Page 4 of Crying Shame
If either of my parents knew what I’d done, they’d be disappointed in me. I understood why better than the college kid I’d been would have, but I wasn't ready to tell them the details yet. I needed to find Clarissa first.
She didn’t move at all. “You’ve been very mysterious in your search for Clarissa with me.”
My phone beeped again. I squeezed her arm gently. “Maman, I promise I’ll explain everything later, but I need to go—now.”
She took my hand. “Well, if you find her, please tell her to call her parents as well. They are worried about her.”
“I will.” My reply came out fast. I wouldn't disappoint Maman by telling her not everyone had a heart as big as hers. I slipped out of the party.
The beach house in Virgin Cove was large enough for the entire family and also not far from Manhattan whenever the business-minded among us needed to head to work.
I left the house and headed for the beach, where the smell of salt air filled my lungs. I called the investigator, listening to what he had to say as I walked. My heart leapt. She was back in Florida.
I’d take the private jet, so I could get there as quickly as possible. I turned back, heading toward the helipad. “She’s back in her apartment. You’re sure?”
The PI said, “I’ll forward you the pictures I took an hour ago.”
“Thanks,” I said and then called the pilot. I headed down the driveway to the far end of the house, hopped on a golf cart and drove myself to the helicopter that would take me to my jet. I needed to get to Clarissa, and thankfully, we were in the air in five minutes.
It didn't matter why Clarissa had returned to her apartment. I was just happy she had. I was also glad I hadn't yet paid someone to move her belongings to storage.
This wouldn't just be an apology anymore. I’d offer to support her and my son and tell her I'd changed. I also needed to discover my son’s name.
Hopefully, she'd accept my offer.
On the flight, I again remembered how her face had looked when I'd broken up with her. No wonder every pregnant woman who came to my practice in tears over a relationship reminded me of her.
She must have known she was pregnant, and I’d fucked that moment up entirely.
And ruined her life.
* * *
A little more than two hours later, I followed the directions the PI had given me to an entertainment area where people walked a loud boardwalk holding drinks while music blared from small bars.
I assumed most of the people I passed were tourists as they spoke with various American accents and sometimes in foreign tongues.
My heart was pounding as this wasn’t a place I’d expected to find Clarissa. I followed the directions on my phone to a club located on a second floor.
The place was packed with groups of people, but the music was so loud I doubted anyone could hear anything.
Then I spotted her. She was glancing around the place but hadn’t seen me.
Her red hair helped me identify her, but as she turned and I saw her profile, awareness rushed through me.
She was still the prettiest woman I’d ever met, with flawless, soft skin and that gleam in her eyes that had captivated me.
She walked backward toward the bar area and back patio.
I rushed across the room to meet her at the door. I reached for her hand, and a spark traveled through me that ran to my toes and tips of my hair. I let her go and asked, “Clarissa?”
She let out a long sigh and cupped my face. “It was you who came to my house.”
My pulse quickened. I’d expected her to slap me. I shouted more than said, “I didn’t expect to find you in a club.”
She shrugged and said between songs, “Look, we can’t talk here.”
True. This wasn’t the place to have our heart-to-heart. “Can we go somewhere else?” I asked.
