Page 31 of If She Only Knew (The Cahills 1)

“He’s probably sleeping.”

“But I want to see him. Now.” She turned to stare her husband straight in his eyes. “You do understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course. But I thought you might want to acclimate yourself with the house, reacquaint yourself with where things are before you see James and . . . .” The elevator door opened and he jabbed his cigarette out in a canister in the garage. They stepped inside and he pushed the button for the third floor.

“And what?”

“Nothing.” His lips compressed as if he were irritated.

“No. You were going to say

something,” Marla insisted, her jaw aching.

“It might be hard for you if you don’t recognize him,” he said slowly, as if she were a child, “or conversely, if he doesn’t immediately bond with you . . . I was only thinking of your well-being.”

“My well-being is just fine,” she snapped, tired of everyone treating her as if she were some fragile hothouse flower even though she was leaning against the interior of the elevator car as she was tiring already. Damn it all. She didn’t know a lot about herself, but she was certain she’d never been a wimp. “Let’s go see our son.”

“Are you sure you’re strong enough—?”

“Just show me the way, Alex,” she insisted.

Her husband didn’t say another word as the old elevator ground slowly upward and Marla was sorry she’d snapped. After all, he was only looking out for her; it wasn’t his fault her memory was shot to shreds.

On the third floor she stepped into a carpeted hallway that circled a center staircase. Alex led her to double doors. “Our suite,” he announced as they entered a sitting area complete with a corner fireplace, small couch, and reading table between two chairs. “My bedroom is that way,” he said, indicating a doorway to the right, “and this is yours.” He opened narrow French doors and allowed her to walk into a bright room decorated in navy, peach and beige. A rosewood bed, canopied in lace dominated the room and matched several other pieces. Leather-bound volumes filled a bookcase, two vases of fresh cut flowers were arranged on tables, pictures in gilt frames were hung on a wide expanse of wall and the room had the feel of a showplace, as if it should be roped off for the guided tour later in the afternoon.

“You and I, we don’t sleep together?”

“Not often, anymore.” Alex yanked on the knot of his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. “We do sometimes, of course, but no, not in general.”

“And you don’t think that’s odd?” A headache was starting to form at the base of her skull.

He shook his head. “Not really. We’ve been married a long time. The situation’s just kind of evolved over the years.” He shrugged. “It’s not such a bad thing. We have separate lives.”

“But we managed to conceive a baby.” This seemed wrong to her.

“Yes.” He smiled and Marla thought she saw a flicker of boyish charm beneath his veneer of wealthy sophistication. “That we did manage. Come on. You’re right, it’s time you met the little devil.” At the far end of the room, he led her through a glass-paned door to the nursery, a tiny room painted a soft baby blue and trimmed with a wallpaper border of pastel animals and Noah’s Ark.

This room felt lived-in and warm. Just right for an infant. Pillows and stuffed animals were clustered in the corners, a bookcase was filled with toys and a night light glowed from a lamp shaped like the Ark.

From the crib the sound of a baby’s soft snoring could be heard. Marla beelined to the crib, and swallowed a thick lump in her throat. In the crib an infant lay sleeping on his back, his little legs curled, his tiny hands clenched into fists. Downy soft reddish hair barely covered his scalp and his lips moved as if he wanted to suckle.

Her heart squeezed, not from motherly love, but in despair. How could this little cherub not have engraved his way into her heart, into her memory? Why could she not recall anything about him? She blinked against tears. Carefully she reached into the crib and gently lifted him and the blanket surrounding him into her arms.

This is your son, Marla. Yours! The thought was as heartwarming as it was frightening. What did she know about babies? Obviously she’d raised one child to adolescence but right now her own sense of innate motherhood escaped her.

James let out a soft little cry as she put him to her shoulder. It felt so right to hold him, to place him close over her heart, and yet there was something . . . on the very edges of her memory . . . teasing her.

Rousing, the baby opened his eyes and stiffened. He stared straight at her for a split second, eyes round.

“Hi there,” Marla whispered, her heart swelling in pride. The baby was just so . . . precious.

He blinked, then as if he found her scarred face frightening, he opened his mouth and wailed for all he was worth. His face turned red with the effort of screaming at the top of his small lungs.

“Shh, little one,” she whispered, cradling his tiny head with her hand. “You’re fine.”

James was having none of it. His back went ramrod stiff and he only stopped screaming long enough to catch his breath.

“I was afraid of this,” Alex said, for once looking as if he had no idea what to do. “I’ll call the nanny.”

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