day we visited the Charles Cathedral. Have you ever been there?” Annabelle glanced up, catching Cat staring at her instead of looking at the photo, and Cat blushed with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I’m still shocked to be here. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

Her daughter nodded and put down the tablet she’d been using to show Cat pictures of her and Patricia’s trip. “I get it,” Annabelle said. “I’m shocked, too. I mean, I knew who you were. That you were my biological mom. Mom told me that, and I’ve wanted to meet you since. I knew what you looked like and that I was going to be here with you today. But . . .” She let the words trail off as she glanced over at her mother sitting by her side. Patricia put her hand over Annabelle’s, providing a support that Cat suspected she never would. “I don’t know.” Annabelle shrugged slightly, in a bit of a careless, teenage way. “Thinking about meeting you and actually doing it are two pretty different things, I guess.”

Cat nodded. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. “Yeah.”

She’d thought about it a lot the last three days herself. But walking into the small restaurant’s private dining room this morning and finding the blonde-haired, green-eyed girl standing at the window, her arms clenched over her stomach and her back a little too straight, that had been different than Cat had imagined.

There had been no long-lost hugs. No smiles of recognition. Simply stares.

Cat and Annabelle had sized each other up, noting both the similarities and the differences, before ever saying a word. And when they did speak, it had been stilted, for the most part. This was far harder than Cat had imagined.

“It’s not what I’d thought,” Annabelle admitted.

Cat hoped that didn’t mean Annabelle wished she hadn’t come. “How so?”

“Well, I know you gave birth to me. I get that. And that’s a bond and all. But . . . well, I was curious about you more than anything. Mom had explained why you’d given me up already, so I don’t have those types of questions so much. But I like history. You come from a long line of history, and I come from you. So, I wanted to meet you. But, I can’t really say that I feel a bond.”

Her daughter was direct. The words were a jab, but Cat appreciated them for their honesty. Brody would like her. If only he’d responded to any of her messages letting him know where they would be today.

“We’re really just strangers at this point,” Cat began, thinking fast to come up with the right thing to say. She didn’t want to lose her opportunity with Annabelle before she even got started. “And that’s to be expected. We’ve never
really
met.”

She glanced at Patricia that time, thinking about the handful of seconds she had gotten before Annabelle had been taken away. “But I would like the opportunity to get to know you better. If that’s something you want. No pressure, though.”

Annabelle nodded, seeming to weigh the pros and cons. She sat up straight in her seat, looked Cat in the eye when they spoke, and had a poise about her that Cat didn’t run into with girls that age too often.

Patricia was to her left. She’d aged over the years, of course, but other than a few wrinkles, she looked pretty much the same as she had eighteen years ago. Very put together in her tailored black suit, her hairstyle a short, dark bob with every hair smoothed into place, and a high level of accomplishment clear in both her features and posture.

Cat found it interesting that even though Annabelle was not a biological product of Patricia’s, the girl had quite a few of her mannerisms and similarities. If it wasn’t for looking exactly like a combination of Brody and herself, Cat would have trouble believing this wasn’t Patricia’s natural-born child.

There was also a protective wall surrounding the two of them. A closeness that Cat wasn’t a part of. But the fact that Annabelle was here gave her hope. Maybe she could talk to her daughter once in a while. Hear about college, get invited to a wedding someday.

Maybe she would meet grandkids in the future.

“Mom told me you thought I was dead,” Annabelle suddenly fired out.

Dread hit Cat’s gut. She’d worried this would come up. “I did. I struggled a lot after giving you up. Suffered some depression.”

She glanced around the small space and out the windows that overlooked the water, keeping an eye out for cell phones and cameras pointed her way. She had two security guards there with her, but that didn’t mean a server or outside pedestrian wouldn’t try to sneak a quick video. This conversation—this whole meeting—could go viral in an instant if the wrong person figured out what was going on.

Especially given the tabloid shots of the last few days.

There had been multiple photos of her crying, both on the porch of the Davenport compound and driving away from her beach house Wednesday night. There had been shots of Brody hurrying between their houses in the dark. Then another of her mother boarding a private jet. The world seemed to know that something was going on, but they weren’t sure what.

Turning back to Annabelle, Cat continued, “My mother made a judgment call. To . . .”

“Lie,” Annabelle supplied.

Cat nodded in acceptance. “
Lie.
She felt it would help me to move on.”

“And did it?”

“Not really.” But she thought back to that time and changed her words. “Maybe. It forced me to accept that you were gone. That I couldn’t change my mind and run back to California to try to take you back.”

Patricia’s hand once again slid over Annabelle’s.

“But I wish she hadn’t done it,” Cat said. Her heart was heavy. Life could be so complicated. “Thinking you weren’t out there in the world . . .” She shook her head, unable to explain that kind of hurt. “I’m just grateful to know that you are. Even if we’d never met, finding out that you’re alive, that you’ve flourished into a beautiful young lady, means the world to me.”

Cat turned to Patricia. “And I thank you again for sharing that information. I thank you for sharing Annabelle with me, even if this is all I ever get.” She looked at her daughter. “But I would love more. And I know my kids would love to meet you. We’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”

She’d wanted to tell Becca and Tyler about Annabelle over the last two days, but she’d held off. If this went no further than today, it would be best not to confuse them.

But she hoped it went further than today.

Annabelle sat in front of her now, taking in Cat’s words, and for the first time in the forty-five minutes since they’d been there, Cat saw a small chink in the girl’s armor.

“She went home, right?” Annabelle asked. “Your mother? The tabloids had a picture of her boarding a plane Thursday morning. Mom said you two talked Wednesday night. Did she go home because of me?”

“Yes,” Cat stated flatly. “She went home because of you. It’s a lie I won’t tolerate.”

Annabelle nodded. “I don’t think I’d like her.”

“That’s completely understandable.” Cat gave the girl a tight smile. “I don’t like her much myself at the moment.”

The stoicism that had remained on Annabelle’s face suddenly disappeared, and her shoulders relaxed.

“So why isn’t my father here?” she asked.

“Because
he
doesn’t like
me
very much at the moment.”

“Mom told me that he didn’t know.”

Cat shook her head. “I messed up back then. I should have told him. It’s so much easier to look back and know the right thing to do, but I can’t
go
back. So no, he didn’t know until Wednesday night. And I can’t say that he took it well.”

“He doesn’t want to meet me?”

“He didn’t say that. His thoughts were more on me that night. We’d hoped . . .” She didn’t know what to say to her daughter about Brody. She didn’t know what to think about Brody. She ached for hurting him. She ached for
missing
him. “He’d thought I was showing up for a different reason that night,” she said. “And instead I told him that I’d kept you from him. He was pretty upset. But I know him well, and I can’t believe that he doesn’t want to meet you.”

“He just didn’t want to meet me with you?” Annabelle guessed.

“I would suspect that’s very true.”

Her daughter looked at Patricia again, before turning back to Cat. “And I’m really part Harrison and part Davenport?”

She did not sound happy about that fact.

Cat smiled. “You are. You’re a unique individual, that’s for sure.”

“I mean, that’s kind of cool,” Annabelle said. “Do you realize how long the political rivalry has been going between them?” Embarrassment swept over her then. “I suppose you would,” she mumbled.

Cat agreed. She was well aware of the history between the families. It had started over a century ago when two best friends had run for the same political office. Since then, each family had continuously tried to beat out the other in whatever way they could.

“Anyway,” Annabelle continued, “though crazy in a cool kind of way, I’d actually prefer having no ties to either. I mean, sorry, but your family . . . well, the past few weeks have been telling. Not real high quality, if you ask me. And the Harrisons? Do you know that Arthur Harrison was instrumental in—”

“Let’s not get into politics today, Annabelle,” Patricia said gently. She gave Cat a warm smile. “This one has studied political history her entire life. She has a list a mile long of decisions made over the years that she doesn’t agree with.”

“And I have good reason. I also intend to see them reversed,” Annabelle argued.

“I know you do, but maybe you can wait to share some of those opinions with Cat later on. As you get to know her better.”

Cat held her breath. She so wanted to get to know her daughter better. “I would love to hear about them. And I know Brody would, too. You’re quite a bit like him, in fact.”

“Yeah?” Annabelle chewed on her bottom lip. “I read that he’s a history professor.”

“He has his doctorate. He’s a highly intelligent man.”

Annabelle and Patricia shared a small smile.

“What?” Cat asked.

“Annabelle plans to double major. History and political science.”

Cat’s heart warmed. “Your paternal grandmother is a political science teacher.”

“Really?” Annabelle seemed to bloom in front of her. “The woman I’m named after?”

“Yes. She’s a great person, and I know she’ll want to meet you. Is there any chance you could stay a little longer?” Cat glanced at Patricia. “I think we could turn Brody around, too. I’ll go see him instead of just trying to call. I’ll force him to listen to me, and I’ll tell him all about you. He won’t be able to stay away from you.”

Annabelle turned pleading eyes to her mother.

“I have to be at work Monday morning,” Patricia reminded her gently. “I’ve been away for two weeks. I can’t not go back.”

“Let me stay?” Annabelle asked. “For a week. I’ll come home next weekend.”

“Annabelle.” Patricia half sighed the word. “I can’t just leave you here.”

“I’m an adult now, Mom. I’ll be going away to school soon.”

“Not if you don’t decide which school you want to attend.”

Annabelle rolled her eyes and looked at Cat. “I’m accepted at Brown—I’m
committed
to Brown—but I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.” She turned back to her mom. “But I will be in school somewhere.”

“I’m worried about the press,” Patricia explained. “You look a bit like Cat. People will wonder.”

“This is important to me. I want to get to know them.” She looked across the table and included Cat. “Both of them.”

Cat’s year had been made. “I’d offer for you to stay with me—we have a big house, you could have your own space—but the house is watched around the clock. There’s no way we could keep you a secret.”

“That’s okay,” Annabelle jumped in. “I can handle it.”

“I don’t know, Annabelle.” Patricia shook her head. “I’m not sure you want to step into that. You’ve watched the news over the last few weeks. You’ve seen how crazy it can be.”

“It’s okay, Mom.” She clasped her hands together in her lap. “Won’t I eventually be there anyway? I mean, if I really want to get to know them. More than for one week.”

Cat held her breath. It sounded like her daughter might be thinking she’d be in their lives long term. She could never have hoped for such.

“But you’re only eighteen,” Patricia said.

“And I have a brother and sister now,” Annabelle added softly. “Whom I’d kind of like to meet.”

“I’ll provide her a personal security guard,” Cat stated. “If you decide to let her stay. She would be safe.”

“But . . .”

“You know you’re going to say yes.” Annabelle turned imploring eyes on her mother. “You know what this means to me. And it’ll be okay, Mom. I promise. It won’t change me at all.”

A soft sigh eased from between Patricia’s lips, and she shook her head as if she’d known she was fighting a losing battle. “Okay. Fine. But be careful. You can stay until next weekend.”

“The new park opens on Saturday,” Cat said. “Brody’s play will be held there that night. Maybe she can stay through that.”