Secrets on Cedar Key by Terri Dulong Page A

with all of this?”
    It was difficult to focus on his question when I could feel the warmth of his hand on mine.
    â€œProbably not well,” I said after a few moments. “Not well at all. I still haven’t even called Fiona.”
    â€œThere’s no rush. I think you need some time to absorb all of this. Give yourself that time.”
    He was right. But the longer I delayed speaking to Andrew’s daughter, the longer all of this would be hanging over my head, and I verbalized this to Worth.
    He nodded as he let go of my hand and sat back in his chair. “Do you honestly think that once you sign those documents that will be the end of it?”
    Chalk up another trait I liked about Worth. He had a way of saying something that enabled me to face the truth; this very thought had been running through my mind for two days.
    I blew out a breath of air. “I had hoped it would.”
    â€œHave you given any thought to the fact that Fiona might want to meet you? Might want to meet her half brothers?”
    I had, and that was when I would push the situation from my mind.
    â€œYes, but I’ve tried not to think about it. Because I honestly don’t know how I feel about this or what I would tell her.”
    â€œExactly. This is why I’m saying you need time. Time to set everything right in your mind.” He paused for a moment, putting his hand on top of mine. “And don’t take this the wrong way—but the attorney is right. No matter what, Fiona isn’t to be blamed for any of this.”

13
    I woke on Sunday morning with the sun streaming through my windows. I stretched and glanced at the bedside clock. Seven-thirty. Later than I normally slept, but I knew that stress easily caused fatigue. I recalled Worth’s invitation from Friday evening when he brought me home and felt a smile cross my face. He had asked if I’d like to take a drive with him later this morning to return his car to his home, and intelligent woman that I am, of course I accepted.
    Walking into the kitchen, I was greeted by Oliver.
    â€œGood morning, fella,” I said as I stroked his ears and headed to the coffeepot. I saw my mother sitting on the patio, poured myself a mug, and joined her.
    â€œGood morning,” she said, folding up the newspaper she had been reading. “How are you this morning?”
    â€œGood.” I inhaled the wonderful scent of salt air on the breeze. “What are your plans for today?”
    â€œSince you’ll be gone, I accepted Maude’s invitation to lunch.”
    â€œOh, good. Be sure to tell her I said hello.” I heard the phone inside the house ring. “I’ll get it.”
    I answered to hear my younger son’s voice. “John, how are you? How’s everything in Beantown?”
    His laughter came across the line. “I’m good, and so is Boston. How’re you doing?”
    â€œFairly well,” I said, trying not to feel guilty for not sharing the news I now had. “So what’s up? Your job is going well?”
    â€œIt is. The leaves are beginning to turn up here now. I think I’m going to like New England in autumn.”
    Having been raised in the South, I could understand that. “Well, I hope you’ll like it just as much once that snow starts falling.”
    John laughed again. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll mind. Listen, Mom, the main reason I’m calling . . .”
    I could hear the hesitation in his voice. “Are you okay?” Why is it when an adult child sounds nervous, a mom always thinks a terrible tragedy is about to befall him?
    â€œOh, yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he quickly reassured me. “It’s just that . . . I hope you won’t mind, but I won’t be coming home for Thanksgiving this year.”
    â€œOh,” was all I could manage to say.
    â€œYeah, well, we only get the Friday off with the weekend, so a bunch of my friends thought