Sun-Kissed Secret Baby by Leigh Jenkins

Chapter 11

Allie sat opposite Sam on the small table that had clearly been dragged out onto the porch to accommodate them. The cabin might have been quite a lot smaller than she’d expected, but given his sobering, painful confession, she understood his reluctance to build a home that would be more in keeping with his wealth and status.

But it couldn’t be faulted for its view. The elevated deck looked out over a copse of sturdy, leafy trees, and beyond that, the glittering sea. The beach itself, where her daughter—their daughter—currently frolicked with the rest of her cohort, was shielded from view. Instead, they looked out onto deeper, more distant waters.

It was a lovely place, she decided, more than a single man would ever need… although, assuming that a man as handsome, wealthy, and successful as Sam would be single was probably being presumptuous.

And that idea made her face heat up.

Sam was chatting as he served them: a simple vegetable pilaf with roast chicken and salad. She had assumed he’d ordered it up from the kitchens, but he announced proudly that he’d cooked for her.

He kept up a friendly chatter. “What about the other girls? Fiona and Olivia?”

She shook her head. “Not much info there, either. Fi got a scholarship and moved east. And Liv, well….”

The temperature between Allie and her best friend, Olivia, had plummeted right after their return… but if Allie was honest with herself, she would admit that the rift had begun even here in Sabina. Because Olivia had also set her sights upon Sam, almost from the moment they’d first seen him onstage, a young soca singer in full control of his audience. And for a long while it seemed that Sam had been interested in her, too. That the tide would have turned to favor Olivia, as it always did. After all, she was tall, lissome, blonde, and pretty. She hadn’t been happy when Sam and Allie had fallen for each other, and even though she’d sworn it wasn’t a big deal, Allie could sense that Liv hadn’t taken nicely to being bested.

Allie’s pregnancy had sealed the deal. By the end of the school year, the relationship had become so strained that it was almost a relief when Liv flew off to college.

She realized that Sam had been waiting expectantly for an answer, so she ended lamely, “Things came to a natural end. Everyone had their agenda, you know…?” A curious thought struck her. “Have you heard from any of them?”

Sam deftly placed a platter of golden slices down before her. “Garlic bread with a twist,” he announced. “There’s coconut in it.”

They settled into their meal. When it was over and the plates were cleared away, she declined the offer of dessert. She knew that the conversation was about to take a predictable turn.

He sat heavily before her and leaned forward on the tabletop. “Tell me about it. About her.”

“Where do you want me to start?” she asked hesitantly.

He shrugged. “From the beginning.”

From the beginning, then. “Tough pregnancy, maybe because I was so young, still in school, trying to manage my studies and… everything. My parents were great, though.”

“I’m glad.” He sounded sincere.

“But near the end, it got hard. Daria was born five weeks early, weighing just about four pounds. A blue baby. I envy women who say the birth of their children was the best experience of their lives, because for me, it was the worst. She spent more than a month in the NICU… coded twice. I rarely left. I slept in a recliner next to her bed. All I could do was sit by my baby—all plugged in, strapped up, in an incubator—and cry. I genuinely didn’t believe I was going to ever walk out of there with her in my arms.”

“You could have called me,” he said.

She looked up at him, bracing for anger again, more rage, but he was pained, sad.

“Whatever you needed me to do, I would have done it.”

She realized now, years too late, that that was true. “I’m sorry. I underestimated you.”

“You did.” He spoke not with bitterness but profound regret.

“Why Daria? Did you name her after a relative of yours?”

“Nah.” The truth behind the name was almost embarrassing. “I named her after that MTV cartoon character. From back in the 90s? Cartoon Daria was smart and snarky and dryly funny. Strong, you know? I liked that.”

He searched his memory and slowly nodded. “Yeah. I remember her.”

“Dumb, huh?”

“No,” he reassured her. “I like it just fine.” Then, “Is she? Smart and snarky and funny and strong?”

“Very.”

He looked as if inspiration had just struck. “Can I see some photos? I’m sure you have some.”

She almost smiled at that. “What mother doesn’t?” She pulled out her phone and logged into the cloud, scrolling all the way back to the beginning. Sam dragged his chair around to sit next to her, and she began her show and tell. Daria’s homecoming, her baths, fluffy bunnies and rubber duckies. First tooth, first haircut.

Faithfully, Allie narrated them, explaining how their daughter had progressed from being a tiny thing who doctors half suspected wouldn’t see her first birthday to the star swimmer at her grade school.

That made Sam smile. “I know she didn’t get that from you,” he teased.

“You can say that again!”

“What about music?” he asked hopefully.

“She can’t sing worth a damn; she got my pipes, unfortunately. But she’s the devil on the drums. She plays both traps and the djembe.”

Sam looked delighted. He pointed at the phone. “Can I have copies of these?”

She thought about it for only a fraction, seeing no reason to deny him. “I’ll drop you a link.”

He looked so grateful it hurt her heart, and again, she was swamped by guilt. The inevitable request came. “I want to meet her.”

This time, Allie hesitated, trying to imagine the confusion that would throw into her daughter’s life.

When she didn’t answer, he asked, with just the hint of an edge to his voice, “You have told her about me, right? Anything at all?”

“Not… a lot.”

“My name? Where I’m from? How you met me?”

She shook her head, knowing that nothing she could say would justify such an egregious omission.

“Hasn’t she asked?” He sounded hurt, as if a part of his existence would be erased otherwise.

“I’ve just told her I met her father when I was very young, and that it didn’t work out.” She added, defensively, “I promised I’d tell her more once she was old enough.”

He huffed, the irritation returning to his voice. “I guess you didn’t want her to know her father was nothing but a simple little island boy—”

“For God’s sake, Sam! Can’t you get that chip off your shoulder?”

“How can I when you’ve nailed it there?”

“Don’t blame me for—”

He conceded, “Well, maybe my mother played a part, too, but at least Stanley Drummond had the courage to talk to his child about where and who he came from!”

Sam got up, agitated, paced away from the table to the porch railing, looking out over the sea. “I want to see her, Allie. She needs to know me. It’s my right—and hers.”

He was right, dammit. She sighed gustily. “Fine. We can make… arrangements. But I need to tell her first.”

“You do that.” His eyes were upon her, deep, hard, insistent. “But do it now. Because I intend to meet my daughter.”